#tw attempted eugenics

[acerdime]

BNHA x Encanto Crossover

Villain Madrigal Family. Quirkless Vigilante Mirabel.

The Encanto is a cult owned by All For One and led by Alma, used as a breeding ground for AFO’s test subjects and child soldiers.

Alma agreed to lead AFO’s cult, allow use of her kids as soldiers, and her citizens as test subjects in exchange for giving her kids the power to protect themselves and each other, ensuring none of her family would be killed like Pedro ever again.

Colombia has a very low Quirkless population, even less than Japan.

Eventually the Colombian decided Quirkless were “impeding evolution” and tried to kill them all.

Quirkless Pedro’s death activated his & Alma’s latent quirk factors to create the Encanto & Casita.

When 5 y/o Mirabel discovers Alma’s deal with AFO and her abuse of everyone in the Encanto, she runs away before her Gift Ceremony (AFO gives the Quirks) and spends the next 10 years traveling with Bruno to Japan to stop AFO.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #encanto #alma madrigal #pedro madrigal #julieta madrigal #pepa madrigal #all for one #mirabel madrigal #tw attempted genocide #cw attempted genocide #tw attempted eugenics #cw attempted eugenics #cw referenced human experimentation #tw referenced human experimentation #cw human trafficking #tw human trafficking #fic ideas #fic prompt #fic inspo #fic inspiration

[introspectivememories]

steve sometimes feels like his body is not his own.

like sometimes he looks down at his hands and thinks 'that's not right, they should be smaller ' with such absolutely certainty that it hurts like an ache when he realizes that his hands will never be that small again. he still buys the wrong size shirts more often than not, even after getting defrosted.

and it's not like he misses his old body — not dying every 3 weeks from an illness is so amazing. who knew breathing could feel so good? — but for all intents and purposes, it was still his body. the body he grew up with. with it's skin that bruised too easily and his wrists that looked like they would break if someone touched them a little too hard. it was that body that fought off rheumatic fever, that got through hundreds of asthma attacks, that held itself up through fights with half of brooklyn. it was his old body that got it's Last Rites 4 times. it was his old body he learned how to walk and run and live in. that made it to 21 despite all the doctors telling ma he'd be lucky to make it to 12. 

it was with his old hands he patched up becca and ruth. it was his old arms that sweet baby ‘liza loved being held in, much to the amusement of aunt winnie. it was with his old arms that he gestured wildly with when talking politics with uncle george. it was his old body that still held the impressions of ma hugging him.

it was his knobby knees and weak lungs that ran after bucky through brooklyn. it was his old body he learned how to love and hate. learned how to lift up even when the eugenicists slipped flyers under their door. it was with his old knuckles he learned how to make a punch count. it was with his old voice that he learned how to speak up, learned to make his voice heard.

these days people hear him without speaking. these days he doesn’t have to punch anyone, he can just loom and glare. they’ll run off easy enough. everything comes easy to this body. this body’s never had to work a day in it’s life. never felt the deliriousness of having a fever so high, you start seeing your da again. never felt the desperation of needing to breathe — never felt the relief, the joy, the elation, the rush of making it through another life-threatening illness.

god, all of this is so fucking stupid. who complains about not having to worry about making through the winter? who fucking complains when their body gets “fixed”? 

(steve carefully tries not to think about the word ‘fixed’. like there was something about him that needed to be remade. he is their personal frankenstein’s monster. taken apart and sewn back together, again and again and again, whenever the war effort needs more fuel. how long has it been since he was just stevie? just bucky’s babydoll? just ma’s stíofán? he’s so tired. he is captain america.)

but there’s no going back now. there’s no injection to undo the serum. he’s just gonna have to live with the fact that his shoulders will always feel too broad. there is nothing to change the fact that he had to relearn how to use a pencil again. that he’ll never tuck neatly under bucky’s chin again. that his stomach will never concave again. that his feet are three sizes up from what they used to be. he just gonna have to live with the sensation of his body being Wrong, Wrong, Wrong. 

(he feels a lot like that boy zia rosa in the downstairs apartment used to read to him about. the one they made a picture on — pinocchio. “look ma, bucky! i’m a real boy now!” except, he was real before wasn’t he? he was someone before serum. he’s a Someone now. he’ll never be himself again.)

when his plane crashes into the ice, steve knows that this is the end. that nobody will remember steven grant rogers. nobody will know bucky’s stevie — all 94 pounds of righteousness and trouble. nobody will remember ma’s stíofán — compassionate and sweet, forever trying to do the right thing. nobody will know about becca’s second big brother, ruth’s knight in shining armor, ‘liza’s favorite sleeping spot. when his plane crashes, that 5′4′’, 100-pounds-soaking-wet, kid from the slums of brooklyn will be forgotten. what a shame he thinks that kid was better than 10 captain america’s put together. 

(he sobs quietly in a darkened corner of the smithsonian when he realized he’ll never be steven grant rogers again. 70 years later and his body is still Wrong, Wrong, Wrong.) 

it would've been nice he thinks to be small without the illnesses. steve doesn’t look in mirrors anymore. 

(the day he realized he couldn't tuck himself into the crook of bucky's neck like he used to without contorting his body, he has to excuse himself into woods. he spends the next 30 minutes, hidden behind the widest tree he can find (his shoulders still stuck out slightly), trying desperately to ignore the ache in his chest. trying his best to ignore the absolute sense of certainty that he’s in the wrong body. 

bucky finds him out there 20 minutes later, staring blankly into the distance. carefully, bucky leads him back to their tent, lays him down gently, and goes about making him Better. bucky always made things better. but then bucky’s gone, brain splattered across the swiss alps and steve is horrifyingly numb. what was the point of a brand new body, of being made into a Real Boy, if he couldn’t save the only person who saw him? if he couldn’t save the one he loved (loves.)?

it had always been him and bucky and if bucky’s not here, well- then steve’s not gonna be here either. 3 days later, his plane’s crashing into the artic and his eyes are slipping shut and it’s bliss. for a moment, at least.)

#god christ what is this #anyway this all came out of the fact that i hate it when people talk like the serum 'fixed' his body #and like don't get me wrong having an actual immune system is probably the best thing that ever came to steve but whenever people talk abou #'fixing' in relation to disabled bodies it always sounds too much like eugenics me. 'those people would be fine if they were fixed.' #/ 'they're not right.' it sounds terrible! and i hate it #so here's like x amt of words about steve struggling with his body #steven grant rogers #steve rogers #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #stevebucky #i wil tag some tw and then if i miss anything yall can just tell me? #tw eugenics #tw body dysmorphia #tw implied suicide attempt #otp: till the end of the line #my writings 📖 #comic.rambles #captain america #irish captain america #is this body dysmorphia?

[cartoonscientist]

call me a hippie dippie bleeding heart socialist but I think if we’re willing to try assisted suicide to deal with mental illness without trying just giving people money so they don’t have to work first, I think that’s kind of evil. but that’s just me.

#cw ableism #cw eugenics #i approve of legal assisted suicide but like for people who are actually beyond help #i don’t believe that something as plastic as the human brain can be impervious to even the most drastic attempts at changing it #have psychedelic therapies been tried? ECT? literally anything but death? #i don’t know because no one linked any sources #i realize it may sounds heartless to suggest something like electroshock before euthanasia but like #when i was so mentally ill that i would gladly consider assisted suicide i would have consented to having my brain fucked up in any way #if it meant it might reboot back to something close to normal #or even just dull my pain #tw suicide #cw euthanasia

[bellewintersroe]

Max Verstappen x HornerDaughter! part 11! Here’s the LINK for part 10. Tw: some mentions of death threats? Leni gets a little anxious so talks of anxiety and worry. Talks of a sexual nature. Max and Leni find themselves in a little awkward conversation, after a few too many drinks Max finds himself moping around when his feelings don’t seem to be mutual. It’s fair to say the next morning he’s embarrassed. Still, things move on and soon Mexico is looming, Max gets protective especially when death threats are for some reason sent in innocent Leni’s direction, and the two grow closer than ever. Taglist: @ironmaiden1313 @callsignwidow @fangirl125reader @norassimpingzone @roseseraj @eugene-emt-roe @copper-boom @its-elias-world @cassiopeiia24@larastark3107 @maxxiemoo @crashingwavesofeuphoria @18754389

“Hey, careful.” I breathlessly laughed, reaching out and holding Max’s upper arm, supporting his stance. It wasn’t like he was taller or bigger than me or anything…

“I’m good- sorry!” Max’s semi-sober mind shone through, before he started snickering with drunken laughter. “Cant have you breaking an arm before Mexico.” I smiled, scanning over his slightly messy hair. He’d ruffled it and attempted to tidy it over and over again in the ride back to the hotel.

“No. That wouldn’t be good.” He smiled back to me, eyes glimmering as he watched down in my direction. He was somehow walking and staring at me simultaneously. “You know, you look really pretty tonight.” Max’s arm relaxed and soon I was just holding onto his bicep gently.

“Thank you.” My face immediately warmed. I felt my smile grow and my heart literally fluttered like somebody had just electrocuted me. “But you can’t walk and stare at me at the same time, you should watch where you’re going.” I playfully knocked his face back in the direction down the hall. He was still smiling, laughing to himself.

“Sorry, Leni, I probably shouldn’t have drunk this much… probably.” He muttered to himself, clearly trying to buck up his ideas. “For a change you’re more drunk than I am.” My hand softly slipped off his arm. I saw his brows falter slightly and he reached down, taking a hold of my hand.

My voice hitched as I went to protest, but soon he was looking at me with the same softened eyes I’d stared back to that night we spent on the yacht for his birthday. “Maybe I’m gonna come on too strong-”

“No, don’t say that…” I awkwardly shrugged, stepping outside my hotel room door. “I just…” he paused, looking back down to me again. “I just really like you, Leni.” He hiccuped once again and my heart simultaneously jumped and broke, realizing how truly wasted he just was.

“You’re drunk, Max.” My voice softened, gaze fluttering to the ground. I was afraid if I stared back to him I’d lose myself. “Im truthful.” He slurred as I sighed turning up to him.

“Maybe you don’t feel the same, or-or you’re scared-”

“Max. Let’s not.” An uncomfortable awkwardness rattled through me. He couldn’t mean all of this seeing how wasted he was. I’d been told by men before in this exact situation how they felt about me and it meant nothing. “Sorry.” He quickly spoke as I pulled my key card out. “Sorry.” Max repeated. I reached out and unlocked my door. “Trust me, Max. I do feel the same.” I shyly muttered, facing the door as I pushed on it. Max remained silent. “I just can’t, yet.” He let out out a drunken laugh, one that was overwhelmingly sad. I turned back to him, door wide open so I stepped forwards and eloped him within a hug. “Don’t look so sad, you’re literally a world champion.” I teased, lightly slapping his cheek. Max’s smile emerged again, hands moving up to my waist. “I want you, Leni.” He whispered. I didn’t quite know how to take that comment, I felt weak in the knee’s, an immediate warmth spread through my core and I couldn’t stop staring back into his eyes.

My hand softened on his neck as I grazed over the very bottom of his scalp. I want you too, but not like this. “Please, Max. Not when you’re so drunk. It’s just too soon.” Max and I separated slightly.

“Okay.” He nodded, not overstepping a boundary. “Okay.” He repeated. “Are you okay getting back to your room?”

“It’s only down the hall.” He awkwardly shrugged. Despite seemingly to understand where I was coming from, he still had a semi-sour expression plastered across his face. It would be one that would torment me day and night.

“Okay… night Max.”

“Night…” awkward…

___________________________________________ Friday 28th October 2023.

“All im saying Leni, is that you’ll just be safer in the garage, with us and security.” My dad explained. I huffed in frustration, pushing my glasses off my face. It wasn’t like I was trying to do my work or anything and my dad kept pestering me. “Yeah, but, dad, I don’t get it. Nobody’s bothered about me, I don’t think they even know who I am.” I harshly reached for my glasses, shoving them back on my face. “I’d beg to differ.” He scoffed as I rolled my eyes.

“Look, don’t be rolling your eyes, Leni. At the end of the day it’s for your own safety.” “Nobody’s gonna go out and behead me in the paddock.” I dramatically spoke. “Well you haven’t seen what people have been saying.” He muttered in a low tone. I pursed my lips and pushed my laptop screen back slightly.

“I stay in the garage anyway.” “No you don’t.”

“Okay, I don’t. But I’m safe.” I defended as my dad sighed. “Look, for the safety of you and everybody just stay in the bloody garage this race. I can’t risk anything.” “Alright I will. I was going to anyway.” My eyes widened. My dad muttered something before walking back to what he was focused on before. Basically there’d been a whole load of threats towards Max and Red Bull in Mexico, I wasn’t too sure what for or what over, but security had increased. I hadn’t been very present on that side of social media, so as far as I knew my dad was just being overdramatic. I got back to my work and focused for the rest of the evening, occupied on finishing everything up before the weekend ahead. It wasn’t until I had downtime in the evening that I decided to have a browse of exactly what these threats were. My accounts were all on private so I headed to my message requests. Half of them were spam or just random people messaging me about my dad, or Red Bull, but I did see one particular creepy message about Mexico. A shudder ran down my spine reading how the man said he was going to do horrific things to me. I knew not to take it seriously, but I shouldn’t have doubted my dad so much, let alone argue with him, especially when there was a chain of frightening messages. I wasn’t quite sure what I’d done, or why they knew me? I suppose it was just fear mongering amongst Red Bull and to Max. I didn’t want to spook my father any further, so I hovered over Max’s contact. We hadn’t text in a while, I didn’t know if it would be weird, especially after the other night, to text him. But truthfully I was scared, especially alone in a hotel room.

I screenshotted the imagine and sent it to him, punching out my message frantically quick. Seconds later, Max had responded. Leni: I’m scared wtf?!!!

Max: Leni that’s disgusting, have you told your dad? Leni: I’ll show him tomorrow fml Max: are you ok???

Leni: Im good, just freaked now I’m alone in the hotel room

Max: don’t worry you are safe in here, there’s more security than usual.

Part of me wanted to go be with Max that night. No matter how hard I attempted to deny that I didn’t want anything yet, I did. I couldn’t deny that for much longer. So when he responded I found myself tapping my phone, shuddering at the idea of being alone all evening in this room. Leni: yeah it’ll be fine

Max: I’m sorry they are messaging you too

Leni: don’t be sorry?? It’s not your fault at all, Max

Max: is there anything I can do though? Leni: bring me a night light fml Max: hahahahah not allowed to leave my room sorry Max: you can come to my room however if you are actually that scared

One thing led to another and I was creeping past security with my head held low. They didn’t bat an eyelid. Max must have told them I was coming, I just hoped to god it wouldn’t get spread back to my dad and Geri that I was sneaking into Max’s room at 9pm. But it wasn’t like that, not at all.

“Are you okay?” Max was quick to greet me inside, thanking the security before locking the door behind us. His room was fucking huge, he had the most amazing view and a TV the size of a cinema screen. His bed was king sized (of course) and the sheets were only slightly ruffled from where he’d been sat. Max was in his underwear and had thrown on a hoody. I hoped I hadn’t awoken him.

“I’m ok. I didn’t wake you did I?”

“No, of course not. Come sit down.” He switched the main light off, the TV illuminating the room. I followed, taking the side of the bed that was furthest away from the door and kicking my crocs off to one side neatly. “Are those crocs?!” Max crawled over, leaning over the side of the bed.

“Yeah.” I giggled, gaze lingering over him. “Jesus, Leni. I thought you were better than that.”

“Uh- I love crocs. They’re actually so comfy.” I hugged my knees upwards slightly, Max smirked towards me before resting back onto the pillows to my right. He kept a comfortable distance, one that I wanted to break. “Are you sure you’re okay, though? Those messages were weird.” He double checked. “Yeah… it was just weird. I don’t know how they know who I am.”

“They are just a set of pricks.” He huffed, shaking his head back to the TV. He’d been watching ‘We’re the Millers’ and had it paused until I came in. “I don’t think they’ll do anything though, Leni. But just in case you should be careful.” He nodded towards me, playing the movie.

“Sorry, dad.” I teased as he looked towards me in surprise. “It’s true, no?”

“Yeah, it is.” I glanced down to my Nike socks, I’d purposefully put them on to look cool in front of Max. It was kinda pathetic. “But you can stay here, all night- I mean if you want to, I’m okay with it.” He shrugged honestly.

“I don’t want you to be scared.” He added back on as I smiled softly towards him. “At least I have somebody to watch this with.” He gave me a double glance, nodding towards the tv as I laughed gently. “Suppose so.” A moment of silence took over us as we watched the movie. “I will seriously head-butt someone, though.” “What?”

“If they do anything to you- ah not that they will, but I would.” I laughed slightly, but the protective comment was actually really cute- in a strange kinda way.

“Thanks, Max.” I glanced back down to the sheets I was yet to slip under. “I am a little worried though, I didn’t take my dad seriously.” The message included graphic details of what they wanted to do to me because I was a girl and where they’d find me (not that they could do that but still). I shuddered at the thought. “Don’t be worried, you’ll be ok with us.” Max nodded resting back against the pillows. The aircon nipped at my skin slightly, Max must’ve noticed the goosebumps on my skin and tugged at the blanket slightly. “Thanks.” I smiled back, allowing him to semi help me under.

“Sorry, I can turn it down.” He reached up for the remote, “honestly it’s fine, it’s warmer under here.” I tugged the bedding up to my neck. I could smell Max’s cologne, it dizzied me with emotion.

“Comfy bed.” He commented, still switching the air-con down to a more natural temperature. I still shuddered slightly and brought my hands forwards. “Feel how cold they are.” In the process I touched his bare thigh, Max squirmed and called out in shock. “Leni! What the fuck- how are you so cold?” He scrambled, grabbing my hands in his larger ones. I laid on my side facing him whilst he shuffled down slightly. “Because your room is Antarctica.” I pointed out.

“C’mere.” He offered his arm out and I shuffled forwards, moving over onto his chest with a comfy arm over his front. This felt nice. Like real good, he was all snug and when his hand casually rested on my arm, rubbing up and down I thought I’d burst from excitement. Cuddling wouldn’t lead to anything, right? I could still not overstep a boundary but enjoy myself. I hummed, squeezing him slightly. “You’re all warm.”

“Yeah, you’re fucking freezing.” He tensed when my hand touched the skin that had been exposed from his top lifting. I purposefully put my hand there, hearing him groan as he tensed, reaching down there to shift my hand again. The noise he made did things to me. It was more like a moan than anything, the thought of Max like that making those noises was something I hadn’t dwelled on a whole not- until now. “Mmm, let me get warm!” I teased hearing him laugh and slowly take my hand, pinning it over the other side of my head. Woah. I gasped out a laugh, my stomach fluttering and there was that familiar warming between my legs. Fuck- I was horny, for Max. How embarrassing. My face blushed as I scanned back to his eyes, not knowing if he was thinking what I was thinking.

“Max.” I pouted, but he’d already glanced my face up and down, shifting his body so he was on his knees besides me. His hair fell messy and down over his face and he looked really good. All sensation of being cold left me and suddenly I felt like I was sweating in my hoody.

“Sorry.” He blinked, hand sliding off my wrist gently. My brows furrowed in a slight disappointment and I sat up once again, eyeing over him. All sense had left my body, I wanted his attention, I wanted Max. What about waiting? Fuck waiting- okay maybe I was being brash.

“It’s fine.” I smiled gently, pulling off the hoody and placing it gently on the floor. “We had something good going on then, you ruined it.” He was still teasing, I was glad.

“I wouldn’t say it was good.” I fired back, resting back under the covers. Max then glanced to me, deciding to pull on the own material of his shirt before sinking deeper into the bed. He was almost completely naked. Fuck.

“Fine.” He nodded confidently, meeting my gaze for a moment before his eyes landed back on the TV. Throughout the movie we’d moved closer, with a small nudge of my foot on his leg, Max was offering his arm out again and pulling me into yet another cuddle. I felt like a dog in heat, and when his hand mindlessly slipped onto my lower thigh that was gently resting over his legs I wanted to moan out loud.

I decided to push it further, knowing his hand was where it was, fingers deliciously squeezing into my skin every now and then, I shifted my hand a little lower down his chest, to his stomach. Max swallowed, I could see by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, but I simply pretended to laugh at the TV. Inside, I was trying to retrace the feeling of his lips on mine, his hand on my skin, even higher up than it was now.

When the movie was over we’d made no significant moves so I let out a small moan of dissatisfaction and rolled back, my hand was cold again, so I purposefully placed it over his lower abdomen just for some attention. It worked. Max hissed, fighting for my hand and grabbing it between his larger one. “If you keep doing that-”

“Sorry, sorry.” I sheepishly spoke, stretching slightly from how uncomfortable this vest stop was. His eyes fell to my chest, my nipples were peaked in the cool air and you could clearly see the outline of them through the white material.

“What will you do if I keep doing it?” My laugh fell short, “make you sleep on the floor.” Max still held my hand up, but when I relaxed it it flopped down besides me, still squeezed by his.

“That’s mean.” My eyes fell to where the covers had pulled down, revealing his naked torso. “Well, if you can’t control yourself..”

“I can control myself!” Truthfully I couldn’t, right now I wanted to do every sinful act to Max under the sun.

“Sure.” He smirked, gaze effortlessly gliding over me. “Mh.” I made a pathetic attempt to fight from his grasp, my hips raising slightly as I did. Max didn’t fail to notice this. At the same time he moved his hand, moving them to my shorts and tugging at them slightly.

“Are you not uncomfortable?” He flicked at them again, the tight material pinging back down to my skin. “Mhm.” Suddenly I felt all shy, nodding as my hand slid to where his was, adjusting the material slightly. “Take them off then.” He spoke in a hushed tone. My breath hitched and my thumbs pushed under the material, inching them off my legs to reveal my matching white thong I’d paired with my vest top on purpose. I had to be prepared, okay?! I lifted my knees up, shyly bringing them together as Max’s jaw tensed. “You can borrow some shorts if you want.” He tore his eyes away, staring back to me from above me. “No, it’s okay.” I whispered as he inhaled sharply, tearing his eyes away.

“You’re doing things to me, Leni.” He openly spoke. I blinked back up to him, pushing myself up once again. “What- what do you mean?” I stammered. Max turned back to me after a moment with an exasperated look. His cheeks were pink and his jaw was tightened. He looked frustrated, exceptionally sexy.

“Because you say you want to wait and then this happens I- you’re driving me insane.”

“Well… we don't have to wait just for tonight…”

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fanfiction #Max Verstappen x OC #Max Verstappen #F1 x OC

[annwrites]

you send me

— pairing: negan smith x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: negan comes to see his "favorite" girl in alexandria, only to find out she's incredibly sick and that denise has absolutely nothing to help her as she slowly slips away

— tags: negan pining, negan worrying, negan trying to annoy you bc like a little boy he can't just admit he has feelings for you, there is a flashback of the two of you dancing bc i'm a sap

— tw: rocky mountain spotted fever is mentioned, vomiting, medication being forcefully administered

— word count: 2,602

— a/n: in my canon, denise never dies | my twd masterlist | sam cooke song that's mentioned

The house is silent, as usual, when Negan comes through the front door. "Where is my favorite girl?" He asks with a chuckle, but the words float into thin air, no response coming back to greet him.

The only reason he even bothers coming to your domain anymore is simply to annoy you. Maybe get under your skin by making the offer for you to join his harem of wives...again.

In hopes of pissing you off a few weeks ago, he'd taken a batch of cookies you'd just boxed up fresh from the oven with a wink, saying it was 'property of the saviors now' and 'hope they taste just as sweet as you are'. He'd even rummaged through your fridge, stealing a Tupperware container of leftover pasta, before whistling to himself as he walked out the door, not bothering to close it behind him, Lucille slung over his shoulder.

You'd been none-too-pleased the afternoon you came home to find him napping on your couch. You knew the saviors were once again 'visiting', but hadn't been aware that Negan had come with them.

He'd been rudely awaken by you vacuuming the rug directly in front of him.

Not that he hadn't then made some comment about 'going upstairs and getting cuddly under the covers'. You'd yelled that you couldn't hear him before deciding you wanted to try the vacuum against your hardwood floors next.

He never bothered taking anything of true use to you anymore, though. For one, it was due to the fact that his men had all but wiped out the whole of Alexandria the first time they'd come. But the most significant reason? The real one? The first time he'd met you, you'd been the only person to call him out on his bullshit straight-away. And with no fear, at that. Well, none that you clearly showed to him, at least.

He'd entered your neat and tidy little home, you emerging from the hall, doing your utmost to hide just how afraid you were as he looked you over for a moment.

"S'cuse me, doll, but," he leaned in toward you, despite being halfway across the room. "Your husband home?"

You crossed your arms over your chest out of a desperate attempt to hide your shaking hands. "I don't have one."

His brows raised then. He set himself on a barstool, setting Lucille atop your recently-cleaned countertop. "Really?" He asked with interest.

You hadn't replied. You'd simply opted for standing there instead, and staring. Afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"Not much for talking, huh? I like that in a woman," he said with a brilliant smile.

You briefly thought that perhaps he was just a male chauvinist. But that didn't seem...quite right to you. No. This behavior—it wasn't real. It was a defense. Just a façade. Right?

You walked over to the sink, starting on the dishes you'd left soaking overnight. You had a dishwasher, but pods for them were rationed. And, while Eugene had even taken a shot at it, he hadn't quite perfected the formula for them to not create kitchens full of suds just yet.

Negan watched you, taken aback by your lack of attention toward him. "Well, guess I'll just take myself on a trip upstairs and start lookin' through your-"

"Are you always like this?' You asked quietly, scrubbing a pan.

"Pardon me?" He asked, pretending to be curious as to what you meant.

"It's an act, right? Just a persona you've created to make yourself seem like someone other men might want to follow. To make yourself feel powerful."

A muscle in his jaw feathered. "Maybe this is just my natural form, darlin'."

You'd set the pan aside to dry on your dishrack, then you glanced at him over your shoulder. "I hardly believe you were...whoever this is before."

You felt tempted to start making guesses as to what, exactly, he did before the outbreak, but knew that was not a good idea.

"Think you know me?" He'd asked, voice a tad more serious.

The pot in your grip nearly slipped from it. Afraid of him hearing your voice shake, you'd instead merely shrugged.

He got down from the barstool, sliding Lucille off of the counter—you knew he'd just covered it in scratches—before coming to stand beside you. So close you could feel his body heat.

"Go ahead, take a guess. Try and read me."

You look up at him and he's looking down at you with an amused smirk.

Your next question catches him completely off-guard. "What happened to you?" You'd asked it barely above a whisper, brows furrowed.

His features shifted, his smile disappeared at the look of pity in your eyes when you gazed up at him. He leaned in close and it took everything in you not to step back and away from him. "You're on thin fuckin' ice, girl."

The two of you had stayed like that for awhile, him staring you down—you could swear he'd glanced at your lips, but it'd happened so quickly that you weren't sure—you doing your utmost to understand what the hell was wrong with him, until he'd finally turned his back to you, slamming your front door behind himself.

You felt lucky the small glass windows on it hadn't shattered from the force.

As Negan heads down the hall, he hears voices drifting down from upstairs. He tells himself that, if it turns out you're busy hosting male company, he won't care. But his hand still tightens around Lucille's grip, images of beating someone's face to a bloody pulp in his mind.

Heavy boots thump against the stairs, until he's reached the top step and sees Denise and Rosita standing on either side of the doorway to your bedroom. He nearly makes an inappropriate joke, until Tara leaves, walking past without even acknowledging him, as she wipes a tear from her cheek, going downstairs.

A heavy feeling settles into the pit of his stomach.

As he gets closer, Rosita blocks the doorway. She may be half his size, but she won't just let him in. Won't let him near you. Not while you're barely hanging on as it is.

"Get. Out." She spits at him.

He merely pushes her out of the way, not turning back as she shouts "Hey!".

Everything moves in slow-motion as he takes you in. Your emaciated form, the pallor of your skin which is covered in a rash, the sheen of sweat on your face, the shallow breaths escaping your lips, the rapid rise-and-fall of your chest, and your eyes as they keep opening and closing every few moments, your pupils seemingly dilated.

Denise walks over, checking your pulse, then glancing to the doorway—to Rosita—shaking her head.

"What's wrong with her?" Negan's voice—his tone as serious as anyone in Alexandria has ever heard it— breaks the silence.

"She's sick, pendejo," Rosita replies with vehmence.

He lets the insults slide. He has more pressing matters at-hand.

He shouldn't have waited so damn long to come visit you again.

Why had he waited so long?

He sits on the edge of your bed, gently, as if he's afraid any sudden movement may harm you. He looks at Denise, waiting for an answer.

"She went on a run a few days ago. She said she just...wanted to get outside...for whatever reason. Didn't seem like herself. And not long after coming back...she developed a rash, a fever, headache-"

She's interrupted by you doubling over the side of the bed and Negan quickly picks up the empty trash can you're aiming for, but all you manage to do is dry-heave.

Denise continues, arms crossed. "Vomiting—but because she can't keep anything down now, she refuses to eat. Hasn't done so in two days"

He sets the trash can back on the floor, smoothing hair away from where it's now stuck to your damp forehead.

"She has Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. She must've gotten bit by a tick. Something so small..." She trails off. "She doesn't have long left without medication."

Daryl, Rick, Michonne, Rosita, Abe, along with a few others, had torn apart what local pharmacies they could find, but the drug was scarce—nowhere to be found.

Negan turns back toward her. "What does she need?" He asks, tone harsh.

"Doxycycline. We used to keep it in-stock here."

"Why the hell don't you anymore?"

Rosita replies with a sneer. "Because your people took all of it!" She shouts, unable to hide her contempt for the man.

A pained look flashes across his features. He then turns back to you.

This was his fault.

If you died...your blood would be on his hands.

He won't let that happen.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, not caring if they see. As he pulls away, he sees that your eyes are now closed. "Just get some rest, sweetheart. I'll be back soon."

As he exits your room, he grabs Denise by the elbow. "Tell me what you need and I'll make sure you get it." He looks at her. "No strings attached."

Not that you'd ever know, but as you slowly recovered, Negan had been on a damn tear at the Sanctuary. Once he'd had the medication you so desperately needed delivered to Denise—along with anything else she asked after for you—he demanded to know, from his men, why they had taken so damn much, leaving you all with nothing to help yourselves with.

They'd told him it's what he had wanted—what he'd ordered. He really just wanted someone else to blame for you nearly losing your life over needing a damn antibiotic.

He'd gotten a lot of use out of Lucille against some walkers near the back fences for a couple of days.

He had delivered the medication himself, and watched as she began to administer treatment to you, even if you fought her at first, thinking she was trying to feed you again.

He'd had to—reluctantly—help hold you down as she practically forced the pills down your throat.

You'd stared at him wide-eyed and terrified, no sense of recognition in your gaze as you looked up at him. Something about that—you having no idea who he was—broke something small inside of him.

He'd merely muttered that he was trying to help. That you'd get better soon and this would all make sense. That it would all be okay soon.

He hadn't left until you'd fallen asleep once it was dark. Had nearly told Rosita to shove it when she'd come to check on you and saw him there at your bedside, watching over you.

After that night, Negan had to be away for a few days, tending to business elsewhere, even if he'd been chomping at the bit to get back to you.

When he finally came through Alexandria's gate, however, he'd pulled up right outside of your house, practically bounding up the steps to get up to your bedroom.

And when he did, his knees nearly gave out from the sense of utter relief that washed over him.

You were sitting up in bed, eating—a tray in your lap with vegetable soup and crackers on it, a glass full of juice next to it—your free hand holding a novel open as you read.

A natural flush now graced your cheeks, your rash all but gone, and you looked well-rested.

You set your book down, looking at him leaning in the doorway, a small smirk on his lips.

"See you're all better."

"I hear I have you to thank for it."

He'd merely shrugged, pulling the chair that'd been returned to its rightful spot across the room in front of your desk, around to the side of the bed once more.

He rested an ankle over a knee. "Just a bottle of pills."

"And food, water, juice, and anti-nausea-"

"Going to list off your whole damn inventory here?"

"All of that came from yours," you replied, taking a sip of your soup, licking your lips.

He tells himself seeing you do that does nothing for him.

He doesn't reply to that statement. Merely looks at the window across the room, then back to you. "Just glad you're recovering."

"Are you?" You take another sip.

His brows furrow. "Why would you ever think otherwise?"

You shrug. "You like to pretend you don't care about anything—not individuals, at least—so-"

"Maybe you're the exception," he states, completely serious.

You'd only ever seen him so deadpan one other time.

He'd come over late, the sun just beginning to set.

You'd been sitting at your dining room table, pushing food around your plate, lost inside your head. You hadn't even noticed he was inside your house until he sat down across from you. "Not gonna make me a plate?" He asked, leaning back.

You hadn't even looked at him.

Instead, your features had darkened, and you'd retreated further inside yourself.

He'd known by the look in your eyes that something was deeply wrong.

He'd leaned toward you then, forearms resting upon the table. "Talk to me, Y/N. What happened?"

"Go away," you'd said quietly, but firmly.

Leaving you alone like that was the last thing he intended to do.

"And leave you to brood all on your lonesome? Not likely."

A tear slipped from your eye and you'd quickly wiped it away in irritation. "I don't want you here."

His lip had twitched. "Join the club."

The both of you had been quiet for a moment until he'd spoken again. "Listen, I don't know if it's something that happened today, or a long time ago, but I'll listen if you-"

You'd picked up your plate then, stood—your chair scraping against the floor—before smashing it on the ground.

You sat back down, slumping forward, elbows resting on the tabletop, burying your face in your hands as you began to cry.

He'd stood after a moment, walking over to the record player in your living room, browsing your selection of music until he settled on a particular song.

He'd walked back over, shrugging off his leather jacket before holding out his hand toward you. "Dance with me."

You'd quieted, looking up at him, giving him a look like he was insane. "What?"

"Give me your hand."

Instead of waiting for an answer, he'd reached down, sliding his palm against yours, pulling you up from your seat.

Just as he'd gotten you halfway to the living room, you'd pulled your hand free from his.

He'd turned back to you, but you'd merely began beating your fists against his chest. And he let you. Let you push him, slap and punch. He could take it. Wanted to if it made you feel better—by any extent.

Until, finally, you'd calmed enough that he pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you swayed back and forth.

You'd cried against his chest, small sobs wracking through your body as Sam Cooke sang about wanting to marry and take someone home.

Finally, you reply to Negan's comment about you being an exception to him.

"I bet you tell that to all your girls."

"No. Because none of them are."

The two of you sit in silence as you finish eating, him taking your tray as you lie back down to rest.

You swear you hear him say something quietly about missing you as he stands in the doorway—about to head back downstairs—but you don't catch it as you fall off to sleep.

#fic: twd (negan smith x reader) #negan x reader #negan x you #negan x y/n #twd x y/n #twd x you #twd x reader

[joleneghoul]

Booster Gold vs Disability

AKA, how Disability is an integral part of Booster Gold’s character

Foreword: This is a LONG personal essay and will use mostly casual language.

 This will be an analysis of the character Booster Gold from the perspective of a physically and mentally disabled reader— thus will include a lot of my opinions. I will consider only canonical moments for this essay, no elseworld or alternate universe comics will be included in this specific analysis. Every image used in the essay is described.

TW: Topics of ableism, classism, addiction, death, eugenics, and violence will be mentioned.

 Thank you for reading.

THE FUTURE, A closer look at 25th Century ideals.

    The topic of disabilities has been ingrained within the story of Booster Gold since his first solo series ‘Booster Gold volume. 1 1986’. This not only is the base point of where his character jumps off from and thus is important to any conversation to be had about this character’s past and future— but also contains the context of the 25th century society views on disability and is crucial to talking about how he would view himself. Specifically within Booster gold Volume 1 we will be looking at the “Back To The Future” arc, aka issues #13-#15. 

    Booster Gold Vol. 1 Issue 13 starts with Dirk Davis, Booster’s manager, telling Jack Soo and Trixie Collins (fellow members of Booster’s team) that Booster is dying and there is nothing they can do about it. Even doctors seem to be “bamboozled” about the origin of his illness but it’s clear it is fast acting and terminal. In order to save Booster (and repair skeets, who was broken in the previous issue) they devise a plan to travel to the future where a cure may be possible. Jack Soo calls Rip Hunter, who he knows from college, and for the first time in the series Booster actively travels back to his home, the 25th century. 

    This arc, besides being the first introduction of some notable characters to the future of Booster Gold (like Rip Hunter and Michelle Carter) gives us an insight to the society Booster grew up within. Specifically, I want to focus on how this society views illness and disability for this analysis. The first bit of information we get is a call to Booster's backstory, the fact his father had a gambling addiction that he inherited as a way to cope with poverty. 

    Illness becomes one of the main themes of this 3 issue arc. At the end of Issue 13, Booster, while dying of his own illness attempts to visit his mother but learns she passed away from an illness shortly after he left for the past. As we move into issue 14 Booster continues to blame himself for his mothers death— claiming it a result of his own greed. This shapes how Booster’s backstory evolves.

ANIMAL, the post nuclear future and eugenics. 

    As we return to Booster Gold Volume 1 issue 14 we are introduced to yet another aspect of the 25th century Booster grew up in. While Rip Hunter and Jack Soo are searching for information of their whereabouts they find out that centuries of information has been lost due to a nuclear fallout. We don’t learn much about this future but one thing we do learn is that eugenics apparently has a place in the post-nuclear government. Eugenics, in general, is known to often have resurgences after and during global catastrophes, war, or pandemics. 

    In this issue it’s revealed that the government hunts down “Genetic Mutations” using people they strictly refer to as “Animals”. While an ‘Animal’ is sent after Booster he tells us that ‘Animals’ themselves have mutations but are raised to be unthinking, ruthless, and loyal to whoever is in control of them. While Animal is a small piece of this story over all, we can use him to look into how the America Booster is from treats people with disabilities.

    Would I say that this character is a good representation of disabled people? Not at all, but it is clear to me what he is supposed to represent. I feel as though the way he is treated is more of a reflection of how a lot of people with mental disabilities/disorders were treated in the media at the time. Animal is shown to have either a limited vocabulary or to be partially non-verbal. When he speaks it is using grunts, made up words, or other sounds. He is large and brutish as well, all of these are tropes that were (and sometimes still are) prevalent in the writing of disabled characters.  

    Though does that mean those traits are always bad? No, of course not. I often find myself feeling the most sympathy for characters like Animal. But instances like this are more like looking at a skewed representation of symptoms me and others have than an actual mirror. It’s a matter of how it’s handled, and here I can’t help but feel torn. 

    We as the readers are meant to feel sympathy for Animal through the arc but it feels as though the narrative treats him more as a tool than a person— which very well may be the point because that’s how the world views him. Animal ends up saving everyone during Booster Gold issue #15, making sure that everyone is able to travel back to the past and escape the cops and his master. In this process Animal sacrifices himself, dying at the hands of his master. Thus he fulfills his purpose to the plot outside of being an actual character himself.

    Furthermore, throughout this arc Booster is terminally ill and is treated extremely poorly despite it. We meet Boderick, Animals “master” and federal agent. He is a cruel man who treats Booster (on account of him stealing a time machine, which is treason in the future) in an abusive/violent manner. A notable scene is when Trixie is begging for them to get Booster help and Boderick taunts Booster’s illness, shoving him out of his chair onto his already broken arm. 

    Within this arc Booster is cured of his illness before his trial and his arm is healed with future technology. Which proves furthermore that they are capable of healthcare but unwilling to provide it to individuals deemed “unworthy”.  

    This story is not the last time Booster will get sick or injured, and in fact it practically becomes a running theme with the character as we move forward. As this three part arc stands in the timeline of Booster Gold, it serves as coincidental foreshadowing of his future.

GAMBLING, Boosters backstory.

    Booster’s backstory gets retold again in both ‘Secret Origins #35’ and ‘Justice League Quarterly #10’. While this is not the first or the last time his backstory will be revisited, I find it one of the most notable. 

    Booster tells his best friend, Ted Kord (Blue Beetle II) and the rest of the JLI, that the main reason he started gambling on his own games was that his mother had a degenerative heart disease and needed to pay medical bills. Booster admits that he couldn’t stop and became addicted to everything gambling brought to him. Addiction itself is a topic that comics in general struggle to portray in a sympathetic light.

      Often people (including writers) will use Booster’s past gambling as a piece of evidence towards a narrative that Booster is a selfish or bad person— and while Booster does have flaws it is harmful to use his backstory to further an ableist ideology. Rather, I feel as though Booster’s addiction and family history is a truthful story of how poverty, disability, and illness can make things like gambling feel like less of a choice as time goes on. 

    A line that gets repeated throughout Booster’s backstories is some variation of “I couldn’t of hurt them more if I were a murderer.” in regards to Booster and his addiction. That quote itself is a reflection of how people view addicts, and in the real world it’s not much different.

    Genetic, environmental, and mental health factors are the main causes of addiction. We see Booster grew up under abuse, lived in poverty, and had a father who also struggled with the same addiction. As previously stated societal shame plays a huge role in Booster’s decision making and view of himself. 

    Continuing with Justice League Quarterly issue 10, within the story ‘Killing Time’, we are told about the Rubenicos. The Rubenicos are a group of sports gamblers who promised to win Booster big money to save his mother, thus kick-starting Booster’s problem with gambling. 

    Only, in this story Booster has a chance to kill Rubenico and insure that his past, in the future, never happens. ‘Killing Time’ while full of action becomes more of an internal struggle within Booster as we see him angry not just towards Rubenico but towards himself. 

    During the climax of the story Booster comes face to face with the chance of killing Rubenico, only Rubenico’s daughter is watching. Ted, stands in the room as Booster tells Rubenico that everything is his fault. But before Booster can kill the man he claims to blame the most, Ted speaks up revealing that the only person Booster blames more is himself. Booster leaves without killing Rubenico.

    Later as the story comes to a close we get one of the most impactful scenes regarding Booster’s view of himself. A conversation between two best friends where Ted and Booster discuss what had happened previously. Booster tells Ted that he had some nerve to step in like he did and Ted explains, maybe but he’s his friend. 

    We get a genuine scene where Ted explains that while Booster may have messed up in the past, he needs to look at who he is in the present instead. Booster balanced the scales the moment he decided to be a hero. Even if it was initially for selfish reasons, as time went on he grew and his perspective of heroism changed with him. 

    The heart to heart concludes with Ted talking about second chances. He tells Booster to stop punishing himself for his past in pursuit of forgiveness— because the only person who can forgive Booster and make himself feel better is himself. 

    This scene also is a reason that in the future Booster ends up viewing being a hero as his atonement for the mistakes in his past and we will see how that challenges him when the cost of being a superhero affects his health.

EXTREME JUSTICE, physical ability vs self worth. 

    When it comes to superhero comics and physical disability it is a real toss up of how things will be handled. These are worlds where magic, hyper-technology, and retcons are abundant. Despite being thrown through walls, beaten down, or even killed and brought back we hardly see the toll on a hero's body as time goes on. Though, sometimes there is an exception to that— and for a moment in the 90s Booster was a pretty good representation of what it’s like to struggle with a new disability and ptsd from a traumatic accident.

    During Judgement Day, an arc that takes place throughout multiple comics,the league takes on The Overmaster. Booster Gold who was a history major in his past proclaims that the league will win the battle and leads everyone into battle. In the process The Overmaster inflicts a critical wound, cutting Booster's arm off.  Later Booster dies on the operating table as the world's best doctors and his best friend, Ted, try to save his life.

    Only Booster doesn’t actually die. Instead due to all new life and all death being paused because of The Overmaster, Booster stays alive. We instantly see Booster struggle with his body, calling himself a “dead man walking” and proclaiming that because of this event everything he knows is out of the window— that he has nothing to go on for. Amidst this Ted manages to get Booster a prosthetic arm from STAR labs as he also builds him a new suit. By the end of this arc, even as the cycle of life is un-paused, Booster manages to survive because the suit Ted built him doubles as life-support— but this is just the start of this era in Booster’s life.  

    During the Extreme Justice series we get a more in depth look at how this traumatic event affected Booster. His life support suit and arm are revealed to be faulty and causing him chronic pain despite keeping him alive. Often Booster is seen hiding this chronic pain from others. There is even a scene where his life support suit stops working, nearly costing him his life in battle, and he begs Ted to not tell anyone. 

    Outside of the chronic pain there is also the mental health factor. It’s clear that Booster views his body as one of his most valuable assets. Booster in the past has viewed his ability to be a hero as his redemption for his mistakes. He has been a model throughout the years to make money alongside being a hero. Further back than that his physical ability to be a star football player is what helped make the money to keep his mother alive. For the first time, Booster is faced with his body having a drastic and detrimental physical change resulting in body dysphoria.

    Constantly through this series Booster talks down to himself. He refers to himself as a “clock-work man” who is breaking down and considers himself a burden to all of his friends. Booster begins to internalize any jokes or snide comments from his friends that in the past wouldn’t have bothered him. As his anger and frustration with his situation builds, more of a strain is put on his relationships, especially with Ted. 

    Ted obviously doesn’t view Booster in a negative light because of his disability. He cares enough about him to have built him his suit and encourages Booster to come to him with any issues he may be having with it. There are multiple instances where Ted promises he will make things better for Booster as he adjusts to his new disability. While all Ted wants to do is help, Booster views this as once again being a burden to his friend.

      This internal struggle is not helped by the fact the main villain of this arc, Monarch, is introduced by healing a kid's physical disability. Making the kid magically able to walk again. An event that Booster is there to see and instantly begins to consider the possibility of Monarch healing him too.

    Booster grapples to find control in his life during this time. A common experience for many people who have a traumatic event happen to them. He ends up going as far to find his old manager, Dirk Davis, who had stolen all his funds in the past, and takes over his company by force. I personally see this as Booster also trying to prove some worth to both his friends and himself internally. 

    Unfortunately this leads Booster down the road of magically wishing his disability away with the help of Monarch. And that causes problems of its own but eventually everything is fine again. While this may seem to be a happy ending to abled people it actually is a very harmful trope. The idea that disabilities can just be wished away or that someone cannot be whole with a disability is a trope deprived from eugenics— not to mention in general is erasure. I find myself wondering anytime this trope is used, what message are the writers trying to send? 

    While it may make sense for Booster to struggle with internalized ableism towards his disability, and want to wish it away, when you consider the society he grew up within. The narrative going through with this only supports those ideals instead of challenges them.

   What purpose does this arc serve when it ends with Booster's possible growth towards learning he is worth more than his physical ability is cut short? This could have been the perfect opportunity for Booster to confront both the ideals he was raised around and his internalized ableism. 

    This is an arc that is important to me as a physically disabled person and IS important to Booster’s character, but the ending never will sit right with me. 

FISH OUT OF WATER, Booster Gold and Neurodivergence.

    When it comes to neurodivergent characters in comics, we typically don’t get a story outright putting a definition or label to a character. This is especially true when it comes to older comics. Instead Neurodivergence lies between the lines and the actions of a character or how they are coded. 

    There is a decent amount of evidence towards Booster being ND both within and outside of the comics throughout the years. In his introduction series he struggles to fit in. He has trouble understanding the society he finds himself in. Even after years of living in the present he still struggles with social cues, so it can’t be solely attributed to being from the future. Especially when there’s other heroes from the future who don’t struggle. 

  We also often explicitly see him not understand when things are jokes as well. In Justice League International issue 18 we see a moment where Booster misunderstands a joke Ted tells him and drops a bunch of debris in the Free’s neighbors yard.  As he gets to know Ted better he gets better at telling when things are jokes or sarcasm. I think this is helped by the fact Ted Kord is a notably autistic coded character himself.

MODERN DAY, how is Booster’s disabled history represented now?

    Unfortunately in the modern days of comics there are far too many portrayals of Booster Gold and his disabilities that are borderline cruel in their depiction. Rather than tell a meaningful story about mental illness or disability instead some writers turn him into a caricature of public stigma of mental illness. Some examples of this are Heroes in Crisis and The Gift arc from Batman. I won't go into further details about this specific writer's works due to personal reasons, and the fact I feel the works are counter productive to representation. 

    Otherwise the topic of disability comes up in genuine occasionally for Booster still. As disability is still a core part of his backstory that gets retold from time to time, Like in Action comics’ “Booster Shot”. Booster and Superman in that story end up traveling to the future where Clark learns about Booster’s past and meets his parents.  Another occasion of when Booster’s backstory is retold is in the early 2000s when the addition of Booster’s father pressuring Booster into gambling is added to the narrative. 

    Mental health (particularly post-trauma) seems to have taken the spotlight in modern Booster characterizations. In the 52 series we see Booster struggle with stability after the loss of his best friend Ted.  Booster is not only shown to be grieving but also to blame himself for Ted’s death because he was in the hospital during the time.

 He puts all his energy into sponsorships and being a public figure. There’s one point in the story where Booster has a public meltdown in front of the press and superheroes because things don’t go as he planned. His relationships fall apart as he struggles with coping and putting up a persona, often having outbursts towards others. These are all signs  of C-PTSD.

    The exploration of Booster’s ptsd continues in Booster Gold Volume 2. Throughout the series Booster uses time travel to effectively re-traumatize himself over and over multiple times. He tries to save Barbara Gordon repeatedly, failing each time, being traumatized and beaten each time. He attempts to save Ted’s life, destroying the timeline and being forced to see all of his other friends die horribly, then in the end loses Ted once again. Later on Booster continues to visit Ted in the past, hurting himself emotionally in the process by reopening trauma. 

    Booster has multiple public outbursts during Booster Gold volume 2, most notably in issue 39. Booster runs into a 16 year old on the street attempting to be a Robin Hood type vigilante. Booster starts to have a ptsd episode, reminded of Ted. He begins to yell at the kid as if he WERE Ted, about how he kept hoping Ted would come back to life like other superheroes but he never did. He shoves the kid to the ground before flying away in the midst of an episode.   

    There are still times when Booster is shown to be physically disabled also. When we have gotten a glimpse of Booster as an older man in modern comics and each time he is depicted as being physically disabled. He has a missing eye and uses a cane for mobility purposes to the point in DC Comics: Generations he uses a metal pipe as a cane in one scene as a backup. He uses a cane as well in the Cybernetic Summer special.

CLOSING,

    Overall I feel as though it’s important to remember Booster Gold when talking about disabled heroes. He has been depicted as being some form of disabled since his introduction to comics in the 80s. To ignore this fact is to let DC comics get away with cruel and ableist modern depictions of the character and other disabled people as well. Disabled people should be allowed to see themselves in hero media as much as abled people are allowed to.  

    I wanted to write this to bring attention to all of the ways Booster is an impactful character, at least to me a disabled fan.This was also a way for me to just infodump and get all of my thought’s i’ve had onto paper.

    Booster Gold is one of my favorite characters ever, next to Ted Kord who is also a canonically disabled hero. One day I might write up an analysis on him as well! 

    I hope that anyone who reads this enjoys this analysis and if you made it all the way through thank you so much!

#Booster gold #Character analysis #sorry this is genuinely 20 pages long in docs #if theres any grammar issues sorry but also i dont expect this to get a lot of reads bc its so long lol

[lewis-winters]

eucharistia (this is how meat loves meat)

In Rachamps, just before Easy is sent to Haguenau, Eugene Roe brings Babe Heffron to Father John Maloney for his first confession in seven years.

Jesus said to them: "Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you do not have life within you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him." John 6:53-59, NABRE

read it on ao3

tw: Magical Realism, Horror, Religion as Justification for Unhinged Behavior, Catholicism, Catholic Imagery, Bastogne, Canon Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Blood & Gore, Depictions of a Corpse, Cannibalism

---

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” says the boy with hair like copper and a face white as a sheet, kneeling before me. He breathes deep, breathes slow, then looks to his companion who guards the door of this little hide-away. A boy of even paler complexion, who nods in encouragement. A small, minute movement that somehow takes from him a great toll. His dark head bows with the weight of it.

Disturbed by this image, the boy quickly continues: “I haven’t confessed since I was fifteen. I’m twenty-two now. It’s been seven years.”

“That’s alright.” Silence. Nervous, jittery silence. “Go on.”

More silence. Long and dark and cold and damp, the cavernousness of this large and leaky house of God echoing each drip and drop of water across empty space. Empty. Like nobody’s home.

“I’ve done so many things,” the boy says, tipping his face into his hands in despair. “So many, Father.”

“Don’t name them all. We’ll be here all night.” An attempt at good humor. “Just the ones that have brought you before me.”

“Oh, Father,” says the boy, in a whisper that sounds like a wail. “Father. I kept my promise.”

“That doesn’t sound like a sin.”

No, says a voice from the depths of the boy’s eyes. A wailing, lamenting voice, a darkness that threatens to crawl forth from the open wound of his face, and reach out to me with cold, blood-damp hands. No, Father, you don’t understand.

“Make me,” I say, taking his face in my hands and holding it steady. “Babe, tell me what you did.”

His watcher has closed the door on us now. All of us. He stands before it, weight against the wood, hands behind his back. His head is still bowed, upper body almost perpendicular to the stone floor, but his eyes meet mine. Deep blue so dark it’s almost black, staring out from behind a dark brow. Piercing. Waiting. “Go on, Heffron,” he says, voice a deep, unwavering thing. The voice of an Angel. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Don’t be afraid,” I echo. But not for him.

Sprawled against the walls, our shadows continue to flicker.

Babe tries again. “Forgive me, Father. For I have sinned. It’s been seven years since my last confession. My sins—”

Are many. Too many.

“But this one—”

The night he’d gone back for him was clear and bright, the clouds of Bastogne disappearing, momentarily, laying the already barren world of snow white and cold even more bare, absent of the broken shadows of looming trees and the shape of men beyond the mist. Even the looming cold that had settled into their bones seems to have alleviated, somewhat. Still there, but suspended, momentarily, as the fog lifted and Bastogne became just another forest.

But the dread remained. So deep in the marrow of them all that it pulled him out of dreamless sleep; roused suddenly in his shallow grave-bed and forced into the nightmare of this tangible unreality, an endless waking, by the familiar urge to rungotta go get him sir rundangerrun take him with us runrunrunRUN—

And a voice, beyond the light of the moon.

“I felt it, Father. Like… Like I was on one end of the rope, and he was on the other. Pulling me toward him. He showed me where to go, Father, you gotta believe me. I was being led—”

Like a lamb to the slaughter.

No.

Like a pilgrim to his god.

Through snow drifts and trees, down familiar paths made unfamiliar through the sudden clarity of pale moonlight. He found the broken body soon enough. Just where they had left it, earlier that day, but this time devoid of all material things.

The Germans had stripped him, just as he had feared. Taken with them trophies of olive-green pelt, rifle antlers, and silver dog tag bones. What lay in their wake was the naked body of a slaughtered child, lying in the snow, a crater of bone and flesh where his neck should be. Blue eyes upturned to Babe’s face.

Hand outstretched.

Beckoning.

“I touched him, Father. I touched him. And he was warm.”

Not breathing. Warm. Soft. Pliant. Despite hours laying in the snow.

He couldn’t explain it.

But then again, what pilgrim questions a miracle?

“I… I tried to pick him up. I tried.”

Yes. Yes, he had tried. I could see him try. Struggling and panting and finding himself crying, the grief and the desperation manifesting themselves in frustrated tears. They freeze on his cheeks, a record of his suffering. Julian, buddy, c’mon. I gotta get you up. Please. I can’t, I can’t—

But the god is in an immovable shrine. Trapped within and rooted into the snow on the ground.

“All I could lift was his head, Father Maloney. And I held him in my lap, like I used to back when the world made sense.”

Yes. Yes, I could see them there, too. Two boys in basic training, surrounded by pleasant summer heat. Golden light. One with his head in the lap of the other.

Dark hair against pale thighs.

Blue eyes meeting blue.

A smile meeting another smile in a thrilling brush of skin.

God was with them, then.

And it is with the turning of my stomach that I realize, God was with them, here, too.

“What… did you do, Babe?” I ask. I already know the answer. But I must ask.

And the boy looks up at me, open wound for a face, and says with two voices; “I couldn’t leave him there, Father Maloney.”

No. He couldn’t.

He’d brought those unsmiling lips to his mouth, and he’d kissed them one last time. As any pilgrim should.

And then he’d dug his fingers into bone and flesh, and freed his god from his earthly prison.

“I couldn’t—I promised. I said I would. And he told me that I should. He was so warm, Father. And it was so cold. And I was hungry, and Julian always—from the beginning he’d always—when I closed my eyes, I was back there, with him, and he was—”

“Oh, Babe,” I say, opening my arms. Allowing him to fall into them. “Oh, Babe.”

I have long ago accepted that to seek joy in the form of relief of any kind is not a sin. Or at least, should not be. Jesus Christ, Son of God and Man, who enjoyed the taste of wine and bread and the company of prostitutes and degenerates would not consider it a sin. It’s no exception here, where it is common for men to share many things in basic training and in trenches and in Foxholes. Food. Water. Coffee. Things to keep warm. Things to make you feel just a little bit more human. Things to sustain you.

And there are so few things to sustain you, in the frozen hell of Bastogne. In this stomach disguised as a dark forest, a belly to get lost in.

I look toward the door, where the guardian boy stands, still bowed forward (even more so, it seems) and bent at the knees, unable to meet my eyes. Atlas holding up the sky and full of regret. Frozen in commencement of penance, the weight of the world bearing down upon his shoulders.

“There is more to this,” I realize. He does not startle at the sound of my voice, eerily still. “What is it that you aren’t telling me, Eugene?”

In my arms, Babe is quiet. Hitching breaths quick and warm against my throat. Mouth against my rapid beating pulse. Teeth—

“I saw it, Father,” says Eugene, voice ringing clear and deep despite its whispered quality. “I saw them.”

He’d felt Babe stumble out of their foxhole—Spina fast asleep and oblivious to the sudden preternatural quiet and stillness of the world—and followed behind him at a distance, mindful of their vulnerable position but not enough to stop.

“Then there was a moment where I—I couldn’t see ‘im. It got all dark all o’ a sudden, like the moon blinked outta sight. Just for a minute. A kinda dark you can feel.”

Crawling up your skin, looming over you, making all the hairs of your body stand up in response. Like two, large and heavy hands clasping around you. Holding you caged between its palms. An unfortunate butterfly, caught unawares.

Wait, it seemed to say. This is not for you.

“When the dark left and the moon came back, I couldn’t see ‘im.”

But he could hear it.

The wet, moist sound of hands tearing into flesh.

The guttural snarls of an animal tearing into its latest meal.

The crunch of cartilage.

The weeping. The moaning in despair.

In relief.

“I followed it. And I. I saw.”

He pauses. Then looks up at me with pleading eyes, asking for words. Asking for understanding. He does not know, I realize, what to call it. What greeted him in the snow on that fateful night was not any creature he has ever seen or heard of before.

Part-human, part-animal, part-divine. A wretched, blessed chimera. On its hands and knees, hunched over its carrion and feasting, with great relish, upon its steaming insides. The rapidly cooling warmth of fresh death, curling up, up, and away into the frigid, Bastogne night.

“I saw, Father,” Eugene says again. “And I…”

He did nothing.

No, that’s not true.

“I waited. For it to be over.”

And it was soon over.

The chimera could only eat so much, and what he has come to set free has left the altar as soon as the steam had lifted, and once again, the fog had returned, between one blink to the next. A twin to the darkness felt earlier, heavy hands once again clasped about him, but this time, enveloping all of them—voyeur, scavenger, and carrion—all at once.

Eugene took a step forward, afraid to lose sight of him again, and the chimera, startled, lifted its head toward the crunch of snow.

“And that’s when you led him away?” I ask.

Eugene nods. He’d done it when they’d entered here, too. Appearing to me like a grotesque Angel of God in my doorway, two bodies pressed so close together, leaning upon each other for strength, that they became one entity with two heads and eight appendages, illuminated by a column of warm, orange light cutting into the gloom of my assigned billet.

Do not be afraid, one voice had said to its companion, achingly kind. An echo from that night, I imagine, when he’d taken Babe’s hand and brought him back from the brink. Took him away and deposited him into his empty foxhole, melting snow to wipe away the memory of what he had done from his face. Fed him more chocolate, offered him a cup of coffee, to wash the taste from his mouth. Father Maloney, Heffron is here to confess.

“You were right to come to me,” I say to them, easing Babe out of my arms to once again, sit by my feet as I reach out to Eugene, offering my hand. He takes it without much hesitance, lurching forward as if afraid I might recoil from his touch. Gently, I allow him to sink to his knees, and together, both of them look up to me as I stand and dig through my bag for the needed elements. “What a heavy burden you both have shared. What a weight—” I produce what I need, and I turn to them with a smile I hope is kind and reassuring. “It’s alright, now. You may put it down.”

“Father,” says Babe, eyeing the ciborium and chalice in my hands. “Father, what—”

“Let me give you a place to rest,” I tell him, getting on my knees with them, perching the precious relics upon my billet bed so that they may not touch the floor. Crossing myself, I open them, ignoring how both boys scuttle away from me, like rats, who have spent all their lives in the dark, upon the sudden, violent arrival of light. It breaks my heart, how fearful they look upon me, and it strengthens my resolve, once again. Carefully, as I may be during weekly service, I pray over and take into my hands the bread and wine; mere pemmican biscuits from previous rations, and wine I had been given from bombed out churches, mixed with a little water. But in their golden receptacles, they glow with an otherworldly power. True pieces of the Heavenly Host.

I take two of the Flesh into my unworthy hands.

“John Julian was a martyr,” I say, presenting the host to them both and watching as they, cautiously, move toward me, still on their knees, but with their faces tipped toward the light. “A man who had been living, but who’d given his life for the love of you, Babe. His death was swift and quick, there was little pain and little else we could do to keep him with us. It’s those he’s left behind that he ached to comfort—such pain it must have been, for him, to know that you mourned him so deeply.

“And so, he’d asked God and His Angels to hold Death’s hand for far longer, and he called out to you. He was yet Living when you came upon him—how else could he have enticed him to come? How else would he have stayed that warm, that fresh, in order for his body to provide the nourishment that you needed? Therefore, do not be ashamed, Babe. To cannibalize is to feed upon the dead. John Julian was not dead, not while his soul sang to you its precious entreaty.”

Now, he rests, cradled in the soft, warm alcove of Babe’s body.

“He gave his life to you, that you may yet live. Just like our Lord Jesus Christ gave the first Eucharist to His disciples, the night He was to be arrested and taken away from them. He fed them His Living Flesh, so that they may find strength for the coming days. Sustain themselves upon Him.”

Babe comes closer, the tip of his nose lightly brushing the Flesh held in my fingers.

“John Julian was a martyr who has found his final resting place within you,” I press the Sacrament to his mouth, watching it open in anticipation. A gaping maw not unlike a bleeding wound. “Let these Holy Flesh intermingle within you. Let John Julian meet God in your stomach. Turn him into a Saint.”

Babe closes his eyes and his lips close over the Holy communion, his tongue lapping at my fingers.

I let him eat from my unworthy hand.

I watch him swallow. “Your turn, Eugene.”

Eugene looks at me, unblinking. Unfazed. He does not eat from my hand, but instead cups his own to receive it. I place it between his palms and watch him bow his head over it and take it between his teeth. The hard bread makes a loud crunching sound as he crushes it with his molars. He closes his eyes to the symphony of it, and his shoulders fall for the first time since I’ve known him.

“What a weight you have been forced to carry,” I coo, reaching out to cup his face in one of my hands, the other doing the same to Babe. Both boys tip their heads into my hold, and I find myself weeping at how starved they seem to be, for a simple touch that is gentle. Babe, seeing my tears, starts to sniffle with some of his own. “Come, drink the Blood. Let it wash away the taste.”

I tip the wine, carefully, into their open mouths. They drink every last drop.

“There,” I say once they are finished, drawing Babe, who has begun to weep in earnest, to my breast. Against the hollow of my throat, he hiccups, the grief and the relief pouring out of him now that he knows he is allowed. “Oh, Babe.”

“I left him there, Father,” he sobs. “I left him—”

“You did not,” I soothe. “No, Babe, you did not. You came back for him, and now he rests in you—lives in you. This way, he will see home, again. You can bring him home, my boy. He is a part of you now. So long as you are alive, Julian is, also.”

It takes a while, but Babe soon quiets, and hiccupping, sobbing breaths turn even and steady, a sign that he has fallen asleep against me. Peaceful and dreamless, I hope.

Eugene helps me tuck him into my bed, moving the Holy vessels aside to make room for him.

“Thank you, Father,” he says to me, as I replace the sacred items in my pack. I smile at him and he smiles at me from his position on the floor, kneeling by Babe’s head, his hand held tight in the other boy’s grasp, even in deep sleep. “Thank you.”

“Judas ate of the Eucharist.”

This time, Eugene does blink, startled. “… Father?”

“Our Lord Jesus had Judas eat of His Flesh before He revealed him to be the traitor,” I repeat, once again sitting on the floor so that he and I can talk to each other at level. Not once does he tear his eyes away from mine. Brave boy. “He made sure Judas ate so that even when he was apart from Him, betraying Him to the Romans, orchestrating His death, He was always with Judas. Inside him. He loved him very well—perhaps too well. Enough to smother him.” I reach over to tap their clasped hands, gently, with a finger. “There is no position more intimate.”

Eugene’s ears color pink, as if still cold, and I resist the urge to cup my hands around them, so that they may be warm. They’re warm plenty already, I know, and that, at least, makes me smile.

“You are a tenacious one, Eugene Roe,” I tell him, getting up with a groan. He watches me, curious, confused, and I smile at him, amused.

Nobody leaves Bastogne unchanged—undigested, staggering out of that beast’s belly masquerading for a forest. But when one is stubborn, when he is cunning and astute, sure in his footing and determined in his mission, a body trapped could be sustained for long enough that escape is made possible.

“There are many ways a person could be sustained,” I say, running my fingers through his blue-black hair. And, like a cat, he pushes his head into the meat of my palm, affectionate. “You found him, fed him, and you watered him. You made sure to wash it all away, the taste. But shame is a powerful thing, and it almost took him. That would not do.”

Eugene stares up at me. Unflinching.

“And so, you brought him here, to me.”

Because he knew I would nourish him and he would nourish me, gorge ourselves on this story we spin together until hope and faith solidify into truth. He has bargained with Death well; has done so enough times to know how to win. John Julian may have been lost to the violence of Bastogne, but Babe Heffron remains, and Eugene Roe would rather see his own soul rot before he loses him, too.

“The Ignatian way of life dictates that we must strive to see God in all things,” I say, smiling down at him. “Today, you have shown me a Face of God I have not seen before. It brings me comfort, in this world steeped in decay. Thank you.”

Eugene smiles back, a tiny little thing that rapidly disappears when he finally takes his eyes away from me and turns them to Babe, silently contemplating his pale face, deep in sleep.

They’re good boys. I leave them both to each other as I venture back into the bowels of God’s House to search for a quiet place to pray.

---

tagging those who have either helped conceptualize this or who have expressed interest along the way: @bringmefoxgloves @hellofanidea @liebgottsjumpwings @pastexistence

This was supposed to go up on Halloween. But I was on a family trip so I fell behind on editing and putting the final touches in. It's here now, though, and I'm so so proud of it-- something which I could almost never claim about things I've written. I'm very happy it's done, and I hope people enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Finally, I can rest.

#band of brothers #baberoe #babejulian #babe heffron #eugene roe #john julian #fr john maloney #father john maloney #cannibalism tw #cannibalism in bastogne au #this is The Most Catholic Thing I Have Written #estrella_marie

[cultofdixon]

Stick with me at all times

Daryl Dixon [PLATONIC] • They/Them Pronouns • People come and go, family is forever. Even when it’s found. Even when it’s lost. There is always someone sticking by you through the chaos. • ANGST/SFW • TW: Canon Violence / Injuries / PTSD / Depression / SH Scars / Talks about Past Attempts

Requested by: Anon

“Stick with me at all times” you would say that growing up and enforce it now that the world ended. It annoyed me Abe. It annoyed me a lot because for the most part, you didn’t trust me.

Never did I think ever…that I would miss those words coming from you

~

“Stick with me at all times, alright?” Abraham states a bit harshly towards them given the hell they had just endured in Terminus.

“Yeah yeah whatever..” They brush him off and left to double check to make sure they weren’t being followed by anybody that could’ve survived Terminus.

“You gotta lay off Abraham, or they’ll leave. Again” Rosita emphasized her point on that last bit knowing damn well if he flips, they’re gone.

“They bicker like their parents. But she doesn’t look anything like the small one” Glenn whispers to Maggie as she immediately elbows him. “What?”

“You don’t gotta be blood related to be family, besides. Abraham has to be their dad right?”

“We’ve been with them for a bit now and it’s still a bit confusing.”

“Y/N Ford is Abraham Ford’s younger sibling.” Eugene of course startled the two along with a few others at his abruptness. “I don’t understand the point in whispering about it”

“Because we didn’t want to be rude, Eugene.” Glenn sighs having to get used to his forward self. “We’ve gotta find somewhere for the night”

Carol lead the group to the house she had Tyreese coop up in while she went to save the others. The sight of Rick and Carl reuniting with his baby sister Judith, made Abraham instinctively wrap his arm around Y/N’s shoulders pulling them in close.

“Ours was a bit more hellish”

“Don’t remind me Abe”

________

“Gotta protect Eugene at all cost” Abraham states cleaning his knife after taking out a few walkers to clear their path.

“Then why are we in this infested cul-de-sac. What is here that is so important?” Rosita frowns following Abraham’s lead with Eugene quickly trailing her looking around them.

“The best packrats I fucking….” Abraham stops talking when he approached what used to be the picture perfect nuclear family home with the white picket fence and everything…has been broken into and partially burned. “Fuck. FUCK” he ran into the place instantly.

“What in the hell is going on?” Rosita enters after Abraham seeing him frozen in the middle of the place. “Abe—-“

“ROSITA ABRAHAM!!”

Abraham immediately snapped out of his thoughts and ran as fast as Rosita did to find a random figure pining Eugene to the ground aiming their arrow to his head. Rosita instantly took her gun out aiming it at the stranger’s head.

“Lower your we—-“

“Y/N Ford!”

The stranger instantly lowers their weapon turning toward Abraham who forced Rosita to lower her gun.

“Could you kindly—-“

“Fuck off!” They snap, getting off the guy and immediately approaching Abraham removing their mask. “You’re an asshole, yknow” they continued getting closer and right as the younger Ford got into punching range, they did exactly that.

“Hey!” Rosita split the two right after Y/N got him square in the face. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

“HE FUCKING LEFT ME”

________

Y/N pushes his hand off their shoulder taking in the temporary happiness where they can get it before continuing to follow Rick’s lead.

The group set up camp for the night and Daryl of course took the first watch. But he expected to be alone and not find someone he barely knew sitting outside the camp.

“Are you the army one’s kid?”

“I’m not even a kid. Or his kid.” Y/N snaps, soon immediately forgetting it and cowering. “Sorry. I’m just his little sibling.”

“Mm” Daryl sat with them in more awkward silence before striking again. “Were yea with him since the start?”

“Imma need a name before you ask shit like that”

“Daryl”

“Y/N, and no I wasn’t. I was with our parents after…uh. Something when I was enlisted so I had to go home and deal with shit. Then the world ended” Y/N couldn’t help the uneasy feeling crawling up their back as they quickly stood to their feet and when they did, Daryl noticed it.

“Could be somebody—“

“Tracking us. Gotta let your friend know” Y/N finished his sentence walking back inside the camp.

It didn’t take the group long to find the skittish priest and inevitably his safe house being the church he preached at. The group found themselves settling in once again temporarily and Y/N kept to themselves again just within the four walls.

“You okay?” Rosita joins Y/N in the pew they found purchase in. The two had gotten a bit close since they’ve met. Even with the rage introduction.

“It’s weird being around this many people again”

“I get that, but if it makes you feel any better. I trust them. Not as much as your brother but. Yknow”

“Abe is talking about continuing the DC trip…part of me wants to stick with my brother. But I’m done trying to find a cure. I don’t…even entirely believe it” Y/N frowns messing with the tip of one of their arrows.

“Would you rather stay with them? It is your choice. You’re not a kid”

“Abraham only sees me as a little kid. Always has”

Rosita frowns watching them tense to the sound of the floor boards creaking whenever someone took a step. That lead them to take a breather outside as she was about to follow when she just decided they’ll need it.

She never expected Y/N to get roped up in the search for Beth.

“Did you mean to drag them with us?”

“They’re alright.” Daryl shrugs, guess the bitchy first impression struck him. “They’ll keep an eye out for us and vise versa”

“Alright. Now come on” Carol took lead once the three got into the city. She knew a place for them to hide out in without being sought out for, if such was happening.

The story was retold back to Michonne and if Abraham was there, he would be blaming Daryl for what happened. Even the new guy Noah.

Neither of them expected Y/N to do what they did though.

“I don’t think handcuffing me to the gurney is going to help you in any way”

“This is a hospital, there’s no prison. We don’t know where to keep you and Dawn doesn’t have a job for you yet”

“Like I know who the fuck that is” Y/N snaps at the cop on his way out as they were handcuffed to Carol’s gurney. They didn’t leave her when the cops hit her with their car. Noah stopped Daryl and when he tried to stop Y/N, he failed in doing so.

Part of them…couldn’t leave her behind.

________

“What do you mean left yea behind? I had a wife and fucking kids. I ain’t gonna live with mommy and daddy forever like—-“

“I didn’t…you thought I did that on my own free will? Not everybody wants the picture perfectness of life. I only followed in your footsteps because that’s what dad wanted. Both kids following his legacy. I did it…until it broke me” Y/N frowns hating the aching feeling of remembering something that brought a whole lot of pain while struggling to piece itself together. “You…just. Didn’t show up. You were always there when I was a kid. But when I really needed you…I had already fallen off the edge”

It didn’t click at first. Because how could you be forward about needing to be committed for your own safety after trying to take yourself out of the equation of life? It’s hard. Telling that to someone you looked up to.

And that’s what broke him. Yeah, life moves on. You’ll get through this. Was what he thought in the moment, when their parents did call to tell him what happened. Abraham didn’t think that they would need him the way that they did.

“I’m not going anywhere anymore”

“Now how can I trust that?”

“Yea stick with me, at all times. I ain’t leavin’ yea anymore”

________

Even if they keep straying away.

It wasn’t a fair exchange. They’re both adults. With different agendas in the apocalypse. But deep down Abraham needs his last bit of family and Y/N needs to know that they’re never going to lose him. They both need to open themselves to more people.

Abe did that.

And Y/N is trying.

“You alright?”

Daryl snapped out of his thoughts spotting the youngest Ford looking down at him with the same unreadable look that could mean a whole lot of things to everyone around them.

“No”

“At least you’re honest” Y/N brought themselves to sit beside him staring at the barn he had found when taking a walk from the group. Wanting to be alone.

“Why’re you here”

“Why are you?”

The silence that grew after that made it clear he was affected by what they saw in the hospital. He didn’t like to show how he felt around others.

“You didn’t know’er and yea cried just as hard as her sister.”

“Before y’all made the deal, I was handcuffed to Carol’s bed and then just handcuffed in her room cuz there’s not jail cells in the hospital. Beth would hide out in her room. We talked. And I met someone…that understood what I felt at the start of all this mess. Then it was ripped from me” Y/N shrugs hugging their legs close to their chest feeling the anxiety build up inside them like times before as they hid their face from his gaze. “Everything good gets taken from me…”

“Same here” Daryl frowns staring at the ground for a moment. “Lost my brother. Yeah he fought for the wrong side at first, but then he died for the right one. He annoyed everybody. Annoyed the fuck outta me. But he was still my stupid big brother. Would do anything for another second with his bitchass”

“I’m afraid of losing my brother…just don’t tell him that. Cuz he’ll just hover”

“Ain’t it his job to worry about yea?” Daryl looked at them for some kind of change in their expression. But it was weird. Seeing that same blank expression that he carries, on someone who shouldn’t have to deal with a world like this. “What happened to yea before the world ended? Clearly you weren’t peacefully hunting and then a walker came out of nowhere”

“The end of my freedom.“ Y/N leaned up against the tree frowning. “Heard Rick’s story from his son. Woke up from a coma to the undead and then the magical reunion for a lifetime with his now dead wife and now annoying teenage son. I wish I was in a coma. Instead of coming home with compression bandages and hearing how much of a disappointment I am the second before—-someone set a fire on my childhood home to get the walkers away”

“Jesus fuck” Daryl scoffs taking out another cigarette from the pack he snagged and before he could even think about offering, Y/N took the one he had in hand right away. “Damn. Didn’t even offer”

“You would’ve right?”

“Nah. I’ve been told I’m selfish”

“From what I saw earlier, that’s a fucking lie” Y/N laughs taking out an old zippo they’ve only used for emergencies and lit the cig for themselves. “Don’t tell my brother. I’m still a baby in his eyes”

Daryl crossed his heart as a promise and brought back the silence between the two. It occurred to him that they find a sense of comfort with him and part of him wants to protect that. Like he couldn’t with Beth.

After the rough storm in the barn and the reveal of the mystery man in the shadows, the group found themselves following this guy named Aaron to a place behind walls. Reminded half the group of the prison era and the other half of the old world with gated communities.

Y/N stood before the gates with the rest of them feeling the tightness in their chest grow thinking about all the things that could go wrong. That the second they heard Daryl whistle, he knew that got their mind off what’s inside there. He approached them resting something in their extended hand. It being a rubber band.

“Wear it, and whenever you’re anxious. Just snap it” Daryl states snapping the rubber band once Y/N had put it on their wrist. Next thing you know, he’s taking out a possum before the gates opened up for them.

Interviews.

Job placements…

Parties?

A whole lot of the old world expressed itself through this community and not everybody was having it.

“Daryl”

The archer looks up from his spot on the porch to lock eyes with the ex-marine standing before him watching him struggle to find his wording. Guess they both have that in common.

“Y/N likes yea, so I need a favor”

Forward. Daryl nods setting the arrow he was working on down beside him.

“If anything, and I mean anything happens to me. You’d stick by them”

“Always”

It wasn’t a binding contract, Y/N is their own person. But having someone look out for them other than himself, eased Abraham’s anxieties. Especially in the end.

“My mother... told me... to pick... the very... best... one... and you... are...” Negan smirks stopping his bat right in front of Abraham’s face. “…it”

The sound was muffled. All there was was buzzing. Pounding. The fear rushing up their spine that Negan clearly saw when saying what to do if anybody moves or says a word. Next thing that happened was Y/N watching Lucille meet their brother’s skull.

“Oh! Look at that!” Negan laughs after the first hit letting Abraham rise to look at him. But his attention was more on the shock expression resting on his sibling’s face. “Taking it like a champ”

“Suck…my…nuts” Abraham spits out and that was his last words.

Y/N watched as Negan continued.

Blow…after…blow…

The blood…

The scream that wanted to escape their throat and failed…

Negan continues to laugh, happy to the fact that he brought pain amongst those he thought deserved it. He turned slowly toward Y/N seeing the tears roll off their cheeks and the hesitation their body had trying and wanting to cover their brother from any more pain but there they knelt frozen. Only to flinch like the rest when he swung his bat too close to them, just to get Abraham’s blood splattered on their face.

“Love tearing families apart” and right after he said that, Daryl quickly lunged socking him square in the face. Only for him to be pinned to the ground next.

Daryl fought against them at first but when he kicked eyes with Y/N’s, watching them shake their head slowly. Pleading with their eyes for him to stop. So he did. But both feared that his fate was next.

When the next death was Glenn, and everybody was falling apart at that moment. The next actions only brought pain and anxiety to force Y/N back into a corner of their mind they thought they were safe from. Y/N tried to speak out when they watched a few men grab Daryl forcing him into the back of the van, but nothing came out except for a straggled scream that they so desperately wanted Negan to hear when he killed their brother.

The group kept their distance when they watched Y/N crawl over to Abraham’s body and Maggie struggle to walk to Glenn’s. Maggie knelt by her husband’s corpse not wanting help to take care of him as Y/N laid themselves over Abraham gripping onto his jacket not saying a word.

“Y/N…we…we have to move his body” Sasha frowns kneeling besides Y/N resting her hand on their back watching their whole body flinch. “Y/N…”

“Hun…” Rosita frowns watching Y/N lift their head to look at her and all there was was pain in a neutral expression.

Numb…

________

“Yea like having your brother back?” Daryl asks Y/N as the three of them were scavenging a small station after finding a truck full of supplies.

“Yeah, even if everybody thinks he’s my dad”

“Well anybody would be lucky to have you as their kid” Rick adds entering one of the few buildings as Y/N stuck with Daryl examining the tipped over vending machine.

“Rick’s right yknow”

“How?”

“You’re hella smart. Know a good knot to secure arrow heads. You’re always watching out for everybody. Know what to do in immediate crisis. If yea didn’t, Carl would’ve probably lost more than an eye. Have a good eye when searching for certain things. I don’t know. Very apocalypse focused but. Hey I’m proud of yea for the shut you’ve done. Even if we only met a few months ago”

Y/N couldn’t help the smile in the moment.

________

Oh how he misses that moment

Maggie went to the back of Hilltop where they buried Glenn and Abraham. Expecting to be alone. But she couldn’t help the worry that stirred when finding Y/N laying in the dirt right beside their brother’s grave wearing the jacket he had worn the night he died. They’ve been there since they buried him. They scream at everybody who asked if they were okay, because they weren’t. Maggie brought herself to their side seeing their cloudy eyes lock onto her as she sat on the ground beside them.

“How long has it been?”

“About a week, you ain’t cold at night?”

Y/N shook their head immedieatly hugging themselves for a moment as Maggie moved herself to lay down.

“You…uh….Never mind”

“Y/N, I’m here for you” Maggie reassures that negative thought striking them currently as they tugged at the rubber band on their wrist.

“Could…Daryl be alive?”

“He’s a fighter”

“my brother was a fighter…and…” They stopped everything they were doing and let the painful tears resurface as Maggie carefully took one of their hands into hers even if their body tensed to such. “I feel selfish…for laying here…stuck in my head…when both Rosita and Sasha are trying to avenge him…as I just…want him back. Want…Daryl back to tell me it’s alright instead of thinking he’s dead too…and now I’m feeling even worse”

“If the next thing outta yea, is about me. How you feel bad for feeling what you’re feeling. While I also have lost someone close to me. Imma kindly tell you to shut up” Maggie scoffs squeezing their hand as they squeezed back. “We’ve got each other. We’ll…always feel this pain but we’ll always be there for the other. Even if that means laying in the dirt for a while longer before fighting…and Daryl? The guy talked about you like you were his little sibling. Knowing him? We all need a drive to keep goin’. And he’s gonna fight to get back to his family. You need to keep living to see that”

“Can…can you stay with me a little longer?”

“I’m sticking with yea for however long you need me”

________

“Stick with me at all times, alright? I don’t trust this place either” Daryl states watching Y/N nod before going to Michonne when she called for them a second.

Maggie watched the two from the infirmary trailer steps for a moment as she smiles when Daryl caught her watching. He walks over thinking she had something to ask of him but instead-

“You’re protective of them. It’s cute”

“Shut it. I’ve heard that three times today”

“Oh yeah? Who else” Maggie smiles patting the spot beside her as Daryl sat down leaning back.

“Michonne, that Jesus guy thought I was also their brother”

“Well…aren’t yea?”

“What?” Daryl looks at her confused when her happy expression was already clear as day.

“We’re a family Daryl. You are especially a big brother to Y/N Ford and I don’t think they mind it either. They wanted their family back when this hell all started and they got a whole lot more than just Abraham”

________

“Is…Y/N dead?”

“No?” Jesus laughs, he fucking laughs. He wasn’t there when Rick told Negan that both Maggie and Y/N died because of what he did to their brother and her husband. Daryl wanted to kill him right then and there, didn’t care if he was a lackey in that moment. He wanted to strangle the life out of him for killing his kid indirectly.

But when the doors to Hilltop showed Maggie alive and relieved to see Daryl alive as well…

She knew what she had to do.

“Take it easy alright? They’re still back at that line up…they don’t…they ain’t okay.”

Daryl frowns wishing he had fought more to stay with them instead of being whisked away by the Saviors to the hell called the Sanctuary. He follows Maggie to where they buried the two and saw Y/N laying on the ground. Still frozen in that state of mind of wishing what happened didn’t happen. Maggie left him to be alone with them, even if she wanted to see the look on Y/N’s face…

When Daryl came into view causing Y/N to suddenly lunge forward hugging onto him as he was trying to kneel down slowly. Making him stumble into the dirt.

“Stick with me at all times alright?”

“Ain’t going anywhere, kid”

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #PLATONIC #daryl dixon fanfiction

[charmsandtealeaves]

So for 2024 I decided to keep better track of what fics I’ve read and added to my TBR list. I’m gonna be attempting to post these each week 😅

This week I didn’t get chance to read much with family stuff going on but here we go:

Read this Week:

Dumbest Witch Alive by @petalsinwoodvale

Complete (7.6k), Order! Jily, Rated T

Lily Evans unexpectedly finds herself in an underground wizarding auction on Christmas Eve after trailing a dark wizard for intel. Chaos ensues when a dangerous magical creature, a nundu, breaks free from its cage, trapping Lily and the shady Eugene Scrooge together in the warehouse. Newly engaged, with the expectation to return to her fiancé to share the good news with his family during a trip to the in-laws, Lily depends on old childhood hobbies and sheer dumb luck to navigate the situation and escape alive.

Pinkest Bluestocking of the Ton by @wearingaberetinparis aka Ritaskeetered (Chapters 1-8)

WIP, Regency! Jily, Inspired by Bridgerton, Rated M

Dearest Reader, the ton are abuzz with the latest gossip, and so it is my honour to impart to you the news that the Duke of Peverell has returned to London at last! A year after setting off on his tour of Europe, Lady Peverell's son has returned and rumour has it that his mother is preparing for the most joyous of occasions: a late summer wedding that sees her son wed the next Duchess of Peverell. It is my sincere hope that you have stored a bottle of wine for this most delightful of upcoming events for if ever there were a more determined mama, this writer is Icarus and this society paper has been scorched for flying too close to the sun.

Every Mother Is A Grave by @witchofimber (recced by @turanga4)

Complete (6.1k), Molly Weasley, Rated G*

TW: PPD & complex family relationships

One week after the end of the war, and Ginny is the only child still in the house. Molly thought, automatically, that the whole brood would fly home to her. In the summer, when her children were still children, she would stand at the twilight doorway with a sonorous to her throat and watch them race across the meadows towards her, the kitchen windows their lighthouse across a sea of dark. Tall, rangy Bill herding Fred and George, Ron and Ginny chasing each other in squabbling circles, Percy with a mouth already full of complaints and accusations, Charlie loping slowly, always last. But Bill is with his own family now. Charlie is in Romania. Percy writes her fearful owls and avoids his father’s gaze. George is apparently drunk in the flats of various friends. Ron bounces between George and Harry, trying to watch over them, flooing back home to grab soup and hangover potion. So only Ginny - her much-loved girl, her longed-for daughter, her baby - is in the house, and that fact should not fill Molly with dread.

You’ve Got A Friend In Me by Ritaskeetered

Blackevans (platonic), Fest Drabbles, Rated T

Sometimes friendship can be found in the unlikeliest of places, with the people you least expected to befriend. Written for mppmaraudergirl's Blackevans BFF Week

The Summer I Fell In Love by @annasghosts

Complete (9.8k), Holiday AU! Jily, Rated T

Lily Evans’ plan was to survive her sister’s destination wedding and rush back to her busy life in London, but a slight lapse in judgement and a chance encounter with a bloke who planned to escape his own London life might change everything.

Round And Round by @jilyism

Complete (1.7k), Hogwarts! Jily, Rated G

There’s a certain pleasure in this knowing—this understanding—of a person who exists outside of her.

Hold On To The Memories, They Will Hold On To You by @thelighthousestale

Complete (1.8k), Hogwarts! Jily, NYE, Rated T

Lily Evans is ready to spend New Year's Eve alone in her bedroom until James Potter files in and offers her a midnight ride.

Added to the ever-growing TBR List:

Pillar Of Pride by @sunshinemarauder

Complete (3.5k), Hogwarts! Jily, Rated G

James Potter is proud. This, she knows. She knows his pride like the back of her hand. She knows it from flying classes and Transfiguration successes and Quidditch games and pompous hair-ruffling. James Potter masquerades behind a pillar of pride, and to witness those pillars crumble is a precious rarity.

I Bend Like A Willow Thinking Of You by @thequibblah

Complete (7.4K), Jily AU - Canon Divergence, Rated T

She wanted to shake him by the shoulders, to ask him point-blank why this seemed to be the only bloody universe in which he couldn’t see how she felt about him—and the only one in which he felt nothing beyond friendship for her.

Everyone But You by @theesteemedladydebourgh

Complete (15.4K),Jily Starstruck AU, Rated M

“If I have to spend one more minute with your stupid face I’m going to—” “Fall in love with me?” Part-time bartender, full-time oncoming trainwreck Lily Evans sleeps with famous actor James Potter. Love (?) and shenanigans ensue. (Starstruck AU)

#charms read round up #week 1 #rec list

[fruity1salad1]

There she is!!!!

Wysteria Afton/Danielle Miller

Lore dump in coming:

TW: mentions of R/pe and S/xual Assault

Wysteria in the gender bend au is a bit different than my William; serial killer wise. Just like my au of William- Wysteria was horrible abused as a child but particularly by her father. Got pregnant at 10 by her father's assault, grew up in a bad environment, later by 15 she kills her father (just like William kills his mother). However, unlike William- this murder was a form of self defense that got out of hand and after Wysteria saw what she had done she left everything behind taking her little sister Vivi(Vince who is William's brother in my main au)- fleeing hoping to get a better life, especially without the help of Rachelle (Richard). There isnt much known how she graduated high school or how she got into college but she does pretty well- making money on a part time job and taking care of Vivi...despite jumping place to place or living in a car half of the time (Unlike William). Eventually Wysteria meets Helen(Henry) and they develope a friendship which then leads into a romantic relationship where they love each other dearly and Wysteria confesses her fears about her past and only tells bits and pieces about what her father did to her- opposite to what William does in the main au.

Eventually the break up happens and Helen and Wysteria date and marry men instead despite wanting to keep their romantic feelings going. Then Helen is with Emmett(Emilie) and they have Charlie(..Charlie) and Samantha(Samuel).

Wysteria in this au doesn't kill Sebastian(which would be Sarah, William's first wife), though- again unlike William who kills Sarah out of a psychosis attack. So Michelle(Michael) has every right in the world to meet her biological father.

Yippie :D

Then Wysteria meets Claud(Clementine) and their relationship starts off fine before the marriage, but after their vows have been said their relationship becomes very abusive and Claud assaults Wysteria in which she has Eugene(Elizabeth) while at the same time Vivi who was only 14- was assaulted and pregnant at the same time.

Wysteria attempted to over dose on her medication during her pregnancy with Eugene as to miscarry since she successfully made Vivi miscarry with the same medication because there was no other way- Abortion wasnt legal in their state and town.

However...Wysteria did end up hoing into labor- giving birth to Eugene really early on instead due to her medications...and so she got put in a hospital after attempting to overdose.

__________________

Too lazy to write more but basically Laurence (Lauren) and Wysteria's relationship is very similar to the relationship Wysteria had with Sebastian which they had a kid and seperated on equal agreement and wasnt abusive.

Everything else is to be determined

Edit: my dumb ass wrote the wrong...I put right instead of Write...god I hate English...AAA

#fnaf #fnaf afton #william afton #fnaf au #digital illustration #fnaf au lore #fnaf gender bend #gender bend au #william afton gender bend #dave miller fnaf

[next-autopsy]

A/N: Well, hi there! Chapter 6! Read! Enjoy! Or don't, I can't tell you what to do. This story is the slowest of slow burns and I'm trying to build up and develop Birdies friendships between the other ladies and Easy men before any romance is brought up, just so y'all know...

Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.

TW: Meal skipping, gossiping (but like nicely?)….. maybe that’s it?

Made of Glass

Chapter six: Oh, The Guilt Gossip Brings.

Richard Winters was a respectable man and functioned well in the military. He didn't question ridiculous orders and never spoke out of turn, he put up with a lot.

But even he knew when enough was enough, unlike his commanding officer; Herbert Sobel.

The punishments he was giving Bernadette were testing the boundaries of enough. It was making Winters consider telling on his CO like a schoolboy ratting on a bully.

Richard didn't interfere when Sobel had pushed Bernadette to her physical limits on the obstacle course. He didn't say a thing to the man in charge when he assigned the girl a full night of guard duty, even though he wanted to. He knew this was her chance to prove her strength and determination to the men, so he let it happen. He didn't bat an eye as he watched Sobel bend over and draw a circle of chalk on the floor of the mess hall at breakfast. Winters observed quietly as she was made to stand inside it at lunch as well.

And now, the redheaded lieutenant was at his limit.

The specific targeting of the only woman in the company was becoming too much. She hadn't slept at all the previous night and was being denied a full days worth of food, so when Sobel approached her as she stood obediently inside the circle at dinner that evening, Dick was apprehensive. What else could he possibly pile on to her already hefty punishment?

Nixon sat across from him yet both men were peering at the woman and the officer, completely disinterested in their meal. They watched as Sobel sneered at her and she took it all in her stride, chin held high. They were far enough away that neither Winters nor Nixon could hear the words he was barking at her but they took note of her clenched fists held by her side and the displeased looks on several of the eavesdropping men's faces, so whatever it was, it wasn't good.

Swiftly and without explanation, Sobel swiveled on his heel and exited the mess hall.

Birdie visibly relaxed at his departure but stayed in her spot, just in case he returned or someone grassed on her. She attempted to start up a conversation with Toye and Guarnere, who never seemed to be far away from the girl anymore.

To anyone watching she was clearly trying to lighten the mood of her two new friends but they were holding the grudge closer to their hearts than she did.

“Maybe he's trying to starve her out.” Nixon turned away from the scene, pulling Richard's attention with him.

“Wait until she passes out, then discharge her for failing to complete orders.” Lewis rolled his eyes, he pitied the poor girl but she was holding up well enough that he'd felt confident to take a bet on her outlasting the cruel punishment. Something Dick had chastised him for.

The hall was filled with the usual amount of chatter and movement so no-one blinked an eye when Eugene Roe got up from his seat and shuffled towards the center table. He motioned for Toye to make room for him and sat in the vacated space. He didn't miss the curious look from Bill or Toye straightening up his shoulders when Eugene leaned closer to Bernadette.

“Here.” The medic held out his hand in Birdie's direction and laying in his palm was a Hershey's bar.

Upon catching sight of the chocolate treat, Birdie's head shot up and she hurriedly scanned the room before looking back at the kindhearted man in front of her and shaking her head vigorously.

“He's not here.” Roe kept his voice low, noticing her worry in her dinner plate sized eyes.

“It's not him I'm worried 'bout.” She whispered. She didn't think anyone would rat on her, but you couldn't be too sure of these kinds of things. It was safer not to disobey the pigheaded CO.

Roe sighed, “It's not going to do anyone any good if you pass out halfway up Currahee.” She gazed at the offered food longingly, the tips of her fingers tingled with anticipation. She had never in her life wanted anything more than to reach out and take the chocolate. Birdie had to physically shake her head to break the trance the bar had put her in.

“I can't. Thank you, but I can't.” Her words were final, she wouldn't take the bar.

——————————————

Standing at attention with a full pack on as the sky dimmed was a nightmare for Bernadette.

She was beginning to feel delirious, the lack of sleep and food was one thing but adding the slowly darkening sky and gentle quiet lull of nature and she was done for. She wasn't sure if she was about to fall flat on her face and sleep or scream, cry and throw a tantrum but something was about to break.

Sobel paced the lines of Easy company, yelling about the conditions of the weekly nighttime march. Absolute silence, no water, typical stuff.

Honestly, Bernadette had stopped paying attention to the things Sobel screamed about. She just focused on the horizon and prayed her didn't call on her. Which he always did.

“Private Coldwell.” Right on time, as expected.

The looming officer stood in front of her, “You will identify the man who tried to sneak you food during dinner and you will identify him now.” It wasn't a question, someone had told him.

Birdie knew she couldn't give Eugene up. She was still gaining the trust of her fellow soldiers and tattling on one of them would do nothing for her. Besides, Roe was only trying to help her and she would felt guilty spitting in the face of his kind gesture.

“Uh.... Sir, no man snuck me food durin' dinner tonight.”

“Are you calling Sargent Evans a liar?” Sargent Evans. She should've known he's go running to Sobel and report every little thing she did.

“No, sir.”

“Then explain yourself, Private.”

“I-” How could she explain herself? “I asked one of the men for somethin' to eat, and thankfully he reminded me of the rules you laid out, so I didn't take it.” Would that work? She could only hope Sobel was dumb enough to buy it or she'd be branded a liar in his eyes.

“Identify the man, Private.” Sobel's voice was venom dipped. Bernadette looked dumbly at his face, how was she supposed to weasel her way out of this?

“It was me, sir.” Roe's Cajun accent was easily recognisable. Birdie held her breath, waiting for some sort of punishment or reprimand.

“Is she lying?” His words were directed at Eugene but he didn't turn his face away from the woman. She needed the medic to go along with her lie but couldn't send him an unspoked message while she was occupied in a staring competition with the angry commander.

“No, sir.” Thank God.

Sobel took the information in, mulling it over and finally moved away from the Easy company riflewoman.

“You have latrine duty tomorrow, don't you?” The CO asked Eugene.

“Yes, sir.”

“Not anymore. Private Coldwell has volunteered to cover your shift.” Well that sounded about right.

“Yes, sir.” Roe responded, his glare did not go unnoticed by Bernadette.

“Dismissed.”

And their twelve mile Friday night march began.

————————————

Sleep came easy to Birdie that night.

The thin mattress and itchy blanket felt like resting on a fluffy cloud wrapped in silk. The gentle chatter that filled the women's barracks acted like soothing background noise settling her into some much needed sleep. The lights were still on but that didn't stop Bernadette from shutting her eyes and switching off her brain.

“Poor things really been through it.” Lucy, the dark haired Fox girl spoke, noticing Birdie's unconscious state. She sat at the end of her bed across from the sleeping figure while Blythe had made herself comfortable at the head of Lucy's bed.

“What do you mean?” Constance asked, she and Harriet had been sent to a medical seminar almost everyday that week and were yet to hear the rumours. Harriet heard the commotion and moved closer to the forming group, choosing to sit on the floor next to Lucy's bed.

“Her CO's totally got it out for her.” Blythe commented, flicking through a comic she'd found in Lucy's footlocker. Barbara rolled her eyes and ignored them, scribbling away in her journal, while Betty listened in but kept quiet in her corner of the room.

Connie sauntered over to the bed separating Lucy, Blythe and Harriet from Charlotte, who scrubbed her boots vigorously, and sat, curious to hear the stories about Easy company's woman.

“He's making her run the obstacle course ten times more than the guys and last night she had ALL five guard shifts. By herself.” Lucy explained to Connie and Harriet seeing as they missed the action. The girls widened their eyes, unbelieving of the harsh treatment by her own CO.

“Yeah, and apparently, he makes her stand in a circle in the middle of the mess hall so she can't eat.” Blythe added on to Lucy's statement.

“Nah, I think that one's made up, B.” Lucy told the redhead laying on her bed.

“I heard he's trying to force her to quit.” The Able woman uttered one bed away from the group. She was still polishing her boots and didn't look up from her work but the conversation had piqued her interest.

“Well, someone told me, he flirted with her and she turned him down so now he's punishing her.” Blythe announced, lazily tossing the comic to the end of the bed so Lucy could finish reading it. The duo of blonde medics gasped scandalously.

“No way. Some guy told me, that some guy in Easy told him-”

“Jesus. You ladies never stop yapping, do you?” Francesca exhaled a stream of smoke and tossed the end of her cigarette into the drum. She was leaning against the wall with her knee bent and foot propped up behind her, her usual scowl sat on her face.

She wasn't exactly best friends with the southern woman but she couldn't tolerate good people being gossiped about while they couldn't say anything to defend themselves. She had no time for rumours and hearsay.

Birdie was kind to her and always smiled at Francesca even when all she did in return was glare. Out of all the woman here, Francesca could endure Birdie's presence the longest. Her sunny disposition was ever so slowly growing on the broody woman, though she would rather die than admit it.

“Oh no, we didn't mean-” Harriet spoke up, defending the idle talk shared between growing friends.

“Mhm sure, but would you have said it if she was awake?”

The room fell silent allowing the sound of Francesca swinging open the door and exiting to echo through the women's ears.

A certain level of guilt crept over the room.

Charlotte continued working on her boots, Connie and Harriet found their way back to their respective cots and Blythe and Lucy resumed their senseless chatter about the comic book.

Constance toyed with the corner of her blanket, glancing at Birdie as she dozed peacefully in the bed next to hers. She admired the woman and hadn't meant to engage in the whispered tales but hearing what her comrade was going through impressed her, even if half of it wasn't true, she was still achieving more than the others combined.

Constance decided she would ask her friend about it when she woke up. Francesca was right, if she couldn't say something to her face why would she talk about it while Birdie slept, unaware to what was being said about her?

A/N: Thoughts? Comments?

~ next-autopsy ~

Chapter seven

#band of brothers #hbo war #easy company #fem oc #oc #made of glass #made of glass chapter six #next autopsy #first fanfic #richard winters #lewis nixon #eugene roe #joe toye #bill guarnere #ww2 #band of brothers fanfic #not edited we die like men

[satan-incarnate-666]

alright, attempt 2 😭

happy @hbowardaily fic exchange, @ep6bastogne!

your prompts were, quite frankly, a delight to work with! i did take some creative liberties with prompts one and two, but i hope you enjoy my nyquil-tinted, slightly manic writing.

enjoy!

wash the blood from my hands

baberoe, mild tw for injury/death

there are guts in his hands, rubbery and cooling and dead.

no, there's blood bubbling up under his desperate fingers and desperate linens, not showing any signs of stopping.

no, there's necrotic flesh giving way under his oh-so-gentle hands, black and rotted and corpse-like, though the corpsman the limb is attached to is very much alive.

no, his blood-slick fingers are slipping on packets of sulfa, as toye and guarnere lay at his feet in pieces.

no, he's laying in a frigid foxhole in the dead of france.

eugene roe snaps awake with a shudder, feeling like he needs to vomit. everything around him smells like blood and death, and he can't-

he can't-

he can't escape.

gene scrambles out of his lonesome little shelter before he suffocates in it, in the copper-sweet. he stumbles through the trees, quiet as a mouse and heart beating twice as fast, searching for a sign, any sign, that he hasn't failed his men, his duty.

he gasps in breath after breath of frigid air, desperate to regain control. he can feel tears spilling out of his eyes, freezing in salty icicles on his blue-black lashes, his still blood-splattered cheeks. his breathing turns to weeping, huge, choking sobs clawing their way out of his throat.

gene falls to his knees in a copse of icy trees, dead but still standing. he's drowning in his despair, in the blood of his friends and enemies, in the tears that hurt to shed.

all of a sudden, there's a hand on his shoulder, and a kind voice drifting through the deliciously cold air.

"doc," the voice, babe's voice says. "doc, you look dead on your feet!"

he mumbles out a tear-stained excuse, but babe doesn't care to listen, and drops down into the snow next to his friend.

"c'mon, gene," he tries again, infinitely softer. "you'll be a lot more comfortable in my foxhole."

they stand together, one unsteady and one solid as stone. babe leads the medic through snow-capped trees, but gene barely notices. he still feels asleep, or lost in some fugue state. all sensation is lost to the winter air, save the warmth that blooms under babe's hands on his wrist, his side, his shoulder.

it's in this dreamy state that babe directs him to a cozy foxhole right on the front line, so similar yet so different from his own. the same scratchy blanket, the same tang in his nose of dirt. but babe's foxhole feels lived-in, a place where friends have come and gone in comfort. it feels like an actual refuge, one babe tucks gene in with the same infinite gentleness he speaks to him with.

babe nudges his friend in and crawls in after him before tucking a blanket over the both of them.

they're so close together, gene notices distantly. pressed together shoulder to hip to thigh to ankle.

a moment passes.

as warmth builds up in the foxhole, gene finds himself coming back alive. he turns to thank his friend, but babe shushes him and gently take gene's frozen hands in his own, only marginally warmer ones.

"when i was little," babe begins. "when i was little, my momma would kiss each and every one of our little cuts and bruises away. we used to ask if it was magic. she'd laugh, and tell us no, there was no such thing as magic. just love, and hope."

he leans forward, carefully, so carefully, and presses a kiss to gene's blood-stained knuckles.

gene gasps, a tiny little noise, almost lost in his breathing.

babe elects to ignore it, and presses another kiss to gene's opposite hand.

"guess what i'm trying to say, hon-"

"how can you love me?" gene interrupts in a raspy whisper. "how can you love me when you know what i have and haven't done, edward?"

babe frowns. "i don't . . . i don't understand, gene."

"your friends, edward. i've held your friends' guts in, and tried to keep their blood in their veins, and tried to save their limbs, and i've failed!" gene pulls his hands out of babe's grasp to wipe at his wet-again eyes. "i've failed everywhere it counts, babe, and you still love me!"

"oh, gene . . ." it's a sigh of a sentence, punctuated only by the plink, plink of tears on frozen soil. babe leans forward once more, but this time, he kisses the salt off of gene's apple-red cheeks. "you don't need to save everyone to be worthy of love. i'd kiss the blood off your hands, honey. i'd kiss the sins off your lips as you confess them, darling."

"you . . . what?" comes a shaky whisper.

babe sighs again. "come here," he says, and gene does. babe tucks his lover close, rests his chin on that tousled head of blue-black hair.

"i didn't fall in love with perfect, eugene roe. i fell in love with you. every mistake you've made, good or bad. just you."

#caw caw caw #band of brothers #crow writes #eugene roe #babe heffron #baberoe #heffron/roe

[anonymouslydisabled]

I don't think non-disabled people realize how much goes into socializing when you're disabled. I'm not even talking about disabilities that cause social difficulties when I say this. Besides my autistic social difficulties, here are some of the things I have to think about that ableds don't in social situations.

mild TW: short mentions of violence and eugenics and a lot of fear of ableism.

Great, I'm making a new friend. But will they attempt to harm me when my disabilities cause me to lose control? Do they know the basics about my symptoms? Will they call 911 if I have a seizure in front of them? Will they laugh at my symptoms? Will they fake claim me? Will they treat me differently when I use a mobility aid? Will they infantilize me? Will they question my disabilities behind my back? Will they ask me invasive questions? Do they use outdated and/or offensive language to refer to disabled people?

Great I'm in a really fun class at my homeschool co-op. But is the teacher educated on disabilities? Will we have a classroom discussion on the ethics of eugenics against disabled people? (yes that really happened to me). Will I have a seizure in front of the entire class? Will the teacher be willing to accommodate me? Will I hear my classmates mocking disability or using disability-related slurs? How will they treat me on a day when I have to use my cane? How will they treat me when I have to leave class for a seizure cluster? How will they treat me if they see me tic? Will they talk about my disabilities behind my back?

Great I'm making plans to hang out with a friend. But are they educated on seizures? Will they mock my stimming? Will the place we're going have flashing lights? Will they not want to be around me anymore if I can't do certain activities due to my disabilities? Will they understand my sensory issues? Will I have a seizure or medical episode in public with them? Will they fake-claim me once we're alone together? Will they mock my comfort objects or stim toys? Will I get weird looks because of my disability aid(s)? Will the judgement of strangers make them embarrassed to be around me? Will they exclude me from social events because they assume I cannot do something without asking? Will they understand if I lose speech? Will they mock me if I tic or stutter? Will they compare my chronic pain to their injury? Will they think essential oils or exercise will cure my psychical disabilities? Will they disrespect my disabled Mother? Will they touch my disability aids without asking or treat them like toys? Will they judge me for using disability aids? Will they not understand why sometimes I need certain disability aids and sometimes I don't?

This is all inside the mind of myself who is a low support needs disabled person. It's incredibly hard to be social when you 1. have a disability that causes you to miss fundamental social cues and 2. are constantly worried about common ableist judgements and 3. have unpredictable symptoms.

This fear of ableism is both common and valid among disabled people! We often fear this because we've either experienced it ourselves or heard about another person in our community experiencing it!

Non-disabled people can help by educating themselves on ableist language, comments not to make, and brief knowledge on the specific conditions of their disabled acquaintance or loved one. But most importantly being non-judgemental and open-minded goes a really long way!

TL;DR It's hard to socialize when you're disabled, be non-judgemental towards disabled folks in your life and educate yourself when you can!

#disability #disability stuff #autism #seizures #chronic illness #spoonie #chronically ill

[shzmluvrs]

I luved your freddy lovey dovey stuff so can i request sum more fluffy things for the first movie freddy?? Like maybe trying to have a sleepover and the family keep interrupting them or something like that?? x

Finally

Prompt: Freddy should've known better. Wanting time to himself was already hard enough at his house. Wanting time for himself and you? For a sleepover, a.k.a. a longer than 24-hour period of time? *loud laughing*.

Timeline: Post Shazam!, Pre S!:FOTG

TW/Content: Yelling⚡️Freddy being inpatient and wanting you to himself lol⚡️Fluff (plenty of it, I'm sure)⚡️Cursing (I think, but probably not)

Reader: Non-specified! Any Pronouns!

Requested By: Anon

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I know for a fact that Freddy never watches TV downstairs, ever, for the exact reason that there is no point in doing so.

Er, attempting to do so, rather.

So why he even bothered to try it while you were over spending the night with him, he'll never know. He will reap the consequences, though.

He could excuse it when it was Victor, the man coming in to suggest some of the top notch, upmost best and entertaining movies to watch. And when Rosa came in to "check on you guys" and "make sure you had snacks." She was just mothering and being nosy, nothing new.

But it was when he had barely gotten to slyly drape his arm around your shoulders before Mary walked in squealing over something ridiculous, his irritation had started to grow. And you gladly gave her your attention, turning away from him to entertain whatever little funny video she had to show you on her phone right now.

He would knaw at his lip and keep his brown eyes glued to the screen, ignoring it all until he felt you cuddle up into his side once again. Maybe he had gotten all worked up and pissy for nothing, I mean, your attention wasn't pulled away for that long...

Mary was already gone, the movie was still only beginning... Good. But before the two of you could fully relax, Eugene came barreling into the room. Right in front of the TV.

Shouting.

"FREDDY, THEY RELEASED IT, THE GAME JUST DROPPED LIKE, TWO MINTUES AGO, WE HAVE TO GET IT NOW, LIKE, RIGHT FREAKIN' NOW!!"

While you stared like a deer caught in headlights, Freddy could only (again) roll his eyes. He knew exactly what his younger brother was talking about, and though a small part of him fluttered with excitement at the news, it meant nothing to him right now with you right next to him, attempting to spend some time together.

"I'm kind of busy right now...!" He hummed (hiding his passive aggressiveness through grit teeth). "Like, extra busy." Even going as far as to pulling you even closer, if possible, hoping Eugene would catch the obvious hint. He did not.

"She'll understand it if we just explained it to her!"

"Yeah, Freddy, explain it to me~." You teased, and then hushed up real quick when he sent both of you glares indicating he was not at all in the mood.

"Maybe later."

With Euegene gone, he was finally able to kick back once more, placing casual kisses to your temple as if he didn't almost explode mere seconds ago. It caused giggles to leave your throat, humming to yourself at Freddy's versatile range of emotions when it came to you. Although, you couldn't help but admit you did admire his willingness to completely give up any and all other distractions for you.

Including this next one, Darla bounding into the living room with dolls in hand. This was now, not only a test of Freddy's patience, but yours as well...

"(Y/N)!! Do'ya' wanna play Pixie Nightclub Life with me?"

... what ?

"...What?" You asked in complete confusion, staring between her and the dolls.

"No." Freddy gave a solid answer for you, pursing his lips up into a huge pout you didn't want to address just yet. "We actually just wanna spend time together, if that could be possible, which, I know it could, because it's not- It's not a hard thing to achieve and completely reasonable to want... just sayin'."

"Stop it..." You hissed, slapping at him lightly before leaning upwards to face Darla one-on-one. "How about this? When I wake up tomorrow morning, me and Freddy will play dolls with you. Call it... a special reservation of our time." Her lips, which were already beginning to dip into a frown, immediately backtracked right back up into a wide grin at your compromise, nodding swiftly before bounding off.

. . . "I don't wan-" "I don't care, be a good big brother." "Mmm..."

He didn't argue, but he released his pout and leaned further into you, knowing you had basically just done him a favor. Plus, he was just happy you two could now, finally, have so-

Nevermind.

The two of you jumped at the loud screaming coming from the kitchen, sharing a worried glance before you shot up off of the couch and Freddy paused the movie.

"WHY IS IT ON FIRE?!" "I BURNT THE WAFFLES!!" You weren't even granted time to wonder, 'How does one burn waffles?', watching with wide eyes as a flame lit up the entirety of the kitchen with its orange light, Pedro backing away before he could get burned.

"WHY WERE YOU MAKING WAFFLES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" Freddy screamed, Billy already moving towards the sink as he shouted back. "WE WERE HUNGRY AND ROSA IS SLEEPING!"

"Probably not anymore..." Pedro murmured, your hand itching to stop Billy's actions for some odd reason. You couldn't place it, but something about him pouring water into a large cup to put out a fire in/on the toaster didn't seem right. "Wait..."

"OH MY GOD, WE CAN LITERALLY HAVE NOTHING NICE IN THIS HOUSE!!" Freddy groaned in agitation, not noticing it as you left his side to slowly trail after Billy's hurried movements.

"Dude, wait..."

"WELL, NOBODY TOLD YOU TO INVOLVE YOURSELF, FREDDY!!"

"I'M A SIMPLE, HEROIC GUY! I HEAR A SCREAM, I GOTTA SEE WHAT'S UP!"

And finally, it clicked. "Wait, nO, YOU DON'T POUR WATER ON AN ELECTRICAL F-!!"

Too late. Water doused over the toaster, drenching the burnt bread and anything else around it as a silence loomed over the group. It wasn't long before low, electrical humming could be heard, and then a loud pop/shock sound from the outlet, scaring the life out of all of you, jumping back as a curt scream escaped from your throat. At the very least, you found it endearing that Billy, Freddy, and Pedro's instinct was to immediately keep you behind them. Yet still...

"Stupid idiots." "DID WE NOT...? JUST SAVE YOUR LIFE??" "YEAH, FROM A PROBLEM YOU CAUSED!"

When the chaos was said and done (and the whole of downstairs aired out to get rid of the burnt smell) you and Freddy were placed back on the couch, comfortable in each other's arms as Freddy eagerly rewinded the movie.

"I'm sorry we haven't really gotten to focus :/..." You sighed into the crook of his neck, your boyfriend already placing his hand on top of yours to rub your knuckles soothingly.

"Don't worry about it, (Y/N). Everyone's asleep now, I'm pretty sure, so we've got all night to ourselves, finally."

"Finally." You repeated, a smile gracing your lips with a hum, your eyes closing in content as you leaned against his chest.

It was Freddy who realized they never opened back up again (your eyes), looking down at you upon feeling the oddly slow rise and fall of your body against his arms wrapped around you. You had peacefully lulled yourself to sleep, the calming sound of his heart beating not aiding in keeping you awake while he scoffed.

"Are you serious right now..."

The next morning was pretty much the same deal, everyone sitting at the large dining table enjoying the breakfast and chit-chat. Each member of the family capturing your attention over and over again, leaving Freddy no time to even speak to you. But, for this moment, he didn't mind. He sat and smiled, mainly at you, admiring your features as you interacted with his family. He squeezed your hand under the table, keeping it in his lap. And, without any need for you to even break conversation, you squeezed it back.

I hope you liked it!! I feel like I made it a little longer (and more chaotic-ish) than originally intended, but it's ight, you'll live💅🏽.

Also, Moon, I'm coming for your man, he's so sweet🥺🫶🏽💙.

~ Star✨️

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#shazam #shazamfuryofthegods #shazamedit #dc comics #captain marvel #dcfanfics #shazam fotg #moon&star #freddyfreeman #freddy freeman #freddyfreemanxreader #freddyfreemanedit #freddy freeman shazam #freddyfreemanfanfiction #freddyfreemanimagine #freddyfreemanxGN!reader #billybatsonshazam #dceu #dcimagines #dcmultiverse #dceu fanfiction #shazam fury of the gods #shazam2xreader #shazam2icons #shazamimagines #shazamily #shazam2freddyfreeman #shazam2 #shazamfotg #shazamfotgxreader

[mlmxreader]

Wolves In White | Eugene Roe x m!reader

anonymous asked: Hello!! Can i request a Doc Roe x male! reader with the prompt "C'mere, let me take care of you"? Maybe genes stressed and the reader helps him relax? Bonus points if they get to cuddle in a foxhole together. Thanks!! :D

summary: Easy Company needs help, and you and your boys show up right when you're needed most.

tws: swearing, mentions of gunfire/mortars/etc

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Dropped into Bastogne, you only had your wits and a rifle about you; trudging through snow and harsh ice, keeping close to the ground to avoid the looming fascist threat that crept ever closer. A unit of elite soldiers, the best of the best, the Royal Marines and the Gurkhas working together.

Your mission was just to meet up with Easy Company and provide them with extra manpower that they desperately needed; snow in mouth to hide breath, burrowing beneath the snow when you stopped to rest. You knew what you had gotten yourselves into, you knew what would happen if the fascists discovered you; your clothes were wet, soaked to the bone as you forced yourselves to push forwards. Using howls to cover your tracks in terms of communication; Nazis weren't smart enough to tell the difference between a wolf and a man. A group of white wolves stalking Easy Company.

White camoflauge patterned clothing served the joint forces better than you could admit. But when you heard the quiet chattering, listening closely and able to just about clock the American accents, you signalled to your boys.

"There aren't wolves in Bastogne," Babe murmured from nearby. "Are there?"

"I'm not sure," Eugene replied, the sound of his voice the best reassurance that you had known for years. "Maybe?"

You crept forward, stalking up to Eugene before you grabbed his ankle, and pulled him down into the snow; quickly moving to cover his body with your own as you smiled down at him. "Morning, Doc."

Eugene's eyes went wide as he stared up at you, bringing a shaky hand to your face, breathing slightly heavy; he looked flabbergasted that you had somehow made your way to him, let alone snuck right under everyone's noses. "(y/n)?"

"The one and only," you dared to press a kiss to the tip of his reddened nose. "How you holding up?"

"I need scissors," he sighed. "And plasma... you got any?"

Reluctantly, you shook your head as you frowned. "I'm sorry. We came prepared to fight... if we'd have known."

"It's fine," Eugene huffed. "I'm just glad to see you, Beast of Gévaudan."

You laughed at the nickname. "People still calling us that, huh?"

"Oh yeah," he nodded. "The wolves in white are always a lucky sign."

"Berlin is going to fall soon," you told him. "British Intelligence said so - we can't stay with Easy Company long... we're gonna break the eagle's beak... the wolf against the eagle."

"So how long as you here for?" He asked.

"Not sure," you admitted. "High command is gonna let Winters and Speirs know when we're to be sent to Berlin... when we do conquer Berlin, and when we kick the fascists in the teeth so hard they'll admit defeat - I'll come back for you."

Eugene nodded, but soon squirmed from your grasp when he heard someone calling for the medics; he abandoned you in the snow for a moment before he returned, blood on his hands as he attempted to wipe it off on his shirt. Gently, you took his wrists, and held them as you frowned.

"You're stressed out to fuck, Doc," you tutted. "That won't do."

"What'd you mean?"

"I mean, I'm gonna look after you," you told him with a curt nod. "C'mere, let me take care of you. Yeah?"

"Okay," he murmured, letting you lead the way and accepting the help when you got into the foxhole.

It was quick, you pressed him against your body as you held him closely; his arms were around your neck, face buried against your chest as he shivered from the snow against his features, able to feel your arms around his waist as he dared to let some of the tension fall from his body.

In all honesty, Eugene had hoped that he would never see you until the end of the war; the exchanged letters and occasional communication over the radio was enough. A warzone was no place for a reunion, and with both of your lives at stake, he wasn't sure what he would have done if you were to get hurt while he was present. He had hoped that he wouldn't see you until the end of the war.

But as he let you hold onto him, as he cuddled into you as much as he could while he pretended that you weren't colder than he was, he couldn't help but to be a little grateful that he had seen you sooner; sure, he was beyond worried for your safety as much as his own, but knowing that you lead a group of not just Royal Marines but Gurkhas as well, he could push the worry aside a bit. At least for now. Everything seemed quieter when he was with you, anyway.

Gunfire seemed so far away. Mortars and grenades seemed to be thousands of miles away. The chaotic savage melody of war seemed like it would never touch either of you. For the first time since he couldn't remember when, Eugene actually felt safe, and allowed himself to stop thinking for just a moment; to be in the arms of the man he loved meant everything to him.

Even if it was just for a moment.

if you enjoyed this fic, REBLOG IT; if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM level of support. do not interact if you won't reblog.

#mlem writes #eugene roe imagine #eugene roe x reader #eugene roe #doc roe imagine #doc roe x reader #doc roe #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group F Round 2: #F6 vs #F4

#F6: Normal school until stuff happens

#F4: Young boxer in futuristic Japan fights in tournament

Details and poll under the cut!

#F6: Talentless Nana (Munou na Nana)

Summary:

Fifty years ago, horrific creatures dubbed as the “enemies of humanity” suddenly appeared around the world. To combat these threats, teenagers gifted with supernatural abilities called “Talents”—such as pyrokinesis and time travel—hone their powers at an academy on a secluded island.

Nanao Nakajima, however, is quite different from the others on the island: he has no Talent. With many “Talented” teenagers around him, Nanao is often a target for bullying, but even so, he still strives to complete his training. Soon after, two transfer students, the mysterious Kyouya Onodera and the mind-reading Nana Hiiragi, join the class. But just as everyone starts blending as comrades-in-arms, mysterious disappearances begin to threaten the class’s entire foundation.

Propaganda:

I’d like to start off by saying that this is NOT a copy of My Hero Academia, even though it sounds as such. It’s kinda hard to explain the show without spoiling a major plot point, but it’s pretty much as the summary says. Honestly, if you want to watch this, don’t look up anything about it—you will get spoiled right away, and it does ruin the experience. I started this without knowing anything about it and I think that’s for the best because it’s plot twist after plot twis,t and you’re not sure what to expect next. That’s honestly something I really liked about it because you don’t know where the story will take you. Anyways, highly recommend because more people should know about this series.

Trigger Warnings:

Child Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore

There’s a Nazi-coded character who does eugenics, and he’s also the reason for the child abuse tw

Sexual assault attempt on main character

Necrophilia (there’s a character who controls another person’s corpse and act like they’re dating)

#F4: Megalo Box

Summary:

Follows the story of a young man that only goes by his ring name “Junk Dog”, set in the late 21st century. People live in a large metropolis, those without citizenship forced in slums called the Restricted Area. Junk Dog fights in fixed matches in the Restricted Area in a sport called Megalo Box, which is boxing augmented by metal exoskeletons.

One day, Junk Dog almost crashes into the CEO of the Shirato Company on his motorcycle, and he tries to pick a fight with her guard, Yuri. Yuri ends up fighting Junk Dog in a match, beating him and challenging him to fight him in a tournament called Megalonia. Forging an ID and taking the name Joe with help from his coach, the young fighter only has 3 months to win enough matches to rank high enough to get into the tournament and face Yuri. Not just for his pride, but also because of threats from the mafia, who wants money from Joe and his coach that they don’t have.

Propaganda:

Megalo Box is a series that got some recognition during the Crunchyroll Awards. It even aired on Adult swim’s late night anime block, even gaining a second season. But it seems like after the initial season, all interest of the show evaporated. It’s rarely talked about in fandom spaces or in anime video essays.

Which is a shame! It's a solid watch. The music is stellar. The characters are enjoyable, even if the plot of the main character Joe being a massive underdog that claws his way through a boxing tournament is a little predictable. But to be fair, this show was created to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the boxing manga Ashita no Joe.

Still, the anime keeps things fresh. It has added political commentary about class and race dynamics. Joe is brown-skinned, looks mixed, and is an undocumented citizen in the city he lives in. He has to fight in illegal fixed Megalo Box matches in the slums in order to make ends meet. Even that provides little protection, as he and his coach Ganbu get threatened by the mob for more money that they can’t produce. It also touches upon how children are abandoned and abused by the system with Sachio.

Joe is the ultimate underdog story. He ends up going by “Gearless Joe” because he fights his matches without wearing any Gear—aka the metal exoskeletons use in Megalo Box. He’s essentially boxing old-school style against others an unfair advantage with tools that augment their punches and movements. Joe did this in the first place because he was too poor to buy a new Gear, his old one falling apart, so he felt he was better off training and using his natural body in matches.

The second season also explores Joe's struggles with depression and drug addiction as he trains another Megalo Boxer, which is interesting and adds another layer to him.

Plus, the show also has racial diversity in the side characters. The English dub cast voice actors of the same ethnicities for Pepe, Chief, and Maria. Also, Kaiji Tang voices Joe, the lead.

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore.

The anime is about boxing, so characters get beaten up quite a bit (even in fantastical ways). However, there’s also some other violence threats (like Joe’s coach Nanbu getting his eye cut and threatened to earn money by the mafia). Also, a kid named Sachio joins the group to help Joe and gets beaten by thugs and threatened a few times through the series.

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how they’re presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.

#anime #best underrated anime #polls #poll tournament #tournament #anime tournament #animation #group stage #group stage round 2 #tournament polls #group f #talentless nana #munou na nana #megalo box #megalobox