#and I’m only done with the front panel it’s killing me

[sashisuse]

okay so what we’re not going to do is villainize shoko.

jjk 261 spoilers, thoughts, and a brief analysis of shoko. (and touching on some sashisu stuff. more specifically the sash part.)

i see a lot of people bashing her for not having a reaction to the body swapping plan and that satoru was like ‘i’m mostly surprised shoko didn’t object’ SO. here’s what i’ve got to say.

shoko didn’t object because she was fully under the belief that satoru was going to win. that it wasn’t going to happen. it was literally the worst worst worst WORST case scenario. she had SO MUCH faith in satoru.

let’s rewind back to the shibuya arc. what we knew about shoko at that time regarding her use of cigarettes was that she had quit five years (iirc) prior to those events. her smoking habits literally revolve around satoru’s wellbeing.

mind you this was after she and yaga learned satoru had been sealed. she heard the news and immediately began smoking. why? because shoko is a person who masks her emotions and she does it well. she’s not the type of woman to break down in tears. she’s going to hide it and instead light up a cigarette.

we saw this with her interaction with suguru. she acted very nonchalant about his defection and the massacre he committed on the village and his parents. but when we fast forward ten years and go to jjk0, it’s made abundantly clear that she still cares about him. during the meeting where yaga declares they’re going to kill suguru — i’m pretty sure his words were ‘exorcise the curse that is geto suguru’ or something along those lines — shoko leaves. she flat out walks out. and during the night parade of 100 demons, we have a moment where see the most emotion out of shoko that we have for the majority of the series. she’s angry. she’s hurt. she has these thoughts of something along the lines of like ‘you sure made a mess for us’ regarding suguru. and it’s especially prominent because it’s the first time we’ve ever seen her like this and only time. the closest we get to seeing that again is during the sukuna fight.

she literally cares so much but she’s just emotionally constipated and doesn’t know how to show it 😭 it’s an issue both she and satoru have. they deflect. they mask. they move on and yet the carry it with them somewhere deep inside them.

so we go back forward to satoru and sukuna’s fight. where we do see emotion from shoko but what’s most important to note is the panels she’s in. when they focus on her, she’s either smoking a cigarette, lighting a cigarette up, or we see her surrounded by cigarette butts.

we see her genuinely fearful at this point. she had full confidence that satoru was going to win. that’s why she said ‘do what you want’ and didn’t object. because in her mind, it wouldn’t happen.

it’s very important to remember that sashisu, whether you see it in a romantic or platonic way, was a group that cared so fucking deeply for one another. their bonds were deep. their love for their found family was deep. it’s part of the reason why suguru defected in the end. which i can get it into but not at this time. but at the end of the day, sashisu had ass communication skills and failed to properly understand one another.

and that seems to continue on with the satoshoko side of that, which was left after suguru left. and after he died.

also, it’s really important to remember that shoko is not like satoru and suguru. she’s a healer. that’s it. that’s all she does. she doesn’t get to fight or be on the front lines like they do. she’s the one who gets to wait behind and wait until the damage is done to do her job. she’s been doing this since she was (probably) 15, maybe even younger since we don’t know her backstory. she’s going to be emotionally detached. also, keep in mind this page:

specifically her first piece of dialogue. ‘it’s more like we have to do it.’

and that’s the bottom line.

whew. this was rough. shoko ieiri you will always be loved by me.

#jujutsu kaisen #shoko ieiri #gojo satoru #geto suguru #sashisu #satoshoko #satosho #sugushoko #if you guys don’t understand shoko #you can just say that #but don’t villainize her #there’s inevitably going to be an aftermath #and we’ll see what happens then. #jjk 261 #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #sabé is gnawing at the bars of their enclosure

[miserye]

#chatterye #I did not stop to eat a proper meal I had a corndawg and some soda 🙏 #just #crocheting. #also I had no prior experience and I’m making a sweater like full sized #it’s like 74 sts (give or take) has a fish design so like 4 other colors than the base I had to use #and rn it’s got like 54? 57?? rows #and I’m only done with the front panel it’s killing me #this front panel was technically over two days but not really if I’m going to be honest

[grnherbs]

I don't want to set the world on fire.

eighteen plus, mdni.

this is a corrupt cop!leon story which will have dark themes such as abduction, yandere, smut (noncon, dubcon), stockholm syndrome, violence & manipulation but content warnings will be on every chapter. i plan for this to be a multi part story but we'll see how it goes !!

wc: 1.2k

cw: kidnapping, corrupt cop, yandere, violence (hitting), spitting, crying, personality change?, concussion, talk of minor injuries, handcuffs, pet names, delusional leon, fear, dacryphilia (kinda?),

you begin to learn new things about your best friend that you never thought would conceivably be true as you try to navigate his personality when he returns as a cop from raccoon city.

“stop wriggling, you're not getting out of those cuffs” he eyes you up in the rearview mirror, his ashy blonde hair falling in front of his eyes before running a leather gloved hand to push it back into place as you continue to move around, the cold metal gripping your wrists as you bite your lip in frustration and he takes a right at the traffic lights, the old tyre's of the cop car screeching slightly as he pulls away.

“please officer kennedy… leon, you know me, i don’t usually do these things, my record is clean, my parents can’t know about this please” you plead with him but he just turns his head back to the road, gripping the steering wheel, pulling out into the junction turning left, shaking his head at your whining.

“you know better than this, i’m really ashamed of you sweetheart, i really thought you were a nice girl, and nice girls don’t do what you’ve done this evening” he berates you and a blush of humiliation settles on your cheeks, looking down at your lap as your childhood friend and neighbour scolds you, a tear falling from your eye.

“please, c’mon i’ll do anything, you can’t tell my parents. you know they’ll kill me” you start to sob and he tuts at you, you continue to stare at your legs, tears still falling as he drives along the rough unfamiliar terrain and pulls into a… driveway? It was dark and you couldn’t even see any street lights, regardless of the blurry tears in your eyes.

“leon, w-where are we? weren’t we going to the station?” you question as he pulls up and turns off the engine, hands settling still on the steering wheel, the leather squeaking as he grips it, ignoring your questioning. the silence was deafening, before getting out the car, slamming the door behind him, causing you to jump and leaving you alone in the vehicle, shaking slightly, where were you?

a few moments go by as he opens the car door by your side, hand reaches in to grip your arm roughly causing you to gasp out and screech quietly “ouch!! leon” you squeal before he places his free arm around your mouth, no chance of allowing sound to leave it.

you begin to panic and scratch at his arms as he dragged you along by your waist, kicking out, what was he doing? whose house was this? It looked abandoned, the plants growing up the walls, yellowed panels lined the outside and the little grass you could see was even overgrown or dead.

he grips you tighter now, as you try to escape his solid, non moving grasp, barely audible squeaks leaving your lips and he practically growls “shut. up. you're only going to make this worse” he says sharply at you and your eyes widen at this, the soft cop who’d been your neighbour for the last decade, the soft blonde boy you’d grown up with, disappearing immediately and the panic truly settles in as a cold shiver whips through your body.

the last thing you remember before the hit to the head had been the bruising grip he had on you and the world fades to black.

drip.

drip..

drip…

the cold hit of water on your cheek had your eyes open quickly, taking in a gasp as you looked around yourself, hugging your arms immediately to your chest, breathing heavily. the cold stone floor was a shock to your system and the damp mouldy puddle growing by your head was still being dripped into from a wet patch on the ceiling. the room around you was dusty, a singular dirty and yellowed light fixture and hardly lit bulb hanging from the flimsy looking, almost makeshift ceiling, barely worth having as it dimly lit the room.

you rub your eyes, touch the shallow forming bump which had begun to grow on your forehead, before hearing the jingle of a cold chain attached to your wrist and that's exactly when you notice the other one on your ankle on the opposing side, another sharp breath leaving your body when reality begins to settle in. looking up and scanning your surroundings once more, you see nothing save for a window at the very top of the room, with bars across it, a stairway that was entirely out of reach. and a metal fold up chair in the middle of the room.

thats when you saw the feet perched either side of it, the individual leaning over the back of it where he was sat the wrong way round. “there you are darling, been waiting for you to open your pretty eyes, you know.. you make the most adorable noises when you’re sleeping” he chuckles dryly to himself, the silver in his hand catching the light, which you came to realise was a knife, he was twisting quietly in his hand, watching your eyes adjust.

you gulped and his dark eyes met yours through messy hair, looking through you “what’s the matter baby? cat got your tongue?” he tilts his head to take you in fully. you refuse to break eye contact with him until the throbbing in your head returns once more, rubbing it and breathing through the nausea it was making you feel.

“afraid you might have a minor concussion sweetheart, you just wouldn’t… stop wriggling away from me, so i had to put you to sleep” he gets up, pushing the chair away, knife in hand, and he kneels before you, hand coming out to stroke your cheek and you move your head back but he grips your jaw roughly making you look at him. “silly girl, huh? it’s just me baby, just your lee…” you felt sick to your stomach as he repeats the nickname and a single tear fell from your face as he said this.

he pulls you in for a tight hug which you settle into for a second, his hand gently stroking your hair and you feel the wave of confidence as your free leg comes up to kick his shin, but he’s quicker than you are, gripping your leg as his fist comes into contact with your cheek almost instinctively, causing you to fall to the side and he stands.

“you fucking stupid bitch!” he shouts at you through gritted teeth, leaning over to spit on your face, backing up and holding the knife out to you. “fine, you wanna act like a stupid bitch, we’ll see how pliant you are after a few cold lonely nights down here”. He tuts as he moves away, foot on the bottom step, taking one last look at the sight and shaking his head “keep crying all you want, it only makes me hard.”

and you pout out at him, a shallow gasp at his cruelty, his footsteps disappearing up the stairs and the light turning off, bolting the door shut and your breath picks up in the darkness surrounding you, a sting settling on your wounded cheek, wiping off the spit he had laid on you. the cold picked up in the barren of the basement, you rock yourself gently as you settle in for a night alone. the sound of his familiar car engine pulling out of the drive meant you were truly alone and you fell into sleep once more, trying to ignore the nausea settling into your stomach.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy resident evil #leon kennedy smut drabble #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy angst #resident evil #resident evil imagines #resident evil smut #resident evil angst #i don't want to set the world on fire by grnherbs #dark fic #dark leon kennedy #corrupt cop!leon kennedy #corrupt cop leon

[howlsofter]

Nextdoor ii.

John Wick moved in last year but you’re just home for the summer. He hires you to dog sit for him while he’s on business trips but it doesn’t take long til you’re pushing the limits of your “professional” relationship. Part 2, first here. John can’t keep ignoring your desperation for him, especially not after this.

Word: 2.2k

Tags/warnings: weed, drinking, smoking, voyourism, masturbation, no sex yet but def nsfw

John ignores me. Really I just think he’s busy working, he’s back on his usual schedule. I’ve heard him walk outside with daisy, talking to someone on the phone looking serious. He doesn’t ever glance my way from where I peak at him from my second story window. I wonder if he can feel my eyes. He doesn’t act like it, but John likes to play it cool.

My room is small, and it’s mostly items from before college. All my dorm stuff is packed up in boxes. My bedsheets are different and my room is more normal, since guests are the only ones who get any use of it besides me. I don’t mind, I don’t want to feel like I’m in my exact childhood bedroom.

I feel stupidly needy for his attention, getting all my shit out to go to the back porch. I don’t preroll myself one this time, bringing all my items and setting up my phone flashlight so I can see.

I don’t put on anything to drown out my thoughts, biting my lip as the metal grinder softly clinks. I dumb the herb out onto the small tray I’d brought, carefully pinching the end of my paper.

It’s not that noticeable at first, the burning smell of nicotine. It’s so out of place in our suburban neighborhood, the smell of cigarettes are saved for college. Imprinted in my mind for when I’m hazily stumbling onto the back porch of some fraternity, easily bumming a cigarette from the nearest person perched against the wall.

It’s John, I know it without checking. That empty ash tray on his porch. In all my nights out here I had never caught him smoking. I tsk to myself like he’s my kid.

I roll my joint hurriedly, scared he might finish before me. When it’s mostly done and I don’t think any crumblies will blow into the wind, I push myself up. The grass is soft underneath my socks, it makes a quiet crunching sound I try desperately to mumble. Up against our wood fence, I grab the taller metal post that stand between the wood panels. Hoisting myself up how I used to when I was young so that I could peak out into John’s yard.

Sure enough he’s sat, white button up tucked into his loose slacks. He’d ditches his belt and tie, the top mostly undone and a cigarette perched between those strong fingers.

“Smoking kills, you know,” I try not to yell, my normal talking voice carrying enough in the silent neighborhood for John to peer over to me. He looked shocked, like he’s 12 and I’m a police officer.

Once he realizes it’s me he relaxes back, flicking the ash off the tip. He reaches out to his glass in front of him, the amber liquid still just above the ice. He tries to move it from my view, turning his head away in a chuckle.

“And what are you about to do?” He throws back, I readjust my hand. It’s getting sweaty against the metal, my foot slips from the thin ledge I’m balancing on but my hold is firm.

“…it’s a different kind of smoking.” I can’t see but I feel John roll his eyes. Already caught, he takes another drag and gestures for me to join him. I lower myself from the fence, considering.

I finish up my joint and pack my shit, dumping it by our front porch before heading out the side gate into John’s.

He’s almost done with his cigarette, not bothering to sit forward when I join him at the table. He blows the smoke away from me, ashing it against into the tray in front of him and taking another small swig from his drink.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” I light mine up, watching him stare into his cup.

“On occasion. I’m not a smoker.” He says it while reaching for another. I hold the joint out for him and he pauses, shaking his head, “no I’m already… it’s fine for now.” He retrieves the second cigarette and I pass him back his lighter.

“You look like one,” I tease him carefully.

“What else do I look like?” He asks, turning his gaze up to me and tilting his head. I stare at him in silence, suddenly feeling wayyy higher than I thought I was already.

“Like, uh, hmm,” suddenly scared I’d say something insanely offensive, John blinks back to me with real expectations, “a tired business man.”

John actually laughs. He follows it with another sip, trying to shut himself up. “That I am.”

“What do I look like?” I ask him. He focuses in, I’m actually kinda intrigued. This John is different, more casual. Even looser than high John. He has to be drunk.

He seems to bite his tongue, his eyes scanning me like Sherlock deducting clues. “You look… bored, usually. Like you’re waiting for something to happen.”

I take another hit so I don’t have to explain myself. If he knows what he’s talking about he’s onto me. And what would that be, John?

“Trade me,” I hold out the joint so I don’t have to confirm his analysis. He hesitates before passing me his cigarette.

I watch him take a shallow huff and he watches me take a long drag, blowing the heavy smoke from my nose. It coats all my senses just like weed, smells utterly familiar. Maybe this was the key index to John’s scent, the ever fading smell cigarettes. Subtle nodes I wouldn’t have been able to identify prior.

He passed it back in the silence, staring off past the fence.

“I think you’re waiting for something too,” I break it, John doesn’t even throw me a glance.

“Waiting for what?” He finishes his drink finally, pushing it away from him. He answers almost bitter, like I had struck something in him.

“Tired is really just another synonym for bored,” I explain, going quieter so he could move on if he wants.

“So what do we do?” He throws it back at me.

I should kiss him now, but he won’t look my way. I carefully nudge his outstretched foot with my sock.

“Continue to wait, I guess,” I shrug, he still doesn’t move, “or do something about it.”

Now he turns, making eye contact with me in the darkness. He takes another drag of his cigarette.

“You’re so…” he begins, burying his face in his hands, “fuck.” A response is better than none, I set the roach against the corner of the tray, not moving my foot away from his.

He sits up straight, putting his cigarette out beside the joint and peering back at me. He had reset, suddenly looking like a professional in the remnants of his suit.

“So you’re just offering yourself up to me, like that?” He asks, resting his elbows against the table and I’m in the second round of interviews.

“Well- no, I was just saying.” I stammer, loosing all the courage I’d mustered up the past thirty minutes.

He leans forward slightly, my eyes dip to his lips, “really? You’re not just waiting on me?”

That’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Word for word. But hearing it come directly from him has me out of commission. I blush, turning my face away.

God himself set this moment up for me, but I’m cracking under the pressure.

“Why don’t you do something about it?” I ask weak, the words almost getting lost in my throat. John is still looking at me when I manage to turn, blinking back in thought.

He readjusts in his chair, turning to me more fully. I want to sit in his lap so badly, let him cradle me. I can tell he feels blurry, probably a little crossed. He rubs his palms against his clothes thighs, biting his lip.

“It’s not that easy,” is all he can say. I am stoned, sliding my heavy arm over to touch him where his hands had just ghosted over his thigh. He breathes in sharply, I can see him debating with himself.

“Why?” I coo, trying to lure him into me. John. John John John, I’m begging him in my mind, dragging him closer to me. He doesn’t move in his seat. He already knows where I stand, there’s no point in my shame now.

John takes my hand off him him, pulling me this time. I follow his directions promptly, pulling my chair up closer so I could kiss John with ease. He meets me halfway lazily, pressing firm lips against my soft open mouth. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes. I hate whiskey with a passion but on John’s tongue it’s intoxicating. He lets me push up into his lap, tilting his head up and to the side as I climb there. I don’t straddle him, sitting sideways and keeping my legs up on my own chair. He wraps his long arms around my waist, holding me loosely.

I moan into the kiss, tilting my head slowly and making John chase me. We stay like that for awhile, it feels too nice to stop. I run my fingers along the line from John’s ear down his neck, he tilts to let me into the sensitive space there.

Trying to deepen it is useless, John cuts me off when I lick inside his mouth. He turns his head away, catching his breath.

He excused himself in the next one, but not before requesting I watch Daisy in a few days while he’s gone for the weekend.

I fucking hate him. His sudden coolness and casual glances to my window when he comes home from work. He sends me a thank you the day I go over to check on Daisy and I have to stop myself from sending him a Fuck you back.

I come over to check on her and let her out, keeping an eye on the camera in the living room.

I’ve reran our conversation through my mind a hundred times over, trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong. No man has ever expressed interest in me and not wanted to fuck immediately after.

Maybe I haven’t been waiting on John, but instead a challenge. Stubborn John Wick giving me enough confidence to strut in his house in my bikini, all my other items for the night tucked away in my tote bag. It’s 7pm when I decide to go settle in over there, telling my mom I love her before rushing off.

He’s not checking the cameras when I’m first there, dumping my belongings on the kitchen counter as usual.

He doesn’t check until that evening. took a quick shower and changed into my tank top and sweatpants, climbing down the stairs carefully to the living room. He’d sat in that spot on our movie night, the corner of the couch the camera had the perfect view of. I grab the remote and switch on HBO, lounging back as I try to find what to watch. I restart the Last of Us.

I try to lounge casual but sexy, which just results in me splayed out, leaning up against the arm rest. I let my hand rest in my sweatpants, pressed right up between my thighs warm and comfy. Halfway into the first episode the light of the camera flicks on.

I try not to panic, it was part of my plan, but now I’m embarrassed. I wait, frozen there, trying not to look directly at the camera, seeing if he’s going to click out.

When the light stays on for a solid few seconds I start to move. I carefully lift my hips, pushing my sweatpants down to my thighs. I expose my black underwear the the camera, looking up to see if he’s still watching. The light is unwavering.

My heart begins to race as I lean back, continuing to look through the camera to him. I run my hand along them tantalizing, pulling my lower lip between my teeth. Just the pressure feels good. I slide my middle finger passed the material, dipping into my unacknowledged heat.

The lights still on.

I slowly fuck myself with one finger, bending back against the arm of the chair. I angle up the best I can, grinding against the single digit. I peek once in awhile, reaching my other hand forward to touch my clit. Both the feelings the repetitive drum of John echoing in my brain got me close quickly. Already shaking and stuttering over myself I forget about the whole goal.

I cum hard, whining as my hips stir. I slowly pull my fingers out, wiping them off on my sweatpants and slumping back. I breathe shakily before I’m shocked awake, remembering where I am.

That stupid red fucking light flicks off the second I look back up to it.

I can excuse my insane actions with weed. To myself anyways. Maybe cumming on his couch isn’t the right path of action after feeling mildly rejected, but it sure made me feel better. I sleep in the guest room and wash the sheets in the morning before fleeing back to my own home. John venmoes me $200 for the weekend without saying else.

#john wick #john wick smut #alternative #john wick fanfic #john wick x y/n #john wick x reader #fanfiction #john wick: chapter 4 #smut #john wick gif

[blackbat05]

Fresh Start

Rick Flag x Reader

A/N: I haven’t wrote Rick in a long time! So I hope you enjoy! And to also celebrate 1 year release of TSS. Issa little long though😝

Genre: PG-13

Notes: Idc, Rick is alive in my world😬 Language.

He was a volunteer at the Children’s Home you were working at. Despite his intimidating aura, the children saw him as a big, cuddly teddy bear.

Your female colleagues didn’t waste a second as they hungrily eyed every inch of his six foot three sculpted figure as he walked in every Friday evening to the delight of the kids.

However, they could only do so much. So like the warm hearted (and slightly annoying) colleagues you had found two years ago, everyone tried their best to get you closer with him.

But you couldn’t. It was simply unethical. Sure, he was a walking Adonis but no way you were going to loose your job because you couldn’t control yourself. Besides, you weren’t even sure if he even had any feelings for you.

“What are you still doing here girl?” Myra, the receptionist, stared at you through the glass panels of the front desk. You try to reason with her that you still had a couple of paperwork to finish before calling it a week. Needless to say, she wasn’t having any of it.

“You ain’t even paid extra! Leave it for another day- ah ah ah!” She waves a slender hand in your face. “I don’t want to hear any of it! Go enjoy yourself! Besides, Rick looks like he’s waiting for you to knock off.” Myra gives a wink before sauntering off to the dormitories.

Guts twisting in your stomach, you walked over as normally as you could, giving a quick wave. “Hey stranger!”

Rick turns, and upon seeing you, he breaks out into a grin. “Hey! Finally! Thought you were working overtime again.” You thought he had emphasized on the last word a little longer than usual, making you feel bad.

“I guess I decided to give myself a break.” You shrugged. “What’s keeping you here so late?”

Rick’s facial expression changed, and you wondered to yourself if you had yet messed up again. He seemed to have sense your discomfort, so he chimes in quickly.

“Oh! Well, work’s been really busy and I don’t think I’ll be able to see the children regularly so… it’s my last day here.”

You weren’t even sure why your heart had dropped inside your chest, but you maintained your poker face.

“Damn… the children will miss you…” You held back on the rest of the words that you truly wanted to tell him.

“How about a farewell dinner? It’s on me.”

Six Months Later,

You exit the counseling room, reminding the children at the playground that dinner was in an hour.

Arriving at your cubicle, you slumped on your chair, done for the day. The paperwork was absolutely driving you nuts and you wished you could be out there playing the children.

In the end, you decided to settle with your phone, scrolling through the various apps and news that you saved for times like these.

You click on a tag, pressing the first video you see. It was the local news, reporting about one of the many atrocities of the government. This time, it was about the infamous Suicide Squad that you only heard in name.

Taking a deep sigh, you see a familiar face beside the newscaster. Rick Flag. Or should you say - Colonel Rick Flag. Commander of Task Force X, missing in action since the battle of Jotumheim.

There were rumors spreading like wildfire around the internet. Some said that the government ordered him to be killed to keep their secrets. Some said that he tried to go rogue. Some said he betrayed his country.

You? You had no idea how to process this influx of information. You only knew him as the friendly and handsome volunteer who spent his time with children every week without fail. What else was he hiding from you?

“So, where are you going?”

“I’m not too sure yet. South America maybe.”

“Keep in touch?”

“Of course.”

A flurry of movement into the office startled you from your thoughts. A trio of older girls ran towards you, voices merging into one.

“Woah, slow down and one at a time!” You instructed them, concerned at the reddish hue on their cheeks.

“Miss! He’s here! He’s at the door and he’s hurt!”

Hurt? Your brows knit in confusion, starting to get more concerned by the minute. Was there an attack nearby and someone came to seek help? You stand up quickly, moving to the cabinets where the first aid kit was kept.

Instructing the girls to move everyone else indoors, you went to check the cameras at the back room.

No way. No fucking way. All that overtime must have made you see things.

Although the camera showed a black and white image of whatever was outside the home, that hunched figure was unmistakable. You could recognize him from a mile away.

Sprinting to the doors, you almost break the handles, flinging them open to see an exhausted Rick Flag standing at the doorstep.

“Hey darlin,” the southern drawl hit your ears like honey. “Still working overtime again?”

You blink your eyes, feet rooted to the ground. Apparently it seemed like eternity as the man in front of you lifts his arms forward.

“So no hug?”

You marched forward, hands flying up to give him a huge smack on the back.

“OW! What the hell?” Rick grimaces. You were surprised that a large man like him could still feel pain. “What was that for?”

He almost regrets it instantly as more whacks start to rain on his large frame. For someone who worked with children, you definitely had a lot of pent up anger.

“You! You left so suddenly! The next thing I know? YOU DIED?! In some… foreign place because you tried to sell out the government and what have you not?” You started to lose energy, so you resort to dragging him in by the arms, attracting stares from stragglers who were going back to the dormitories.

You managed to find the sick bay at the end of the corridor. Locking the door, you ordered him to lie down, whipping out any first aid supplies you could get your hands on.

"Shirt off."

"If you wanted me to strip, there are other ways to do it you know?" Rick quickly puts on a face of what he thinks to be innocence as he's met with your glare.

This wasn't your first rodeo with injuries - you couldn't count the number of times you had to patch up injured children who got bruises from playfights or accidents on the playground. But what was in front of you just wasn't a simple scratch.

"Rick, what the hell?" You gasped softly.

You were greeted by a mixture of bruises, scars, and burns that littered his back. Most were old wounds but you could see some that were still fresh.

The next few minutes passed in silence as you dabbed each wound with cotton buds, mumbling in apology whenever he winced in pain.

“So… permission to talk?”

You remain silent and Rick takes it for a yes. “Look… I’m sorry that I kept all this from you. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t. And I’m not saying this just to appease you darlin…” Rick struggles to find the right words.

“They experimented on children.” He says abruptly. Rick sees the shock on your face. “It’s true. I saw them. The government funded them, allowed these atrocities to continue… but I couldn’t… and I almost died for it. Well, I did die.”

He then proceeds to tell you about the altercation with Peacemaker in the underground facility. Him being shanked with a rusty pipe and being left to bleed out. Rick says that maybe it was for the best that the survivors left him in Corto Maltese.

“Means that Waller won’t longer be on my back. It means I’m finally free.”

You finish cleaning up the last bit of his wounds. Putting the first aid kit aside, you stand in front of him, gently tilting his chin to meet your gaze.

He takes your hand, relishing the warmth that it provided against his cheek. You finally hug him tight, eyes squeezed shut.

This wasn’t a dream.

“Don’t cry, I’m here.”

You use your free hand to feel the wetness on your cheek. “I’m just afraid that I’ll return back to the nightmare of living without you again.” Breaking into full sobs, you slumped onto the side of the bed, Rick’s arms wrapped around yours.

“When I heard the news about you… I regret every day not telling you how I felt… I couldn’t live with myself!”

A wet chuckle could be heard and you see Rick’s watery eyes. “Took you long enough.”

You pause at his statement before the two of you break into laughter. A knock on the door brings you back to the present.

“Is it true?” A young girl with pigtails pokes her head in, flashing a gummy grin. “Mister Flag’s back!”

The sight of Rick was an answer itself. With a shrill cry of joy, the young girl calls a couple of friends in the hallway. Before you knew it, you see Rick smothered in the little bodies that were desperate to welcome back an old friend.

“Miss! Is Rick staying? Can he stay? Pleaseee!!!” The group of children plead to you in unison.

“Well… I was going to ask if you guys had a spare room here.” Rick mutters. “Practically non-existent now and it’ll be great if I have a temporary place to stay while I set everything in order.”

“Now that you mentioned it, I do have a room.” You smiled cheekily, moving forward so that Rick was within earshot.

“It’s just right across my office.”

Three Years later,

“I swear! It’s right here!” Harley drags the rag tag group along with her, before coming to a stop in front of a house surrounded by a white picket fence.

“Harls, you sure you weren’t I dunno- hallucinating?” Robert DuBois grumbles as Cleo struggles to keep up with the duo.

“You betcha! I saw Flag right at the garden with all the little munchkins and hey! He’s got a lady with him too!”

Despite the assassin’s skepticism surrounding Flag’s lookalike, a small part of Robert wished that Harley was telling him the truth. What had happened to Flag… let’s just say no good man deserves his fate.

“Oh my god.” Cleo gasps softly beside him. “Harley was right.”

Robert cannot believe what he is seeing. There he was - his old comrade and former commander of Task Force X.

A scruffy Rick, donned in a long sleeved checkered sweater and jeans as he chases two children across the garden that also served as the dumping ground for their toys. He manages to sweep the little boy into his arms, blowing raspberries on his tummies much to his delight.

“Hahahaha! Papa! Stoppp!!! It tickles!!!”

Robert could see the splitting image of Rick in the little boy who was squirming around in his friend’s arms.

A pang of guilt hits him. No, he will not destroy Rick’s happiness. Not when they left him there to die.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Wait! Can’t we say hi to Flag?”

Before Robert can rebuke Harley’s request, a tiny figure interrupts the trio.

“Papa! There strangers here! A lady with weird hair!” The girl whom Robert assumes is the twin of the boy yells to get her father’s attention.

“Hey! My hair’s not weird!” Harley frowns.

“DuBois? Harls? Cleo?”

Robert grimaces internally. This was a bad idea. He turns around to see Rick’s guiding a pregnant you steadily across the garden.

“You must be Robert.” You finally reach them, extending a hand for the man to shake. “My husband’s told me so much about you. All of you.”

“Only good things I hope!” Harley quips and suddenly Robert doesn’t want to hear your response.

“Only the best.” You reaffirmed. “How you looked out for him. And I’m very thankful for that.”

Rick approaches Robert, clasping him on the back. “Can’t believe it. I’m glad to see all of you again. Glad y’all made it out alive. Out of Waller’s clutches.”

The latter can’t find the words in him to apologize, so he settles for a “can’t say the same for you”. Like an old friend, Rick catches him immediately.

“Hey, none of that. I didn’t even know I could make it out alive. What matters is that you’re here.”

Breaking the silence, you decided to chime in. “You guys must have come a long way. We would love for all of you to stay. I’m sure the kids would love you.”

The two women squeal, agreeing enthusiastically to your request. While Harley races up the steps to the house, Cleo guides you carefully, beckoning Robert to follow.

“Come on DuBois, she’s right. You’re more than welcome.” Rick pipes up. The two men trudge up the stairs that lead into the picturesque home.

As the three misfits slowly made themselves at home, you waddled towards Rick who had an unreadable expression on his face.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“I know they did… wrong things. But I can’t help but to think that we’re finally free of Waller.” Rick heaves a sigh of relief, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

“Maybe it’s a new beginning. For all of you.” Leaning into him, your heart softens at the sight of your little boy being mesmerized by Cleo’s pet rat, Sebastian.

A new beginning. A fresh start.

Rick could definitely get use to the new normal.

Can be read as continuation: Mismatched Family

#rick flag #rick flag x reader #the suicide squad #dad rick flag x reader #joel kinnaman #rick flag x reader fluff

[epiclamer]

Can we please have an epiclamer x save-the-villainous-cat snippet?🥰

I ship you guys so much kdkjsjkajjskjskjakjskjksj

Hi @save-the-villainous-cat I know it’s you. But sure, just for you pretty girl…

(No reposts but reblogs appreciated <3)

Pestering Fly

Villain slipped the apron over her head, quickly tying the back straps around her waist before continuing to the front counter. The familiar ring of the bell hanging above the door alerted her to the welcoming of a customer. She put on her brightest smile and stepped around the corner to the till, coming face to face with the one person she did not want to see on her eight hour shift.

“Hero.”

The one is question smirked at the recognition that flashed in Villains eyes. Leaning forwards, eyes gleaming as he took in Villains work uniform before he spoke. “Hey beautiful, fancy seeing you here…”

Villain didn’t even flinch at the comment from her nemesis, simply rolling her eyes. “Didn’t I tell you not to come here. I’m busy.” Villains dry tone matched her deadpan face. She was not impressed with Hero’s bullshit ever since he discovered her day job, lately pestering her seemed to be his favourite—and only—activity.

“Oh come on baby… can’t I visit my girl at work?” Hero was charming, Villain had to admit, but she didn’t let it distract from her work. Work life and love life were two separate instances and she needed space to keep them from colliding into each other.

Villain smiled flatly as two unknowing customers entered the shop, eyes immediately glued to the glass panel of which behind his buckets of multicoloured ice creams. “Not when she’s busy and overheating, thanks.”

So technically, Hero and Villain were dating, but they weren’t allowed to let that get out to the press yet and the stress of it all was definitely taking a toll on the two of them. They hadn’t had any alone time in weeks because of so many conferences Hero had to attend and the amount of maintenance and work Villain put into her day to day life.

Hero however, had a plan to change that.

He watched with a small smile as his lover served iced treats sweetly to the other customers, and when Villain had her back turned just at the right angle, Hero slipped behind the “employee only” door and into the back of the shop. At first he simply strolled around aimlessly, shivering a bit against the cool temperature until the familiar sound of the bell above the door rang just before a set of angry footsteps sounded down the hall.

Hero whipped around just in time to see his furious wife as she pushed him up against one of the coolers against the wall. “Just exactly what the hell do you think you’re doing. Today is a busy day for me and you know that, so why are you being such a brat, hm?”

Ohhhh she was angry alright… adorable and hot. Double kill.

Hero simply shrugged, innocently batting puppy eyes in Villains direction. “I dunno what you’re talking about…”

Apparently his puppy eyes weren’t very convincing.

“Don’t be smart with me, pretty boy. I will ruin you right here, right now if that’s what it takes to get you to sit quiet and let me work. Don’t think I won’t tie you to this cooler and leave you here until I’m done, got that?” Villain always had such an intensity to her eyes and her tone of voice. She was always so powerful and it made Hero weak at his goddamned knees because he was so incredibly in love with her.

But instead of spilling his undying love for her and begging for her hand in marriage, Hero simply smiled and pulled out an ice cream bar from behind his back. Beaming as Villain slowly let him go from pinned against the freezer as she stared at the frozen treat.

“You said you were overheating!! I thought it might help to get in the cooler for a bit and have a small treat!!” Hero practically glowed with excitement as Villain gently took the ice cream from his hand and shook her head as she pursed her lips and giggled.

She was always so cute when she did that.

“Of course… Thank you, handsome. Always looking out for me, hm?” She smiled as she pecked her husband gently on the lips and began to eat her very thoughtful gift.

Hero could only pull her in by the waist and kiss her all over her face, murmuring soft praises and loving words to her until the bell above the door rang once again.

#AHHHHH #I LOVE YOU SO MUCH BEBE #MUAH MAUH MUAH MUAH MUAHHHHHH #hero x villain #villain #villain x hero #hero #drabbles #fantasy #imagines #oneshots #scenarios #hero and villain #villain and hero #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #suggestive #flirty hero #flustered hero #flirty villain #flustered villain #kinda smutty

[chibivesicle]

Well, that explains a lot.  Why Trigun Stampede was Sci fi over Western.

I was toodling on Youtube (as one oft does in these current times) and stumbled upon this excerpt from a Trash Taste podcast where they interviewed a staff member from Studio Orange about Trigun Stampede.  Pretty much this expands upon some of what I’d briefly read from a Sakuracon panel this spring.

TL:DR - Trigun Stampede was a complete remake of the original Trigun with a hired sci fi writer to not only write 150 years of history and lore but also mechanics of the world.  This is why most of the elements of the original are lost.  The manga and ‘98 anime were an example of an American style Western plopped on a desert planet but one where the materials and mechanics of the world are similar to our own.

If you are interested check out the video here:

This both supports what had been my general take away from the final product as well as explains things I observed but had no evidence for without hearing it from a staff member.

1.) Sci fi elements were a huge deal -  hiring an independent writer explains why it has such a different voice and storytelling tone.  One could argue that the original Trigun made it too easy to recognize it was a western, but that was what we were given as readers and viewers.  As much as I, an anal retentive person who like details like thinking that there is no wood on the planet, therefore, we can’t have wood saloon doors.  I also like a story that makes sense and flows.

2.) The twelve episode format boxed them in.  Who knows how these sort of deals are made but they needed at least 24 episodes from the start.  This is what killed the pacing.  You can redo all you want but if the pacing and writing are bad, it will be bad.  I feel like I’m the niche version of someone like Friendly Space Ninja and Amanda the Jedi.  Just because you put a lot of time, money and effort (also money) it won’t matter if your writing is bad. 3.) I fully agree that the CGI was exceptional.  It is obvious that the studio put so much effort into this front.  The animation was breathtakingly well done for the most part.  There were a few too many ‘show off’ animation sequences which annoyed me but the facial expressions were great.

However, due to the shift with the sci fi aspect being much greater than the Western, we get the loss of the ability to animate more of the common people who are largely absent and a key aspect of Nightow’s works.  I’ve stated this elsewhere but the adults in his series are trying to protect the common folk.  By leaning into the desert aspect and the desolation of the desert stereotype, they lacked the random kids, bakers, bankers, laborers, servers, farmers, mothers, fathers etc.  I’m not sure if this is a technical issue from the computational/technical side or a storyboarding/framing issue.  Or that they just forgot about the people in general were a thing?

This also heavily leans into the incorrect assumption that a desert is desolate and does not support life.  Anyone who has visited or lived in the desert knows that despite appearing like it is dead and empty at first, plenty of life is present.  It just has a totally different way to adapt to things.  I was disappointed that the creative team leaned into this stereotype using green plants [photosynthesis] = livable and desert using angelic being plants = livable.  My own experience of living in the desert also made me cringe at Wolfwood’s shoes.  No.  Just no.  You do not wear slip on shoes in the desert.  Lace ups for sure and up past your ankle even better.

4.) Ample amount of creative effort went into this.  Again, Studio Orange put a lot of effort into this.   Technically, it is very nice.  If you wanted to look at it from an anime perspective, the presentation was excellent, and the writing was at most average.  But, with so much source material that they did not include and the creation of so much of their own original ideas and concepts, it took it far from the work.   If they wanted this as their product (which seems to have been their goal) then they succeeded.  However, if they wanted to take the original and build on it and give it a fresh coat of paint with 2020s Pantone Colors of the moment, they did not do that.

5.) I’m surprised at how many YT critics are impressed and overall giving this positive reviews.  I know that people in these positions have made it their job to do anime/manga media commentary and critiques so they may want to be less harsh perhaps.  Many of them saw the original material, and so many seem to be okay with it.  Yet, is anyone not commenting on what happened to all the female characters?  No!  This annoys me so much but repeating myself here won’t really do much other than reinforce the fact that I was very unhappy with Meryl, Elendira, Luida, and Rem.  Lazy writing would be with the limited time space for the episodes they became tropes and shadows of their former selves.  But Meryl was a key character and deserved better. Yes, I love to critique things I love and that is fair but I’m wishing for a more comprehensive critique of Trigun Stampede taken from not a bunch of dudes on the internet.  I have neither the time nor effort to become a Youtube creator and commentator in this space.  With that whole full time job sort of thing that pays quite well.  But I do want to see more women in this space expressing how they interact with media and walk us through their reactions an feelings towards it.  For example someone the The Anime Tea. I absolutely love her analyses! 

https://www.youtube.com/@TheAnimeTea

I honestly would love to see her do a review of Trigun Stampede!  But it might be outside of her general scope and I’m not here to demand an analysis from anyone.  She had a lot of nuanced and contextually appropriate reviews and ways to approaching things which is just - sooo good.

#Trigun #trigun anime #trigun stampede #studio orange #my late thoughts on the subject #staff commentary #youtubers opinions

[superstar-nan]

Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 4

Summary: Michael takes you home and you have a long chat about what the heck is going on around here

Words: 5,077

Fun stuff: Descriptions of unusual self harm from a child, mention of child murder, graphic descriptions of undead bodies, canon typical violence, and mild swearing. Michael heavy chapter; he's still sassy and you're annoyed by it.

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You barely even registered when you were done vomiting your guts out. Your head was lead, your fingers and toes were tingling strangely. The room was spinning again, and you felt out of yourself. Michael was saying something you didn’t catch, his voice startled and raspy, and looking at his face made you retch again. 

The ringing in your ears waned and you could understand Michael, “Oh, gross! ” You wished you could go back to not understanding Michael.

You looked down. The trashcan was made of crossed wire, so your vomit leaked out and onto the floor. Despite how it really was gross, you still couldn’t smell it over the spoiled rot in the room. You clumsily kicked the trashcan away from you (coincidentally, toward Michael, who scooted away from it), and stumbled back against the wall. 

It was strange, knowing that you were out of it but not knowing what to do about it. Everything was just a bit out of reach, even the decayed hand snapping in front of your face.

“Hey, you okay?” He didn’t sound worried, only slightly impatient with his typical drone.

You swatted his hand away, “I’m—”

“ Shh! ” That time, you really were talking loud, but you didn’t realize that he was quiet until he shushed you.

“I’m fine.” You looked at the panel. Did they all need to be rebooted? Or none of them?

“Really?” Why was his voice like low, buzzing wasps? Just another thing to add to the list of unsettling things about him. “Because you’re tapping the ‘ reboot all ’ option over and over again.”

Oh. You were doing that. “I’m making it easy for myself.”

Your chin was pulled up. When did Michael get in front of you? He tilted your head from side to side, and you didn’t fight his whims. At this closeness, you couldn’t avoid looking at him, and it gave you a visceral chill traveling from the base of your spine up your back. Though peculiarly, you didn’t want to avoid looking at him. His features held a grip of morbid curiosity over you, like watching something you were forbidden to see—or rather, that was forbidden to exist. The more you looked at him, the less unpleasant he looked. Not that he wasn’t still a little horrifying to look at, but his features held an... odd, haunted allure to it. You had the sudden impulse to hold his face in your hands, to brush your thumbs lightly along the death under his abyssal eyes, and to know the grim reaper that wouldn’t take him. Would he feel it? Can he still feel?

The corpse cursed under his breath, “Your pupils are different sizes. You probably have a concussion.”

Ah. Maybe that was why you were getting poetic and strange impulses. “I’m probably fine.” You retorted, grabbing his wrist. He let you go, but he didn’t look convinced.

“Can you tell me what year it is?” He asked.

“Uh,” Come on, you knew this. “2023? 2022? No wait, 2015.”

“Yeah, give me that,” He swiped the control panel from you long before you even knew it left your hands. Suddenly, a cold, wet gas-station soda cup replaced it. “Don’t fall asleep.”

You took a long sip and almost choked on it, “It tastes like how you smell.”

Michael stiffened. When did he get back to his desk? 

You kept drinking anyway. Despite the taste, the cool liquid felt good on your bruised throat. Your head lolled to the side, facing the door. You should have been dead. Multiple times now. That thing —the monster would have killed you twice over if it wasn’t for someone else being there, someone who knew what was going on. 

What the hell was going on? Was your best friend wrapped up in this crazy place too? Also, why was there a figure in the doorway?

For a moment that was both an eternity and nothing at all, you thought it was the animatronic and you could have screamed. It wasn’t, though. It was too skinny, but just as tall. You couldn’t focus right at first, but when you did, you noticed it wasn’t skinny or tall at all. It was a child. Small and shrouded in darkness; they couldn’t have been older than eight. Their wild brown locks obscured most of their face, and little fingers touched the edge of the door frame. 

You smiled and waved at them.

They waved back, though you couldn’t if they smiled through the shadows. You wanted to ask them their name or if they were lost, but in a vague moment of clarity, you realized that a child shouldn’t be here. Your head started to pound, or was that your heart? The child lifted up a toy phone—the same one the animatronic fooled you with. You opened your mouth to speak, but you couldn’t make a noise. Just like when you were being choked.

The child stabbed themselves in the chest with the phone.

Red—Flashing—Blaring—Red—Flashing—Blaring—

Was it blood? No, the child was gone. Michael was swearing, scrambling across the different cameras. You grabbed the panel and quickly restarted the ventilation. The corpse tried to swipe it back from you, but you pulled away just in time. 

“I got it,” You said.

Michael opened his mouth to argue, but his eyes couldn’t tear from the cameras for long. Whatever argument he had for you was lost the moment he returned his focus, frantically swapping through screens. You restarted the audio, and couldn’t stop yourself from looking at the cameras. Not that you could make out the monster animatronic if you tried. You didn’t have the strength to consider why it was so good at hiding from the cameras. Or why it was so good at hunting you.

Your eyes burned when you blinked. You dragged your focus to the clock. 5:47. You couldn’t tell if the night was gone too quickly or not gone quickly enough. You bit your lower lip. Without any idea of what happened to your best friend, you decided the night was gone too quickly. It was unfair. 

“What time is your shift over?” Even though your voice was a whisper, it still sounded torn to shreds. You rubbed your throat. It didn’t hurt now, but you knew it would soon. Damned rotted bunny.

Sallow eyes flicked to you and back to the cams just as quickly as you leaned on the back of his chair, “You’re cognizant now?”

You tilted your head from side-to-side, testing the pain in your head. Yep, it was still painful; throbbing, dull and heavy. Though it was difficult to tell how cognizant you were, since the whole night had been a nightmare straight out of a terrible horror movie. You decided to flick the back of Michael’s ear in response. It was spongy to the touch. 

Michael half-heartedly swatted at your fingers, but couldn’t keep his hands away from the cameras for long, “Six.”

You swallowed, which was functionally more difficult than usual. You restarted the cameras. “What time does the other security guard get here?”

“Six.”

How inconvenient. You restarted ventilation. “The last security guard left fifteen minutes before you came.” 

“If I did that, I would die.” 

He was right, but he didn’t have to be so sardonic about it. Not when you were almost killed twice, not when your best friend was still missing, and not when your only clue was in the hands of a... Wait, the kid had the toy phone just a second ago, but you shattered it early. Were you dreaming? Hallucinating? Obviously, you were...

“There was a kid here...” You mentioned, anyway.

“You were dreaming,” Even though you came to the same conclusion, you didn’t like how dismissive the corpse was.

“I didn’t fall asleep,” You said while rebooting the audio.

“Then you were hallucinating,” He said, also preoccupied with swiping and selecting and switching and searching.

You wanted to hit him again. You bit your lip.

Michael’s eyes flicked to you for a fraction of a moment before returning to the cameras. You could only imagine how chaotic you must’ve looked: body shaking with fatigue, eyes red from crying and exhaustion, lips chapped from vomiting, and you didn’t even want to know if the bruise around your neck formed yet. However you looked, apparently it was pitiful enough to make the corpse sigh and say, “The ventilation in this place—something in the air, makes people see things.”

Very briefly, you wondered if the whole night was just some gas-induced nightmare. God, you wished it was.

You rebooted the ventilation. It didn’t need it, but you did it anyway.

As you watched the cams flick through one and the next and the next, you tried to muster the motivation to attempt one last search, to do one last sweep of the place for your best friend’s phone even if it was only with your eyes on the cams. But even if there wasn’t a seven-foot tall monster of a robot hunting you for sport, you didn’t have the life to keep searching. You put your hand in your pocket and felt something smooth and cool. Your best friend’s wrist watch. You wanted to cry, but you didn’t have the life for that either.

Pushing through the exhaustion and misery, you willed yourself to look for the rotted animatronic. You didn’t care how tired you were or how broken you felt, you had to find it. You had to. If only to pour every last emotion caving in your chest into hatred, to point it outward so it at least wasn’t in you. You didn’t follow Michael’s eyes, you wanted to find it on your own. 

You found it, but not through perception or wit and that burned you. The rotted, foul thing was standing right where it had been when the night started. As if it was a being with the cognizance to deceive the day shift, and by now you would be a fool to believe it wasn’t.

You were startled by an alarm going off. You quickly checked the panel, but it wasn’t yours. Instead, the alarm was the sound of a grandfather clock, and Michael’s phone was lighting up. 6:00 AM. You could’ve thrown confetti.

A bright light blinded you briefly from outside the office. It was the day shift security guard.

“Hey, Mike. Just finishing... Hi?” He said, once his eyes laid on you.

“Hi,” You replied. Michael stood up, shuffling his things. You didn’t know when, but Michael had slipped on a black face mask, hiding his more grotesque features.

“Uh, who are you?” Oh yeah, you were doing something illegal.

You looped an arm around Michael’s, leaning your body into his cold lifeless one, and he stiffened, “Michael’s my boyfriend. I’m just here to pick him up.” As you leaned into him, you were hit with a waft of spoiled cake that you promptly ignored.

“You’re, uh—to him ?” The guard seemed to be trying not to offend either of you, but it was very obvious he was shocked Michael pulled you. Good to know that even in your disheveled state you were still a few leagues above a zombie.

“Yep. Ready to go—” Your voice caught in your throat when you looked at Michael. His hollowed eyes bore into you with an unknowable emotion. You were reminded of his haunting allure you noted earlier, but fleetingly it was just haunting enough to frighten you, a small flip upturning your stomach. He didn’t take his eyes off of you even as you swallowed and managed to croak out, “ Sweetie? ”

It was deadly silent. Why didn’t the animatronic murder you when it had the chance?

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Thank god. He played along.

You gave the dayshift guard a small wave and a smile, holding Michael’s hand as you left the god-forsaken horror attraction. His flesh was cold to the touch and depressed under the pressure of your fingertips. You ignored the more visceral flip in your stomach at the realization you were touching bone.

The moment the door closed behind you, Michael swiped his hand back, but you were filled with too much relief to be offended. The air was clean, healthy —something you didn’t know you desperately needed until your lungs were filled with vitality. You felt drunk on the morning rays of light and colors that weren’t dull greens and browns. You hadn’t realized you were in hell until earth felt like heaven.

You lowered your eyes after you were able to breathe. Michael was already walking, so you followed him and said, “Thanks.” You meant it for more than pretending to be your boyfriend

“No problem,” He said, and it was strange hearing his (brittish) voice in something other than a whisper. It was raspy and scarred low but still held weight. Like a smooth narrator who had his voice shredded in a cheese grater. “You’re actually going to give me a ride home, though. The bus takes forever.”

You wondered if it was the wait or the staring from other passengers that he wanted to avoid, “Okay, sure. But I also actually need a place to stay.”

He stopped and stared at you. For the first time, you could finally discern his expression clearly. Annoyed disbelief. 

You gave him your best innocent smile, which might have ended up a grimace with how exhausted you were, “I thought I’d only stay one night so I didn’t book a hotel.”

He rolled his eyes (something that was fascinating to watch since his eyes were hollowed out voids), turned around and resumed walking. That wasn’t a no. You jogged to match pace with him and when you reached him, he held out his hand. You stared at it, before Michael snapped you out of your stupor, “The keys.”

“You want to drive?”

“You’re sleep deprived, had a concussion, and look like you might fall over.” His hollow eyes scrolled you up and down briefly as he walked.

In a more stable and coherent state, you might have been offended and argued with him. Though, if you had the strength to argue, you had the strength to drive. You put the keys in his hand.

The drive to Michael’s place passed in a blur. Scenery melted across your window as you dully pressed your arm against it, your face resting in the crook of your elbow. Your muscles felt atrophied into the passenger’s seat, your mind was numbed to a dull buzz, you stared out the window and saw nothing, and after all of the impossible things and complicated mysteries that needed explaining, you could only think collapsing into bed. Your eyes were lidded and your breathing was slow. The car’s drone was just ambient enough to calm your fused mind. The relief was enough to make you sigh.

It was only when the car came to a stop that you realized you were half asleep. Michael wordlessly got out of the car, closing the door with enough sound to wake you up completely, and you followed him mindlessly. 

You hardly had the energy to take in your surroundings, but even exhaustion wasn’t enough to keep you from wondering how a corpse lived. The answer? Incredibly boring. His flat was small, just enough room for one person, and minimally decorated. No pictures, no aesthetics or ornaments, no personal touch—you might as well have been in a stock photo if it wasn’t slightly messy. 

Michael dropped his backpack on the bills scattered across his small dining room table. He took off his mask and hat, his dark brown hair ruffled slightly, and tossed them on the table as well. As he opened the fridge he pointed nonchalantly to the bedroom door.

“Shower’s on the right.”

You guessed that meant you needed a shower. 

Michael’s bedroom had slightly more personality to it, emphasis on slightly. A few pieces of clothing were strewn about the floor, the bed was rushedly made, and empty soda cans piled in the trash bin. Though the bed called for you, you forced yourself to the bathroom anyway. 

Your reflection was haunted, just as you imagined, but you didn’t look as bad as you thought you would. Eyes bloodshot and dark circles for days, but the worse feature was the ugly yellowing bruise beginning to form around your throat. It would turn blue and purple before too long, and you swore you could make our large, thick fingers in its shape. You swallowed and turned to the shower. You didn’t want to think about that.

Steam filled the bathroom after a minute of letting the hot water run. Michael didn’t have any shampoo or conditioner. After snooping through his bathroom quickly (in case he kept them somewhere weird—and because it’s fun to snoop) you found a few dark brown wigs instead. That made sense; his hair was his most living feature. He did, however, have an endless assortment of different soaps. None of which able to mask his smell, unfortunately. 

You wondered if you would end up smelling like him? You picked the soap in your favorite scent and lathered your body in it.

Stepping out of the shower, the motion of peeling back on the clothes you sweated, cried, and vomited over was too much to even think about. Instead, you picked up a hoodie off the floor, one that seemed slightly too big for Michael, and slipped it on. Whatever damage you mended using the soap was undone the moment you put on the hoodie, but you were too tired to care. 

You could hear the TV playing from beyond Michael’s room. You couldn’t wait for him to finish whatever he was watching and you didn’t have the energy to discuss where you’d be sleeping, so you collapsed on his bed. 

You were out the moment your head hit the pillow.

───── (\ /) ─────

You woke up disoriented, aching, and somehow still drained. Weren’t naps supposed to make you less tired? Your disorientation only grew when you didn’t recognize where you were, your vision teetering back into focus. 

The fog of sleep cleared when your hand touched something spongy and cold. It was Michael’s hand. Your memory of last night (morning?) came back to you. You rolled your head over to the nightstand and instantly hissed in pain. Your neck hurt like hell and just turning made it enough to throb with pain. When the pain subsided, you slowly opened your eyes. 6:42 PM. You slept twelve hours. Your head felt like you slept three. 

You rolled your head, this time slowly and carefully, back over to Michael. He was sleeping in the bed with you, lying on his back with an arm nestled behind his pillow. For some reason, he was wearing his wig to bed. That couldn’t be comfortable.

You didn’t know when he came to bed with you or if he got a full night’s (day’s?) rest, but you couldn’t wait around for him to wake up. You poked his shoulder. “Michael.”

He grumbled, sleepily. He turned his head away from you, revealing parts of his jawbone visible through abraded skin. 

You poked his shoulder again, “Michael.” You insisted.

He swatted at you.

You smacked his shoulder, “Michael, wake up !”

He cursed, grabbing his shoulder, “ What? What—?!” Michael’s voice caught in his throat when he turned to you, his void eyes going wide. You had to be only inches apart as you stared at him, unphased by your closeness. He awkwardly shuffled away from you, scooching inch by inch to put some distance between you too. You blanked. He was the one who decided to sleep in the same bed as you, what did he have to be bashful for? “What is it.” 

“What is it?” You sat up, fistfulls of blanket in your hand as you ignored your pounding head. You tried to keep your tone controlled, but you nearly bit your own tongue in your frustration. “ What is it? A seven-foot massive bunny robot tried to kill me twice and—!”

“Rabbit,” Michael interrupted you. “Bonnie is a rabbit, not a bunny.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Can’t this wait until after breakfast?”

You swiped the pillow out from under his head and tried to smother him with it. After just a second of struggling with it, he easily pried it out of your hands.

“Alright, alright,” He sat up with a groan, rubbing the back of his neck. “But coffee first. No discussion.”

Your jaw tensed, but you forced yourself to relax with a worried sigh. You stood up, “Okay. How do you take your coffee?”

The corpse collapsed back into bed, swinging the pillow behind his head with closed eyes, “Four sugars, two cream.” 

You managed to navigate through Michael’s kitchen—which only had the bare necessities: minimal cutlery, meager pantry, an air fryer but no toaster—well enough to make two cups of coffee, one prepared exactly how you like yours. You organized your thoughts, figuring which questions you should ask first and how. You were having trouble sorting out the mad hell that happened last night, let alone figuring out what happened to your best friend. First you needed to know what was going on, then you could take steps on finding them. 

You sat on the bed and handed Michael his mug. He mumbled a thanks and took a few gulps, despite how scalding it was. You once again couldn’t tear your eyes off of the window in his cheeks revealing liquid rushing down his throat.

“Alright,” He said with an exhale, setting his three-quarters empty mug on the bedside table. “Who are you and why did you break into the pizzeria?”

You almost started yelling at him again, but you stopped yourself. He saved your life twice, the least you could do was go first. You lowered your eyes as Michael watched you intently, his expression betraying nothing. You pulled out your phone and played the last message your best friend sent. Michael listened without saying a word.

“Someone I care about worked the night shift before you,” You locked your phone and kept it face down in your lap. You didn’t look Michael in the eyes out of fear you might start crying. “I need to know what happened to them.”

“They’re probably dead.”

Your eyes were storms as you stared daggers at him, tears forming thick droplets, “ You don’t know that. ” The venom in your voice was tempered by its tremble.

Michael was silent as you swabbed at your tears with his hoodie you were wearing. When he spoke next, he was slower, as if treading carefully, “ If you find any answers, you won’t like them. And that’s if you don’t share their fate. Go home. ”

“ I won’t, ” You said through teeth tight enough to grind. “I won’t. Not until I find them, or-or I find what happened to them and-and—”

“And then what?” Michael challenged, “What are you going to do once you find out?”

You waved your hands in the air, frustratedly, “I’ll figure out what I want to do when we get there!”

Michael sighed, long and tired. He grabbed his mug, swirled it around for a bit, and then downed the rest of his drink. He exhaled when he was done, “I’m not going to help you get yourself killed.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” You said, stubbornly.

“Yes, you did,” He put his mug down on the bedside. “You asked me to keep him on camera eight.”

There was that ‘ him ’ again. “Okay, but I don’t need your help.”

He raised a brow, unimpressed, “Yes, you do.”

Now was the time to change the subject, “Why do you keep calling it ‘ him ’?” As if startled by your own question, you realized you hadn’t asked the ones you planned. “In fact, why is it alive? Why are you alive? And why is it trying to kill me? What happened last night?”

Michael set his jaw while you gained your breath, just realizing how worked up those questions made you. “What do you think happened last night?” He asked.

You opened your mouth while your eyes scanned the floor, as if the dingy carpet held the answer. Your brow knotted in confusion, “You call it ‘ him ’ because it’s Bonnie. Its programming makes it seem alive. You’re just really sick. It has faulty wiring. Last night was a horrible horrible accident. That’s what I was telling myself.” But even saying it now, you didn’t believe a word of it.

“Good,” He said. “You’re right.”

You trained your eyes on him, “No, I’m not.”

“For your sake, you are.”

“No.” You insisted, more determined. “I’m not.”

He exhaled sharply, “You’re too stubborn.”

“I was honest with you,” You pleaded, softening your expression in an effort to appeal to his conscience. 

He set his jaw again (you could even see the grind of his teeth through his worn skin), and though his expressions were nearly impossible to read, you were starting to recognize his tells. “Don’t come back to the attraction.”

“I can’t—”

“ They’re gone. ” He said, and he didn’t know how cruel he was being. You couldn’t even tell if he felt guilty when new tears fell down your cheeks. “Be satisfied that you didn’t share their fate.”

You wiped your tears, shaking with anger and grief. You hated Michael for saying that, for pointing out something you feared more than anything. “There was no body,” You said, weakly. Even you knew it wasn’t a great defense.

“It was probably stuffed in a costume,” He said, heartlessly. “Or in an animatronic torso. He’s anything if not consistent...” The last part he said more to himself, but you didn’t miss it.

You found your voice, “What does that mean?”

When his eyes met yours, he sighed, “Don’t come back to Fazbear’s Fright, okay?”

You bit your lip and stared holes into the floor. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and clearing your mind. Then, you nodded, tentatively.

“What do you know about the kids that went missing at the pizzeria? The one Fazbear’s Fright is based on?”

You looked back up at him before furrowing your brow in concentration, “I know a little. A bunch of kids went missing in the 80s. A lot of people thought they were murdered, but their bodies were never found. I know someone was charged, but they never found any evidence.”

“That’s because they couldn’t find the bodies.” 

You swallowed.

“They were stuffed into the animatronics.”

You couldn’t help but stare, horrified. Michael was patient with you as you fumbled through your next question, “How do you know that?”

“Because my dad did it.”

You almost reeled back in shock, “Oh my god.” You said, incredulously. Maybe a serial killer dad shouldn’t have shocked you. Afterall, you were sitting and chatting with a zombie. You still couldn’t help the surprise coming from a national cold case solved. “Wow. Uh. God.”

“Yeah,” Michael was as nonchalant as ever.

“Okay,” You said, slowly nodding. “So this old Bonnie animatronic is... is one of these kids? Or their ghost or...?”

“No,” He said. “It’s my dad.”

This time, you did reel back. “ What? ”

“Yeah.”

“... What? ”

“Yeah.”

“No, I need you to explain,” You said.

“I’m not sure,” He scratched the back of his head. “That suit, the Spring Bonnie suit, he used to lure kids. It’s a springlock suit—” He shifted when he saw your confusion, “Part animatronic, part costume, held together by sensitive spring locks that snap shut. It looks like they went off while he was still inside. Can’t say he didn’t have it coming. Too bad he didn’t stay dead.”

“Oh my god,” You wrung your face with your hands. “That’s-That’s unbelievable. I can’t-... I’m in a horror movie.” You turned to him, “ He’s still in it? ”

“Yep.”

You shook your head slowly, “How is he still alive?”

Michael shrugged.

“How are you alive?”

Michael soured, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

You didn’t push him, less for his sake and more for your own. You don’t know if you could take any more ghost stories. “A child killer is- is reanimated in the seven-foot-tall rabbit suit he killed and died in, and now wants to—What? Haunt the haunted pizzeria attraction?”

Michael shrugged, “I guess.”

You threw your hands up in the air exasperatedly, before dropping them loudly on the bed.

“He’s not... himself.” 

You sighed, “What does that mean?”

Michael shrugged again, but this time more unsure, “You saw it yourself. What serial killer would stop mid-kill just because they heard a child’s laughter?”

You almost shivered at the memory of it—monstrous creature over you, crowbar in hand, eyes distorting and twitching— but he was right, “There was something strange in its— his eyes. They looked too human, which was eerie enough, but when you... when you played the audio clip, it was like the robot was battling for control.”

Michael hummed at that, “I don’t think it’s just my dad anymore.”

“Your serial killer dad.” You said, more to mention the absurdity of the situation.

Michael wasn’t pleased by it, “Yes. My serial killer dad. Apparently he’s been stuck behind a plastered wall for thirty years, so maybe he just lost his mind. Or maybe the suit has some leftover code that he can’t control. Probably, it’s a bit of both. But...”

You waited in anticipation for him to finish.

He shook his head, “It doesn’t matter. What matters is he won’t stop until he gets what he wants, and he’s not lucid enough to listen to reason.”

“What does he want?”

“To kill.” In Michael’s low, shredded voice, his grim warning sent a shiver up your spine. “So it’s good that you're not coming back, right?”

“But what are you doing here?” You asked, “Are you trying to stop him?”

“You’re not coming back, right? ” He bore holes into you with those unnerving, hallowed eyes of his.

You swallowed, “Right.”

───── (\ /) ─────

Wrong.

You parked your car off to the side where Michael wouldn’t be able to see; in the shadow of Fazbear’s Fright.

At least, now that you knew what you were dealing with (a serial killer in the metal body of a giant rabbit—that still felt absurd) you could be prepared for it. And just like the rabbit, you wouldn’t stop until you got what you wanted. Answers. And if the answers hurt too much...

Revenge.

#springtrap #fnaf #michael afton #william afton #fnaf 3 #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddy's 3 #fnaf 3 security guard #five nights at freddy's 3 security guard #springtrap x reader #springtrap/reader #william afton/reader #william afton x reader #michael afton x reader #michael afton/reader #horror #mystery #romance #(kinda) #nan writes #fight tooth and nail #tw child harm #tw child murder

[chidoroki]

182 Days of TPN - Day 87

Chapter 87: “Boundary”

I dunno exactly where everyone else’s positions where located in the center of town or how visible they were gonna be from Emma’s spot, but I love how she figures out the major disadvantage she has simply based on Nigel taking over Oliver’s role and one of the whistles.

Seeing her with such an intense look on her face shakes me to my core.

She’s given a fair amount of time to think of her next move, even remembers Yuugo’s warning about how “your ideals and decisions will kill your friends,” so, what does she end up doing? She speaks her hopes to the psycho demon in front of her anyway.

It’s worth a shot to find some very slight common ground between them, but regrettably, her honesty does not thrill Leuvis.

To admit your immense dislike to someone and their unforgivable acts and still try to reason with them instead of resort to violence takes a whole lotta strength and is something I really love about Emma. I know a handful of protagonists don’t typically kill others in manga (and pretty much any other kind of media in general), but it fits her character so well because of how often we see her stay true to her ideals and optimistic mindset throughout the whole story. This is the Emma we know and love and she stays true to herself even when faced against her toughest challenge yet (yes even more menacing than Isabella, I’ll admit it, if only because Leuvis is an actual demon). Despite her hopeful proposition, I’m absolutely going nuts over how she lowkey threatens Leuvis at the end, like yeah she might’ve previously stated she doesn’t wanna kill you, but if he doesn’t comply with her request, she’ll still put him in danger one way or another to achieve her own goal.

It was indeed a silly attempt at peace, but his big “NO!” is hilarious. “He’s done his waiting! Thirteen years of it! In Goldy Pond!”

Very unfortunate foreshadowing.. for her and him, actually.

Bro help, seeing my favorites in pain freakin’ hurt me too.

It might not be as dangerous to head outside with only Leuvis left standing, but a thank you is still in order for these random kids who manage to bring back Sandy, Sonya and Paula safely.

Tell me how he managed to catch almost every bullet from that barrage with his skinny as hell chopstick looking fingers?? He got away with just a couple holes in his coat. Hell, not even Palvus was hit!

Favorite panel/moment:

Emma letting loose a whole damn armory of assorted guns onto Leuvis. Such a badass move that I seriously wish ended up being more effective against him.

#the promised neverland #tpn manga #182daysoftpn #chidoroki used chatter

[iheartgarrus]

N7 Month Day 7: Free Space - College Roommates AU

(AO3 Link - Folks, this concept has been kicking around in my head for years, so I'm glad to bring you this teaser, even if I have no idea when there will be more to it. Please let me know if you like it, because you never know! It could motivate me. Oh, it's Shakarian. Obviously.)

“I was surprised to see a room available mid-semester like this,” Shepard noted as the elevator started its climb. “I hope your roommate wasn’t as desperate to escape as I am.”

Garrus huffed a laugh. “Well, she was, but not in the way you’re thinking. My sister and I were sharing the place, but she just moved in with her boyfriend. Don’t know why she couldn’t wait until our lease was up.”

“Ah,” Shepard said with a knowing smirk. “Seen that before. Younger or older?”

“She’d say older, but only by six minutes.”

“Twins, wow.” The elevator doors opened on Garrus’s floor and they stepped out. “Must be close if you were willing to keep sharing a space like this.”

He shrugged one shoulder as he led Shepard down the hall. “Close enough to not kill each other, I guess. But we’re also just used to each other. This way we didn’t have to deal with new roommates and whatever horrifying habits they might have.” He paused and glanced over at her. “Uh, no offense.”

She chuckled. “Trust me, you’re lucky I’m here and not the roommates I’m trying to get away from. So I know what you mean.”

Garrus stopped at number 2203 and waved his omni-tool over the panel. “So what was it? Too loud? Too messy?”

Shepard tilted her head from side to side. “Bit of everything. Eating my food, coming home drunk and hurling in places other than the toilet…” She trailed off as they entered the apartment and she got a look around. “Damn. This is…”

“Yeah, I know.” Rather than cocky, Garrus seemed shy, looking off to the side and rubbing his neck.

“For the rent you listed I was expecting-“

“I know. It’s- my dad and the owner of the building are old friends. He got us a deal.”

"I'll say," Shepard muttered, brow raised. She stepped further in and tentatively examined the living area. A turian-style couch, naturally, but she knew that when she answered the ad - she'd used them in the student union and they were comfortable enough. The vidscreen on the wall wasn't disgustingly huge, but it was bigger than any she'd ever had. The exterior wall was mostly windows, plus a sliding door leading out to a small balcony that looked out over Zakera Ward. A kitchen area sat tucked away to the side. It was of a modest size, but she could tell that all of the appliances were no more than a few years old. And there were dish and laundry sanitizers. The dream. She hadn't even seen the bedroom yet, but she commented, "You know, even if you got a deal on this place, you could've listed the rent way higher in the ad. No one would've known you were ripping them off."

Garrus shrugged, still awkwardly shifting his feet. "Nah, it's... I mean, that wouldn't be..."

Shepard laughed good-naturedly. "Relax, I'm kidding. Mostly. So, bedroom?"

"Ah, yeah. Just this way." He headed down the hall, and she followed, glancing at some of the photos and posters on the walls. A few alien landscapes, framed vid posters, a couple that appeared to be family photos - it was honestly a pretty tastefully decorated place for a 20-year-old college kid. Shepard was pretty desperate for a new living arrangement, but it was a relief to see that this wasn't a classic "bachelor pad" situation. Maybe that was only a human stereotype.

Garrus stopped in front of the last door on the right and gestured inside. "This is the one."

She gave him a quick smile as she stepped by him to take a look. Her jaw dropped - the holos really hadn't done the size of the room justice. She could put in a full-size bed, dresser, and desk and still have room to do jumping jacks in the middle of the floor if she wanted. A sizable picture window afforded her the same view as the living room, and the closet made her want to weep tears of joy.

She turned around to face Garrus, who was watching her curiously from the doorway, and asked, "When can I move in?"

#mass effect #n7month #n7 month 2022 #shakarian #oh my god they were roommates #fanfic #fic teaser #college roommates au #my work

[sadinasaphrite]

Whumptober Day 29 - Idia

Idia has a long night.

No. 29 WHAT DOESN’T KILL ME…

Sleep Deprivation | Defiance | “Better me than you.”

Read on AO3!

Fic beneath the cut!

This would be a lot easier, Idia thought, if he hadn’t been up all night grinding raids in League of Fantasy. As things stood, he’d gone almost twenty-four hours without sleep already. He smothered a yawn with a hand, but not enough to hide it.

“Brother, we don’t have to do this now,” Ortho’s voice crackled through the speakers in Idia’s headset. “It’s not a big deal if I miss a day or two of classes. If we explain the situation—”

“No,” Idia interrupted. “It’s my fault you’re in this mess, so I’m going to get you out of it. It’s not fair to you to leave you in this state.”

“It was an accident,” Ortho insisted. “A miscalibration. It isn’t your fault.”

Idia bent over the workbench where Ortho’s broken body lay. “Body,” wasn’t really the correct term. Right now it was more like an empty shell now that Ortho had been uploaded into the lab mainframe. A hardware fault in the chassis led to a miscalibration during flight class this afternoon, and Ortho had crashed hard enough to rip his body to pieces.

“I should have been more careful,” Idia insisted. “If you had hit the ground a little harder, even your black box could have been destroyed. And then…”

He didn’t want to think about it. Judging from the silence in his headset, Ortho didn’t either.

“You should still sleep,” Ortho finally said. “What if you make a mistake because you’re tired?”

“I have both you and the VI double checking my work,” Idia said.

“But—”

“Please, Ortho,” Idia said softly, “just let me fix you.”

Ortho didn’t protest, and Idia worked long into the night. Idia drank caffeine every few hours like he needed it to live, and blasted upbeat music through the lab, but even that couldn’t stop the exhaustion from weighing on him by the time the sun crested the horizon.

His eyes burned and vision blurred and he sat back to rub his eyes. At some point in the last few hours, a headache had formed at the base of his skull and was slowly radiating upwards. His eyes closed. Just a minute… he just needed to rest a minute and… his head nodded as sleep threatened to claim him and he snapped upright. He shook his head and gave himself a slap to the face.

Not yet. He was almost done. Wasn’t he?

Idia blinked at the chassis in front of him, no longer cracked or broken, but still not quite done. There was still something more to do, wasn’t there? What had he done last? He was so tired, he couldn’t think, but he couldn’t rest until Ortho was fixed.

“Red wires into port B,” Ortho’s voice patiently instructed over the headset.

Oh. Yeah, that’s right. Idia’s fingers were slow, but not clumsy, and affixed the wires to the correct location.

“Good. Now close up the shoulder panels and go back into the main chassis…”

Idia latched onto Ortho’s voice like a lifeline, focusing on following his instructions as everything else faded to white noise. His entire awareness narrowed down to Ortho’s voice in his ear and the motions of his fingers.

“Close the main chassis and seal. Good. Now back to the main control panel, right menu, upload…”

Ortho’s voice turned to static in Idia’s ear, then vanished. Idia blinked at the holoscreen, uncomprehending.

“...huh? …Ortho?”

“I’m right here.” Ortho’s voice didn’t come from the headset, and it was only when small hands closed around Idia’s did he realize Ortho was whole once more, standing in front of him.

“You did it,” Ortho explained. “You fixed me. Now it’s time for me to help you.”

Ortho tugged on Idia’s hands, and Idia stumbled after him. That’s good. This was good. Ortho was okay, and that was what mattered. His eyes drooped as Ortho led him through twisting, darkened hallways, and he didn’t recognize his own room until Ortho was gently urging him into bed.

“Sleep, Idia,” Ortho said.

A vague grumble of protest rose in Idia’s throat, but nothing more. He let out a soft sigh and let sleep claim him at last.

#whumptober2022 #No.29 #Sleep Deprivation #Twisted Wonderland #Fic #Idia Shroud #Ortho Shroud #twst #This one is short because I haven't read Ch 6 yet #So I don't know as much as I'd like about Idia and Ortho's characterization

[cosmicjoke]

Do you think that Levi’s relationships with other characters like Hange, his og squad and so on are less important than his relationship with Erwin? I’ve always been a strong defender of the belief that Levi cared about everyone equally and had no “favourites” because I think it’s shown very clearly in both the manga and the anime (especially with the way it ended where we see all his comrades dedicating theirs hearts to him in return) but sometimes, I wonder if Isayama is contracting himself when he talks about Levi in interviews. How he always seems to talk about Levi in relation to Erwin or to the promise and never truly addressed his other relationships, like the farewell scene with Hange which I think is incredibly emotional and could’ve been fleshed out in an interview just like Levi’s decision in the Shiganshina arc was, but maybe Isayama had nothing else to add about that scene, so that’s it. I know that interviews don’t matter and the evidence in the manga and anime is what prevails in the end, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder if truly Levi cared more about Erwin than the others simply because of how much Isayama has mentioned them as compared to the others. I hope my question isn’t redundant but I genuinely love your analyses, you understand Levi’s character perfectly and it’s always a joy to read you, so I’d really like to hear your opinion on this. Maybe the bad side of this fandom has influenced me haha but I just think it’s odd that for a character as complex as Levi who cares about so many people, the author somehow always ends up bringing up the promise in a very Erwin-centric way when we all know the promise isn’t just about Erwin and is actually about basically the entire Survey Corps who died at Shiganshina killed by Zeke. So then of course people are going to assume the promise is just about Erwin if Isayama only seems to bring them up in interviews. As someone whose favourite relationship in this anime is between Levi and Hange, sometimes I wonder if I might’ve been a bit delusional in what I saw, that I’ve given them way too much importance in comparison to how the author actually sees them, and I don’t want to think that all the little details about their relationship like their communication skills or their incredible teamwork mean nothing to the story. I don’t know anymore. I hope I’m making sense and it’s not too long of a rant hahaha but yeah how do you view the author’s stance on Levi now that everything is done?

Hi there, and no worries about the long ask.

Thematically, Erwin is very important to Levi, which is why I assume Isayama has spoken often about their relationship in interviews. I myself have written about Levi's relationship with Erwin probably more than his relationship with any other character, simply because of that thematic importance. It really has nothing to do with Levi caring more about Erwin than anyone else. I can say without any doubt that Levi cared about all his comrades equally, including Hange.

But Erwin acted as Levi's guide throughout much of the story, in terms of him laying a path forward that Levi trusted in and willingly followed. Erwin essentially instilled in Levi the belief that people didn't have to die meaningless deaths. That one could give a person's death meaning by carrying on their legacy and dream, by continuing to fight for their dreams. One has to remember about Levi, he grew up in a world where death was a constant presence in his life, an everyday occurrence he would have had to witness and suffer through. In the Underground, he was, essentially, surrounded by meaningless death. His mother died a meaningless death right in front of him. Kenny taught him that life has no intrinsic value through how callously and casually he took it. There are panels in "No Regrets" where we see people lying in the streets, either dead or dying, likely from disease or starvation, or both. Levi finds Isabel lying in a puddle of sewage, starving to death, before taking her in and saves her life.

So Levi grew up and lived the first years of his adulthood surrounded by pointless, meaningless death, and it no doubt affected him deeply. We see how repulsed by the thought of meaningless death Levi is. It's something he can't abide. It's something he can't tolerate. He wants desperately to save people, to protect them and keep them from harm. His first thought and hope and priority when fighting alongside his comrades is to keep them alive, and we see him express this when he orders them, not asks, but orders them to stay alive. Levi values life more than anything. He believes wholeheartedly in its worth and its importance and its sanctity. He believes completely in the cause of life, in protecting life and nurturing it. He works harder toward that end than anything else.

The problem for Levi, though, is that, as strong as he is, he's never been able to save everybody. He's only one man, and inevitably, it's an impossible task for him to be there for every person who's in danger. Inevitably, Levi is forced to accept that he can't rescue every person who needs his help. He so obviously wants to. But he can't.

And Levi's always wanted to help people. Isayama said himself in an interview that his entire purpose for coming to the surface was because he wanted to help others and find a way to use his strength toward that end. So Erwin didn't instill in Levi his desire to help others and save lives. He didn't instill in Levi the value he regards life with. That's just something innate to Levi's as a person. But, again, what Erwin did instill in Levi was the belief that, even if he couldn't save every life, he could still give meaning, still give purpose to the lives of those he couldn't save. He could ensure their lives and deaths weren't in vain by continuing to fight in their name and for their cause. Basically, Erwin gave Levi a way to help people, even when he couldn't keep them alive. He showed Levi a way to do what he'd always longed to do, and do it in a substantial way, for more than just one or two people, but for hundreds, thousands, even millions of people.

So Erwin is someone who was very important to Levi, on a personal level. He helped Levi to believe that lives didn't have to end in vain, that there could be purpose given to lives lost. Again, it's not that Erwin meant more to Levi than his other comrades, or that his life was worth more to Levi than theirs. It wasn't. But Erwin gave Levi an ability to hope that I think Levi maybe didn't have before. He showed him a way to use his strength to help more people, which Levi had always wanted to do, and a way to cope with the grief of losing those he couldn't save. Erwin, in many ways, was like a guiding light for Levi.

So that's why Isayama talks so much about Erwin and Levi's relationship. It's got nothing to do with Erwin being more important to Levi than anyone else, or anything to do with Levi having romantic feelings for Erwin. It's because Erwin was a very influential person in Levi's life. He helped shape Levi's philosophy of having no regrets. He helped shape Levi's belief that, even when he couldn't save a person's life, he could still help them by giving that person's life and death meaning, doing them honor, by fighting in their name. I think that must have helped Levi immensely in dealing with his own grief and suffering at witnessing people dying. It helped him deal with the pain of not being able to save every person's life.

#Levi Ackerman #Erwin Smith #attack on titan #shingkei no kyojin

[cynicalone94]

Made To Watch

“Jay!”

He turns to see Trudy Platt walking toward him across the parking lot.

“What’s up, Sarge?”

“You did good with that kid earlier today.” she says, offering him a rare smile. “I don’t know that anyone else could have gotten her to open up.”

“She just needed someone who was willing to listen.” Jay says, frowning. “Anyone on the team could have done it.”

“No.” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s true.”

He freezes, going pale.

“It’s just a nosy old coot’s theory.” she says gently. “And you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I just wanted you to know that I’m here if you need to talk.”

He’s quiet and for a minute she thinks he’s going to shut her down entirely.

“Thanks Sarge.” he says quietly. “I uh… It’s not something I’ve ever talked about. Not sure I’d even know where to start.”

“The beginning is always a good place.” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “When you’re ready.”

“I appreciate that.” he says.

“Alright.” she says, chuckling. “Get out of here.”

“Right away.” he agrees, turning back toward his truck and reaching into his pocket for his keys.

A scream draws his attention toward the road. A man is dragging a young girl off the sidewalk and into a gray panel van.

“Hey!” he shouts, breaking into a sprint. “Let her go.”

He can hear Trudy running just behind him but he keeps his attention on the man. He’s stopped short of actually pulling the girl into the back of the van and Jay’s brain clocks that.

Shouldn’t he be trying to get away before they can reach him?

As he crosses the edge of the neighboring building and steps onto the sidewalk another man steps forward, pointing a gun directly at him.

“Drop your weapon, Detective.”

He slows to a stop.

“Let the girl go.” he orders.

“Put your weapon down or I’ll kill her.” the man orders. “Take some pot shots at you and the bitch too.”

“You too, crazy bitch.” the man with his arm around the little girl adds.

With half a glance back at Trudy, Jay clears his weapon and crouches down to place it on the ground. He can hear her doing the same.

“Get in the van.” the second man orders. “Both of you.”

Jay raises an eyebrow but one glance at the little girl, still shaking and crying, is enough for him to step forward, stepping up into the back of the van.

Once Trudy is sitting next to him, the first man releases the little girl and whirls on them. Before either of them can react, he fires twice, a tranquilizer dart piercing each of their necks.

Jay’s last thought as he loses consciousness is that this was planned and that they are in deep trouble.

He wakes up in a heap on the floor.

Looking around the dark room, he makes out Trudy sitting in a chair ten feet in front of him.

Her wrists are secured to the arms of the chair and duct tape is plastered over her mouth.

He continues scanning the room but aside from the fact that the shackles on his wrists are attached to a chain that trails up to the ceiling there isn’t anything else to see.

“No good deed goes unpunished huh?” he jokes.

Trudy just rolls her eyes.

The door behind her opens.

“You’re awake.” the man, no longer wearing a ski mask, says looking between the two of them.

He’s got light skin and dark hair, bright blue eyes fixing on Jay for only a moment before turning his attention to Trudy.

“I suppose you are wondering what this is about.” he says.

“Yeah.” Jay pipes up. “I’m certainly curious.”

The man whirls around and slams his booted foot into Jay’s stomach.

“Shut up, dumbass.” he snaps. “This is between me and Platt. You just got lucky being in the right place at the right time.”

Jay rolls his eyes but stays quiet. The man turns back to Trudy.

“You sent my son to prison.” he growls. “I’ve spent the last ten years watching him suffer all the indignities that come along with that. And then last week he was killed. Beaten to death by another inmate.”

Jay’s stomach flips.

“Look man-” he starts but all it gets him is another kick to the stomach.

Then the chain is retracting, dragging him up off the floor. It continues until only the tips of his toes are touching the floor.

Trudy twists her wrists against the ropes securing them, angry noises coming from behind the gag.

“Now you get to watch someone you care about suffering.” the man tells Trudy. “You look away, this only gets worse for him.”

Her continued protests are ignored as the man approaches Jay, sliding a set of brass knuckles onto his hands.

Jay holds his gaze right up until the moment that the fist slams into his stomach. The fists keep coming and he tries to curl forward even as the ropes keep him upright.

He can hear Trudy’s muffled screams and wishes he could find the breath to reassure her, to tell her that he’s okay, that he’s taken worse beatings than this.

But every blow forces the air from his lungs.

After dozens of strikes, some of them drifting up to impact his ribs, the man finally falls back.

He fights to lift his head from his chest, searching out Trudy’s face.

Tears are streaming down her cheeks and he forces a smile.

“‘M’okay.” he gasps. “‘S’okay.”

She shakes her head.

The man laughs coldly.

“Trying to comfort the bitch?” he says. “I really did pick the right guy to hurt, huh?”

He turns back to Trudy, leaning down to get in her face.

“It’s going to gut you when I kill him, isn’t it?” he tells her. “When you watch him die right in front of you.”

“Not yer fault.” Jay says. “‘s’an ass.”

The next punch rips a choked groan from his throat.

“Feel closer t’yer son that way.” Jay says. “In pris’n jus’ likim.”

“You little bastard.” the man snarls, landing the next punch square in the center of Jay’s face.

And then it’s lights out.

#whumptober 2023 #no.6 #made to watch #Chicago PD #fic #beating #Jay Halstead

[cocktailjjrs]

TR 263

I wake up to this. TR 263 spoilers.

Honestly at this point I don’t completely blame Mikey.

He grew up to be the way he is (minus the Dark Impulse, we still don’t know the story behind it or it isn’t explicitly stated what caused it) because no one ever told him otherwise.

No one ever comes into this world knowing the rules by which humans’ function. No one by birth knows how to speak any language or has a sense of good or bad. Babies learn it from their environment and what they are taught. Like if a baby is taught alphabets in wrong order, he won’t know that till he meets other kids or if he was taught the name of colours wrong, he won’t know that.

Similarly, a kid won’t know it’s “wrong” to beat up others for no reason till he is told so (or scolded for that)

I’m not saying one should be good or bad or right or wrong, because that’s subjective to each person respectively. Not everything in this world can be divided into while and black, there are many grey areas we are dealing here. But there are a few morals this world works by, like one person should not kill other or beat them to death for no reason.

Mama Sano loved her son, she even called him her angel, she adored him – so much that she let his some of his morally questionable activities slide.

The way I see it here, Mikey casually telling his mom that he beat up some kids and her response is not of shock or disappointment but a smile and a praise of how strong he is. He met his mom only once a week – he looked forward to those small interactions, she seemed to talk about his father most (Mikey seemed to be just as interested) and he had his father as an idol to look up to and a mom’s praises to gain, and he got those by being a delinquent.

He grew up learning it’s okay to beat up others – that makes him strong; he grew up thinking crying was for week – so he never expressed himself in front of others; he grew up hating whoever showed any kind of weakness and only loved strong guys. He grew up with a tunnel vision.

I think by this time Black Dragons were formed long back, Shin being ten years elder, meaning here he was 16-17 (or maybe even 18 – as Mikey was 7-8, I think). He saw his brother running around with his biker’s gang, getting into fights and all and thought it was cool.

No wounder his Moral compass isn’t actually aligned with most. (Yes, “Most” because it’s humans who decided what these morals should be, Nature did not)

I think here his mom telling him that “he was not strong because he didn’t cry” was actually a bit late of her, the damage had been done – a mindset had been created, it’s not easy to change one’s views of world so easily.

His face looks like someone told him what he was calling Up all this time was actually Down (does that makes sense?)

You know, when in fanfics there are the character losing their shit over the looming parenthood and that they are going to mess up bad with the whole thing. This one could come close to what they fear.

There are still many things we don’t know about Mikey. Like the origin of his Dark Impulse (we don’t even know when it actually started). He is a complex character, there are layers to him that we are going to find out in the upcoming chapters, for which I can’t wait.

P.S. I am still doubtful about the whole Sanzu scar thing. A manga panel is something that is drawn very carefully and to the last detail, Wakui not drawing blood on Mikey’s hands in his POV while his hands being completely covered in blood in Senju’s are contradictory; so, we still don’t have a complete picture of what actually went down that day. We will have to wait for Sanzu’s POV for that.

While this chapter answered a few questions, it also added another bunch of them. Next chap will be of founding members, we know most about it so i hope dont just get a callback chapter. It also makes me wounder what happens to Sanzu in such a short amount of time.

Coz here, we see he has started to idolize Mikey, whatever the story behind those scars, here we see him proud that Mikey was able to beat up high schoolers.

A week is a long time to wait to have answers to soooo many questions (half of which may even take months)

What did you thought of this chap?

Toodles!

#tokyo revengers #tokrev #tr spoilers #tokrev 263 #mikey sano #manjiro sano #manga spoilers #sanzu haruchiyo #tokyo revenger spoilers #mikey #shinichiro sano #toman #tr 263 #tr 263 spoilers

[fancyfade]

[image: a series of screencaps of various wonder woman (diana) panels. first shows a guy holding a purple gun and diana in front of him with her hands up. the guy is not aiming the gun at her, it is up to the sky. he says ‘Even if I die, the metahuman cause will gain strength from my blood!” Diana says “the only real strength comes from kindness and mercy! You know that, roger.” wonder woman is talking to dickie loder, a guy who has gloves on his hands that have guns. wonder woman points at her chest and says “yes, you can kill me. In fact, if you shoot me here, it will kill me instantly. But I think you are a better person than that.” Dickie says “are you wacko, lady? I’m a freakin’ crackhead! I just knocked over a hospital and shot a cop! I wake up in the morning an’ I’m so evil, the wickedness comes outta me like a stinkin’ fog!” Diana says “It’s true. You have done all that and more to hide your better nature... even from yourself. But you can still become the hero of your own life. You can control your life.” Dickie says “That’s trash talk. I ain’t no hero.” wonder woman reaches her hands out to the gauntlet/guns dick is wearing and says “If you stop now... put down your guns... you will save three lives, including your own. Isn’t that heroic? Do you hate your life so much you would not change it?” end image]

Some Diana moments.

I feel these are very good showcases of her character.

For the second one, I feel like the writer is trying to critique the way DC frequently writes characters who are addicted to drugs as inherently dangerous, but I don’t know if he’s succeeding. Like the guy was transformed by some evil wizard dude, it’s not like he decided to go straight into shooting people, but.... the way his character arc ends is not satisfying for me.

#fade reads dc comics #dc comics #diana of themyscira #wonder woman #ableism #possibly #guns cw #wonder woman 1986

[an-aura-about-you]

February 3rd, 2386

The Thread of the Idol

From the Files of the STP

In this, the final entry, we see Jon's initial vision when he took Frehorn's Blade:

Malcolm Somerset is so very sick.

Sick of being gawked at like an animal. Sick of being trapped in a small cell. Sick of being called the Mephistopheles Killer, sick to the teeth of being forced to carry the blame for so many deaths he didn’t cause and didn’t want. Sick with himself because even if he didn’t do it he is capable of it. Sick with reliving that one pivotal moment over and over again when he pushed his father down the stairs and heard the sickening crack of his skull and blood pooling on the floor, dead so his son could steal his name and escape to the stars.

But most of all, he is sick of the Caretaker.

He’s so goddamn calm about everything. Nothing matters to him except, apparently, making sure events happen as he saw them happen. He was the one who convinced him to kill his father, assured him he wouldn’t get caught.

(“You wouldn't have been caught had the Mephistopheles left that locker alone,” the Caretaker replies to that. Jon holds this information in the front of his mind.)

So here they are now, the cell where Malcolm will live the rest of his life, and the Caretaker just shows up without any sign of actually entering the room and talks about how this will be their last meeting.

Good. Because Malcolm is done with the Caretaker and his circular destiny talk

“I don’t care about you or any of your bullshit,” Malcolm tells him. “Just get me out of here and you’ll never hear from me again, I swear.”

“I very much doubt that,” the Caretaker says with the easy air of one examining their nails for dirt. “But rest assured, I am here to release you.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Just use the key and leave by the door.”

“What?” Why did he even fucking ask when he knew the answer was going to be something like that? Malcolm refrains from screaming and tries for speaking to a particularly dim child. He turns towards the door to his cell and says, “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but the lock is on the outside.”

“I’m not talking about THAT door,” the Caretaker replies.

“What are you talking about?!” he demands, whipping back around only to find the Caretaker has disappeared.

Of fucking course.

Malcolm settles in, wondering why he bothered to expect anything. If he’s being honest, nothing truly good has happened to him since he dropped out of college. Not sure why he expected that to change, especially when the one thing he tried to do for himself hinged on his crime not being discovered, a fragile assumption at best.

Then something happens that has never happened before: Malcolm receives a package in his door’s drop. He retrieves it and opens it up, and he doesn’t know what he sees.

(But Jon does.)

Malcolm stares at Frehorn’s Blade, turning it this way and that to examine the strange knife. Then he hears it, a dull pulsing in his ears. He moves back to the far wall of his cell, and he can feel it thrumming there. The wall panel is loose, and he pulls it away.

There is the door.

It is firm but still has a bit of give to the touch, unusually pale and very slightly mottled.

(“Like freckles,” Jon thinks.)

Malcolm finds what looks to be a keyhole, but it is only the shape and doesn’t actually have a hole. It’s there the pulse is at its strongest.

(Jon can feel the pulse under his fingertips.)

With no other option available to him, Malcolm plunges the knife in.

The door opens.

There is a staircase before him, and he begins his descent. The further he goes down, the clearer everything becomes. When looking at everything from the outside, there is no appreciable difference between the past and fate. You make a choice, and you write it down in action, and no matter how many times you look at it afterward it is what you were going to do. The past, the present, the future, they are all the same. You cannot divorce outcome from history any more than you can movement from dance. The step is decided and waiting for a dancer, and one always comes to take the place.

As Malcolm steps into his place, he understands everything. He guided himself the entire way. Everything was waiting for him to catch up, and now he has met destiny and the bliss of that understanding. Before he realized the truth of it, he was her slave. Now that he is free from Body and its constraints under the relentless passage of time, now that he is a being of pure Mind and Soul, he can be her lover.

He is meant to take care of things.

And he will.

#tma #chzo mythos #aura's fanfiction #on this day in aura's tma/chzo mythos fanfiction