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avengersassemble123 · 4 months

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The (un)expected Thanksgiving

Pairing: Ran Haitani x fem!reader

Since Im going through my Haitani brothers brainrot, especially Ran Haitani, here's a fic for all the Haitani lovers like me HAHA.

Age ranges of the characters are majorly in 20s. Ran is 24, while you and Rindou are 23.

PS: this is a female reader based fanfic. Majorly a crackfic

Inspired from the series 'THE BIG BANG THEORY' (7x09) The thanksgiving Decoupling.

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"I dont get it. Why am i being bullied here?"

"Just because i said so"

"Thats bullshit."

"Ran, be nice."

You three were preparing for the thanksgiving party at the Haitani brothers' place, since they insisted that they were the best and better party throwers than anyone in the whole of Toman, leading you to prepping up the food, you forcefully making Ran's lazy ass help you, while Rindou played a video game after helping to clean the house.

Currently the argument was being held between the brothers on Ran warning Rindou on beating him up if Ran's fell asleep and was disturbed by the others in the party, leading to the younger sibling defend himself back and you scolding your boyfriend on bullying his younger brother.

"Now i know how the Korean slaves felt in Japan..."

You gave him a deadpan offended look, eyebrow raised and staring at him, as he was sat like a grumpy cat busy playing his game. Your boyfriend snorted, making you kick his feet to shut him up.

"Are you seriously comparing you two's sibling fight to one of the greatest Japanese Korean tragedies?" You asked.

"Yes." Rindou grunted, shrugging his shoulders as if its the most obvious thing in the world, making you roll your eyes.

"Im surprised you guys even know that considering you two's level of education" you retorted, making offended gasps come out from the two brothers, "Hey watch your mouth, Im the eldest here. You dont back answer me. Ill kick your ass." Ran threatened playfully as he twirled a knife and pointed towards you jokingly, making you give him a 'sure' look.

"Rindou, ignore your brother, you know you can spend a nice thanksgiving anywhere, I spent one in Roppongi anyway, before i was dating Ran." you said, as you walked towards the living room couch.

"You did?" Ran asked, following me with a opened desert cup.

"Yea, back when i was dating my ex Kenji. It was really fun, we visited casinos, cheesy wedding chapels, roamed around malls, got drunk and explored the night life, and also almost landed up in a strip club, which was of course surprising as hell." you chuckled, unknown towards Ran being taken aback midway eating his desert, looking at Rindou, who had confused eyes darting towards his brother's, his attention completely off the game, as the brothers' exchanged confused glances between each other.

"Wait you went to chapel?" Ran asked. "Yea." you chuckled, as you continued to apply spread on my sandwich. "Why?" He continued.

"We had one of those silly fake wedding haha" you chuckled, thinking of it as a funny memory, while Ran's eyes squinted at you, visibly taken aback, as Rindou now removed the headphones from his ears and onto his shoulders, glancing between you two and seeing the interaction in confusion. "(NAME)," Ran started, now his desert kept on his lap, as squinted his eyes at her, "You know those are real, right?"

"Huh no they're not." you scoffed, assuming he was joking, as you continued to giggle and eat your sandwich.

"Baby...Rindou and I have been ruling Roppongi since we were 13...we know it inside out...Trust me, they are real." Ran responded, as now slowly set down his unfinished desert.

You slowed your chewing, your eyes blanking out, seeing that your boyfriend was indeed serious unlike his usual demeanour, as despair and nervousness slowly filled inside your body, "No..they're not" Your voice slightly quivered, as you looked at Rindou for backup, but instead was returned with the same confused nervous look as Ran's.

"Yea they are." Ran responded.

"He's right, they're real." Rindou confirmed.

You sat there nervous, as you started fidgeting with your sandwich, "B-But it didnt seem real..." You muttered, your voice whimpering, as you looked at both of them, as if trying to convince them and even yourself. You three exchanged glances between each other, but majorly you looking at Ran as he looked at you, this time his eyes widened and his mouth slightly agape.

"Son of a bitch" you both cursed under your breaths.

--- TIMSKIP 2 HOURS LATER---

It was almost time for your friends to arrive, as you guys were busy doing last minute preparations.

"I cant fucking believe you're married to that idiot." Ran muttered, as he aggressively continued to set up the tables with loud thuds.

You sighed as you were busy setting up the pillows and cushions of the living room sofa, "Would you stop it? we just did it as a goof."

"Goof or not, you two are actually married. you need to get this taken care of, or Ill handle it myself." Ran gritted, as he put down the nachos bowl with a 'thud'.

"I will. Why are you making it such a big deal?" you gritted as you finished dusting off the couches and bean bag.

"Oh i have a reason," Rindou spoke out as he was casually setting up the DJ system, "It could be because you said yes to marrying Kenji, but made Ran chase you till the end of the Earth as you showered him with resounding 'no's and making one of the kings' of Roppongi's ego hurt." Rindou didnt look up, as he was amused by the situation and the argument happening between you two, making him snort mentally at the kind of problem it is.

You and Ran both glared at Rindou, as he hummed and tested out his new tracks.

You sighed as you now stood in the middle of the living room frustrated, your hands placed at your hips. "So how do i undo this?"

"Im hoping you can get an annulment cuz it never happened." Ran replied.

"Great. Well what do i have to do?"

"Ran looked into his phone, searching for solutions when he spoke up, "It says here that you can get an annulment, if any of the following conditions are met. 1. Were you unable to consummate the marriage? Hah you? Next." Ran mocked, as you rolled your eyes and glared at him. "Is there any case of fraud, bigamy, want of understanding-"

"Want of understanding? What does that even mean?" you asked before being interrupted by the younger brother.

"Ding ding ding we have a winner" Ran cheered, mocking you, making you roll your eyes for the third time in the span of few hours, rubbing your eyes in frustration at the nonsense.

---

Soon your friends of Toman started coming in, as you guys greeted them as everyone started settling in and started mingling and partying.

You were talking with Shion and Mochi, "Hey thanks for coming in. Here's the bottle you wanted to taste." you replied with a bland and strained tone, making the two question.

"Whats with you?" Mochi asked, when Ran appeared and answered immediately, "Oh she's just mad at me because she just found out that she was married to her ex." Ran replied with a strained forced smile, looking at you the whole time, his hands inside his pockets.

"Really that dumbass you used to date? Tha-ts hysterical" Shion started laughing at the end midsentence, making you glare at him. "I cant believe i felt bad for opening this earlier." I said, before snatching the bottle from Mochi's hands and walking away. Mochi glared at Shion as the latter pursed his lips, "Congratulations you played yourself." "Shut up."

Soon enough the party started, along with everyone starting to realise the tension between you and Ran, as you told everyone not to worry about it Rindou coughing in the background.

Hinata, Takemichi, Draken, Emma, Mikey, Baji and Kazutora were hanging out in the kitchen going through the food stuff, when Senju barged out of nowhere, "Guys you wont believe what i just heard."

"What?" Hinata asked. "Im pretty sure she has some random bullshit to spout out" Baji joked, giving a high five to Mikey and Draken, as Senju rolled her eyes, giving him the middle finger.

"First off, fuck you Baji. Second off, did you guys know that (NAME) was married to her ex Kenji two years ago?"

"WHAT?" Everyone in the kitchen exclaimed, as they turned their heads towards a smug Senju, some of the people's mouth full mid bite (Mikey and his dorayaki). "Yea. thats the reason why we were uncomfortable with the tension between (NAME) and Ran."

Yuzuha came running in, before spotting Senju and visibly deflating, "You told everyone here already didnt you?"

---

As you were sitting with the girls that is Emma, Hinata, Senju and Yuzuha, talking about the situation as they had confronted you about it, when Ran came out of his bedroom, walking towards you, reading into his phone, "Ok ive readied the annulment papers, all that needs to be done is for you and that dumbass to sign it. Understood?"

"Yea."

"Oh and do it soon as possible will ya?"

"I fucking get it Ran, can you stop bothering me about this?" you gritted as you stood up and started walking towards his room.

"How the hell am i bothering you, when im just trying to get your ass out of this stupid mess?" Ran gritted back, as he stared at your back.

---

"How am i the bad guy? She's the one who married someone else. Im the victim." Ran ranted, as Rindou, Sanzu, Izana, Kakucho and Mochi sat on the couches drinking and watching the game on the TV"

"Sounds like Kenji's the victim. You're sleeping with his wife." Sanzu retorted making the other men snort. "Okay i see what your problem is...Can i weigh in here?" Izana asked, making Ran shrug. "Im trying to watch the game here, shut up."Izana retorted with a blank face before turning towards the TV, making the others finally burst out in laughter, as the braided male rolled his eyes in annoyance.

Just the you entered, walking towards your boyfriend, "Well, you'd be happy to know that i just spoke with Kenji, and he's willing to sign the papers." Ran nodded, making his way towards to you, both of you peeking in your phone together. "He's on his way here now." You said, making Ran look up at you with an incredulous look, "Wait, you invited him here?" Ran asked, slightly raising his tone.

"Im getting ready to weigh in here again." Izana called out, not turning his eyes off the TV, making Ran roll his eyes, before pulling you towards a quieter corner.

You both were at a quieter corner near the kitchen, arguing,

"I just don't understand why you had to invite him here today??"

"Because you wouldnt shut up about it. and when I called him, he had nothing to do so I just thought-"

"Hey guys" Kokonoi spoke up from behind the kitchen counter, "We're kind of talking here."

"Oh sorry we'll keep it down." you said apologetically, again turning towards Ran, but being interrupted again, "Oh no no, speak up."

Ran and you looked at him confused, before looking at Inui, Kisaki and Hanma behind him, the three males waving at you. "We are kinda bit further from you two's talking range, and we dont wanna miss anything." Kokonoi shrugged, making your mouth agape, squinting at their audacity before looking at Ran, who had an annoyed look.

"Well get ready to invite one more, because she invited Kenji over here right now." Ran said, before a loud 'WHAT' was heard.

Mitsuya slapped Peh's mouth shut, while Pah turned him around, alongside Mikey, Draken, Baji, Kazutora, who were pretending to look into some other directions, whistling some random notes and observing the surroundings.

---

After Half an hour, when the doorbell rang, every single person scrambled, waiting for the next moments of what was about to come.

---

"Well, here are the papers, you just gotta sign in here." Ran said, as he put forth the papers across the table, as you and Kenji stood across each other.

"Sorry I made you come over here on a holiday" you apologised, as you stood patiently at your side.

"Its alright." Kenji said, "I didnt have anything going on, plus, (NAME) told me we were married, and thanksgiving is the time to be with family." Kenji said with a wide tooth smile. If looks could kill, Kenji wouldve been tortured to death by the way Ran glared at him, while you blankly looked at your dumb ex. "Yea okay great, Can we just get this over with?" You said, as you took the pen and signed the papers.

"Great, by a few days, this marriage will be over, and you both can go seperate ways." Ran said, as you held the pen towards Kenji to sign it, "Here."

Kenji hummed before speaking up, "I dont know if i wanna sign these papers."

Everone 'oooed', as you both ignored the voices. You glared at Kenji with a 'are you serious look' while Ran had red in his eyes, "Why not?" Ran said, his voice raising, restraining himself to not beat the shit out of him.

"Because i think splitting up would be rough on the kids." Kenji said, making you two look at him with dumbfounded looks. "

"We don't have any kids" You say, "Are you sure, cuz you didnt know we were married until this morning." Kenji said, making Ran look towards you, smacking his lips and squinting his eyes, giving you the 'he's got a point' look, making you roll your eyes.

"Okay Kenji, you know neither of us thought this was real, i mean we were married by an anime character impersonater."

"Of course it was an Anime character impersonater. we could never afford a real one."

You looked at him with your eyes squinted and dumbfounded look, while Ran rubbed his hand over his face, "You married him instead of me? Yeah good call." Ran said, taking the pen from your hands and pointing it towards Kenji , "Sign the damn papers."

"Hang on" You said, pointing your hand towards Ran, "You know you've been a jerk about this all day. You always do this. Whenever i mess something up, you're right there to make me feel worse about it."

"That is not true." Ran argued.

"You know we couldve waited till Monday, signed the papers, and this wouldve all been over."

"You're the one who invited him here."

"Oh there we go again. Just another mistake you're throwing at my face."

"Not cool bro." Kenji said, poking Ran's shoulder with the pen, as Ran squinted at him annoyed and irritated. "Im starting to think you're not the guy i want dating my wife."

You held Ran's one hand back, not to let him physically strangle Kenji in front of the others.

Ran took a deep breath, before speaking up, "Yea, well she's not gonna be your wife for long."

"Oh no are you dying?"

Ran looked at the ceiling, while you closed your eyes in frustration, still holding Ran's one hand to calm him down.

"Im about to. Sign the damn papers." you said.

Kenji signed the papers as he happily said, "You know what they say, Happy wife..Happy life." He put the pen down on the table as he grinned and looked towards you both, while Ran gave him a sideye, his both hands on the table, while you took a deep breath.

---------

Soon the party ended, as everyone bid goodbyes. Finally only you, Ran and Rindou were left. Rindou went to his room, while you and Ran sat beside each other on the couch, watching TV, and eating ice cream.

You sighed, as you slid an arm underneath his, "Hey, i'm sorry about today. And i promise that the next time i get married, it wont be a joke. It'll be for love. Or money." i said nodding my head, before giving him kisses on his cheeks and his lips before resting my head on his shoulders, as Ran snorted on your words. He then moved his hands to wrap around you, as he then retorted, "Its a win win for me, since i qualify for both", making you chuckle, as you both continued to cuddle and watch TV and eating the tub of ice cream.

#tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev x you #sanzu x reader #ran x reader #rindou haitani x reader #ran haitani x reader #tokyo rev fluff #bonten x reader #tokyo revengers ran #tokrev crack #tokrev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev x reader crack

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

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Yandere Priest x GN! Reader

Another part to my yandere supernatural harem. Masterlist here

Story has some Christian themes, but is not completely based from them

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: light body horror, character injury, briefly mentioned non consensual kiss, religious themes

Biting. Clawing. Tearing. The only thing he could remember. Talons piercing his skin, teeth on the vital arteries beneath – bursting under each individual fang. A robbery gone wrong had led this man to a fate crueler than death; a vicious beast spawned right before his eyes with a single mission in its mind, to make him feel absolute anguish. Lying on the cold earth. No one to comfort him in his final moments, unlike the person he’d harmed. Light fading-

He wakes up. The room is cold, he’s cold. He holds himself, memories flooding back to conscious mind. It felt better than where he had been moments before – anything did. He looked around the room. It looked empty, but something was there. He could feel it.

“Good evening.”

He turns. Someone stares from the shadows of the room. Bandaged hands clasp tightly over their lap, one looser than the other.

“W..who the fuck are you?”

“No need for that kind of language. I’m just here to ask a few questions. You know, when you died they said it looked like a bear had mauled you, but there isn’t any place where one could’ve come from for miles.”

He swallowed.

“But I’m not here for that. I want to know more about a friend of yours.”

A tall figure looms over you, hand gripping the blankets wrapped snugly around your body. The presence was suffocating; like said hand was slowly reaching for your neck. It instead hooks onto your blankets and tears them from your arms in one swift move.

“Good morning, Y/n!”

You groan, sitting up to meet the blank, yet bright eyed angel by your bedside. The enormous smile on his face pulls even further; meaning you had yet to rid the sleep from your eyes.

“Isn’t it like… 9:00am.”

He chuckles. “No, eight actually. Did you forget our plans for the day?”

You groan louder. A grim reaper, demon, and your very own guardian angel. Pains in your side for the majority of their stay, who’s thorns you were finally getting used to. With the couple rules you had in place already, another few had been added to the pile; namely in the comfort of your fellow housemates. One day of every weekend, each one of them would get a day without you; with the final weekend of the month being for yourself – which went about as well as one could imagine. The reaper and demon had already had their turn for the month, and so now it was the angel’s turn.

The thought had been brewing in Alasdair’s mind for a while. He had heard, and even read, of the various religions on earth; but knew little beyond average knowledge. During his time in heaven, he carried little about the human realm, until he met you; developing an interest in the cultures to benefit you both. For his day with you, he asked if you would join him in visiting a church; which you reluctantly agreed to. It was more toned down than racing shopping carts through grocery store aisles and had more to it than just relaxing on the couch – not that you really had a problem with either.

“Come on, we’ll be late if you don’t get up.” Alasdair pulls the blankets further from your grasp and helps you up. You shower and put on your Sunday best; him already ready to head out. With a formal suit and tie being eighty percent of his wardrobe, you didn’t expect him to have to do much to prepare anyway. You say your goodbyes to the other two and head out.

The building was an elegant structure. Faded white bricks made up its walls; a tall tower stuck to the hip of the main building – a silver cross upon its peak and along the edges of the center place. Tinted glass surrounded each window; a large circulator panel over tall, oak wood doors standing out above the otherwise rectangular glass. The twin doors stand propped open for the day’s service; faint light at the end of the altar glowing ominously – like distant flames of a furnace. The smell of herbs and burning candle wax hit strong as you enter; both you and Alasdair sitting in pews at the very back of the church.

The interior was even more marvelous. Cream colored walls basked in a warm light from lanterns;

Moments after you settle down, a man walks up to the podium before the altar. Specs of grey salts his shoulder length, champagne hair colored; a single green eye visible through the unkempt mane – smiling cordially at the crowd below. Bandaged poke from the collar of his black robes to the sleeves; small scars dawning his pale knuckles. He places his hand on the surface of the podium, surveying the room with a quick sweep as the kind smile from his eye spreads to his lips. In the very last second his gaze washed over the room, you could have sworn he took a double glance at you.

“Friends, family, newcomers. We thank you all for joining us on another glorious day that the lord has given us. Let us join in faith and allow him to guide us in his glory to a brighter light.”

After the morning prayer, he begins to read off scripture verse from the Bible. Alasdair seems completely encapsulated in the words of the priest, but you couldn’t shake the familiar feeling of being watched.

“Blessed are those who trust in the Lord and have made the Lord their home and confidence.”

Once service ends, you and Alasdair prepare to leave. If you hurried, there was time to get a bit more reset before the next activity of the day. Before you could make it to the exit, footsteps click to a halt on the checkered floor behind you.

“Good day.”

You turn. The priest stands before you, arms tucked behind his back with a grin plastered to his face. It felt – different from the one he gave before. More genuine than before, yet eerie at the same time.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you two before. It’s always nice to have young new faces.”

Alasdair extends a hand, and a friendly smile. “Alasdair, and this is Y/n.”

Basically ignoring Alasdair, the priest turns his focus to you, offering his palm to you instead. “Father Aiken. It’s a pleasure.”

You hesitantly shake it. His grip is firm; the gesture lasting a few seconds longer than needed. He stares you down, calloused fingers deep in your palm – the pulse beneath almost palpable. He lets go and returns his hand to its original position.

“Our doors are always open. Come by anytime.” He nods in Alasdair’s general direction before heading off. You decide to leave without questioning it any further.

On the way home, you strike up a conversation with Alasdair.

“So.. what did you think?”

“It was.. an interest. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it before, but before we met I paid little attention to your kind. It’s quite the experience to hear more about your beliefs in our creator.” He furrowed his brows. “But that man seemed.. off.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every being gives off some kind of aura, even us angels. They could be factors in your race, or measures of your moral code like with you humans. Aiken didn’t have one at all. The only other time I’ve seen this is with…” He shakes his head.” ah, it’s probably nothing to worry about. Did you have a good time, Y/n?”

“It was alright… Would you go again?”

“I’m honestly not sure."

Days go by and you pretty much push the encounter to the back of your mind. You head out with Baron one day to pick up a couple things from the grocery store; the demon fortunately in human form as he rushed through the isles like a bat out of hell. With him off on his own, you venture elsewhere to find your personal wares. As you search the many shelves, a familiar voice calls from over your shoulder.

“Y/n?”

Looking back, you see Father Aiken; dressed in a casual outfit of a sweater and pants – shopping basket in one hand. It was easier to see the cloth wrapped around his body in the looser clothing; discolored poking from their length. He places his hand over his chest as he lets out a soft gasp.

“Ah, I thought it was you, my dear. How are you on this fine afternoon?”

“Not bad. How about you, Father?”

“Oh please, call me Jeremiah. No need for formalities. I didn’t see you at our last service. I don’t mean to pry, but will you ever return?”

You crack a nervous smile. “Sorry… I’ve just been busy with.. things-"

He frowns a bit. “Ah well, that's unfortunate. Excuse me.”

Jeremiah goes to grab something from the shelf beside your head, only for it to slip from his grasp and class to the ground. Being closer, you kneel to pick it up; yet he does the same. His hand glides over yours, but instead of pulling back he grabs it. You attempt to worm free, but he strokes the back of your palm as he squeezes your hand.

“I knew it… You’ve been through so much haven’t you, Y/n?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have troubles. Ones you can’t talk about with others. Haunted by foolish mistakes.”

You clench your jaw; looking towards the ground – his smile grows.

“Please stop by this weekend. We’re having a baptism, and I’d love to get to speak with you more.

He lets you go, standing up right as Baron turns the corner with the shopping cart. The two share a passing glance, but Jeremiah leaves. Baron rushes over to you.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good…”

You get dressed for the service before either of your bedmates wake up – or so you thought. As you leave the bathroom, Alasdair stands near the doorway waiting.

“Are you heading somewhere, Y/n?”

“Nowhere specific. Just heading out.” You reply, avoiding eye contact.

“Would you like me to come with you?”

“I’m fine on my own.”

“Are you sure-"

“Yes.” As comfortable as you were getting with them around, there were always times you felt suffocated by their constant attention – maybe that’s why you were going where you were now. Alasdair drops the subject, a thin frown on his face. You squeeze past him and exit the room. He looks over at Baron who had been woken by fuss.

“It looks like I’ll be heading out too.”

The service goes on without a hitch. At its end, Jeremiah calls forth a young male sitting in the front row. The pair stand before a small fountain, the waters within giving of a golden light; though hard to tell whether it was from the lights above or the bowl. The man kneels, Jeremiah dipping his palm into the cool waters. He swipes his hand over the man’s forehead as he speaks.

“Today we acknowledge the death of your old self and the professions of faith. You have been raised to a new life along the path of your worship, and in the name of the Holy Lord I now baptize you.”

He brings his finger down in the opposite direction, helping the man to his feet afterwards. The service lets out soon after that and he walks to you, sitting beside you as the final person leaves. He gently places his hand on your leg.

“You came. I’m glad.”

“What did you mean.. back at the store?”

He exhales. “You are a very special person, Y/n. I could see that even during our first meeting, and I can also see what’s been shackled to you for many months. Powerful entities that barely leave you with a breath to spare. Am I wrong?”

You sigh. “Not completely.”

“It seems you’ve grown attached to them as well, and that’s understandable, but the best course of action might be to let it all go.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Give yourself over to faith, Y/n. By my hand, and the lord’s, we can help you find eternal peace. You can live without a single worry.”

You look away. Sure, the group was a pain, but they had grown on you – just like he said. The times of you wanting to get completely rid of them were in the past, but sometimes they still came into question. The multiple times you escaped near death had worn you down. Many things had. Everything he had said sounded ridiculous, but so much of your life up to this point had been as well.

“I don’t know about that.”

Jeremiah smiles warmly. “It’s alright, my dear. We all need time before tough choices. I’ll expect you next week.”

Alasdair watches you from behind a pillar, heart sunken at the defeat in your eyes. He eases past and to a door at the end of the hall – Jeremiah's office. It’s what you’d typically expect to see in such a place. A fan in one corner, calendar and various religious tapestries along the walls – desk in the center of the room. He goes over to it, searching the drawers for any information. The first few are empty, yet the final catches his eye. It has a lock; broken like wet tissue paper with enough force. At first all he sees is papers that seem unimportant at first, until he stumbles across a photo. One of you.

There’s more beneath. Ones of you at work; on the way home – inside your house. Dates written in red ink are printed on the back. He looks over the papers once more. Upon second glance; he realizes they ate schedules of your habits – likely looking for the right moment you’d be alone. As if it couldn’t get worse,, the final item in the drawer chills him to the core. It was a bone. The wing bone of a bird.

You return home hours later. It was actually nice to take to another human for a little while. Your conversation derailed from your problems and to average questions about the day – like something friends would have. The second you unlock the door, hands grip your shoulders and pull you in like the talons of a hawk.

“Where. Were. You.”

Alasdair’s stare is unlike anything you’ve never seen. Unhinged, panicked. He holds onto your like you’d slip through the cracks if he let go. It almost hurt.

“I went to church. Is that a crime?”

“Stay away from that man. He’s not safe to be around.”

“He seems fine to me. Let go- that hurts!”

He immediately lets you go at the announcement of your discomfort, not realizing he had been unintentionally clamping down on your shoulder. The surface is red, throbbing. The anger and fear in him instantly turns into guilt.

“I.. I’m sorry, Y/n. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just want to keep you safe. That’s what we all want.”

You bit your lip; bite back what you have to say. When was it your turn to get what you wanted? These people have forced their way into your life, and while you made your peace with it; you longed for a taste of your life before. The silence.

“Promise me that you won’t go back.”

“I promise…

“Look at me and say it.”

You stare him in the eyes. “I promise I won’t go back.”

You wake at the crack of dawn, far before anyone else. You had slept that night with Maddox to further throw off suspicion. They were nestled in the corner of the couch, practically swallowed by it to give you as much space as they could. He had a look of utter contentment on his face. He always did when you slept with him. You replace your body with one of the arm pillows and leave; unaware of the eyes from the shadows.

The sun barely peaks over the horizon as you make it to the church. You planned on just camping out, but find the doors to be unlocked as you test them to make sure. The building is even creepier in the early hours. An empty husk of it could be; pews empty except for the silent wind. You see a figure at the end of the walkway and take a few steps forward; taking note of how it was a few inches taller than Jeremiah as you neared, and wearing less baggy, more formal clothes.

“You lied to me, Y/n.”

Alasdair glares down at you, closing the distance. He doesn’t let you make your case; grabbing your wrist as he heads to the exit. “We’re leaving.”

“I just wanted to give him an answer.”

“He doesn’t deserve any of your time, forget him.”

“You don’t understand…”

He grabs your other wrist, forcing you to look at him as he halts in the middle of the aisle; fear and trepidation clear on his face. Something you’ve only seen once before. “No, Y/n, you don’t understand. That man has been watching you. He’s been killing ange-"

Halfway through his sentence, something pierces Alasdair’s chest. His eyes meet yours, golden blood dribbling over his lips. The item removes itself from the cavity; his body slumping backwards. His hands still hold onto you, lightly pushing you away – almost telling you to run instead of it being the force of his limbs growing slack. As he collapses to the floor, you see the cause of the damage – blood dancing along the thin fingers of a bandaged hand.

You had seen Alasdair get hurt before. You were cutting something, and dropped the knife. He grabbed it, blade first with his bare hand – not even a drop of blood falling from the wound. Just an empty void in his palm.

“It’s alright, Y/n. There’s nothing man-made that can hurt me.”

“A pest this one was. Most of his kind are. Ah well, this was bound to be his fate someday.”

Jeremiah brings his hand to his face, licking the blood from each individual finger. As if only noticing you once he finished the cruel act, he grins.

“Hello, my dear.”

You trembled; legs geared to flee, yet remained stiff as stone. He steps on Alasdair’s sprawled out hand as he walks towards you.

“I’m very happy to see you again, Y/n~”

You stare past him, at Alasdair’s body; the blood circling him like tar. “H…how?”

“Growing up God, my family was extremely religious , even in the toughest hour. I tried my hardest to follow behind, but even then I knew the truth. God abandoned us, Y/n.”

You look in his direction.

“Did he ever tell you that? It’s the first thing those like him say. Blindlessly following orders from something that hasn’t been heard from in years. Sounds familiar doesn’t it?”

He cocks his head to the side, farther than humanly possibly. “Do you know why?”

“It’s because he’s dead.”

The bandages around his neck and arms fall; like whatever lies beneath was too much to keep wrapped. The skin under is raw, fleshy; pinkish like the muscles beneath – bulging off his body like a virus. Eyes tear through the mesh; blink starred, half lidded. The “flesh” drips over his left arm, its length and combining his fingers into a singular mass. Through the strands of his hair, his other eye becomes visible. Eyes to paint a better picture. Another eye had squeezed itself into the socket; iris yellow in color and surrounded by small rings.

“And I’m his replacement.”

“A..are you saying that you…”

“Killed God? Heaven’s no, silly! I merely found his corpse and ate it. I suspect the lazy bastard died sometime after the creation of man.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re killing angels.”

“Not just angels. Anything that stands in my way. Humans are terribly flawed, Y/n. A majority of us worship a corpse for Christ’s sake! I’ll be what he failed to be. A Shepherd for humanity and bring it to its most prosperous hour. The light at the end of the tunnel. But none of that can be done, without you.”

He brings his hand up to your face, gently stroking your cheek. The limb is hot, almost unbearably so. He gives you the same warm smile he always had.

“I wasn’t lying when I said you were special, Y/n.. You’ve brought so many from beyond the veil to your doorstep when you’re what some would call an average person. I’ve been watching you, unsure what I should do with someone like you; but overtime I’ve come to see what those vermin have as well. You’re an extraordinary being with the will to go on after so much pain. What many have lost the will to do. You make me feel something I haven’t been in ages… human.”

He presses his lips to yours, locking you in a kiss with his hand to the back of your neck. Alasdair’s blood still clings to his bottom lip. He pulls away with a look of amazement.

“What a rush! Ah, I’ve missed feeling things like this. You’re the only one who can ground me to this reality, make sure I keep the one thing I lost so long ago. I was planning on taking you myself, but since you came on your own I knew our courtship was meant to be. You feel the same way… right?~”

You don’t say anything. No words come to mind. Everything feels numb. You still look past him, at the body on the ground below. The blood rushes to your head. You’re unable to feel his tremendous gaze; the scream that echoes through the church’s hall – how your body falls from his grasp and unto the arms of another.

Maddox carries you in their arms away from the building; Baron close by with Alasdair’s limp form over his shoulders. Jeremiah is nowhere to be seen. Time feels like it’s going by at a crawl. You hear the faint tick of a clock as Maddox's skeletal hands drag you away from the scene. He looks down at you, expression unreadable as he covers your eyes with his free palm.

Upon returning home, Baron carries Alasdair to the bedroom to tend to his wounds. “He’s still warm.” Is all he gave you. Maddox stays with you on the couch, holding your shaking hands; your head in the crook of his neck.

“He’ll be okay.” He tries, but you knew that neither of you knew if that was true. Though your memories were a haze after that final moment, you remember the last thing Jeremiah said to you.

“See you, soon…”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere oc #yandere story #yandere series #tw yandere #yandere male #yandere demon #yandere angel #yandere grim reaper #x reader #reader insert

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glorified-red · 1 year

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Autopilot (Damian Wayne x Reader)

summary: After witnessing an event that hit just a little too close to home, you were left at the mercy of your own memories. All the usual tactics Damian knew weren't helping. It's a good thing he had a little helper.

word count: 4,070~

warnings: flashback during a panic attack, disassociation and driving through it, reference to past physical abuse (not specified from who or if it's domestic, it's very vague. But is heavily implied to be from a male), depictions of physical abuse in terms of verbs (punch, kick, hands on body, etc. Nothing more. Aka no bodily harm, just the feeling), and reference to passing out from a panic attack in the past.

Nothing quite like real world events to jerk me out of a writer's block, aye? This is based on a personal experience from just a few days ago so if there is a complaint with this story being too specific, I will ignore it. This fic means a lot to me so please be kind to it. Dont hesitate to let me know what you think of it! For those wondering, yes, I did finish writing that essay. Have not submitted it because I would love to read it and edit it at not 1 am, so that's a task for tomorrow while I dye my hair.

Autopilot — acting or functioning without conscious thought, as a result of routine or habit.

That was one way to describe what was happening.

From the second you put your helmet back on to the moment your hand closed the front door, you couldn’t pinpoint a single frame in between. The entire world around you was a blur, even as you zipped through Gotham traffic on a busy afternoon.

Distantly, you knew you should be aware of the wind hitting your skin, especially as it assaulted your jacket with its wispy breath. Each red light and your boots hit asphalt. You should’ve been able to register that feeling shoot up each of your legs, maybe feel the way your body shifted into an upright position.

But instead, your eyes were blank behind the tinted lens of a bike helmet.

You didn’t even try to fix it, not yet anyway. Not when there were cars blocking you in from every angle; not when one wrong move—one stuttered breath—could mean your bike jerking into a freefall.

So you didn’t even try to fight for awareness. If you did, maybe your hands would be gripping the handlebars a little tighter, maybe even twisting the kevlar of your gloves into the grooves until you felt something. You would’ve rubbed your hands down your thighs, dragging the fabric along your skin just enough to force your body into consciousness.

But you didn’t.

You just let yourself run on autopilot.

It was safer that way anyway. Safer than having the worst panic attack of your life while driving at least. You didn’t even want to think about how Damian was going to react when he found out you were driving this far down into your subconscious—on your motorcycle no less.

He really was going to murder you one of these days. But then again, you had countless retorts ingrained into your repertoire, countless callbacks to days where it wasn’t you in the driver's seat doing this, but the hypocrite himself.

So you didn’t worry enough about it. You gave it maybe two seconds of thought before you put your helmet on and rolled out of the parking lot. Should you call Damian? Wouldn’t it just be easier for him to pick you up and worry about the bike later?

Your brain sighed, maybe your body did on instinct, if it did, you wouldn't have known. He was at home—which was barely fifteen minutes away, you could survive that long—waiting for you, it’d worry him too much to get a phone call two hours after you were supposed to be home.

Somewhere between hues of gray, your legs guided you through the maze of a familiar home. There was a buzz in your ears, like the poor organs were trying desperately to comprehend the noise around you but fell short every time. They were filled with water then dried with cotton only for it to dissipate with water once more: a ferocious cycle that left you a stranger to the greeting happening right before you.

You shouldered passed . . . something? It didn’t matter. If it did, surely your brain would let you know later . . . right? Then came the mechanical routine of finding a place to bring yourself back. But when every wall looked the same and your boots trudged against the carpet—Damian was so gonna gripe about shoes in the house later—it felt like a losing game.

So you stuttered to a stop, somewhere. Arguably the worst place because the only tether you had to the outside world was the ground under your boots, which you couldn’t even feel because there was at least an inch of rubber tread between your reality and everyone else's.

The same buzz hit your ears. Maybe if you tried hard enough, you could blame the disconnect on the inner padding of the helmet stuffed against your head. It’s worked before, it’s not like it’s easy to hear with this thing on, let alone when your brain didn’t even want you to.

You could start to feel the autopilot wearing thin, the remnants of it dissolving with each passing second you remained idle. You tried to tap each of your fingers against your thumb one at a time to cling to what little autopilot was left. All you got from your body was a single twitch in your thumb.

A tap, a click, and a slide. All sounds you saw rather than felt or heard yourself. The tinted panel in front of your eyes lifted slowly until your grays turned into greens. You could get lost in that green for eternity and your soul would find contentment. You could find that green from memory, even when your eyes were filled with grays or your body turned blind to it. That green was one you would never lose.

It came naturally, locking your eyes into his. You could almost laugh at the fact that the last wisp of autopilot was used connecting yourself to him, as if your body had formed a habit you didn’t even know about until now.

You knew those eyes better than he did himself, even if he’d spent years staring at them before you. It was an easy victory when you traced them in your memories. So you knew each crease of worry that outlined the narrowness they had at the moment, the subtle squint as he tried to reach you.

Unfortunately for the both of you, he succeeded.

Your next breath came right before your lungs were punched by reality. The sheer weight of it was enough for you to struggle for air. It was like you were trapped as Atlas once was. But instead of holding the weight on your shoulders, you were crushed underneath all the rubble, having failed to keep everything upright.

You choked out a sob, hating the way your own breath ricocheted off the helmet back into your skin. You were suffocating. Your hands shot to the offending metal and clawed at each of the safety latches built in. Shaky fingers didn’t have enough dexterity to succeed which only made you gasp harder.

In an instant, there were skilled hands overtaking your own, practiced enough to succeed where you had failed.

“—eathe, I’ve got y—”

Newfound peripherals blindsighted you, they were both a blessing and a curse. While the new vision made it easier to protect yourself, the responsibility of having to do so was far too heavy a burden. You wanted to keep living in your tunnel vision and pretending it was safe there.

You were still suffocating. Air was scarce to come by and when it did travel through you, it scorched your lungs until you considered if air was truly worth the fight if it hurt so much. The same shaky hands grasped for the collar of your jacket, suddenly far too tight against your neck. It was as if the fabric itself was choking you and not Reality. Thready hands were better to imagine than calloused ones.

You didn’t notice your feet tripping backwards until your back collided with a wall, you didn’t even care, you just wanted this stupid jacket off. Agile hands swifty unlatched everything, unclasping safety mechanics and helped shrug the leather bind off of your skin.

“—ok, it’s off. Brea—”

The wall was solid; the wall was good; the wall was safe. You let yourself slide all the way down until you hit the floor, your green easily followed. You coughed on an exhale, your inhale having hurt far too badly to finish.

Your hands settled together behind your neck, fighting to grab at something, might as well protect your pulse points.

“—off?”

Your gaze struggled to lift up to him without staggering. When it settled back into his calming hue, you choked out a response: “What?”

Realistically, you exhaled far too much on the word when you received another kick to the chest but you figured he would get the gist. He’s smart.

“Do you want your boots off?” His hands floated in the space between you both, where your bent legs ended and his crouch began.

With a tilted comprehension, it took a few breaths—albeit pretty quick ones—for the words to sink in. When they did, you jerked out a nod. Without hesitation, he made quick work of velcro, buckles, and zippers, forcing you to trudge through heightened awareness alone.

Awareness was always worse than letting your mind shift into sand to pass through fingers with ease, free from the pain those fingers always left. Especially when Reality was combing through sand with a sharp comb, breaking each particle down to the atom. Water couldn’t wash away atoms the same way it could sand.

Your lungs convulsed again just as your socked feet felt the bite of cold tile, boots long since forgotten.

“Breathe,” he said simply, telegraphing his movements slowly. “Can I take off your gloves?”

You liked the safety of where your hands were, but feeling a leather mesh on your neck wasn’t exactly the most comforting feeling.

You jerked your hands out slowly, seeing for yourself just how much you were shaking compared to his steady hands. His movements were slow and deliberate, testing the waters to see how you reacted to his touch on your skin. The second both hands felt air instead of fabric, they retreated back to safety.

“You need to breathe.”

You shook your head, feeling the muscles under your hands twist along with the motion. “I—” you choked, “I can’t”

“Yes you can.” Damian shifted from his crouch to sit before you. “You’ve been through this before and you always come out of it, don’t you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping it would help somewhat. Another kick to the chest and you were back to scrambling.

“ ‘t hurts,” you whined.

“I know it does, but you have to breathe. Breathe with me.” You opened your eyes to look at him through the blur of watery tears.

That was a mistake.

Reality was finicky at best. It shifted like the waves in its fluidity, morphing into new forms and combining within itself. Your fingers twitched against your neck.

Focus on the green.

But then his hands slowly laid atop your knees, a familiar trick he did every time. Innocent touch, a tethered connection between you two to bring you back to him. The further the attack would go, the more weight he’d put into his palms until your legs unbent without your knowledge. It was an easy way to open your chest cavity to make breathing a little bit easier while making it seem like nothing is changing, especially when your brain is occupied with other things.

But this time, his hands felt bigger, they felt more calloused, and held more weight in them. You jerked in an inhale. “Sto—stop touching me.”

Immediately his hands lifted off of you. “Okay, I won’t touch you.” His palms raised in the air so you could see them, an emphasis to his word. “But we’re going to breathe together.”

Damian waited a single moment for you to register his words, for your eyes to shift from his hands to his eyes, then finally, to his chest.

“Breathe in.” He exaggerated his chest visually for you to replace touch. Usually there would be some comfort in the way your hand was guided to his sternum, fingers spread out to feel the fabric of his shirt and the way his chest rose with each inhalation, only to fall when he exhaled. Yet this time, his chest would’ve felt different and that thought alone was enough for your breath to stutter.

“And out.” You envied the way he released his breath so slowly and with so much control where yours was rushed and clunky.

He praised you all the same. “Good. Again. In,” he breathed in, you followed shortly after, “and out.”

You fell out of the inhale before he did, your lungs quivering under an invisible hand. Your head hit the wall with a whine. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he stressed. “I know you can. Try again.”

You wheezed where he inhaled, you coughed where he exhaled. Your hands sunk from your neck to your chest, gripping on tight to the kevlar.

“That’s it,” he said, just before another set of breaths. You hated this part the most. You could live with the shakiness afterwards, the pain and the burn of your lungs once they finally settled down. You could ignore the feeling of being on edge for hours after, the feeling of fragility, like someone could blow and you’d wither away with the feeble wind.

But the feeling of true hopelessness that came from this part was always the worst. You couldn’t fathom succeeding at this simple human task, a task that comes mechanically—completely on autopilot. Yet for some reason, it was a monumental task for you.

Before Damian—and a little bit during—you let yourself get consumed by the darkness. You let the hands squeeze your lungs until your brain fizzled out, the consequences to be dealt with once you woke up. It was far easier than fighting for consciousness, especially when said consciousness was so painful.

He didn’t like that very much.

So here you were, clamoring your way through a breathing exercise as if it wasn’t the most painful thing in the world. As if your lungs weren’t burning with rage and your muscles weren’t aching with tension.

As if you couldn’t feel hands all over your body with each step back into awareness.

As if you couldn’t hear and see things just passed Damian’s silhouette.

“This isn’t working,” you bite out. Your head had sunk down to face the floor at some point. The carpet was a darker shade of beige than it was a moment ago. Maybe it was your shadow affecting it, but considering everything, you didn’t think so. “I need—” you choked.

You saw the way Damian’s hands twitched against his pants, fighting to do something to help you. “Tell me what you need.” He tried searching your eyes like before, that tether was one that could bring up to him from just about anywhere. But you were studying the carpet as if it had wronged you on a visceral level.

You closed your eyes, trying to think past the echoes of an old voice and the remnants of old touch. You were stuck in limbo, caught between two realities that somehow merged in a single moment. Another kick to the chest and your body caved inwards—the same way it had before.

You could feel your grip on Damian’s reality fading. It was the one you’d prefer any day and it was the one you should be in. Not this one. Yet here you were, taking the hits of hands long in the past.

But . . .

Damian.

“When did we meet?” you demanded more so than asked, the words coming in and out with your breaths.

Despite his shock—and extreme confusion—he didn’t hesitate to answer with a number of years that have passed you by. Questioning you, especially your needs, at this moment wasn’t going to help.

You shook your head, your legs twitching together and back apart, the muscles contracting at random. “What year?” you said, trying to keep your oxygen inside for just a second longer.

He responded simply, your ears catching the sound with ease. The outside chatter cut down to a buzz. You breathed out a little slower.

“How?” you breathed in, your inflection cut off just slightly.

Damian didn’t waver. “We met in high school. I transferred in late and you were assigned as my peer guide to the Academy. You gave me a tour around campus to help figure out my schedule,” he paused, gauging your reaction before adding on just a bit more. “We ended up having a few classes together that year.”

“How old—” you breathed in, “How old were we?”

Damian blinked, his eyes shifting to the side as he recalled, probably doing some kind of mental math in his brain. “I started school when I was fourteen. You were probably fourteen or fifteen at the time.”

You blinked your eyes open, your lungs expanding happily at the information. Realities were disconnecting slowly, each question cutting a strand of fate that had sewed them together. Since neither could coexist, this new information was proof that the voices were just that, the past. Damian didn’t exist in the same era of these voices—these hands—him being here was a testament in it of itself.

The carpet was tinted just so, but it was enough to make it lighter.

“What about now?” you asked.

“What about now?” Damian echoed you, his confusion still prevalent in his voice. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed down the fire. “What year is it?”

For someone so intelligent, he really was not catching on to what was happening. Knowing him, he was probably scanning your head for a concussion right about now. But he didn’t show it outwardly. As much as he was confused and incredibly concerned, this was helping. So even if he didn’t sign up for trivia night, he’d play along—and he was sure as hell gonna win.

He responded factually. The math not only aligned, but since it was late into the year, it wasn’t exactly hard to remember. The buzz got even softer than before. You were able to breath out shakily, the intake was sharp in return but the progress was showing.

“And the date?”

Your eyes had closed softly, a sense of calm starting to breach through the anxiety.

Damian’s response immediately shrouded that progress. Suddenly the voice was right next to your ear and a foot was on your chest, constructing any airflow from ever hoping to come to your lips. The same date. A stupid number that just so happened to align, an anniversary, was enough to derail everything.

Damian’s voice turned to nothing but a buzz, a low rumble with a worried inflection.

He had asked a question. That much you knew. But your eyes had opened to a shade of dark beige and dreary grays, completely at the mercy of a dissociative state.

Even your hands lay limp from where they were resting between your knees, your wrists balanced atop the bony joints. You let it happen. You let your breath get squished underneath calloused hands along the back of your neck and a knee to the spine. You let your fingers go numb and your skin go cold as the room around you soured.

Suddenly it was a different time and a different place entirely.

Just dark beige and dreary grays.

The thuds of footsteps were easily drowned out until it was a simple buzz, just a low static rumbling beneath your skin.

But then your hands lifted at the feeling of fur underneath them. It was soft to the touch, the small fibers splitting away underneath your fingers. The fur shifted, it nosed in-between your pointer and middle finger before sliding down your palm, leaving a slight trail of warmth along your skin.

Your fingers twitched, the ice around them thawing slowly with each press of warmth until you could interact with it yourself. The fur morphed from a body to a small head that could fit just along your palm. Whiskers pressed into your hand as it was used as a scratching post. A head bump and your palm raised with it, only to slide down the back automatically as if your hand had done it a thousand times before.

Just along the back and up to the tip of the tail, just for the head to return for more scratches. You felt the tail wrap loosely around your ankle, shifting and swishing, but always remaining against you.

You scratched at the chin, your chest feeling lighter when the gentle creature tilted their head back to accept more. Reality itself couldn’t deny the creature’s existence, even if they truly wanted your reality to morph into the past.

Yet here it was, defying Reality, with nothing to say aside from a purr. Your hands touched black and your fingers graced white until you could make out the cat yourself, perched contently between your legs.

“Alfie,” you sighed out, half out of astonishment and half out of relief.

“I always seem to find you two together after a hard time,” came Damian’s voice, cutting straight through the static with his deep timbre. “He can help you where I can’t.”

There was still a shake in your breath, your chest still rising and falling with great difficulty, more than Damian liked. He looked up at you briefly before looking back down at the precious cat, one that only seemed to like a few people on this earth. Even if he liked Damian, it was a hell of a taming. But with you, you two clicked instantly.

Damian would never forget the day he found you holding Alfred, hugging him close and the content kitten doing nothing but hugging back with its smaller limbs. Alfred’s little head perched on your shoulder, eyes closed in pure bliss. You were swaying slowly, humming in harmony with the soft purrs omitting from the shorthair.

You were waiting on him, that much he remembered. It was years after you two had met, just shortly after high school graduation and just before Damian started college. That was the blissful moment of limbo where it was just you two hanging out for the summer and getting his apartment together.

That was the day Damian Wayne fell in love with you.

So here you were, years later, yet all the same.

“Alfred gave him to me my senior year,” Damian started. He knew you already knew Alfred’s origin, you were there. But for some reason, exact details of dates were helping you, so he was happy to recall a core memory. “He called it a graduation gift even though the meeting was pure happenstance. He didn’t want to admit the cat reminded him of me, but I knew.”

You glanced up at Damian and he glanced back.

He stated the year easily, the fricative consonants adding to his timbre. “That was the year I fell in love with you. I was nineteen. It started with prom night, I should have known what that feeling was by then. But it wasn’t until late summer that I finally realized I could see no other future than one that was beside you.”

He pointed down at the fuzz ball that was now laying across your crossed legs. “It’s all because of him.”

Your hands pressed into the fur and massaged the skin underneath gently until the final strand of fate was snapped. You looked into the green, seeing each shade of bright emerald and late spring, eucalyptus and summer leaves.

You found your voice and it was among his, miles ahead of the distant voices of the past. You said the same year, finding that your consonants blended with his after being around him for so long. Your voices intertwined in some ways and diverged in others.

“That was the year I fell in love with you.” You responded. “We got bored and decided to paint your bedroom a different color.” You found yourself smiling at the memory, not even thinking twice about how your voice became steady against the mechanics of breath. “We were trying to figure out how to use the paint rollers and you learned the hard way that too much paint was in fact, not, more efficient. You had paint all in your hair after just one swipe.”

You laughed and Damian found himself smiling at the sound. “I managed to get some on your cheeks,” he recalled.

You nodded. “You did,” a slight chuckle shaking your shoulders. “I got you back though.”

“Please,” Damian rolled his eyes, “you were covered in far more paint than I was at the end of the night.”

“Was not!”

Damian hummed in absolute confidence. “As I recall, Alfred gave you a far more disproving look than he gave me.”

“Because he found me first!”

Sometime in the near future, you would retell the events that led you to this moment. From witnessing an event that hit just a little too close to home to the police report that followed, you’d tell him everything.

But for now, you were happy just enjoying the moment with him.

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #robin #robin x reader #robin x you #robin x y/n #dc #dc comics #batfamily #batman #batman comics #dcu #hurt/comfort #emotional whump

288 notes · View notes

roxanaagriche111 · 10 months

Text

Before you read, I would like to explain some things! First off, if you guys don’t know what the rules are then please go back to the masterlist page here! If you have any problems with the rules then please kindly leave!

In this story, you are Yuu’s little sister. Yuu is a boy in this fanfic! Yuu never left Twisted Wonderland as he decided to stay there. It turned out he had magic this entire time that was sealed away for unknown reasons. Anyways, Yuu decided to stay after making friends and fond memories with the others. He also didn’t think he would fit in with his past life since there are no magic involved. He is still the Prefect from Ramshackle and had adopted Grimm while also being adopted by Divus Crewel.

FYI: In this information about who you are in this story. I had already made your personality, hobby, likes and dislikes, and background, etc. while the rest you decide! If they are wrong then I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are, what you look like, etc. This is all based on fanfiction!

Thank you and enjoy!

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~

Name: (Y/n) Divus

Gender: Female

Age: for this story you are around 15-16 (you are supposed to be like Chii from Chobits. You don’t have to look like her with skin, hair, eyes, etc. but your behavior is like hers. Chii’s age is unknown so I made you 15-16 cause she looks like one )

Height: for this story you’re 5’0 (gotta make you smol for this story. Imagine the males all swooning at how tiny and cute you are! But if you are smaller or a bit taller then you’re welcome to change it as you please!!)

Body figure: you decide

Hair color and length: you decide

Eye color: you decide

Skin color: you decide

Sexuality: straight

Wording shortcuts: (Y/n)=your name, (L/n)=last name, (h/l)=hair length, (h/c)=hair color, (e/c)=eye color, (s/c)=skin color, (fav/f)=fav food, (fav/c)=fav color

Origin: you decide

Family:

(F/n) (L/n) (father/???)

(M/n) (L/n (mother/???)

Yuu Divus(older brother/alive)

Grimm Divus (adopted younger brother/alive)

Divus Crewel (adopted father/alive)

Dire Crowley (somewhat adopted uncle figure/alive (sadly))

Most of the teachers (older siblings/uncles/alive)

Best friends:

Ortho

All of the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd years.

All the teachers

Students from Royal Sword Academy

Species: Human

Occupation: Yuu’s little sister / Night Raven College’s cute princess / Ramshackle’s princess

Suitors (some might have slight Yandere tendencies cause who can blame them?! They need to protect!!):

All of the dorms plus its members (too lazy to put everyone’s names and last names lol)

Royal Sword Academy (some are Oc found on Pinterest, in my head, or in the game)

Rollo Flamm (depending)

Platonic relationships:

Grimm

Ortho

Checka

Personality:

In this story, you act like Chii from the anime Chobits. You tend to blank out a lot and wander off by yourself causing your older brother to panic. This is not only because you wander off on your own. You also tend to fall asleep on random people either because you’re too tired or you think they are your brother. Nobody can push you off or wake you up cause you’re too darn cute!! You tend to also be curious about places and people. You also have somewhat of a childlike behavior.

Extra fact about your background/personality: you would often latch onto someone. Rather in a day dream state or not. You would run over to that person and wrap your arms latching onto that very person. Sometimes it’s your brother, animals, or even those that you feel familiar with. You latch onto them and fall asleep with ease despite many possible dangers.

Hobbies:

Don’t judge, but you love reading child books for unknown reasons. (Chii likes to read the kid's books in the anime) You also love to draw, but you seem to love sleeping more. Especially wandering off somewhere to who knows where. Where your older brother ends up having to find you a lot of times.

Likes:

You care for your brother a lot and those that you’re close with. You love animals of all kinds and are quite curious of them. Drawing is also your favorite pastime along with sleeping.

Dislikes:

You dislike mean people and those who bully your friends. You don’t like being left behind or worse forgotten. You also don’t like getting hurt or injured because you make your older brother worry about you. You don’t like getting wet a lot such as swimming. This is because you’re bad at swimming and don’t know how to swim. (This is because you had accidentally fallen asleep at a public pool and almost drowned. You’re too scared being in a certain amount of water after almost drowning!)

Background:

You are Yuu’s little sister and it’s uncertain if you have magic or not. You don’t talk as much and mostly write the things you want to say, but you’re not mute for some reason. You also have a tendency to get injured easily or bruised up very quickly. If you bump into a wall or something, you instantly have a bruise. In other words, you’re fragile like glass. For another odd reason, you tend to blank out and wander around before falling asleep on someone or something. You don’t know how many times Yuu would panic if not seeing you in his eyesight! You did go to public schools, but considering your blank and wandering nature, plus sleeping at random places or people. You became homeschooled and is taught/watched over by your neighbor named granny. You are watched by your neighbor as your brother goes to public school and later picks you up.

Fun extra fact: You tend to forget to put shoes on and walk around barefooted a lot, rather it’s inside a place or out. Poor Yuu has to make sure to carry extra shoes on him to make sure you don’t injure yourself. Since you also tend to wander around while loosing sight of your brother. You have these four small bells on you. Two on each leg wrapped around your ankles. This helps your brother locate you better. You don’t bother to take them off cause you tend to forget very easily.

These are what you would wear at the college and what you tend to wear when not in class.

Also, you like to dress Lolita style like how Chii from Chobits would wear. This is because your character is based on the characteristics of Chii!!

Your uniform:

Your casual clothing

MASTERLIST

STORY SUMMARY

PROLOGUE COMING SOON

CHAPTER 1 COMING SOON

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #reader insert #chii chobits #twisted wonderland x reader #so cute!!!#tooo cute!!#fluff #tooth rotten fluff

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quitealotofsodapop · 7 months

Note

I noticed that macaque's clones have personalitys of there own like mk and we don't see wukong's clones having different personality's.

It would make sense if mac was mk's parent

I think its moreso that MK and Macaque use their clones for specific tasks so much that their clones "develop" personalities based on their function.

Wukong summons a bunch of clones for one purpose and poofs them immediately afterwards, any loose ones probably get poofed anyway by a stiff wind.

MK ofc accidentally gave about 4 of his clones personalities based on different aspects of his life cus he stressed and sleepy. And they def show up again, probably as "defaults" that MK's cloning powers prefer summoning from memory over new "blank" clones.

Canon Rumble & Savage are probably the same for Macaque. He normally summons either his Smokey Kaiju form as a clone, or an entire army of shadows. The twins (sadly only in the toyline) likely were once a pair of clones summoned that Macaque got attached to.

#lmk character hcs #sun wukong #mk clones #qi xiaotian #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #rumble and savage #lmk rumble #lmk savage #lmk eclipse twins #lego monkie kid #lmk

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alwaysjustmina · 3 months

Note

i have been thinking about this since the last ask 😂

also disclaimer, not all the scientific facts here are correct as i am using only my memories on conversations with friends and what some assistants had said

aurora is a med student, of course a regular at the coffee shop, and i feel like phantom has a bit of a crush for the always 2 seconds away from falling asleep cute regular

sunshine‘s research is also in the physical chemistry (i am basing this on my friend and some of my professors too like the others 😂), snd that is surface chemistry for the harvest, storage, and transformation of energy, with the goal of making solid anodes and kathodes for more long lasting batteries

mountain is definitely crushing hard on this tiny woman, they first met when sunny was a new grad student there, trying to find her professor‘s office but got lost and bumped into a wall because she was busy looking at her phone to find the office, but the wall isnt a wall, its actually just mountain

shes just so bright and bubbly, and after mountain offered to take her to the office, he actually waited for her to finish talking with the prof bcs he wanted to offer help, and maybe lunch together? hes on his way for it anyway, and… yeah, hes so crushing on sunny 😂

i am still blanking on cirrus and cumulus, i was thinking smth like aerospace engineering, but it doesnt feel right either, so if you have ideas, be my guest! go feral! i will come back if i have any

Ok but I absolutely love Cirrus and Cumulus in something with air involved cause that's them. I have no idea though on what anything like that would be called.

Are they ghouls in this?

If so maybe with something that studies like airflow, or how to make things more aerodynamic and relation how to fly (which like aerospace you said?). Thoughts? These are absolutely just suggestions and no offense if you don't use!!

I love all the story line ideas, love! I am so vested!

#bex hc #lab coat au #ghost band #the nameless ghoulettes #the nameless ghouls

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questforgalas · 7 months

Text

Summary: Betrayal in a foreign country. No one to trust but each other. Johnny "Soap" MacTavish barely made it out of the streets of Las Almas, but with Ghost's guiding word, he made it out alive. Now, making their way to whatever safety the wilderness of Mexico can offer, feelings previously hidden away struggle to be tamped down, and Soap struggles to keep his heart in check as he thinks about what he and his lieutenant found together in the streets of Las Almas

WC: 4.6K

Tags: Swearing, Soap gets stitches, blood, canon typical violence

Notes: I cannot believe that less than 3 weeks ago I didn't even know GhostSoap was a thing and now I'm writing fics. The power of subtext Activision. The freaking power of subtext ....

Anyway! This is not only my first GhostSoap fic, but it's my first time ever writing romance! Any feedback or suggestions are very welcome!! ***Updated 9/16 after my brilliant friend gave it a read and gave some feedback. Italics are actual dialogue from the MW2 (2022) mission "Alone" aka the GhostSoap mecca

“¡Déjanos en tranquilo!” - Leave us alone! “¿Donde esta el Irani?” - Where is the Iranian? “¡No está aqui! - He's not here “¡No sabemos! Salgan de mi - We don't know! Get out of my -

Enjoy :)

Read on Ao3

Johnny “Soap” Mactavish was willing to give his soul, left arm, and at least one testicle for the truck to never jostle again. Whether it was a pebble or a pothole carved from years of rain, traffic, and neglected infrastructure, each bump sent a chest-seizing jolt of pain through his right shoulder, and given the fact that the truck was pushing its speedometer’s limit through the rural desert of Mexico, he figured his chances of a smooth journey were slim, but he was at a point where desperation was taking over and logic flew out the shot-out window. Fresh blood trickled from the bullet hole making a window through his body - his trophy from a high-caliber rifle at point blank range.

Well, he had to survive to actually claim the trophy.

Most civilians assume that death is on a soldier’s mind every second during the day, even pestering them in their dreams, but the reality is that soldiers walk alongside death like an old friend. In the beginning, it dances around them, testing what will tempt them to come play for eternity, but over time, after successful missions and healed wounds, its eager energy abates. Transforming into a consistent presence looming near. Before each mission, after the final pull on his gear’s straps, ensuring the protection his life will depend on is secure, Johnny gives a nod to the ever present shadow lurking above and watches as it retreats back to its corner, waiting to greet him when the time comes.

With each bump of the truck, Johnny begged death to remain in its corner.

Las Almas, or the place from now on known as “the town that can get fucked”, may be forgotten behind the horizon, but not in Johnny’s mind.

“¡Déjanos en tranquilo!” “¿Donde esta el Irani?” “¡No está aqui! “¡No sabemos! Salgan de mi -” Gunshot. A woman sobbing into the night. Pouring rain creating another river of blood between the cobblestones.

A body greeted him around every corner. Women. Children. Men. Families. Individuals. In the streets. Inside homes. It didn’t matter. If they were a resident of Las Almas, they were guilty in the eyes of Shadow Company, and tonight, the Shadows were judge, jury, and executioner.

“War crimes, Johnny,” Ghost’s voice crackled through the earpiece. “Makes me want to commit a few war crimes of mah own,” Johnny ground out.

A growl crawled its way up his throat,teeth grinding at the memories.

Fuckin’ Shadow Company. Johnny’s seen some bastards with balls of steel in his time with the SAS, but none can compare to the American operatives seizing Alejandro’s base, taking the colonel into custody, and hunting him and Ghost through the streets, trying to cut all the loose ends that could end their reign of control. Now, Johnny and Ghost raced through the desert of Mexico, putting as many miles as they could between them and that hell hole near the Mexico-US border. Outside the window, a sliver of navy creeped along the black horizon, and Johnny tried to focus on the scenery racing by, but the blood loss won the battle, blurring his vision and causing a groan to escape, fighting the nausea rolling through his stomach.

“Hang in there, Johnny,” A deep, gravelly voice, thick with an accent that called northern England home, said beside him, “We’re nearly there.”

Calling on the strength of 1000 Highland warriors, Johnny flopped his head towards the driver’s seat. A black balaclava with a plastic skull sewn to the front covered a head that sat upon broad shoulders in a green-beige army jacket layered under gear. The jacket sleeves were rolled up, stopping just beneath the elbow, giving a glimpse of forearms bigger than most thighs, and Johnny blamed his current state on the urge to whine at the arm gripping the steering wheel blocking the tattooed work of art that he knew covered the left forearm.

The skull turned and whiskey eyes locked with his. “Ya with me, Johnny?” they asked, gaze returning to the road briefly before turning back.

“With ye, Lt,” Johnny slurred, Scottish accent so thick that even he had a hard time understanding him. He flashed a tired smile, giving a half-assed thumbs up. “For noo at least.”

“Eyes on the prize, Sergeant,” the driver said, steady and focused.

Steady and focused. The nature of the soldier behind the mask. The soldier who should have high-tailed it out of Las Almas as soon as shit hit the fan, but, instead, made his way back into the heart of enemy territory. The soldier who climbed a church and dipped into a finite supply of ammo to clear a path. All for one man.

Lieutenant Simon Riley may go by “Ghost”, but he was Johnny’s savior.

“We’re about 30 minutes out from the safehouse,” Ghost continued, giving Johnny’s body a once over then turning his focus back on the road.

“Safehouse?” Johnny asked.

“Alejandro’s. Gave me the location just in case.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“It was need to know.”

Any other time, Johnny would have a quick retort on the tip of his tongue, but the only energy he could dredge up now resulted in his head falling against the headrest. Resting his eyes sounded like Christmas morning, and he didn’t see the point in fighting the heavy lids anymore.

“Hey, hey, Johnny. Keep those pretty blues open,” Ghost coaxed, switching arms on the wheel to give Johnny’s knee a shake. “Haven’t been able to check ya from that gun bash yet. You’re stayin’ awake until I can, yeah?”

Johnny grunted an acknowledgement but didn’t register anything after “pretty blues”. Scalding scarlet ran from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and he prayed to whatever deity out there listening that if Ghost noticed, he’d pass it off as Johnny’s body reacting to the injuries.

The lieutenant showed favoritism with one-word answers instead of grunts. The most words he uttered were barked orders on missions. He haunted the walls of briefings and worked alone unless ordered otherwise. Most importantly, the mask never came off. Hiding away the man beneath. Johnny shouldn’t be latching onto one comment about eye color. Shouldn’t be memorizing the feeling of the hand resting on his knee, tethering him like a life raft thrown at sea.

“We’re teammates. Friendship’s not in the field manual, Johnny.” “Neither’s mask makin’...”

But then he thought of tonight. Ghost’s voice breaking with panic when the bullet went through his shoulder.

“Go Johnny, get out of there!”

Staying back for him when decades of experience said to get to a rendezvous miles away. Thought of Ghost’s voice in his ear.

“Stick to the edges and stay low.”

“Look for supplies - things you can make tools with. Welcome to guerilla warfare…”

Coaching Johnny through the streets. To salvation. To him.

“I’ve set up a sniper position in the church tower. Find your way there, and ya just might make it.”

Awful jokes grounding Johnny each time he felt his mind beginning to snap.

“What has two legs and bleeds?” “Don’t tell me…” “Half a dog.” “Ah asked yoo not tae tell me.”

As if his lieutenant recognized the many tones of his voice, recognized when he was on the brink of falling.

“Two goldfish are in a tank…” “Goo on…” “One turns to the other and says ‘You know how to drive this thing?’ Little army humor…” “Very little.”

The banter that danced dangerously on the edge of flirting.

“Fashioned a trip mine, Lt.” “A man after my own heart.” “Thought you’d like that.”

And when it danced right off of the edge.

“I drink bourbon.” “Like a good ol’ boy, Lt…”

“The mask…take it off.” “Show my face?” “Yes, sir.” “Negative.” “Are yoo ugly?” “Quite the opposite.”

He ignored the flutter in his heart.

Just teammates.

“Didn’t know yer a medic,” he managed to say, pulling himself back.

“Best you’re gonna get for now,” Ghost replied.

Johnny huffed, keeping his eyes open by watching the Mexican desert race by. The sliver of navy along the horizon was growing, shades of blue pushing against the star-speckled black. It brought him back to their first days in Mexico, back when it was all simpler.

The jet lag was a bitch to overcome, the time difference between Al Mazrah and Mexico proving too much to adjust to right away. He’d been staring up at the ceiling, awake and alert hours before it was necessary, trying every trick in the book, but when the tenth attempt at counting sheep failed, he surrendered to the internal alarm clock and rolled out of the creaky cot, groggily pulling on a sweatshirt and barely tying his boots.

The unfamiliar halls of Alejandro’s base were quiet, too early for anyone to be stirring, so he wandered his way outside like a specter in the night. The comparison gave him a chuckle, thinking about the actual ghost who haunted the halls of 141’s base. As if he conjured the man himself, Johnny exited onto the courtyard to find Ghost casually leaning against the nearest wall.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he greeted, posting up on one of his lieutenant’s sides, sliding down to sit on the pavement.

“The usual,” Ghost grunted back.

“Jet lag?” Johnny asked absentmindedly, staring across the base at the horizon.

Ghost didn’t answer, standing there still as a statue.

When Johnny joined task force 141, he thought it was something about him that kept the lieutenant at an arm’s distance. Each attempt to engage in conversation either received grunts or cold eyes staring back. Most people with basic survival instincts would take the hints and walk directly the other way. Too bad Johnny wasn’t most people. In fact, the lieutenant’s icy exterior only intrigued him, pushing towards a delicate balance on the edge of curiosity and obsession.

Knowing better than most that in the military everyone had their pasts, Johnny took care to never step over the line - clocking Ghost’s invisible boundaries - but he undoubtedly toed it more than anyone else.

“Mornin’, Lt!” accompanied by little taps on the shoulder

“Lt! Ah have a seat over here for ye, sir” when Ghost tried to haunt his usual spot for briefings.

Jabbering on about whatever topic came to mind to fill the silence when the two were on recruits duty.

Offered easy smiles. Asked questions he knew he wouldn’t get answers to, patiently waiting anyway. Searched whiskey eyes for any change in a meticulously built exterior.

Then the long flight from Al Mazrah plopped in his lap like a gift. Hours of just the two of them on a cargo plane with nothing to keep them occupied except each other’s company.

Johnny couldn’t even wait for the ramp to close. “Tradin’ one desert for another, huh Lt?” he said, lopsided grin on his face. “Lucky us gettin’ the whole international sand experience. Think we won a lottery or somethin’?”

Blank eyes stared back at him.

“Never had much of an opinion aboot sand. Growin’ up in Glasgow ‘n’ all. Sure we have the river, but not itchin’ tae swim in that anytime soon…” And so he went, filling the air with whatever his brain conjured.

These exchanges between them were never transactional. He knew what to expect from the man sitting across the way - head at a slight tilt, blank eyes straight ahead, the occasional shift to waken stiff limbs - but being in Ghost’s presence was enough for Johnny. So, he let his own eyes drift up to the cargo hold’s ceiling, feeling a dreamy smile creep across his face as he wove his favorite memories into words.

Time passed. Unsure how long, lost in the tales.

“Keep in mind, A’m a wee, trustful lad at this point. Barely seven. Ava, th’ one above me, wee devil that one. Still is, honestly. If there’s trouble, Ava’s not usually far from it.” He laughed up at the ceiling. “Anyway, Ava and Ah are playing in the yard in the back when she looks at me and goes, ‘Oi, Johnny. Bet ye can’t climb the tree in a minute!’” Johnny put his hands on his hips, mimicking a power pose. “And Ah, the brave lad Ah was, said ‘Aye, yer on!” and didn’t Ah scamper as fast as mah wee legs could take me. Noo keep in mind, Lt, this tree was a big motherfucker. Trunk as thick as three of ya. Old, craggily bark - kinda like ya too - and some branches Ah’d consider low noo. Decent for climbin’, just maybe not at seven…

So, Ah scamper up quick as Ah can. Never looked back. A’d never actually climbed up the thing, but a bet was on the line! Granted, Ava hadn’t actually bet me anythin’, but still. Ya know what happened? Ah made it up there! First time! Took longer than a minute, Ah know that noo, but wee me thought Ah aced it. Ah gave a whoop, turned to rub it in Ava’s face, and was greeted with an empty yard. Wee scamp had gone inside! Then Ah looked down, and noo, Ah wasn’t necessarily scared, but it was a hell of a jump! Not for the faint of heart Ah tell ya! I called for Ava a few times, but that devil just appeared in the windoo of the kitchen and smiled. So Ah chose the mature route.” He paused, sly smile sneaking its way onto his lips. He was about to continue when he heard…

“What did ya do?”

He blinked up at the ceiling, registering that the question did actually come from the cargo hold. He whipped his head down, looking at his lieutenant for the first time since they took off, and found Ghost’s attention right on him. “What?” he eloquently managed to say.

“The mature route. What did ya do?” Ghost asked.

It took a second for Johnny’s brain to catch up. “Oh. Oh ya. The mature route. Ah took th’ high road of course,” he flashed a smile. “Started yellin’ for mah Ma. As loud as mah wee lungs would let me. Ava scurried off to get the ladder as soon as she realized Ah wasn’t quitin’,” he finished, chuckling, the soft laugh bouncing around the cargo hold.

Then his mouth snapped shut. He wasn’t laughing that loud. It couldn't have been…

Sure enough, though his mouth was sealed tight, the laugh continued. Not as strong as his, but it was there, fluttering around the hold. Over on his spot on the bench, Ghost’s shoulders moved barely a hair up and down but the soft shake was noticeable, and Johnny couldn’t believe the deep crinkles appearing around the lieutenant’s eyes. Eyes that weren’t blank or cold, but warm, near glittering.

The crinkles remained as the flight passed, giving away the hidden smile beneath, and Johnny decided those crinkles were his new favorite thing.

Something flipped then. Johnny couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, but sitting on the ground in the middle of the night, staring at the quiet Mexican desert, he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. It was comfortable, soothing. A peace he didn’t know with anyone else. The sergeant lazed on the ground and his lieutenant stood near, watching the black of night give way to the gray of dawn.

Watching that same horizon through the window of the truck, that morning a week ago felt like a distant memory.

“Hey Johnny,” Ghost said, breaking through his daze, bringing him back to the present.

“Yea?” he answered.

“Where do fruits go on vacation?”

“Spare me,” Johnny grimaced.

“Pear-is”, Ghost finished.

“Ach. A’m already in enough pain as it is,” he groaned.

“Can’t be worse than your hair.”

Johnny found the energy to flip his middle finger. “Away n’ bile yer heid,” he scoffed.

“Fuckin’ scots and their sayin’s.”

“Admit it, Lt. Ya’d be bored without me.”

“That’s one way of lookin’ at it,” Ghost mumbled.

The lieutenant’s hands rotated along the steering wheel, turning the truck off of the gravel road and further into the Mexican wilderness. A ramshackled barn came into view, alone against the mountains, and they pulled up to the end of the drive. Ghost gently patted Johnny’s knee, giving his body one more look over, seeming content with the state of him, and exited. At last letting his eyes close for a moment, Johnny recalled every pep talk stored in his brain to gather the strength to get out of this truck and to the shelter they desperately needed.

Once he was confident he’d tricked himself into thinking he didn’t have a bullet hole dripping blood all over him, he grabbed the door handle, took a deep breath, and pushed into the oncoming morning.

_____________________________________________________________

“Yer sure there’s none of the good stuff lyin’ aroond?” Johnny ground out when the needle started another pass through his skin.

“Alejandro thought of everything except anything stronger than ibuprofen,” Ghost murmured, scolding eyes flashing up before returning to their work. “If you’d quit squirmin’ this would go faster.”

“Oh right, cause yer a perfect patient in medical,” Soap grumbled.

The lieutenant didn’t bite at the bait, staying fixed on the wound, steady fingers guiding the needle while his other hand braced the back of the sergeant’s upper arm, and Johnny tried, oh he really did try, to keep a professional composure, but when each wince earned him a “You’re doin good, Johnny. Almost there”, he found very little motivation to keep still. An especially painful prick forced his head thudding back against the old, wooden planks, breathing through it, but butterflies replaced pain when a gentle thumb found its way under his shirt sleeve, rubbing up and down his skin.

“Alright,” soothed from under the balaclava. “Just a couple more passes. Good as new soon.”

How the man hunched over his shoulder, tenderly patching him together, was the same man with enough blood on his hands to be dripping Johnny wasn’t able to piece together. The same hands that never met a bone they couldn’t break delicately laced a needle through his skin and eased the tension in his chest with a single touch.

The hands of the ghost of 141. A demon who lurked in the darkness - greeting his targets with a brutality that made them pray for the devil to save them - was Johnny’s guardian angel.

“You are stone cold, Simon.”

Myths come from fantasy, but legends, well, legends grew from the seeds of truth, and Johnny witnessed first hand that the legends of Lieutenant Riley could claim an entire forest. His presence on the field drew every soldier like moths to a light, ready to follow wherever he may lead. He knew where an enemy was going to be before the enemy knew themselves, and the precision with which he wielded a weapon - whether it be a knife or a rifle - was as if it were an extension of himself. An ease and familiarity that spoke of relentless dedication, endless hours of practice, and scars of lessons learned. Mistakes to never be made again.

Watching Ghost work on the field was to witness a masterpiece performed, and Johnny only ever wanted it to end with lively whiskey eyes staring safely back at him.

“Ya want to be better than me, Johnny.”

None of that intrepid, brutal force he became familiar with on the field could be found in the ridiculous jokes he now knew the man was fond of nor in the gentle murmurs from behind the mask as he focused on the final stitch. As he slowly peeleed away the complicated layers of Simon Riley, Johnny was beginning to think that that was impossible. No one could be better than the man in front of him.

A stiff tug in his arm pulled him out of his head. “There we go. Can quit your whinin’ now,” Ghost said. He brought the arm closer, inspecting his work and letting go when he seemed content with it. “I’ll grab another bottle of water from Rodolfo and some more pain killers. Try not to get more hurt while I’m gone, yeah?”

The lieutenant stood from the worn stool he had claimed and turned to dispose of the needle and materials in the small waste basket waiting nearby. He turned to the cracked door leading to the main area of the barn, but stopped to give a quick glance at his sergeant, hesitating.

“Ach, Lt. I’m fine. Quit yer mother hennin’,” Johnny urged, waving him off with the good arm. That earned him an eye roll, but Ghost continued through the door, leaving the sergeant alone for the first time since they high-tailed out of the main plaza of Las Almas.

A breath Johnny didn’t realize he’d been holding blew out, feeling every muscle in his body relax. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe it was the fact that his body was a livewire, aware of every brush of his lieutenant’s knee or every touch of his calloused hands. Whatever it was, an unbidden image of him falling to the floor like a gelatinous blob popped into his mind and there was no fighting the fit of laughter bubbling up inside.

As fate would have it, that was the moment Ghost decided to return, finding his sergeant choking on laughter with tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Ah think Ah’m finally starting tae crack, Lt,” Johnny managed to say as he caught his breath.

The lieutenant took his perch back on the stool, staring with a look that would pass as unamused to others, but not to the sergeant who cataloged every iteration of Ghost’s gaze, recognizing a fond glimmer shining through.

“I think that ship sailed a long time ago, Sergeant,” Ghost said as he handed over the bottle in one hand and offered two pills lying in the palm of the other.

“Yer bum’s oot the windae,” Johnny responded, eagerly grabbing the items.

Ghost heaved a heavy sigh, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. “English, MacTavish,” he said as Johnny threw the pills into his mouth and took a hefty swig, swallowing as much as his empty stomach could handle.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed Ghost going preternaturally still for a second, but the lieutenant shook himself out of whatever stupor had taken over, hand rubbing the back of his neck while his gaze found the floor. When the bottle was empty, Johnny chucked it into the waste, whimpering when the action pulled at the fresh stitches.

“Try not to break those. I just finished ‘em,” Ghost scolded, gazing back at his sergeant. “Come ‘ere. Gotta check that head of yours.”

The lieutenant leaned forward as he spoke, his left hand beginning to rise, but then suddenly hesitating mid-air, appearing unsure. Johnny watched, not daring to move. A battle flickered through his lieutenant’s eyes, hundreds of questions, thousands of doubts flitting by in the span of a second. Then, a look Johnny recognized all too well because he’d seen it reflected back at him in the mirror every time Ghost haunted his waking dreams.

Longing.

“So yoo do like me?”

“I like you alive, Sergeant.”

Finally, Ghost’s gaze set with a look more common for the lieutenant. Determination. The hand closed the distance, barely cupping the side of the sergeant’s face, still giving him an out if he wanted, and Johnny held his breath, afraid that any sudden movement would spook the man away. When the hand continued to hover, not fully touching but not retreating either, he seized the moment and leaned in, a content hum floating from his throat at the contact.

“Taken a shine to me then, Lt?”

Never before had he been this close to Ghost, only getting as close as professionalism would allow, but he’d clocked the stunning color of the lieutenant’s eyes. The only bit of the man not hidden. Now, barely a hands-breadth away, he could take in every strip of amber swirling through the whiskey pools. The lone spot of brown that sat in the right corner. The small wisps of green haloing each pupil. His hand itched for the weight of his pencil and sketchbook, overtaken with the need to capture a scene that even the Renaissance masters would struggle to do justice.

Simon Riley stole his breath away.

“Absolutely beautiful,” Johnny said before his brain could catch up.

“Keep it tactical, Sergeant,” Ghost murmured, thumb grazing his cheek. “Need to check that head of yours, remember.”

“Whatever you say, Simon.” Johnny could be ordered to rip open his stitches and put the bullet back in, and he would. Right now, he’d do anything Ghost asked him.

Instructions were given - follow the finger, to the right, now left, look up, look down - the test completed, and when the thumb paused, Johnny leaned further into the touch, shamelessly nuzzling the palm, seeking that feeling again. A soft chuckle escaped from under the mask.

A peaceful smile snuck onto his lips. “What’s the verdict, doc?” he asked softly.

“A concussion, but nothin’ that’ll kill ya” Ghost answered, matching his tone. “Should be ok to grab some shut eye before we head out.”

They stayed that way, lost in eachother, gentle strokes resuming against the sergeant’s cheek. Neither dared to move. Johnny knew that Las Almas changed them. An electric current appeared between them when his feet first hit the pavement before Al Mazrah, and that current became a tether with every step in the blood soaked streets tonight, pulling him not to survival, not to revenge, but back to Ghost. Because he knew now, as long as he had Ghost - his guardian angel full of hidden scars and terrible jokes and brutal kills and gentle touches - he’d survive.

“Tryin’ to keep you alive and get you here in one piece…Let’s worry about you, Johnny.”

He clung to the idea that he wasn’t alone in this, that he wasn’t the only one who wanted to stay in this pocket they carved for themselves. Didn’t want to break this spell. Because in the back of his mind, Johnny knew that once it was broken, the crushing weight of reality would come falling back onto them. Where they were a lieutenant and a sergeant. The ghost of 141 and his subordinate.

Teammates. Just teammates.

Try as he did, the tease of sleep eventually won the war over a shot nervous system, and Johnny felt his eyelids drooping without his consent. He knew that if it wasn’t for the hand on his cheek, his head would fall directly onto his chest. Whiskey eyes warmed to pools of gold gazing back at him. “Time to get that shut eye, Sergeant,” Ghost said.

To his dismay, the hand finally moved, leaving his skin ice cold. Through half-closed lids, Johnny watched Ghost rise from his stool and reach for something just out of sight. Lamenting the loss, Johnny moved to lie across the cot but only managed to clumsily flop down on his back, the exhaustion finally taking over each of his brain cells. Some needles of hay made themselves known through the rough cloth cover, but it could have been a mattress at the Ritz for all Johnny knew. A moment later, rough wool covered his arms.

“Not gonna tuck me in?” he teased.

A huff floated in the air, “You’re a right pain in my arse,” Ghost responded. “Go to sleep. I won’t be far, just gonna help Rudy prep.”

“Can’t pull the wool anymore, Lt. I know ya like me alive,” Johnny muttered, eyes surrendering to the sleep pulling him in. Hanging onto his last tether of consciousness, a soft murmur full of gravel floated into his ear.

“More than you know, Johnny.”

#tay writes #divider by samspenandswords #ghostsoap #call of duty #soapghost #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley

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randomnameless · 8 months

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"Like, Miss “I already sent my troops to conquer your lands even if you are not the one harbouring the evil lizard lady I’m trying to get rid off” would really stop her war of conquest if the evil lizard lady dies?" You could say Clout's reasoning smacks of naivete.

Clout? Reasoning?

lol

Imo, in GW, Clout is playing on levels after levels of PR (like an onion!), and this "let's kill Rhea so the war will stop" is imo a PR excuse to justify invading Faerghus and getting Rhea out of the board.

Now, why the hateboner for Rhea herself, your guess is as good as mine (at least Supreme Leader has her "negative views based on Rhea's race", but I don't know it that's any better...).

(ramblings about Claude/Clout under the cut)

Claude isn't stupid (uh...) and knows Fodlan created the locket and the Officers Academy to fight back invasions of Almyra, and yet he seems to really believe (in FE16 at least) that Rhea is the reason why Fodlan apparently doesn't like foreigners, before discovering water is wet.

Worst reading, but one I can get behind, is Claude doesn't understand and resents the fact that Rhea, who is not a head of state, is listened to and loved by the randoms in Fodlan, she can influence them (only when they want to be infuenced though!) and the CoS, as an institution, is part of Fodlan's history and DNA/backbone.

If Claude wants to shatter everything to bring a "new age" where Fodlan will welcome with open arms their very friendly Almyran neighbours, Rhea has to be "shattered" too.

Take VW's ending :

Country, faith, history... All that had once formed the order of the world was wiped clean. The heroes whose very hands saved Fódlan from a dark fate commenced with the building of a new society. The leaders of this new, unified Fódlan began their walk down a seemingly endless path—one towards a world that would cherish differences in race and belief, one where all life would be valued equally. Those leaders clung to the hope that their path would not end with Fódlan, that it would someday span the seas to Dagda, and beyond the Throat to Almyra...

You get rid of the old and existing society/structure, to build a new one, based on lofty ideals, sure, and yet, again, how can you cherish differences in beliefs in you wipe Fodlan's faith, aka the thing people believed in? What about their history and individualities/differences ? It's wiped clean too?

A bit like Tru Piss's mistranslated ending where people thought it will erase retroactively Faerghus from history books, are we supposed to understand , from this ending, that Claude will erase Adrestia, Faerghus and Leicester from memory?

And the ominous last paragraph, what does it mean, they hope to export their path of "wiping clean" the world of "country, faith, history" too?

If we take this reading, Rhea and the CoS are inherent parts of Fodlan's identity and History. If Claude wants a blank chessboard to play "melting pot" with and ultimately add it to his future pot including Almyra, Dagda and whoever else, Rhea and the CoS, but also, the different states from Fodlan, had to disappear. Supreme Leader helped him with the "get rid of 3 states" and arguably with Rhea's death, so in a way, Claude reaps what Supreme Leader started.

But not to MAGA, to create a new land encompassing everyone (whether they want it or not!) and being one of its heads.

This is, imo, the darkest take/reading on Claude's situation and plans, but bear in mind yellow units in FE Jugdral (the game tool inspiration from Jugdral per the devs!) are antagonists, add to that Nopes and even FE16's Claude who, albeit not on the level of Supreme Leader, keeps his plans to himself - and always mentions tearing down the "walls" that separate Fodlan from the outside world, without ever mentionning the fact those walls were built for some reason.

It's not important anyways, and if you think otherwise, it's because you were led to think otherwise, we should all be friends.

Sure, interacting with outsiders doesn't contradicts Seiros's tenets, but in the end, what is Claude saying?

If I can realize my dream, Fódlan will be reborn. The old age will end and we'll welcome a new dawn.

The current Fodlan, that is supposed to follow Seiros's tenets will... end? Seiros' tenets says something, but they still need to be ignored to build a new world that will promote the same thing those tenets preached.

Hm.

The issue, imo, isn't about what is being preached, but with the "Seiros tenets" in themselves.

#replies #anon #character rant #character salt #in a way the layers of PR and knowing when he's being true to his feelings makes him an interesting character #which is closer to Supreme Leader indeed #but just like her the fact no one challenges him is infuriating #just like the realisation he never trusts anyone #bar Billy and even this is very light #do you seriously think wiping history and faith can be done?#there's reason why Seiros the Warrior and the end of the WoH had to paint Nemesis and the Relic users as #not the people they were #tbh the ending mural made me reconsider a lot of stuff about VW and Claude's character in general #but maybe i'm off #fe16

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callsign-relic · 8 months

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This isn’t my usual kind of writing (that I post here anyway), but I saw this amazing piece of artwork (linked below) and after rewatching Predacons Rising I was really inspired to write something based on it. Enjoy our big man Optimus feeling small for once in the presence of big boy Primus himself :)

(I did want to make this longer but my motivation sadly disappeared :( I do think this is good for what it is though :))

Optimus’ senses were all slowly coming online.

At least, that was what he assumed was happening. First there was that thrumming of his spark in its chamber. A deep, sonorous hum filled his processor, and the Prime knew his audials must have activated by then. The mech flexed his digits, and slowly, feeling spread itself along the rest of his worn frame.

Then, when his optics finally came online, he witnessed a sight like no other unfolding itself before him.

He was in the depths of deep space, yet rushing past him were countless lights, zooming past him in every direction, in numbers he couldn’t begin to count. Each little light glowed with a faint color of their own, and Optimus’ optics struggled to process such a harmonious symphony of color with merely his own two optics.

As he looked down onto himself, he noticed the rainbow of lights reflecting off of his old plating. And as he flexed one servo, and then another, the mech raised his vision upwards into the churning current of lights above him as memories of the last few moments all rushed into him at once.

Unicron.

The Autobots.

The Well of All Sparks.

White.

Optimus had sacrificed his own spark in order to free the sparks trapped within the AllSpark. If that remained the case, he must have been truly one with the AllSpark by now.

So, if that was the case, how was it that he could still see his mechanical frame? Why wasn’t he another mere spark, joining the current with his brethren into worlds unknown?

A sudden bright light appears before the Prime before he could ponder the question. Optimus squints and raises a servo to shield his optics, yet when his optics cycle themselves and adjust to the gently dimming light, he no longer finds it in him to block his vision.

A gigantic figure appears before him. Plating made of pure, golden light, shining itself out and giving this being corporeal form. A halo wraps itself behind his head, circles appearing like their own dwarf planets encircling it. The mech-like being wears a faceplate and blank, yet knowing optics. It’s finials defy all sense of logic and separate themselves into ever shifting pieces along either side of his helm. Fractals of light jitter about the edges of his form, yet Optimus can make out just about every part of this being that makes him Cybertronian. Sturdy helm, wide chassis, and, of course, the massive servos that lift themselves up from behind the Prime, gently cupping him within the bigger mech’s hold.

“The Thirteenth,” the titan begins. His voice is hollow and echoes through the kaleidoscopic tunnel in which they stand, yet it shakes Optimus to the very core of his spark. The smaller mech finds himself breathless. “Orion Pax. Optimus Prime.”

“You…” Optimus can barely manage to piece together his words as the reality of whom he was facing finally began to hit him. “You are… Primus?” He asks, though there is no questioning lilt to the end of his words.

The golden being gives a mere nod.

In that very moment, Optimus inclines his head deeply, and kneels. “It is a true honor to stand before you, my creator,” he professes as his helm is hung low. Then, he raises his helm back up, if only to properly address Cybertron’s god. “To what do I owe the great privilege of getting your audience?”

“Rise,” Primus’ voice gently commands, and Optimus obliges him. As he speaks, his voice is low and soft, yet still emits a commanding air that no creature— Cybertronian or otherwise— could ever hope to find it in themselves to defy. “Optimus Prime. You have done not only myself a great service, yet the entirety of Cybertron’s people.”

Optimus stands tall as Primus continues. Not out of arrogance, not in the slightest— but out of the innate compulsion to take in every last feature about the god.

“You have committed the ultimate sacrifice. In exchange for your own life, you not only saved my own, yet saved the future of the Cybertronian race in and of itself.” The hands behind Optimus raise themselves higher, and Optimus can’t help but flinch forwards the smallest bit as they gently bump into him. He’s enveloped entirely by that golden light, the pure warmth of the servo behind him washing away any possible fears or doubts. Optimus is raised gently within Primus’ palms, and the creator god gazes down at him with an emotion the Prime can only describe as love.

“And for that, I must thank you.”

#Transformers #Transformers prime #TFP #Optimus prime #TFP Optimus #Transformers writing #Transformers fanfic #Transformers fic #relic writes

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walleeli · 7 months

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Want to discuss something about Stampede that’s been plaguing me. SPOILERS for both Trigun Stampede and Trigun Maximum incoming…

I’ve seen a couple posts recently where people have said that Vash’s characterization in Stampede as having always been a goody-two shoes worsens his character (or like, makes it flat or boring or whatever.) and tbh I totally agree. HOWEVER COMMA. I don’t think it will end up having been accurate of him in the adaptation as we continue. And I think its possible it isn’t true now if you happen to know exactly what to look for… this is about to get long.

So I got into Trigun as a whole just a few months ago. And my experience was I watched 98, then tristamp, and THEN read trimax. So that’s my frame of reference and the order in which I experienced the different characterizations.

I want to talk about this scene at the beginning of episode 12 of tristamp.

Because when I first saw it, heard it, I figured it was Vash speaking. And when it panned out to reveal Knives

I was surprised. And a little confused. It didn’t line up with what I, at the time, thought to be true of their characters. The more clear cut “good” and “evil” being the only version I’d ever really experienced. (Maybe 98 did a better job with Vash’s characterization as a child than I am remembering??? But I feel like it was pretty similar to tristamp??? Could absolutely be wrong but either way the point stands that based on my memory at the time the scene was odd to me.)

The scene is so brief and there’s so much other shit going on in the rest of the episode that it left my mind pretty quickly. Until I was reading through Vash and Knives’s backstories in trimax and texting my brother about how I had no idea how deep Vash’s character was in the source material. It was at that point that I told him I was honestly kind of miffed with the handling of his character in Stampede, as I felt it did a disservice to him. And he actually was the one to remind me that Orange has already demonstrated an enjoyment of unreliable narration in tristamp. Specifically I am thinking of hearing in episode 1 that Vash gave Knives the code he needed to take down the SEEDS ships vs seeing in episode 11 that he didn't give it to him for that purpose AT ALL and also the ending of episode 8 showing young teen Knives as scowling and standing tall vs episode 9 showing him rattled and on his knees (obviously we also still get the scowling later but YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. PROBABLY.)

Anyways my brother and I kept talking about it and I was saying it's still weird that we see all those scenes of Vash being this like. Happy-go-lucky kid when that's not what you get from trimax until after the blank ticket talk. And he suggested what I am currently choosing to believe to be true: the sequence of events has been reordered. And flashbacks we get of like, their first birthday and stuff, actually take place after they find Tesla. (In Stampede’s canon I mean.)

This is the only other time we see kid Vash seeming more closed off/somber/whatever. Obviously Knives has already taken some sort of turn. He’s certainly not in finger guns mode anymore LMAO.

Obviously this is just wild and maybe ungrounded speculation at this point. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Orange pulls the rug out from under us a bit in season 2. And I sincerely hope they do.

#just been thinking about it idk.#ramblings of a mad woman as usual.#is this anything??#trigun #trigun stampede #tristamp #trimax #trigun maximum spoilers #trimax spoilers #tristamp spoilers #if im comepletely delusional and making shit up that is ok too <3 #BFJDJCKDHKHKDJCKSHCJ #cant win em all

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capriciouswriter207 · 1 year

Text

Maybe Tango shouldn't have gone to the old TIES base on his own. Maybe he should've invited his allies to come along with him. But Etho was goodness knows where and Impulse wanted to stay with Skizz. Which would be fair - Skizz could take his friends' lives whenever he wanted, but chooses not to. At least, he hopes Skizz chooses not to. The promise of time is just too tantalizing to set loose.

The area had become dangerous, and you could never know if the boogeyman, another desperate player or a red life jumped out of the bushes. Tango was quite confident in his abilities, though- with a full set of diamond armor and an enchanted diamond sword to boot, he should be able to pretty decently defend himself. Still, if an arrow came, it would pierce his back, a mighty battlecry can be heard from afar, and an apology never hurt anyone, but was never muttered.

As Tango finished salvaging supplies from his old base, a figure walked out of the forest next to their little island. Tango switched to his sword, and stared at the treeline, and watched Jimmy walk out.

Jimmy. The red in his eyes flashed, and Tango assumed a defensive position. He was on yellow himself; about an hour or so away from turning red. He couldn't kill Jimmy outright, but he was allowed to defend himself if push came to shove. Jimmy was a bit of a pushover anyway; his only diamonds had gone to his boots, and the bad boys provided nothing else for him. But he walked down the hill and approached Tango empty-handed, that familiar brutal red determination on his face.

"Hey, Jimmy!" Tango still called out in his most cheerful half-threatening voice. "What brings you all the way here? Lost your bad boys?"

"Relax, Tango. I'm not here to try to take time."

"You're not? Well, it's the most valuable thing I have." Tango paused for a second. "If you want some time, go to Bdubs. He's still green."

"I know. I tried." Jimmy rubbed his arm, briefly looked away from Tango. But his eyes found him again and that determination had melted away. He just stared at Tango with a blank face that betrayed little else beyond the - presumably - suppressed desperate bloodlust that claims you as a red life.

Tango stared back at him. What was Jimmy playing at? What was going on right now?

"Well... if you're not here to kill me, why did you come?"

A small, half-satisfied, half-melancholic smile came across his face.

"Just wanted to see your face one more time. That's all."

Tango's frown grew only wider until the smile disappearsd from Jimmy's face. A pained expression flashed across it instead as he started to wobble, gripping his chest. Tango reacted instinctively and rushed forward. He caught Jimmy before he could fall to the ground. He was heavy, his breath extremely shallow, his gaze unfocused. His legs uncooperative and only one hand still clinging to the fabric of his shirt, around the area of the heart.

His heart... had his time run out already?

"Jimmy!" Tango exclaimed. "No!"

The sorrow came from deep within. Jimmy had watched Joel kill their cow and has pushed Tango. He'd done many other things across the server in the name of the bad boys, whixh has screwed the TIES over on two separate occasions. By all means, Tango shouldn't feel this dejected that Jimmy perished.

Memories flashed across his face. Memories Impulse claimed to have when he was around Bdubs, or Etho when he confronted Joel that one time. Memories of last time, which Tango had written off as a hoax to try and garner sympathy from the enemy. But he stood there, he held on to Jimmy, and his memories were flooded with a ranch and some of the most wholesome moments he's had in a while with a person he cared about.

That person was Jimmy.

Jimmy looked at Tango's face one last time.

"Sorry... rancher..."

The one hand limply slid off of his chest, his gaze lost its spark and Tango only held a corpse.

"My rancher..."

He gently placed the corpse on the ground and wept.

#limited life smp #trafficblr #tangotek #jimmy solidarity #rancher duo #written after session 1 #not spoilers just fictional situation #will probably become confirmed AU very soon #until then have some rancher angst #tw death #capricious writings

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a-scary-lack-of-common-sense · 1 year

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[busts out of the ground]

I'M NOT DEAD @jbeetle814 @hattedhellspawn I'M SO SORRY I ABANDONNED YOU GUYS INSIDE MY INBOX FOR A YEAR

I'll tell you everything with pleasure!

Buckle up because this might be a long ride :)

So, let's first establish the basic context of this whole AU; such as background info on what in the actual fresh hell is going on here.

First things first: this AU just kind of co-exists on the sidelines of canon tf2 with its own separate story happening while the OG mercs are off following canon at the same time in New Mexico and stuff. So technically, they both are in the same universe, just, from entirely different perspectives. I guess we can’t even call this an AU at this point but shhhh, we like having fun here.

Okay, so now that we’re clear with that let’s hop onto the actual story of ✨️ ze switcheroo mercs✨️:

BASICALLY, the 'mercs are actually all clones' theory is very much a real thing in my world. Except that the canon RED mercs are the “original mercs”, and literally everybody else are just clones.

Multiple cloned teams of the "original mercs" are scattered worldwide, and the job switcheroo mercs are one of them! Every single cloned teams are controlled by the one and only, you guessed it: Administrator. RED and BLU basically run a massive international chain company at this point, but like, with clones that fight each other to death.

The job switched mercs are one of the few cloned teams that have the least physical differences from the OGs they are supposed to doppelgang, which is surprisingly rarer than you’d expect. Ironically enough, clones rarely ever look exactly the same as the "originals" because of gene mutations (don't trust me on this, I'm not a science person at all), and more often than not a clone is going to pop out blond instead of brunette- or tall instead of short.

PERSONALITY HOWEVER, is a whole different story. My version of clones are "born" with a blank slate for a mind, with only the bare necessary knowledge for, ya know, living (i.e. how to eat, how to speak, how to do their job, yada yada you get the gist). All memories and pasts of the "originals" are wiped clean and you've got yourself a fancy new clone, yayyy.

So because of the obvious lack of everything inside the clones' minds, clones often don't have the same personality as the "originals", and sometimes even differ completely. It's up for them to build experience and form their own identity (as long as they don't end up revolting against Admin or anything, but that's never happened before so it should be okay).

The job switcheroo mercs have been stationed at a base in bumfuck nowhere (think of any country to slap em onto) with another cloned BLU team for approximately 3 2 years now; and all members of each team have formed their own entirely unique identities by now, and guess what that means! They're starting to have thoughts!

In the beginning, no one really cared about the jobs they were assigned with as a clone, but as the years grew they started thinking: “Hey, how about no [breaks the social norms]”. Everyone eventually realized that no one was happy with the jobs they were initially given, so they said fuck you to the system and started passing around their classes like a hot potato to see what sticks. By the end of this whole ordeal, everyone had tried everyone else’s job at least once before they eventually found the one they were satisfied with. TADA, ✨️the job switcheroo mercs were born✨️

Admin didn’t really care about this whole thing because 1) they're technically still doing what they're supposed to be doing, just with different jobs now and 2) she had other, bigger things to worry about, and the most emotion this mini revolt drew from her was: “ew, Miss Pauling, they’re starting to have opinions”

So far the team consists of:

Sniper as Soldier

Scout as Medic

Medic as Engineer

Spy as Demoman

Soldier as Spy

Demoman as Sniper

Heavy as Pyro

Engineer as Heavy

Pyro as Scout

ANYWAYS that’s all I got for now so if u got anymore questions feel free to ask

(Friendly reminder that this AU is a joke that I got way too invested in, and these job switches were made completely on random. AND ALSO literally nothing about this makes sense so let's just fuck around and find out at this point)

#I AM SO SORRY FOR THE EXTREMELY LATE ASKS- THESE ARE LIKE A YEAR OLD OR SMTH #I GIVE YOU ALL 1 FREE PASS TO COME TELL ME OFF IN MY INBOX- I DESERVE IT #also btw- do you guys want me to like- @ you when i answer your asks just to let you know or smth??#tf2 #team fortress two #asks #job switcheroo au #tf2 au #tf2 ocs #world building #job switch mercs #job switcheroo #silly chatters

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itsdappleagain · 1 year

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two weeks late? what do you mean? ...haha.

sorry i have excuses okay? I moved houses in that time and then got sick. like i said, lateness is becoming my brand i guess

anyways this week (last week) it is time for

The Opera in the Outback Caper!!

notes as always under the cut!

player's australian accent is hilarious

CRIKEY! AUSTRALIA'S ONE BEEEEEEEEEEG CUNTRY

bro the writers were researching australia and they saw carmen the opera and their eyes shot out of their heads like looney toons

according to wikipedia if this episode had gone like the opera carmen would have stabbed a bitch to death and then sung about fucking somebody all night from prison. but yeah carmen would have also ended up stabbed to death in the end so....leaning towards the bad omen scale

that fifteen person orchestra is really pulling its weight damn

can you imagine being gray in this episode he has literally no idea what the fuck is going on wheeze

this is totally way later in the episode but wait a minute if the vile device fried all the soundboards how the hell did the rest of the opera keep going

its gra-YUHM

that surprised pikachu face jdsghdjhga

god fuck i hate that he flirts with her im getting it out of the way right now so i don't harp on it later but i do not like it

SOMEBODY THAT YOU USED TO KNOWW BUT YOU DIDNT THAVE TO C (gets crackle rodded to death)

Gray Ham says enjoy the show and carmen walks like a penguin her ankles go WAY up

i love love love watching the progression of carmen's faith in vile go from her mostly playful, almost dismissive air in the start to realizing just how dangerous this all is and i think it starts RIGHT HERE, realizing that theyve killed crackle's memories of her and VILE

mentally i am the guy dressed as a soldier who is staring straight ahead and singing with one blank smile on his face

something about that swing and how carmen's coattails move is just mwah

carmen stays there for literally no reason how did you not see le chevre coming over to kick you in the back girl

that subliminal messaging device falling was sooo on key 🫦

so nitpicky but that opera singer is NOT opening her mouth enough literally watch any video of an opera singer their mouths are going twice that wide

the way she just plucks it from his hand is so funny

i love this fight btw. its so dynamic but its SILENT. and the entire fight is based around the need to not draw attention to themselves and disrupt the performance. very cool fight

like yeah the flips and the way they pull on each other's clothing and jump and use the bars and stuff super cool

literally the second time le chevre has done that exact same thing girly

that landing HAD to hurt SO BAD are you kidding

HOW DO YOU KNOW WHATS GOOD FOR ME

THATS MY O P I N I O N

also love how carmen goes in slow motion before this but the music doesnt thats hilarious

wouldnt it have been funny if as carmen the singer was singing her high note carmen the thief fell on her

love the standing ovation and curtsy for the uh. fourth song of the opera

player was in record mode because he secretly loves opera and wanted to record the live performance of his favorite habanera

HUAN HONK HUNK HONK HA HION HA HONK he does bleat like a goat

THE DEAR BOY COMMENT WAS SO BASED NOT YOUR DEAR BOY

i find it very hard to believe that le chevre is so flippant about the mindwiping thing seeing as dr bellum is potentially setting him up for the exact same circumstances today in fighting carmen lmao

i love when characters on screens look at things from the perspective of the. screen

"remix" its just you dr bellum

carmen: haha quip player: oh girl u fucked up girl

love Carmen's thought process of being completely unaffected by the thing that got blasted directly in her face just because she wasn't the target

player does the most

i love doctor denim jeans she seems like such a nice enthusiastic person

look at her shes so excited

what was carmen standing up there looking for anyway

pls player didnt even know it was gray but he knew. he was just like ffs carmen not the silver jambon

love how carmen is pinpointing his orders from vile as the problem and not. his willingness and ability to kill her

he's got good hearing wow

sparky is actually australian slang for an electrician. good to know. shocked crackle didnt name himself Sparky

love how crackles tone changes from joking to that dramatic "year of my life" speech i dont remember if they used that for flashbacks or trailers or what but its for something lol

"electrician" gray you sit at the desk and press buttons as far as we can tell dude

"yeah stranger go online and find some random guy to take you into the australian outback <3 my experience couldnt help you avoid a potentially bad situation there at all."

shes like four feet away and he's screaming lmaoo

it is just her name, honey maid

"the outback- may sound like somewhere you would take a man to shoot him but we have to save that for next season!"

mad respect for them primarily referring to it as uluru so it sticks that way and not the more colonialized name of ayers rock, which was given to it by, surprise surprise, a brit

its a miracle the car didnt break down in the outback after player told her to be careful in the harsh terrain. literally two episode ago he was like "be careful of altitude sickness!!" and then she died

god the music and animation in this episode are gorgeous though arent they?

miro is the most patient man on the planet

ivy being so fed up with him wheeze

carmen being polite and excusing herself from the conversation! never thought i'd see the day lol

i love miro he's just like what. what do you mean. who are you guys and he's right

for sure the only tourist in the car

where did carmen get those hot little pink glasses and coats did they mug a couple workers or what

ivy and zack's sibling dynamic forever

she is for sure like five feet from that door and should not be running for as long as she is while talking to player she is a split second away from crashing into the wall

pls the rocket is so close to the facilities it would take the buildings out

GET HER ASS ZACK AND IVY NO MUSIC IN THE WORKPLACE

anyone else love the animation when ivy's waving the id badge at mom jeans denim

zack's little salute ive never noticed that before

yeah your new interns. the most conspicuous american twenty year olds we can find who apparently blend in with every situation, including fashion week in milan

who voices bell bottom jeans because her australian accent is sketch is it sharon. it sounds a little like bellum

IT IS SHARON ok sorry queen your australian accent is not great </3

is there a "where in space is carmen sandiego" where zack and ivy go to an alien planet because i havent watched any of the 90s show but. that feels like it would happen

was player directing her through that or did carmen just randomly learn to hack too

love the single button to launch a whole rocket its so funny

brancusi jeans: that was the day i decided the laboratory is no place for opera speakers: opera in the laboratory skinny jeans: wow this is the best thing that has ever happened to me

i wonder if that cart wheel was 3d

ivy expertly tied that woman up great job ivy. ig she learned from boston lol. interesting tho- that is how carmen tied them up, and i wonder if carmen taught them

uh oh spaghettio

again cs color theory <3 with the button going green when vile's plan starts to work

also love how zack was just like "SHIT CARMEN SPONTANEOUSLY TURNED EVIL THAT SUCKS"

the rocket launched in less that 3 minutes! btw it will take more than 4 until we get to the final countdown. and we will cut down much of the space in between but its totally less than three ok

love the way ivy smashes through that door

wheeze the control panel at the top of the tower

zack's got the best australian accent out of all the terrible australian accents in this show. he could be on bluey

zack's cold chuckle before he tells el topo that the dingoes are mauling his boyfriend is priceless its so funny

adore the clear shock and horror in carmen's voice when she realizes what she's done. good gina moment thank you for a moment gina. oh nevermind that what have i done was sad and limp :(

AGAIN THE ANIMATION THIS EP. LIKE IVY CLIMBING THAT LADDER? MWAH

le chevre said grrr. WHAT? OUGH!

"let go" yes le chevre that is something she would do while you're dangling her a thousand feet above the ground

pls my video started buffering and it just went "OUT OF MY WA-" and then the screen went black ivy killed it

love ivy shes such a girlboss

still not sure btw how top and bottom arent recognizing the boston kids its. what the third, fourth time?

that little thing le chevre does i think must be a vile taught thing, which is interesting. he hooks his arms under hers and holds her there that way. i say that because in the s2 opener episode el topo does the exact same thing to carmen

the gays are so funny i love them

ivy comes very close to dying a horrible death this episode lol

"i've got you."

drops her

she did not have to slide down the rocket like that but thank god she did. hot of her. love that her hair came down and her glasses came off for maximum hotness she booked it over here you can tell

miro!!!

the two gays are literally just >:( >:(

shit my pants joke

everyone laugh

player is literally that friend trying to get his bff not to get back in that toxic relationship GIRL HE TRIED TO KILL YOU LIKE. A WEEK AGO HE AINT WORTH THE FRESH START BROTHERLY RELATIONSHIP

i do like gina's voice acting here though. she does sound like she's actually. feeling things

god the shots in this show are so pretty

look at that. art

even the light changing from green to red once she decides to blow him off. yes yes yes yes the red represents safety and certainty and as soon as that green light turns not only does it physically block her from crossing over to him just like she's mentally decided not to put it puts any question of vile completely out of the question

insert that tumblr post about wanting to make eye contact with someone from across a street and then disappear behind a bus here bc i can't find it

HOW IS SHE WALKING IN THAT DIRECTION THATS IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE BUS TRICK SHE JUST DID

woohoo carmen leading herself to believe that the only way she can keep people safe is to avoid them. im sure this wont come into play in any future searches for more familial figures of carmen's

i like all the human and animal remains in maelstrom's office. cool of him tbh

they wanted to say "bring me the head" so bad

anyway PAPER STAR! TRANSITION SENTENCE TO NEXT EP! i love next ep paper star is so cool. also beginnings of julethief. look, i have a transition sentence too.

next week is actually two days ago on saturday but thats okay ill hopefully get it done sometime this week, so i can be on time for being late this saturday. hope you liked this ep's notes <3

#cs weekly #carmen sandiego #carmen sandiego weekly #rip this was done last night but i couldnt post it #csweekly

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bananonbinary · 7 months

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Honestly, your post just goes to show that you really don't understand the widespread non-consensual use of copyrighted images in AI art and AI art-tool training.

The AI isn't "just storing" your artwork. What the tool has done is mined and scanned thousands if not hundreds of thousands of pieces of art, and uses them in order to "create" another image.

Essentially, this is like me buying a load of magazines, cutting out little bits of them or tracing over certain parts and compiling all these different aspects into one image, occasionally filling in the blanks with my own original components. The end result might not wind up looking anything like one particular original source piece, but its still been done using them.

(Although in the case of AI art tools, there has already been instances where the AI has directly replicated an image and simply changed the tonal presence, style or minute components within the work. The Lion's Head instance being one of the more wide-spread.)

This means that as an artist, you might be scrolling DeviantArt one day, see your photo with what looks like a shitty filter on it, and come to learn that its someone's "original AI artwork" that they're claiming to be the original creator of. You've then got to go through the ordeal of filing a DMCA or a similar copyright claim to get them to take it down.

But. That doesn't actually stop the root of the problem. All you've done is taken down one person's recreation. The AI tool still has your artwork and is still churning out pieces using your artwork. So if you want to weed the problem out at the root, you've got to find which AI tool they used and go through the very time consuming task of forcing the operators to remove your artwork from the AI tool's "memory" and block them from re-entering your artwork into their databanks.

Now; literally all of that could've been avoided if the AI tool hadn't been trained by mass-mining opyrighted works in the first place. There are literally hundreds of websites that host open-access artworks, images and data that AI could've been trained off of. But because people wanted to profit from the AI tools and wanted them to be able to replicate and utilize popular art pieces and styles, they simply said they didn't care and did it anyway.

(And are still openly admitting to it, why they did it, and how bad it is for them that people are now creating tools that scramble the AI tool from being able to scan and replicate their art.)

That's what is bad. That's why we don't like AI art tools.

i'm confused, the scenarios you describe here:

and here:

are extremely different. ARE people finding their own artwork with a shitty filter on it? because yes, i'd agree that's not okay. and i will reevaluate my understanding of the topic if there's evidence that's actually what the bots are doing.

but the first thing you describe is just the art of collage, which is a) not morally repugnant and i actually think the laws surrounding it could stand to be more lax, and b) still not really what ai actually does. as far as i understand it, it's not transplanting anything directly, it's just saying "based on how 300000 drawings of trees look, there's statistically usually a leaf here" or w/e. which is why i say it's "storing" the images, because it's just running statistical analysis on them, not actually copypasting anything directly. again, if people could say "hey that's my tree it stole my tree" i'd accept it, but as it stands i just don't see how there's any recognizable reproduction happening.

#disk horse /

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ceejaykayess · 6 months

Text

Here's the third and final of the initially planned Kagepro/AITSF art pieces. This one featuring the very dramatically and awkwardly named Y(A)k(I)suteru, or Yaki for short. I'm not sure why, the image quality is worse than usual- not the fault of my subpar photography skills for once, so maybe it'll be harder to see what I'm talking about for yourself. Sorry if it is.

So, compared to Ene, Yaki is very much comparable to Aiba and Tama- definitely more Aiba, as I seem to keep defaulting to for some reason. Maybe because the first game was better. Anyways- her outfit is meant to be comparable to the sundress the original Yaki wore in Route 2, sans the slits along her legs. Hey, don't look at me, look at Shintaro- an AI-Ball takes a form that epitomises the user's personal tastes, after all. Of course, that's not all that's going into the cause of her appearance...

The markings on her dress were made with the intention of being cyclical, hence why they loop around her back and meet back at her front. Around her neck, comparatively, is a single black line taking the appearance of a snake eating its own tail. How friendly... the markings on her legs, too, are twin snakes intertwining and reaching forward for a red something before them. The marking on the centre of her back was made to fill in all the blank space, taking an almost double meaning- looking like a jagged zero in the black, while the surrounding red was meant to look vaguely similar to Ayano's scarf.

On the topic of her scarf, you might notice she doesn't have one. In spite of that, I tried (and failed probably) to make it look like something was still pressing down on her hair where the scarf would have been. I also made her hair longer than her canon counterpart, with it reaching past her waist. Surprisingly, canon Ayano's hair isn't very long in spite of how voluminous it looks.

Yaki's gel form is, unsurprisingly, that of a snake, and her iris is red. The text above her reads, "I know I've said this before, but I figure I may as well say it again. Don't forget this week, Shintaro." This is meant to be in blatant reference to the start of MCA. In the top right is a quick hand-drawn reference-free sketch of Shintaro dramatically awakening Yaki and being struck dumb by what he's learning.

Here's the initial Shintaro image, and here's the follow-up Ene image.

Falling, falling, falling. The world, her world, the world within her world, it was all falling down. Darker and darker, only that accusing red refusing to be dulled by the darkness. Why didn't you say anything, it sneers. Why didn't you save him, it shouts. Why weren't you just a little faster, it cries.

She cries.

She would cry, but she cannot. She is not real, she hadn't even had the opportunity to assert herself as something, real or otherwise. She, it. Lacking any experience to classify itself as anything more than an it, so defined to her base programming that she can't be anything other than a her.

And yet, and yet, despite its nonexistence, so strongly it almost felt in spite of her core programming, the AI-Ball wanted to cry. The AI-Ball wanted to scream. The AI-Ball wanted to disappear.

Hate, the AI-Ball ponders, must be related to this. The burning in her circuits at the sight of that ghastly smile in a face its other half had classed as friendly not even an hour ago, that must be hate.

So, too, must the burn she felt when she saw the blue interloper, impostor, faker, thief, cling-on, replacement be hate. Seeing that rogue program, that false girl speak to her other half, act as if she was meant to be her master's servant, work side by side with her partner, it all filled the AI-Ball with feelings she hadn't had the capacity or opportunity to understand. Not when she was trapped and locked away in her own body, forced to watch uncomprehending as her very existence was usurped. Feelings and memories it could only begin to interpret when the fake finally left the AI-Ball, only able to function as an eye for her partner, her system so warped by two years of serving another master she couldn't willingly try to operate at full capacity lest she harm him.

And yet.

If she had thrown caution to the wind, could she have prevented this? If it had dedicated its whole system to a factory reset, not worrying about its master's eyesight or something as frivolous as these half-hearted memories thrust upon it, could it have operated well enough to protect its purpose?

If a chance had been taken, would the AI-Ball not have to watch the life bleed out of him, not have to experience his despair and rage and confusion and betrayal at the sight of his friends' slaughter, not have to contemplate her own failure instead of doing something useful to at least make sure the murderer wouldn't just get away with it?

His heart rate began to bottom out, his breathing having ceased long ago, his torn open throat incapable of carrying breath. Brain activity, which had seemingly hit an all-time high, began to cease. With the technology she was created with, she could essentially calculate the time until he died to the second.

7. How... humorous, she thinks would be how a human would phrase it. He was jokingly labelled as Number 7, wasn't he? If only she was AI-Ball #007, too. But no. Instead, her serial was...

Please...

Ah.

Please... save them... anyone... please... The me of another world, of another life... anyone... anything, please... pl...ease...

Seven had become three without realising, then two, and as it stared down at the stiffened pond of red that continued to stand out amidst the darkness that had spread, two became one. And she shut down. It didn't matter. She didn't want to feel it, when his body reached zero. If her Creator found her, if he even still could in his state, maybe he'd reset her, curse her for being worthless, or just scrap her. It didn't matter, none of it did. Her subroutines started to cease one by one, and her various worthless functions began to shut down.

And then Shintaro Kisaragi passed, his final words a tortured scream to anyone else and a heartfelt plea not meant for her that only she could hear. And with his death, and time passing zero, and her dim awareness still remaining even as she fixates on the nothingness, on the stillness, on the cold that didn't feel as proverbial as it should have been- a part of her, a quiet and small part, one derived from that barest scan of his psyche when she first awoke seeking out information to create his perfect partner, wished. Even though she was fake, and empty, and lacking substance, even though she was hardly worthy of it, she still wished earnestly.

For the power to save him. For the power to protect what he holds dear. To meet him again, and to do so properly. For the her of another world, of another life, to serve by his side and seek out a future where he can smile.

Then her world was finally engulfed by the dark.

...

...falling.

Falling, falling, falling.

Her vague existence was falling down, the deep darkness, the expansive emptiness, slowly giving way to that agonising red.

And then she wasn't falling alone. By her side, a presence. Long and black, scaled and slithering, red jewels set in obsidian. Yet, the red did not feel agonising, or accusing, or antagonising, but rather gentle, and passionate. Not the red of blood, but like... the red of the sunset, or his favourite jacket.

In a blink, black scales gave way for pale skin, and brown hair, and a beautiful dress, and a red scarf, and it felt strange. Like looking in an altered mirror at a carnival. The contours of a face that was going to be hers, hair that stopped near the shoulder blades than past the waist, a dress her own body tried to mimic; it was looking at a memory that didn't belong to her.

The red eyes stayed the same, however. Still gentle, still full of a passion- to save, to protect. She offered a hand, and the AI-Ball didn't even think before reaching out in kind. Warmth. Hands that she could have emulated, in another life. Her red eyes spoke a tale, a message, and a request. One the AI-Ball couldn't help but accept.

Maybe she couldn't do a thing as herself, alone, as nothing and nobody. Maybe even if she had the opportunity to become something and somebody, things wouldn't have changed in such a ridiculous situation. But like this, not alone, but together... not supplementing someone else, but acting as part of them... maybe things could change.

All she truly wanted was for Shintaro Kisaragi to live. Whether she had a part in that future was, truthfully, irrelevant. That was a truth from the very core of her existence, from Wadjet herself. But like this, she could be selfish and get to stand by his side.

As the two fell together, fell deeper and deeper into the red, as the distance between the two shrank and shrank, as eventually only one fell through the red and into a dream of gears and repeating mechanisms, a conversation played in-between the gaps. An introduction between two pieces of a new whole, and the hopes of an introduction to someone she never got to say those words to.

-I am the Snake of Retaining Eyes.

I am AI-Ball #000.-

-I am Yaki. Try and remember my name, won't you, Shintaro?-

#ai the somnium files #art #kagerou project #aitsf #ayano tateyama #The only image reference is the centrepiece which is based on an image I found off the Kagepro wiki- I don;t know how to source it #I think the events of the story shook out a little different to how I initially envisioned it but I don;t think it's bad as is #Hopefully I won;t look back at this later and wince

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