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cowyolks · 2 months

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IN DEATH’S HANDS

PART ONE OF TWO

Pairing: Grim Reaper! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Prompt: You survived that car crash. Despite all the doctors saying you should have been crushed like a soda can. It shouldn’t have been possible, but you had a strange suspicion it had something to do with the cloaked figure that followed you everywhere.

Words: 5.7 K

Warnings: Mentions of Death and dying, stalking, gore, car crashes, deception, protective Simon.

You had considered yourself to be abnormal since you learnt to comprehend your own thoughts.

It started when you were little, sat politely on an old wooden pew, termite bitten and nearly rotting. Worn cloth was placed over the wood, proving little cushion or support. Odd and depressing music relayed through your ears, the mournful toon of an organ, and the slow chanting of hymns covered by sorrowful hiccups.

You were too small to register loss, to feel the grief of not seeing your grandmother again. So you sat, swinging your legs in a continuous loop, cheap pen held between your fingers as you crudely sketched upon a faded bulletin.

You drew your latest fascination, the black-robed figure that stood over your grandmother the last couple of days. Face covered and massive scythe in hand.

It didn’t speak, it didn’t grant you any attention, it didn’t even look to be breathing.

All it did was loom.

Something inside yourself screamed, instructing you to not draw any attention to its haunting aura. To avoid the blowing shadows of its cloak and not stare at the chilling gleam of such a powerful weapon.

It cornered your grandmother once you left the house, tiny hand holding onto your mother as she took you back home after her shift at work.

You were the one that found her, body still and cold as you went to show her your new toy. You called for your mother after she wouldn’t answer from your tugging on her frigid and stiff fingers.

You were beyond confused when your mother ushered you away, shutting the door behind your grandmother and letting fat tears fall down her cheeks.

Later, she had told you that you wouldn’t see grandmother again, that she was dead.

But as life goes.

People live, they flourish, they attempt to imprint their memory into the hearts of others before they are stomped out like wilted roses.

Death was nature, something that always occurred and a stone-cold constant that no one could best. Yet, it still didn’t describe the dark wordless figure that followed you, or the fact that you were older but hadn’t shown any signs of aging since your 25th birthday.

While your friends, the same age as you, began to grow grey hairs with soft crows feet imprinting their skin.

They always asked your secret, and all you could do was shrug, truthfully you didn’t know.

Candlelight flickered eerily in front of your face, a large three and two placed gently down on the table by your generous coworkers.

You likely wouldn’t eat the chocolate cake, seeing as you were still working and all. You never ate in the morgue. It was a superstition that just felt right, you couldn’t see yourself taking sustenance when the corpses couldn’t.

“Make a wish!” Dana clapped her hands together as her and Mark finished the last chorus of Happy Birthday. You didn’t believe in wishes, but regardless the candlelight made you twitch, not liking the idea of fire being around all the embalming chemicals in your office.

You blew them out perhaps too quickly.

“What did you wish for?” Mark asked, leaning closer with a curious glint in his eyes. He liked you, it was rather obvious from his puppy dog eyes and the fact he politely asked you out this weekend. You always found some excuse for his advances, not looking for a relationship.

He was good looking with curly dark hair and forest green eyes. Certainly a reliable worker as well, someone who was kind while also getting the job done.

You should have been happy to hop in a relationship with him, at least maybe go on a date or two. But something in your mind always made you hesitate. Perhaps it had something to do with the looming figure always stepping closer when the two of you spoke.

“Aren’t I not supposed to tell?” You asked lightly, shaking your head when Dana offered you a slice of cake.

She huffed, but knew of your rule. Instead she handed it over to Mark, who happily took a small bite with the flimsy plastic fork. He swallowed, “I guess not. Do you have anything planned for your birthday?”

He shifted a few inches closer, the movement didn't make you uncomfortable. Actually, it was almost comforting to feel the warmth of his skin through your white coat.

"No, I was going to order takeout." You shrugged.

Birthdays had always left a bitter taste in your mouth. It was one year closer to death, one year closer to being put on a cold table and embalmed like you did to constant others.

The cloaked figure swayed at your revelation, as if it could actually hear what you were thinking. Your eyes briefly caught on the bleach white of bone, the color contrasting against the hood like a mask. Maybe it could hear what was going on in your head?

“Well, you have to go out for your birthday!” Dana insisted, pointing the dirty spatula towards you in disbelief.

You sighed in displeasure. Honestly, eating greasy takeout and watching cheap rom coms sounded better than going out, but the look on Mark and Dana’s faces had you pondering as you pursing your lips.

“Fine. But I want to be home by eleven,” you grunted, watching as your two coworkers tried their best not to burst in excitement. You were so engrossed in their expressions you missed the chilled sweeping of black fabric.

It came so abruptly you couldn’t help but let out a little yelp, the coldest sensation you had ever felt had settled upon your flesh. It took a moment to catch your breath, the frostbite-like pain shooting through every nerve until it zeroed upon your wrist. Teeth gritted, crunching down on the crowns. You glanced down in horror at bleached bone—resembling of human phalanges, connected to the cloaked figure who loomed over you like a chilling shadow of dread. Like cutting thorns and blood-suckling leeches.

Not even a gasp or inhale could escape your body.

It’s the first time the specter had acknowledged you, just as it was the first time you had really engaged with it, round eyes meeting the shadow beneath the hood.

Frosted eyes flashed, so ghoulish and hair-raising you were sure you’d faint. The bones around your wrist tightened, before the figure stepped back and muttered something so low you could not hear, but could only feel the rattling vibration of sound against your quickening pulse.

“Hey! You okay?”

With a snap much like a rubber band, you flew back to reality, rounded eyes settling upon the chocolate birthday cake. A quick exhale, and you fell backward against the chair, huffing.

“Uh yeah, I just…I don’t feel well.” You managed to explain to a hovering Mark, who now stood in the same spot as the figure.

His lips pursed in concern, his large hand going to gently cup upon your forehead, feeling for a fever. He was too kind for his own good.

“You feel ice cold, go take the rest of the day off, I’ll pick up where you left off.” He voiced, removing his palm and placing it nervously upon his knee. You sighed, not enjoying the thought of taking a sick day, regardless of almost being done.

“Don’t even think about staying, we expect you to get some sleep and be ready to leave to go party at 7.” Dana tutted motherly, as she always tried to do when you worked too hard.

With a final huff, you nodded, going to stand up shakily.

“Do you need a ride home?” Mark asked, still attempting to conceal some of his worry. You shook your head, already feeling guilty about leaving in the first place. "Uh, no, I can walk. Besides some fresh air could do me some good." You offered, before hesitantly placing your hand upon the door after grabbing your bag from under your walnut office desk.

"Are you su-"

"Go," Both Mark and Dana spoke, echoing thorough the small office. You let out a weak chuckle. "Okay."

You stepped out of the mortuary, shielding your eyes from the beating sun. Little breeze blew throughout D.C, but despite it, you were happy to be out in the heat, away from the chilling freezers that kept the bodies from prematurely rotting.

It was a short walk home, through the very busy streets, so you felt comfortable enough around all these people to not get kidnapped or robbed. You lived in your small condo off the Potamic, high enough you could see boats cross the dirty rippling waters.

You huffed, beginning to make your way down the cracked sidewalks without completely losing your mind. Whatever the creature was, it had made a point to grab you, to suck all the warmth from your flesh in its threat. The cloaked figure had never acknowledged you besides the cool stares it occasionally froze you with... but this, this was an entirely new playing field.

In this case, you couldn't help but to feel like a pawn instead of a king.

You startled as you felt a shoulder bump against your own, knocking the wind out of you and having you fall back onto your ass. You collided with the rough cement, your tailbone throbbing in retaliation. What a birthday you were having.

"Hey! Watch where you're-" you cut yourself off as you glanced upward, behind the complaining stranger you had collided with. There the figure appeared again, this time levitating near the steps of an old library, one you frequented in.

The figure's hood was pushed higher than it typically was, skeletal features barely visible, but pearly eyes like freezing blizzards bit back into your own stare. You stood there for what could have been hours, perhaps even years before the robed figure moved. His head declined at an angle, a gesture most commonly associated with 'follow me", before it floated into the library.

You blame your constant curiosity and yearn for the unknown for taking a hesitant step forward, up those familiar crumbling steps.

Immediately you are hit with the aroma of coffee beans and printed paper. Before this scent would comfort you, now it leaves you on edge. Your head was on a swivel, searching for the robed creature, but when you couldn't find him, you deflated in surprising defeat, why were you upset you couldn't find a ghost no one could see but you?

You took a left down the historical aisle, one of your absolute favorites. It was fascinating learning of different cultures and how they viewed death, how they mourned and what religion they practiced. Would it be heaven, resurrection, eternal damnation as a deity or God dragged you to a version of Hell?

Could it be Thanatos, or Hel, or maybe even.....

A heavy book dropped to the floor, as if it was pushed on its own. The dark cover mocking you with words red like crimson.

The Origin of Reaping.

The Grim Reaper. A deathly figure everyone seemed to idolize in horror movies, tv shows, and comic books. Kids dressed up as him for Halloween, swinging plastic scythes at their siblings. The figure was even in Sunday morning Cartoons.

Your mysterious figure happened to have a few too many of the same characteristics, as impossible as it sounds.

With a final glance around the section, making sure no one saw the book fly magically to the ground, you picked it up by the beaten spine, shuffling over to a cushioned seat and sitting with a quiet exhale.

You opened it randomly in the middle, a particular passage catching your attention,

Reapers can come in many forms, some even taking shape of a persona their prey finds to be most attractive, as this likely assists in retrieving souls. Other modern depictions display a dark cloak and iron scythe used to reap.

Your mouth was left agape with every word you read, the impossible pieces carving into place in your mind, despite how crazy it sounds. You flipped another page, eyes drinking in the text as if you were parched.

It is said that Reapers are only seen when their prey is close to death. Although there is some occasion of ‘seers’ appearing throughout history. It is said that seers could spot certain deities since birth or a tragic event. In history, Edgar Allen Poe, William Shakespeare, Frida Kaleo, Queen Mary I, and many others all reported seeing signs of reapers or beings with similar characteristics.

Seers often can predict who dies with their ability of watching a reaper touch its prey. No one knows why they're able to see what they do, but the gift is sought out by thousands for the unique information of knowing how and when death will occur.

Your knuckles were growing white amongst the yellowing pages at every passage you read, gathering more of an understanding in these last 10 minutes than you had your whole entire life. But why? Why would your reaper lead you here, to learn more about him?

With a final turn you eyed a last passage, the font in a starling bold,

If one suffers the touch of a reaper, it will only be a short period of time before death.

A frozen chill set over your body again, throat constricted and unmoving as no air expelled from your lungs. The deity had touched you, the bony fingers clutching your wrist in a permanent sentence. Your limbs were frozen as the world seemed to disappear, the very air drowning. You were going to die, and soon.

"Hey, love. Alrigh' there?" A deep Mancunian accent startled you from your shock. A tiny yelp left your tightening throat, breaking you out of your trance as you glanced upwards to the voice.

He was undeniably handsome in a ruggish way. He was by no means pretty, but captivating enough to distract you for a moment. He had light hair, stubble covering his scarred face and framing his smashed nose that had been broken one too many times. His eyes were a rich brown, devoid of emotions, despite the fact that he had just voiced concern. He was dressed sloppily, dark sweats hanging low from his hips and a black hoodie to match.

Rugged, but certainly your type.

“Oh, ummm.” You blinked, falling back into the present with your cheeks burning from your blunt stare. “Yes, yes I’m fine. Just… it’s been a long day.”

His head bobbed, tongue licking his dry bottom lip quickly. “Aye, it has, hasn’t it?”

You chuckled nervously, never one to enjoy speaking to strangers or engaging in small talk. The man seemed to connect the dots, but still, he held out his hand, visible calluses littering his large palm.

“Simon.”

You nodded, reluctantly saying your own name before hesitantly reaching out to grip onto his hand. As your warm skin brushed upon his, you jolted, feeling the same icy cold temperature that led you to your crazed state in the first place.

Your eyes rounded, just as Simon’s eyes flashed in curiosity. You ripped your hand out of his grasp too quickly, standing before your legs could catch up to your body.

"Uh, it was nice meeting you, Simon. But I have to go."

He nodded, further displaying the scar running down his cheek and ending near his lip. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you again, this is my favorite section, and one of my favorite books." His deep voice bided goodbye warmly, although you couldn't stop your hairs from raising and your pulse from skyrocketing like hiding prey.

"Right, well goodbye." You lowly spoke, plastering on a fake smile before rushing to leave the aisles and head for your apartment to rest. As you walked home, you couldn't help but glance over your shoulder, dread filling every nerve of your body.

The annoying buzzing of your alarm woke you from your sleep, something you had desperately needed. Your hand slapped the off button, effectively killing the noise. You felt better despite the twilight that had already set in. Darkness had flooded into your bedroom, the moon illuminating the river, casting eerie shadows across your wardrobe and bookshelf.

With a sigh, you pulled back the silk covers, yawning and stretching before making your way to your walk-in closet.

Your phone's ringtone rang through the small space, making you jump and realize just how paranoid you've became.

"Hello?"

"Hey, how you feeling?" Dana's cheery voice broke through the device, making you relax slightly.

"Better, I got some rest. When are you picking me up?"

"Oh, I'm not. Mark is."

You sighed, but couldn't stop the gentle smile that fell onto your lips. It came as natural as it could. "You set me up.” You put the pieces together. “Are we still going to the same place?"

"Of course, I'm not that mean. What are you wearing, birthday girl?"

“Haven’t thought about it. Probably just a nice blouse and jeans.”

You could hear her scoff through the phone, an offended tut escaping as well. “Hell no, it’s your birthday, and the last time you wore a dress Mark was basically drooling, and I’d love to get a picture this time.”

A short laugh huffed out of both of you, just as your fingers trickled further back in your closet, feeling the fabrics of the dresses you only wore for conferences and the occasional luncheon.

“I’ve got this black one, short and sparkly, you’d like it.” You informed Dana, pulling the dress from the hanger and holding it out to inspect.

“Perfect! I told Mark to pick you up at seven, so better hurry!”

You checked your phone, white font glowing, 18:09. You had about fifty minutes give or take. That was plenty for someone who rarely cared about appearance.

“See you there.” You bided farewell before clicking the red button, effectively cutting off the call.

It took little time to get ready, slipping on the dress that just nearly passed your ass. This one, you decided, was from your rebel years as a teen. Now you’d never wear anything that short or revealing as it pushed against your breasts.

You lightly dusted some make-up across any blemishes, and did your hair as best as you could before snatching your purse. Eyes flickered around the condo, making sure there was no sign of your ghoulish companion.

Thank God—he wasn’t there.

You hobbled, slipping dark stilettos upon your feet, making sure to not completely trip down the stairs as you spotted Mark’s navy BMW sitting at the curb. The man popped out of the driver’s side as you approached, mouth visibly popped open at your difference in wardrobe.

He looked quite handsome himself, an ironed white button down cuffed at his forearms, and black slacks accenting the whole look. He’d done his hair, styling it perfectly to accent his handsome green eyes and rich olive skin.

"H-hey, wow." His hand went to the back of his neck, likely rubbing the nervous sweat that gathered there. It was cute, in a childish crush kind of way. He opened the passenger side door, gesturing for you to step in. "You look beautiful." He sighed out, as if it was taking all his strength to spit out the words.

You chuckled brightly, daring enough to reach upwards and kiss his stubbled cheek, smelling the addicting bergamot cologne he wore. "And you look handsome." You climbed into the car, relaxing against the cool leather seats and smoothing your dress as Mark shut the door behind you.

As he opened his own door and climbed in, you could see the cute dusting of red on his cheek.

You sat in comfortable silence, riding for nearly ten minutes before you arrived at the small pub Dana had always spoke of in high regard. It was proudly Irish owned, known for having the best Shepherd's pie in all of D.C.

Perfectly your scene instead of a busy and loud nightclub.

Mark pulled the car into park, huffing a sigh before he turned. "Ready for some fun?" A soft smile was easy to come by, as was the aura of feeling safe in his presence.

"Only until eleven." You reminded him with a smirk, you could change your clothes, but you couldn't change who you are.

"Only until eleven." He repeated, amusement coating his words as he turned the key and stepped out. You opened the door after him, stepping beside him before making your way inside.

Immediately the whiff of beer and sweat flooded your senses, making you wrinkle your nose in protest as you adjusted. Mark let out a little cough, seemingly adjusting as well.

"Do you see her?" You yelled over the live band, hoping to spot the long braids Dana always styled to perfection. Mark, being taller than most, easily spotted her, "I see her!" He shouted, lightly going to grab your hand in his, the warmth of his skin welcoming.

Both of you weaved through people until you reached Dana, who was viciously guarding two barstools next to her. "Fuck off, dude, I already told you these spots are taken!" She snapped, poison dripping off her words as she glared.

"Easy..." you deescalated the situation, watching the man storm off as you took the seat at the end, Mark sitting in the middle. "Hey, you made it!" Dana's mood automatically switched, a cheery and blinding smile once again on her face.

She automatically reached over, pushing a red shot towards you with a giggle. "Get started, I've been waiting to see you hammered for like five years now."

"Alright, Alright." You giggled as well, picking up the shot and downing it only with a slight wince. It’s been way too long since you’ve partied.

“So, Mark, what do you think of the Birthday Girl’s outfit?” Dana quipped, obviously wanting to see the man’s cheeks glow red. It worked, his cheeks warming and pupils dilating.

He cleared his throat after taking a sip of his beer, "I see what you're doing, asshole. And for your information, she looks beautiful, I already told her that."

"Asshole? How about you come play this asshole in pool?" Dana challenged, a smirk on her red lips as she glanced back to you with a playful expression. "Wanna play too? You can partner up with Mark, he'll need the help."

Mark flicked her across the forehead, a small smile pulling at your lips at her muted ‘ow’.

“Go ahead and play, I'll stay here and play the winner." You compromised; far more interested in people watching anyways.

"You sure?" Mark asked. Your heart fluttered at his concern, but you nodded anyways. "Go ahead." You vaguely heard the trash talk from Dana as the two of them left to find a table and scavenge for quarters.

A sudden brush of leather scraped across your bare shoulder, the cool material causing goosebumps to spread across your flesh as you turned, a scoff escaping you as you noticed two more barstools open and the stranger took the one next to you instead.

"Whiskey." His deep voice sounded oddly familiar, as he adjusted on the seat, legs spreading wider as his kneecap bumped into yours. An annoyed huff left you as you scooted a couple inches away, so your ass was nearly hanging off the seat.

"What kind?"

"Irish, one for the lady as well." His head tilted to you, just as you caught a glimpse of the familiar light hair and raised scars from earlier. The man in the library, Simon.

"Oh, thank you." You awkwardly mumbled, settling for fiddling with your thumbs under the table. His eyes, the color of coffee beans crinkled, visible amusement dancing between the flickering lights.

"Welcome, dove."

The bartender set the two glasses in front of you, happily taking the green bills Simon offered. You watched as he gripped the glass, hand swallowing the material as if it were puny. He extended it to you, offering a toast. You picked up your own glass of amber liquid, if only to spare you the embarrassment.

"To life, we all have it, and sometimes it may kick us down. But here's to kicking it back." The glasses clinked, and you swallowed the alcohol with a cough. Simon's jaw ticked as he swallowed his, no wince visible, or even the twitch of an eyelid.

You wiped your lip softly, careful not to mess up your lip gloss. "So, what's the coincidence of finding you in two random places all in one day?" You joked, but honestly wanted to know the answer, to breakdown this stranger just as you did in the morgue.

"I like this place, reminds me of home." He gestured vaguely, his deep voice mellow and calm. "Where's home?" You questioned, interrogation being one of your many bad habits, it's a wonder how Dana and Mark even became your friends.

"Manchester."

"This is an Irish Pub." You deadpanned.

"Clever bird." He matched your sarcasm, something you found shamefully attractive. "Ireland is closer, eh? And don't tell a soul, but the brew is better there." A deep chuckle rumbled through him, his hefty shoulders vibrating with the sound. He was massive, muscle rippling off of him and filling him out, despite his tall appearance.

And his accent.

"Your secret is safe with me."

His lips ticked upwards for a moment, before dropping again. "So, what brings you to a place like this? Quite a different scene from the library."

"It's my birthday, my friends wanted to celebrate."

"But you didn't, eh?"

You sighed, nearly startled by how well this stranger could read you. lips pursed, you glanced at him through your eyelashes, then turned to see Dana lining up a shot as Mark strategized his next move.

"No, not really. But I haven't been feeling myself lately, I thought it would help to go out. To feel again, to know that I am here." An embarrassed chuckle escaped you, "I'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear all of that."

Simon shrugged, "I've heard worse."

A loud celebratory cheer broke out, you turned spotting Dana pumping her fist after hitting the 8 ball in. Mark huffed in defeat, forest eyes latching to you with a soft smile. Wanna play? he mouthed over the music.

You shook your head, gesturing for the two of them to play again. Mark frowned but didn't push on the matter. You sure?

Yes. You mouthed back, before turning back to Simon, cold eyes watching the scene unfold in curiosity.

"That man really likes you." He observed, rough fingertips tapping on the table, if he pushed any harder you were sure it would cause the wood to indent.

"Oh, yes. He's a great guy, handsome and kind. Smart too, he just..." You trailed off, chewing your lip as you tried to ponder for a word to say that wasn't too harsh.

"He doesn't give you that spark. Of excitement and mystery." Simon finished for you, tilting his head downwards as he studied your expression. You hummed, heart beating a little faster at the revelation.

"And you could?"

"I didn't say that, Dove."

Your cheeks flushed, embarrassment rippling down your spine at such an accusation, and how he had been so quick to make you to squirm. He knew exactly what he was doing, and you felt the sudden sense to get up and go play a game to avoid more teasing.

"Needa smoke, want to come out with me?" He offered just as you were about to stand and walk away. You struggled, wondering if you should run like prey, or put your hands into the beartrap and hope it didn't close on your bones.

"Smoking is bad for you." You quipped but followed behind his heels like a wounded puppy. A chuckle vibrated through him again, teeth flashing as he held the door open for you. "And I know it."

You stepped out into the chilly air, a pleasant change compared to the stuffy bar. Your arms wrapped around your waist; elbows leant against the rickety iron railing. Simon fished in his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter with an exhale. A quick flick and a flame sparked, settling upon the paper as the scent of tobacco aired.

He placed it between his lips, the red cherry glowing before he released, exhaling smoke from his nose and mouth. You'd think it was hot, if you couldn't smell it, or know how bad it was for him.

"So, what's your story, oh mysterious stranger?" Your heels pinched at your feet, you couldn't wait to get them off and back into slippers. Another exhale of smoke as he glanced down, the lamppost catching the reflection of his eyes, making them look almost white.

"No story. Joined the British military when I was 18, retired, here I am." He spoke with amusement, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. It wasn't, the military was no joke, just death and bullets, and if they happened to survive, they could still hear those bullets at home.

"It takes guts to serve, a lot of death." You sympathized, knowing it would be impossibly hard to watch the people you called brothers and sisters die in horrendous ways.

He took a drag on his cigarette, a slow nod of his head signifying that he heard. He flicked the dying bud to the ground.

"It takes a lot to do your job too. A mortician is a serious job, espically after seeing so much death in your family." He related; words sharp as a knife. Your blood ran cold as he spoke, never once had you mentioned your job, or the death of your parents and grandma, he shouldn't have known.

Muscles froze, heart beating nearly out of your chest as you glanced up at him. Your mouth was left agape as you stared.

What was once a warm body with handsome scars and bulky muscles now stood a black cloaked figure, skeletal bone, and white glowing eyes.

It was him, the Reaper. And oh, how it had tricked you.

A scream was crawling up your throat ready to expel until you heard his voice.

"Listen to me, Dove. I've followed you all your life, and I've never hurt you. But we are out of time." His voice was the same, still Simon's, even as those glowing eyes bore into yours.

"How is this happening?" You muttered as you squeezed your eyes shut, going as far as pinching yourself until freezing skeletal fingers gripped your chin.

"Listen. I know you read the passages in that book. I made sure you did, so you know since I touched you, it’ll be over soon. You have to keep yourself safe.” he squeezed your face, not enough to hurt you, but enough to make you pop your eyes open and listen closely.

“Why’d you touch me then? Why are you even acknowledging me if you’d ignored me all my life?”

“I’m just a soldier, dove. I don’t make the rules. Seers, they’re destined to find us, to make our hearts beat again. The higher ups don’t like that, so we are told to kill anyone like you.”

Your heart beats faster, knowing this was enough weird to send you straight to a psychiatric ward. What did he mean make his heart beat again?

“Hey! Stop touching her!” A familar voice broke out through the buzzing of the street lamps. Skeletal fingers dropped from your chin, just as the two of you turned to face Mark, his jaw clenched and fury in his eyes.

“Mark, no-” you started, watching in horror as he stormed Simon, forcibly pushing him away from you, even though he barely moved an inch. Your heart dropped, knowing the damage was somehow done. Mark had touched a Reaper, and now he would die. He shouldn’t have been able to see him in the first place.

“Fool, what have you done?” Simon growled, now back to his human form to spare Mark the shock, dark eyes nearly black in the night.

“Seriously dude, what I have done? I’m not the one harassing women.” Mark hissed, looking small despite his height as he squared up to a reaper. Simon inhaled, chest puffing even larger than before, a nonverbal threat.

“He-he touched you.” You whimpered, eyes watering with salty tears, one threatening push and they’d fall. Mark, sweet Mark, he didn’t deserve this.

Mark’s head tilted, taking his eyes off Simon, always one to check on you instead of worry for himself. His features softened, if only for a moment.

“Cmon, we’re leaving.” He spat through gritted teeth, sending one last wicked glare to Simon before he turned his back, gently grasping your wrist and steering you away from Simon.

Before Simon could utter another word, Mark had steered you to his car, keys in his grasp as he unlocked it with a stab of his finger. You’d never seen him like that, anger flooding off of him. You weren’t sure if he’d send you sinking to the depths after him.

The key slotted into the ignition, engine roaring to life as he reversed speedily.

“Put your seat belt on… please.” Mark spoke through slotted teeth, pulling out of the parking lot and into the nearly vaccant roads. You gulped, but otherwise reached behind you to pull the belt into the slot with a latch. Your hands shook, adrenaline being your enemy as you couldn’t stop your rapidly beating heart. What if this was how you died? Your heart beating out of your chest.

“You can’t just disappear like that, I was worried sick. I love you too much for something to happen to you.”Mark expressed, taking his eyes off the road for a moment, only to frown at the horrified expression on your face. Perhaps he overstepped, but you weren’t thinking about that, only about the person he was about to run over, standing right in the middle of the road.

“Look out!”

It was all a blur, the swerving, the uncontrolled movements of the tires. It was poetic in a way, the man you had at your heels had just torn his heart out, only for it to bleed as the vehicle crashed.

You gasped, black coating your vision as bent metal pinched at all your sides. Metallic blood scented the air as tv static coated your brain.

The last thing you saw, as your vision turned black, was glowing white eyes and bleached bone.

#call of duty modern warfare #cod #simon ghost riley #modern warfare #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #call of duty #tw death #tw dying #no one asked for this but I’m posting it anyway

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nyyrami · 20 days

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MELLOWING ON THE PAST DOES NO ONE ANY GOOD…

𓏲 synopsis. mellowing on the past wasn’t good. shoko most of all knew that. she’d encountered loss time and time again, she couldn’t help but ponder on the dead…

𓏲 tags. wc. 0.9k satoru gojo x reader. reader dies obviously. everyone’s dead. canon timeline kinda. shoko is depressed. horrible mental health. smoking. descriptions of dead body. morgue. angst angst angst. shoko pov. mentions of suguru.

𓏲 a/n. scrolling through Pinterest and thought of this after seeing a sad shoko post. don’t blame me. blame the app…

IN SOME distant fantasy land, shoko married a prince. A prince of some mighty kingdom where he had all the money in the world and all the alcohol she would ever need. In some distant world she lived her best life, doing what she loved best, surrounded by her family, her parents. She would be loved and cared for, safe and content.

In her wildest dreams of course. She would love that fabled life she wanted to so desperately to live. Instead she lived in Tokyo and she was a Jujutsu Sorcerer and she most definitely did not have her family or her parents surrounding her.

She sighed, blowing a puff of grey smoke out of her mouth throwing the shrivelled cigarette into the dustbin. Oh yes. In another life, she would quit her smoking habit. She wouldn’t inhale the toxic fumes any more and she’d be free of her addictions.

Walking towards the sink in the morgue, she wiped the blood of her hands. It stuck underneath her fingernails and permanent shaded her fingers a light red. Forever a reminder of her job.

It could’ve been worser though, she thinks. She could’ve been like satoru or even nanami, dying in action in gruesome horrible ways. Maybe that fate would be better, instead of witnessing the dead corpse of her friends.

You lay on the embalming tables awaiting an autopsy waiting for the cause of your death to be found. It was clear though. The moment Itadori walked into the room carrying your lifeless body, it had been clear what had killed you. The hole where your heart should have been was large, so large she could see the table beneath you.

She looked you over once more before she shook her head. It was comical to say the least, you looked so peaceful, as if you were sleeping. Anyone could’ve mistaken you for resting. Anyone but her. She knew a dead person when she saw one and the blue of your once red lips was clear evidence.

Once, those lips would’ve been curled into a smile. Or they would be cracking a joke with satoru. You’d always been by him. Wherever you went, he followed. From your school days till now, it was clear his infatuation with you was more than just a silly crush.

It had been relieving for shoko when you finally confessed to him. Many years of shipping you together had payed off. Ever since, you’d both been lovesick for eachother. If shoko was being honest, sometimes she was jealous of the love you’d achieved.

If only suguru were there. He would be paying her a 1000¥ now. She pulled the white sheet above your head, refusing to look at your body any longer. It was saddening to say the least but shoko had practically become insensitive to seeing her close ones dead bodies in front of her. Or that’s what she would like to say.

Leaving the cold room, she returned to her office, digging for something in the cupboards. Ah. She pulled away after finding what she was liking for. A long sleek brown bottle anyone could realise harboured alcohol, you could practically see the contents spilling around through the brown transluecent material.

She took a long swig, feeling the burning liquid slide down her throat and settle in her empty stomach. Yes, shoko would like to believe she was insensitive to seeing the death of her loved ones but she would always down the bottle after.

Her eyes hooked on the picture on her desk from her jujutsu high days. Youth was evident and clear on all your faces. Sad that most of the ones in the picture were dead. Maybe it was by coincidence from the horrible settings that she realised that suguru had never been smiling.

His eyes were downcast, the loss of sleep clear in the slight dark circles beneath his eyes and in the mess of his once perfectly kept hair. How did she not realise then that her friend was struggling with something? How did you all not realise it? No, she was lying. You guys did, of course you noticed. But foolishly you just didn’t want to believe it. Believe that maybe your friend felt he wasn’t cut out for this life. It was clear in his reluctance to do anything.

Shoko took another swig of the bottle before setting it down on her oak desk, picking up the picture simultaneously. It was so clear now that he had been doomed from the beginning, suguru geto, the one who consumed curses.

It was no shock when he became one too. Shoko moved towards the window basking in the afternoon light for a few minutes, relishing the brightness of the sun that these days, never seems to come out.

She held the picture up one final time before she used the lighter and set the picture on flame. She watched as the faces of her friends were swallowed by the orange flame, consuming all she loved and leaving only ashes. She too soon blew those tensing ashes into the wind, watching as they flew on a phantom wind.

Turning back to her desk, she took a seat, finally allowing her limbs to rest from a long day. The ache was unbearable. She took another swig of the drink, relishing in the burning feeling. She would’ve liked to believe she was indifferent to seeing death but it would be a lie, one she repeated to herself over and over but she’d carry on drinking the alcohol either way.

©NYYRAMI24 do not copy, repost or plagiarise my work. if you enjoyed a like or reblog would be greatly appreciated.

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egypt-museum · 4 months

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Stela of the Royal Scribe Ipy

New Kingdom, late 18th Dynasty, ca. 1332-1323 BC. From Saqqara necropolis. Now in the State Hermitage Museum. ДВ-1072

This stela of Ipy, who held the titles “fan-bearer on the right hand [of the king]”, “royal scribe”, and “great overseer of the royal household”, carries a depiction of its owner making offering to Anubis, the embalmer deity, who is seated at the offering table. The introduction of this subject is an extremely important characteristic of the era.

In earlier times, depictions of deities in private tombs occurred only sporadically, while in the reign of Tutankhamun such scenes of worship began to occupy a central place in them. In this way, people were apologizing to the gods for the abolition of their cults under the previous ruler, Akhenaten. Stylistically the stela is also characteristic of Tutankhamun’s time, when works were produced, especially in the Memphite region, that were marked by the exceptional delicacy and softness of the relief.

#ancient egypt #stele #18th dynasty #new kingdom #anubis

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 3 months

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Hi there! I was wondering if I could request a scenario for Identity V? Specifically for Norton? I love the way you write for him!

Okay so, it’s safe to say that since Norton and Fools Gold are basically the same person, they feel the same way about things, including people. What if the reader (female or gender neutral) discovers Norton’s feelings toward them after having a match against Fools Gold and confronts him about it? Like rather than chair the reader, FG acts possessive toward them and teases them? Confrontation with Norton could end in fluff or NSFW, up to you!

Thank you!

Fool's Gold be normal challenge part 2 lol but im mad i lost my idea midway (curse u adhd!)

Rated Mature | Warning: relationship -in psychologist voice-

With how long you have been running your chest is starting to hurt, which does not help the limited places to run are getting smaller and smaller. Luckily, the map is Chinatown and there are plenty of places to hide. Not so lucky, as the hunter is well aware of those places. Not a rare map to be placed in but frequent as the Arms Factory or Sacred Heart Hospital.

With a dash upstairs and your legs give out, your chest burns but your heart does not stop racing as the hunter is still nearby.

You have been tunnel-hunted before by hunters, never for a reason-- Sometimes. However, you have never felt like a mouse in a game of cat and mouse, there is a teasing nature and you hate it. Fool’s Gold can be mean but he is no Ithaqua or Ripper, still for him to get seemingly off on you running away— His laugh loud— Worries you. The costume he has on does not help as he looks like a demon from the seven hells ready to claim your soul!

“Sparky, where are you~!” In a sing-song voice as he comes up the stairs. You go still, your dark costume is to your advantage as you hide behind a mannequin. The heavy footsteps have you holding your breath as you emerge from the stairway. His eyes looked around, his intimidating height towering above everything. He turns in your direction, golden stylized pickaxe but then lowers it as he hears a cipher pop.

“I will be back for you later.”

You have experienced fear but the rush of it never gets easier.

The hunter throws his weapon before using the magnetism to pull himself out of the opening in the store. You dash immediately out the other way refusing to just pray he forgets you.

He does not, he waits for you to be rebirthed by Embalmer's casket. You stumble out still hurt but alive, Fool's Gold leaning against a wall cleaning the caked-on blood on his hand, his pickaxe nowhere in sight.

“Sparky.”

“Only Norton calls me that.” Getting ready to book it.

“I am Norton.” Stepping forward, “Better than that brat.” You step to the side.

“No, you are some fucked ‘what if’.”

Fool's Gold stands at his full height, his one eye glowing almost brighter in this dark area, “Careful, sparky, I can let you escape through the dungeon if you behave.”

“I will hit you.” That makes him laugh, “I have one fuse left, we can go together.” Because you are not above being crazy.

“That I do not doubt,” Closer but you stand firm, “But you used all your tools. Too bad it didn't help that prison rat.” When you actually attempt to hit him, he is careful not to use his solid hand. His deformed hand holds you in place, the magnetism holding it together is used to keep you on the table as you try thrashing about. “You could've left him alone!”

“Yeah? Maybe you should've let me have you.” Standing over you, “Kiting me only pissed me off.” It is true the time he had you in his sights you made your business to be annoying. He scares you! Like right now. Being pinned down on a table with him between your legs. His solid hand traces your face.

“He didn't mark you.” Spoken when he yanks down your top to expose your neck and part of your chest. The marks on your skin are always from Norton, friends with benefits arrangement.

“What, you plan on doing it for him?” Playing fearless but you are fearful, this is the darker part of Norton. The demon everyone tries to hide made manifest, Norton hates it— Hates him.

“Why else do you think I have you here and not bleeding you out.” As if he would waste his time bleeding out anyone, maybe himself but that work he does not feel like bothering with. “Are you going to fight me?”

You weigh your options, “Mess around and find out, sport.”

His grin is wide, His teeth look sharp, and your inner masochist is excited.

He let you go via the dungeon, your legs hurt and you know your chest and neck must look like a mess. Easy to hide until you find Norton in your room waiting. He hates it when you have matches with his counterpart, especially the tunnel-hunting you most of the time.

“(Name).” Standing up the moment you entered, he put down the charm you made him on the bed where he was sitting.

“We should talk.”

Talking usually with Norton means he has to sit and listen and consider things, you only inform him so he has time to process and return to you. However, given the things Fool's Gold— Other Norton—was open about. Details are murky as he is not exactly like Norton, but the raw feelings are there, all laid bare because he refuses to standby and let his other self be an idiot.

The conversation is long, but no tears, and a few awkward silences but it ends with an understanding. Sex does not happen, Norton learning the ability to be grateful does not mean sex. Plus, the prospector is conflicted about how his other self thinks he has the right to touch you.

“I mean he is you?”

“I don't care! You're mine.”

“Oh, can you say that again for me, sport?”

#anon ask #idv #reader insert #identity v x reader #identity v x you #idv prospector #idv fool's gold #fool's gold x reader #fool's gold x you #norton campbell x you #norton campbell x reader #idv norton #idv x you #idv x reader

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asbealthgn · 1 year

Text

Eddie loves funerals.

Despite what some may think, it has nothing to do with an interest in death or the supernatural—though he does have that—and it has nothing to do with loving seeing everyone dressed in black—though that is always a plus. It doesn’t even have anything to do with that phase he went through in elementary school where he got obsessed with learning about burial rituals from different cultures and recreating them with his stuffed animals (that eventually ended when his teacher called Wayne to say that Eddie really needed to stop trying to embalm his friends).

No, Eddie’s affinity for funerals has everything to do with the fact that they’re a guaranteed source of free food.

It’s become a bonafide pastime. He keeps an eye out in the paper for obituaries and makes note of when the funerals will be. He reads through the obituary and may do a little extra research if necessary so he has an answer ready if anyone asks him about the dearly departed. When in doubt, he can always fall back on “He was such a fixture in the community” or “She always reminded me of my grandma.”

Of course, he only goes to funerals for old people. Anything else would be too depressing. But for old people he can show up and hang in the back while some priest or family member makes a few remarks and then hit up the buffet without raising too many eyebrows.

Eddie strikes metaphorical gold when he cracks open the obit section of the paper and sees the name Maureen Harrington—apparently, one of those Harringtons, someone’s great aunt or something. She’d been living in Chicago but she’s getting buried in Hawkins next to her parents. The name alone is a good sign; the Harringtons are rich as shit so they’re definitely gonna swing for a good spread at the memorial. Eddie’s not even worried that she was from Chicago so he shouldn’t have any reason to know who she was, because the obituary says she was a romance novelist. He’s just gotta skim one of her books so he can pass himself off as a fan.

The day of the funeral is nice and overcast. Those are the best funerals. So atmospheric. He rolls up to the funeral home with his best mourning outfit—dark button-down shirt tucked into black slacks under his most serious black coat that just so happens to have plenty of deep pockets that are great for stashing food in. He claims an empty seat at the back of the funeral home chapel so he can listen to the service.

As memorials go, this one is remarkably formal. Guess the Harringtons are all about appearances even in death. Eddie’s favorite remarks are from Elaine Harrington, wife of infamous businessman James Harrington, who manages to both artfully brush away nonexistent tears and work in that Maureen was never married and has a bastard son. God, Eddie loves rich people.

After the service, Eddie lingers in the chapel for a few minutes so it doesn’t seem like he’s only interested in the food. Then he falls in behind a couple of old men as they head for the buffet. Decent spread—there’s some sandwiches on croissants, overly fancy crackers with spinach artichoke, a frankly bizarre amount of shrimp cocktail. The dessert is the real star of the show with multiple overflowing tables. Eddie dishes up a little of everything, surreptitiously slipping things into his coat when no one’s looking.

“Munson,” a voice says. Shit, did someone see him shoving all those brownies into his pockets? He turns and finds himself looking into the disconcertingly beautiful honey eyes of Steve Harrington. He doesn’t actually know Steve that well—they went to high school together but they didn’t run in the same circles. He just knows of Steve because he was the most popular kid in school, the King. And Steve probably only knows of Eddie because he was the weird fucker who climbed on lunch tables to yell at people. They haven’t ever spoken.

Eddie’s not gonna pretend like he’s never lusted after the King though.

“There’s no way you knew my great aunt,” Steve says. There’s no suspicion in his voice, which is a good sign, just confusion.

“On the contrary,” Eddie says, “I was a big fan of her work.” It’s actually not even that much of a lie anymore. He tracked down a few of Maureen Harrington’s novels and they were surprisingly good for pulpy romances with shirtless dudes riding horses on the cover.

“You were a fan of her work,” Steve repeats, clearly disbelieving. “I’m pretty sure the target audience for those books was ‘middle-aged women in loveless marriages.’”

Eddie grins. “Okay, first of all, how dare you insult middle-aged women in loveless marriages. Second of all—” He reaches into one of his coat pockets and pulls out the book he brought. “See?” he says, tapping the cover. “I like this one because the guy looks like me.”

He doesn’t. The only resemblance is that they both have long dark hair. But cracking half a smile, Steve nods. “It’s uncanny,” he says.

“And the girl looks like you,” Eddie says. Weirdly, she really does. She has the same slightly droopy brown eyes and pouty pink lips. Her hair’s even the same color, her bangs swooping like Steve’s do.

“Nah, she looks like Maureen,” Steve says, “And Maureen looked like a Harrington.” He points over to where there’s a display of pictures of the deceased, including one where she’s probably in her thirties. Sure enough, she looks a lot like the woman on the book cover. Looking around the room, Eddie realizes that he’s able to pick out who the family is because they all have those same eyes. Weird.

Eddie turns back to Steve. “My point still stands.”

He shrugs. “Actually though, what are you doing here?” he asks, “Funerals are the worst.”

“I couldn’t disagree more,” Eddie says, tucking the book back into his coat pocket. “Funerals are a great place to meet people.”

Steve lifts his eyebrows. “Not sure I agree with that.”

“That hurts, Harrington,” Eddie says, clutching his hands to his heart. “Here I thought we were really hitting it off.”

That makes Steve laugh. “You’re right,” he says, “I was just gearing up to ask if you wanted to come to my dad’s old business partner’s funeral next weekend.”

Whistling, Eddie takes a step closer, resting his hand lightly on Steve’s arm. “Second date already? You move fast.”

“What can I say?” Steve spreads his hands out to encompass the funeral around them. “Life is short.”

#idk what this is actually #i wrote this instead of the other two fics i'm supposed to be working on #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things

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makeste · 5 months

Text

BnHA Chapter 408: Orphaned Cryptid to Billionaire Supervillain

Previously on BnHA: HE WAS BORN AN ARROGANT BABY.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi decides he’s going to cover the rest of the AFO/OFA saga in the span of just seven pages, the majority of which are mostly just filled with lovingly detailed closeups of AFO and Kudou’s eyes. Back in the present day, Kid For One takes a couple of seconds to trample the last of the “Kacchan is OFA II or is related to OFA II” theories into the dust, and is then all “fuck it, I’ll just take him out with one last spectacularly grotesque supermove.” Kacchan is all “lol you fucking dipshit”, and he says it with such confidence that it truly makes me believe he can defeat AFO’s “ALL THE QUIRKS EVER!!” attack with his piddly little exploding bloodsweat quirk. AND IT WILL BE A SIGHT TO SEE.

interesting!

Yoichi’s name btw is written with the kanji 与 which means “bestow” or “give”, and 一 which means “one.” so basically “one who gives”, which is fitting as the creator of OFA, but also fits in with this new context of being the first “possession” bestowed upon AFO

oh yes and also AFO I guess has just torn his brother to shreds or something too. idk. I’m going to be honest with you guys, this panel has such a surreal vibe that I just sat here blinking stupidly at it and wasn’t even shocked or anything. like what. is he dreaming this?? or did he really just make a “STOP! IN THE NAAAAME OF LOVE” gesture and in doing so remove half of his brother’s jaw

ewww

idk what’s wrong with me today guys. AFO just disintegrated Yoichi, and Kudou and and OFA Tres (who apparently still doesn’t have a name???? freaking Kudou got named before you??) are literally RIGHT THERE and presumably horrified, and all I can think about is how fucking gross it is that they’re all hanging out in a fucking sewer

oh shit y’all it’s about to go down

he can’t kill Kudou right off the bat can he? does Kudou even know he has OFA yet? are we going to see him transfer it to OFA III? I’m so fucking excited omg

LOL WHAT

“weirdly matte” omg. so apparently he’s like All Might, where the “he’s just drawn differently” thing is something people actually acknowledge in-story. “yeah he actually has no pupils. that’s a real thing. technically that should mean he can’t see since pupils are what let light into your eyes, but don’t worry about that part. just know that his eyes canonically look weird to the story people as well, and everyone is creeped out by it, not just you”

yeah he’s actually blind

so he literally can’t see outside himself. way to lay those metaphors on thick, Horikoshi

(ETA: this is my “just in case my impeccably dry wit doesn’t translate well across the internet” ETA to assure everyone I know he’s not actually blind lol.)

now we’re cutting to some random city where AFO is broodingly staring at Yoichi’s severed hand because he’s perfected the art of always doing incredibly unsettling things

I cannot believe the fucking hands thing has an actual origin story. of course it does. this man has never done a single hinged thing in his life. it’s all unhinged or bust. am I talking about AFO or Horikoshi? YOU DECIDE

he’s sitting at a table with a bottle of wine holding his dead brother’s embalmed severed limb and thinking about fucking quirk shit

so your transformation from Orphaned Cryptid to Billionaire Supervillain happened almost completely offscreen huh. I’m kinda disappointed, ngl. I could have read a few more chapters about that. maybe a spinoff miniseries

WAIT WHAT

are you serious. we finally get a panel that’s INCREDIBLY RELEVANT to pretty much ALL OF MY BNHA THEORIES, only for that same panel to contradict itself ONE SPEECH BUBBLE LATER?? so what is the truth???

omg omg omg

so many fucking questions, omg. what the hell does “through research” even mean. how did he confirm Yoichi’s quirklessness, and why did he later change his mind? how the fuck can Yoichi have a quirk factor and yet not have an actual quirk. “it was just so weak it didn’t count or something I guess” okay??? how much of this is unreliable narrator vs. the word of god? how is it we’re getting so many answers and yet all I have is more fucking questions you guys

BRUE?CE?CEE??!

bruce

Kudou is so goddamned hot. I hope you washed the hell out of that arm wound after getting it all covered in sewage you stupid sexy man

I can’t get over Three’s name. “idk if anyone noticed, but it’s kind of a subtle homage to another very famous superhero” Horikoshi your nap wasn’t long enough, please go home

also love how Bruce is talking shit about OFA being a puny loser quirk for wimps. how the fuck do they even know what’s going on, anyway? was there a tutorial???

oh you just had a feeling huh??? that it was “something like this”, huh??? how is it that I, who knows all about OFA because I’m from the future and have read 408 chapters of this nonsense, am somehow still less in the know than this handsome clown who doesn’t know shit but just “had a feeling”

(ETA: while editing this post I noted that Bruce is sitting in front of a computer in what seems to be some sort of medical lab, so maybe they ran some tests or something? except that only makes me more confused, because it implies they didn’t actually figure out OFA’s workings via convenient plot instincts. so then how the fuck did they figure out the transfer process?? questions)

meanwhile AFO is sitting in the panel next to him whining about how someone stole Yoichi’s quirk. excuse you. he did not steal it. it was in fact a gift

these flashbacks are all jumbled up and it’s unexpectedly fun to read, but also really chaotic

I guess he’s talking to Kudou on the right and AFO on the left

so many intense closeups of eyes in this chapter oh my goodness

Horikoshi even drew the individual goddamn eyelashes. this looks like the margins of someone’s notebook from when they were really bored in middle school

oh my god the information overload!!!

so much for AFO actually feeling emotions lol. or is he just lying to himself about why he cried. that delicious ambiguity

so we don’t even get a flashback explaining how the transfer actually happened?? to either Kudou OR my beloved Bruce?? goddamn you Horikoshi. omg I would seriously kill for more of this. make a movie about it. I want the OFA origin story prequel movie damn it

I like how AFO just sits there on a throne holding court with a single tiki torch beside him for aesthetic reasons

I can’t quite figure out how he killed Banjou and I’m not sure I really want to know. it looks very violent

friendly reminder that Shinomori is Sir Not Appearing In This Flashback because he’s the only OFA user who died of natural causes! good for you Shinomori. En probably wishes he was more like you

poor En

was Nana just taking a stroll or something one day and stumbled across this epic fight with the evilest man on the planet vs some kid in a trenchcoat, and then the poor kid got bisected and he looked at her and he was all “please eat my hair” and she was just like “ok”?

OH WOW

what a transition omg

LOLLLLLLLL

you know, part of me always wondered how All Might was so certain he’d killed AFO that he apparently never bothered to confirm it. but looking at this panel now, I can understand

fjjfdzjgf

he’s sweating so much. like “okay yeah he punched the top of his face off, this is pretty bad but I’LL DO MY BEST”

BACK TO THE PRESENT DAY AWW SHUCKS

so let’s recap. over on Kacchan’s side we have “GOTTA USE THE PAIN TO WIN!!!” haha ouch. and then over here on KFO’s side we have. whatever the fuck we just experienced over these past two chapters. so basically it’s a battle between the two most deranged characters in the entire series. glorious sweet chaos

DSFJKSLDKGJL he’s now trying to figure out how the fuck they look so much alike and whether they’re actually related

“no, that can’t be it. so then maybe... this kid grows up and then somehow travels back in time...?!” HE’S JUST LIKE US FR

so now he’s saying it’s because Kacchan didn’t have character development yet the last time, but now that he does his eyes are all Full Of Determination just like Kudou’s and so we’ve basically come full circle!

transcended WHAT? :O :D :D omg I’m kidding you guys please don’t hurt me

lol

actually the more we learn about Kudou the less I personally see the resemblance now lol. because Kudou seems so calm and collected, but Kacchan is just... [gestures to literally everything about Kacchan]

so AFO’s trying to strategize, but he can’t warp Kacchan away because the only available targets are too close and he’s still got that SUPERSPEED, BOYO so it wouldn’t make a difference. lol but if you kept doing it repeatedly it might be kind of funny though

and he can’t keep fighting him either because he’s getting his ass whooped and it’s speeding up his de-aging or whatever. well you could just give up then I guess. your call, AFO

oh was that your plan?

spoiler alert for me lol. but it’s not exactly shocking or anything since he’s dying, guess he wants to abandon ship

(ETA: just FYI for anyone reading this who’s not familiar with my dumbassery, I have currently only read chapters 1 through 374 at this point in time, before skipping ahead to 403 because Kacchan came back and I lost all willpower. I am working on catching up with the rest!)

oh so now you did come up with a strategy?

lmao what the FUCK

how much of this is going to be clearer to me once I finish the chapters that I missed, and how much of it is just plain old “nope this is all brand new zero-context BnHA bullshit” lol. this looks like every single quirk AFO ever absorbed combined into one gigantic horrifying blob that forced Horikoshi to take an extra week just to draw it

oh my god!?

Kacchan hovering there bravely facing all this is giving me Gandalf “you shall not pass” vibes and I’m LIVING FOR IT

so either AFO is going to kill Kacchan for the second time right here and now, or he’s going to fail and turn back into a squishy evil baby fdslfjkls

love how All Might is all “DODGE IT YOUNG BAKUGOU!” thanks for the warning, champ. doing his part

more exploding bloodsweat closeups. are these just going to be a mainstay of Kacchan fights from now on

“are you stupid?”, when faced with [gestures to the entirety of the previous page], is possibly the best line ever uttered by anyone in the series. even better than the polite “coming through” uttered only seconds before it

ah man. you love to see it. he literally doesn’t even care. HE ALREADY DIED ONCE TODAY, AND IT CLUED HIM IN TO THE FACT THAT HE’S A MAIN CHARACTER AND ACTUALLY IMMUNE TO DEATH. sorry AFO it’s curtains for you. CURTAINS

#bnha 408 #all for one #bakugou katsuki #ofa the second #kudou (bnha)#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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home-of-renn · 1 year

Text

Getting to know the Addams family is complete whiplash for Danny.

Growing up with ghosts being treated like parasites and vermin to being welcomed into a family where spirits are actually treated with respect and empathy is mindboggling. The Addamses even have a deep understanding of ghostly customs and compulsions, yet still treat them as individuals and not mindless, Obsession driven entities.

Speaking of Obsessions........ It's honestly surprising that Danny's Obsession hadn't gone berserk from the sheer amount of weaponry mounted on the walls. He's core remained comfortable even when he'd found out about Wednesday's collection of pet spiders, the family lion that guards the vault, even Pugsley's pair of red-bellied piranhas, and the drawers filled with poisons situated right next to the spice cabinet in the kitchen.

He once walked in on Wednesday trying to embalm her brother and his Obsession hadn't made so much as a peep.

(He later realises that it's because none of them actually intended to seriously harm one another. It's nothing but fun and games and they all have each other's best interests at heart).

But one afternoon, Danny is sitting at the kitchen table working his way through a mountain of overdue homework while Morticia sits at the other end stitching what looks like a onesie with too many arms.

He's got his nose inches away from the pages in front of him when Morticia lets out a soft hum. It's enough to break his concentration and he lifts his head. Bright red drips from her finger, running down the length of her bony knuckles. The world comes to a screeching halt and for the first time since stepping foot into the Addams' residence, Danny's Obsession flares to life.

His chest is suddenly too tight and he leaps from his chair. Grabbing the nearest rag, he flings himself across the table and presses it against Morticia's bleeding fingers with shaking hands. His laboured breathing echos around the room and it all comes crashing down.

His eyes zero in on his left hand and the imprints it leaves on Morticia's pale wrist. He comes back to himself all at once. Awareness and rational thought finally pierce through the forefront of his mind and has him jerking back. His chair is toppled on the ground with paper and pens scattered about. The table's been pushed askew and he's still holding Morticia's wrist.

Morticia is silent. Her eyebrows are raised but she's calm and composed. His eyes finally catch sight of her sewing, no longer laid gently in her lap but tossed to the ground and crumpled.

Danny flees before she can even rise from her chair.

He skips dinner and hides in his room. Embarrassment burns under his skin. He hadn't lost control like that since he first turned ghost - not since he'd made the harrowing discovery that he had an Obsession. Danny lies awake that night, invisible in his bed, ignoring the quiet knocking on his bedroom door.

He waits until everyone's finished their breakfast the next morning before finally making his way into the kitchen. He freezes at the sight of Morticia sitting in the empty room, in the same seat as before. The table has been pushed straight and his homework has been piled neatly on the kitchen counter. He almost runs for it, but Morticia offers him a smile and pulls out the chair next to her. On the table in front of the offered seat is a plate piled high with eggs, bacon and sausages. He slowly makes his way to the table and takes his seat. He eats with his head down and Morticia doesn't offer any conversation. The room is silent except for Danny's chewing and the soft rustle of fabric as Morticia continues her sewing. Danny's grateful for the quiet.

He's focused on shovelling down fork fulls of greasy potatoes when he catches a glint of something metallic in his periphery.

Morticia sits, poised and graceful, sewing something Danny thinks might be a hat. On her thumb, she wears a thimble.

He stills with his fork halfway to his mouth and carelessly looks up and meets her eyes. She smiles, the same way she always does, with blood-red lips and not a hint of teeth or a crinkle of her eye, but somehow it's gentle and reassuring. His neck flushes and he continues his breakfast in silence while Morticia continues her sewing. The air is comfortable and Danny feels his Obsession settle.

#dp #home of renn #danny phantom crossover #danny fenton #danny phantom #danny phantom x the addams family #DP x Addams #DP x The Addams #the addams family #dp x the addams family #dp x addams family #dp x the addams #drabble #morticia addams #ghostly obsession #addams family #dp crossover #dribble drabble #dp ficlet

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loonybun · 2 months

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hi back again with more whump ideas for you guys!! this time i’m gonna focus on settings in whump because there are a ton of things i’d love to see more of!!!!

- morgues. i’ve brought this one up before and ill say it again. morgues. you can keep your whumpee on a slab!! in a dark and confined space!!! embalm ‘em! drain ‘em! they’ll be fine!!!

- on that same note, a funeral parlor! have them down on the table and pretty them up for a burial! doesn’t matter if they’re still breathing.

- operating theaters. you people do not understand how perfect operating theaters are. as someone who had a hyperfixation on victorian medical practices trust me when i say they are fucked up. for those unaware, operating theaters are kind of circular rooms that have rows of seats similar to an amphitheater that all point towards the operating table!! imagine a whumpee getting a fun little painful and unsedated surgery in front of a live audience! are the onlookers nobles who just wanted to watch a fun, gorey show? or are they fellow doctors/surgeons/scientists or training to become one?

- forests. cold, cold forests. frostbite and hypothermia are enough of a threat to keep whumpee from running off.

- restaurants! because of course the person who loves fictional cannibalism has to put it on here!!! serve them up!!!!!!!! maybe limb-by-limb as not to be so wasteful. keep them waiting in the freezer while you pick em apart!

- space. it’s called the final frontier for a reason. and unlike the other places, you can’t really escape space. once you’re there, you’re kind of art the mercy of whoever else is there. aliens im talking about aliens. i need more aliens.

- pirate ships. that’s all. that’s the prompt. once again, you can’t really escape the ocean. you’ve just gotta wait until another ship finds you and hope they’re on your side.

- labrynths. regardless of how many turns whumpee makes, they always find themselves right back at the start. maybe it’s been rigged from the beginning. maybe something else is in there with them. hunting them down.

once again if you use any of these tag me please i’d love to see

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump prompt #whump writing #alien whump #cannibalism #medical whump #med whump #lab whump #cold whump #dismemberment #pirate whump #situational whump

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jumping-joey1104 · 2 months

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EJ HCs with s/o that works as a mortician ⚰️ plz? Don’t have to if ya don’t wanna. EJ is amazing and my fav since I was like 11!!

Ooooh! Hehehehe 😎

Eyeless Jack with Mortician S/O

I’ll be honest, he doesn’t know how to react. He was a completely normal human before… everything. Even then he couldn’t really understand the fascination with dead.

He’s a messy eater but he doesn’t play with his food, that’s rude.

Also this made me go on a whole hyperfixation on morticians so thank you for that. I have learned.

Ok, I’d like to think that you’ll first meet Jack when he breaks into the morgue. He doesn’t exactly understand the embalming process so he thinks that there’ll be a biohazard area where morticians such as you would put the intestines into.

Imagine the disappointment when he finds out this doesn’t happen, now he’s stuck in a morgue with half frozen bodies and the silent alarm going off.

Luckily for him you’re just getting to clock in, looking around to find the intruder. The place is quiet like usual, being a morgue there's always an eerie feeling. But something is different this time, you have a feeling you're not alone.

You try to push off the uneasy feeling and blame it on the normal excuses. The bodies less than ten feet away from you, the smell of embalming fluid and candles, even the crucifix affixed above the doors. Maybe that's where the feeling of being watched is coming from. Turning around would make you see the wooden sculpture staring at you, with disappointment or pride you'll never know and to be honest… or wouldn't care.

When you wheel out one of the newer cadavers and read his file you still feel that stare, this time blaming it on the body on the table. You think you would've gotten used to this but apparently not yet.

That is until you hear a click, like someone smacking their teeth. It makes you freeze and look around but you couldn't see the source of the sound. Until you look towards the closet door opened just a crack. That's where the staring is coming from.

You don't know whether or not you need to call the police, you did turn off the alarm and that was the first mistake you made. Suddenly being put into a horror movie as a pale grey hand snakes around the edge of the door with what seems like claws to be at the end. If you had any thoughts of running it's quickly snuffed as its clear that you’re not dealing with a human.

But the being doesn't reveal himself, instead only his hand stays holding onto the door as if to prevent you from opening it. He's trapped just like you are, another click coming from him as the sound of a stomach growling comes from the closet.

He's hungry, and his hand is reaching toward the counter next to the closet…

If you were scared before it's starting to dwindle as he blindly tries to grab at a notebook and pen on the counter. Knocking over things like a clutz before grabbing the counter. He still thinks you're working on the body, being blind, and the smell of formaldehyde makes it hard to track you.

He pulls the notebook into the closet for a few seconds before setting it back on the counter with writing on it. The writing is horrible and you can barely make out the words but it seems like a bad threat. Asking for organs or he’ll kill you.

And that's how it all starts.

He sneaks to your work while your clocked in now, not wanting to get caught like the first night. Despite the threat of loosing your job you sneak the unimportant organs from the cadavers to him and in exchange you gain a protector.

It takes weeks before he talks to you and even longer till he shows himself, it's scary at first but he still has that flair of humanity that makes you warm up to him. The fact that you're not scared of him makes him feel safer around you.

It's a morbid balance but neither of you cares, you're relationship becomes 50/50. He cares for you and protects you and you feed him and keep him hidden from the public eye.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #eyeless jack #joeywrites #eyeless jack x reader #maybe I'll write more on this

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captainsharkyy · 2 months

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Happy Valentine's Day, guys! Here goes my first post on Tumblr

Matthias Czernin x Reader

The paper flowers started to appear on the floor in front of his door only a few days after he arrived at the manor. They would appear in the morning and after dinner. One after another, Matthias wasn't quite sure what to do with them, and he couldn't throw them away mindlessly after seeing how carefully crafted they were. Did whoever put the paper flowers in front of his door know that was to his room? He doubted they were truly for him, but when the flowers started to come bunched up into mini bouquets, he began to feel a little special.

The first paper flower was a camellia. He accidentally stepped on it coming out of his room, but he saved it and kept it on his desk. He wondered, that day, if that paper flower was really meant for him or not. Surely there was someone next to him who was more deserving of such a craft. The paper flower that showed up after dinner was a sunflower that Matthias also accidentally stepped on.

He quickly asked his next door neighbor, the embalmer, if the paper flower was meant for him. The man seemed a little spooked but kept his calm composure. He let out a soft 'no' before returning to his room for the night. Matthias looked down at the paper sunflower curiously, then he heard footsteps coming from the hallway behind him. He turned around to face the person walking,

"Excuse me," he said, loud enough for the person to hear. They stopped in their tracks, standing stiff straight. "I found this paper flower in front of my door, and I feel it was not meant for me," he continued. "So, I was wondering if, ah, if you knew who this belongs to..?" The person quickly shook their head and ran to their room and shut the door immediately. With a disappointed sigh, Matthias returned to his room and placed the paper sunflower next to the camellia from that morning.

The third paper flower was a tulip, and the one after dinner was a lilly of the valley. The fith paper flower was a blue star, and the one that came later on was an orange rose.

The seventh paper flower was a lavender. By now, Matthias had enough of the paper crafts to make a bouquet if he so wanted to.

That day, he consulted the gardener to see if she had anything to do with the flowers. She only giggled at his question and directed him to the library to a few books on flowers. He sat down at a small table with a few books, picking one up and looking through the glossary for the specific flowers.

As he slowly read through, a nice feeling resonated within him. Happiness, maybe? He couldn't quite tell. A small smile graced his features. Maybe the flowers were meant for him after all. He heard a few books fall and someone running out of the library fast.

That night, when Matthias returned to his room, a yellow tulip and a singular pink rose were tied together in front his his door. This continued for a few weeks: a paper flower in the morning, attend games (if any), dinner, and a paper flower at night. Of course, by now, he had heard of Y/n L/n, the origamist, but he could never find them in a manor, not even in games either. And no matter who Matthias asked, no one ever said where they were. It was as if everyone was helping them hide from something. He couldn't help but feel like he had something to do with it, as though they were afraid of him.

The thought didn't exactly boost his confidence by much at all, but he could fight the bad feelings off when the paper flowers continued to arrive. He assumed it meant that Y/n could see him, but he couldn't see them. If that was the case, he hoped they would show themself to him one day.

Looking at the floor when he opened his door, Matthias noticed a difference. Instead of one paper flower, there was a small bouquet of them. He picket up the bouquet of paper gardenias with care and placed them on his night stand, next to a few stray flowers from the previous weeks. He had acquired so many paper flowers that they flooded his desk, so he had to place them in random areas in his room. Although, he did get a few vases for them and that cleared up a lot of space.

Matthias had found no sign of Y/n that day, but he did come back to his room that night to two bouquets: one being a bouquet of forget-me-nots, and the other a bouquet of pink roses. He smiled a little, at the thought that maybe getting two paper bouquets in the same night meant something.

The next morning there was a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, and that night there was a bouquet of white lillies. And the morning afterward, there was a bouquet of ivory roses, and that night there was a bouquet of lavender roses.

When Matthias opened the door the next morning there was no bouquet of paper flowers. Confused, he looked down the hall but there was no sign of one. Perhaps they grew tired of making paper flowers for him, or perhaps they lost interest in him as a whole? But that couldn't be, those flowers held meanings he just couldn't ignore.

He didn't realize what day it was until he walked the halls of the manor, seeing the decorations, and seeing people in the manor trade gifts and heartfelt words. Matthias felt his stomach sink with disappointment that his secret admirer he didn't leave a gift in front of his door like they usually would do.

Matthias walked back to his room, coming from the main living room of the manor. The devastating sound of creaking wood and gears clinked and ground together beside him.

"Too bad everyone ignored you!" Said Louis. "Did'ya see? Everyone looked at me!" Matthias opened the door from the foyer, leading to the upstairs level of the manor, and Louis skipped beside him. Matthias said nothing in response, opting to ignore him lest he wants to feel further down in the dumps. Once he stepped in front of his room and turned the handle to open the door, and hand suddenly slapped against the wall causing him to jump in suprise and turn his attention to the noise. He focused his attention on the mystery person with a pounding heart, only to be surprised once again.

A survivor he hadn't yet met in person greeted him with (e/c) eyes glimmering with excitement, cheeks tinted a bright red, a bouquet of paper flowers and a pink envelope with a red heart wax seal. Within the bouquet were carefully crafted red roses, lavender flowers, daisies, and red snapdragons

Matthias's voice caught in his throat as he cautiously accepted the envelope and tore the wax seal to open it and took out the card inside to read it.

"Dear Matthias,

Happy Valentine's Day!

I'm sorry if I disappointed you for a while before this, I wanted to wait until the perfect moment to give this to you. I just wanted to tell you that I really like you, and I'd like to spend more time with you! So, I wanted to know if you will be my Valentine's!

Yours truly, Y/n L/n, the Origamist."

Matthias felt his face flush red. It was them! Finally, he meets Y/n! His features were graced with a small smile when Y/n moved the bouquet closer to him. He cleared his throat,

"W-Would you..." he hesitated, knowing Louis would be with him, "...like to come in?" He asked them. With a delighted smile, they eagerly nodded their head. Matthias opened the door to his room and stepped aside for them and then followed in afterwards. Louis's face hit the closed door with a thud and a groan followed afterward.

Hope you liked it!

#matthias czernin x reader #matthias czernin #identity v #x reader #identity v x reader #identity v x you #puppeteer #puppeteer x reader #puppeteer x you #idv #idv x reader #idv x you #idv puppeteer

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