#and i was OBSESSED with the voice acting???

[marcyvampire]

pt.4 SILLY LITTLE BAT

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ In a Gotham steeped in darkness, Bruce Wayne confronts a past resonating with secrets. As he uncovers the identity of an enigmatic antiheroine, he will discover hidden truths that will stain his legacy. Blood, a symbol of betrayals, intertwines with his fate, revealing that darkness dwells within him as well.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, tw.noncon, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia

Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— I took a long time because I went on vacation, I wasn’t inspired, I had a lot of things to catch up on, and blah blah blah. The good thing is that I brought part 4, and just so you know, there are about four or five more parts of the story, maybe more.

I'm dirty, infinitely dirty,

this is why I scream so much

about purity.

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the memories and the silence that now inhabited that room. Every corner of that space reminded him of his daughter's presence, a presence that had been fragile and ephemeral, like smoke disappearing between fingers. He looked at the diplomas and trophies on the shelves, those small proofs of her effort and dedication. He caressed them with the same reverence he used when going through old photographs, searching for something, anything, that would tell him he had done enough, that he had been a good father.

But he only saw the same emptiness in her eyes that he had known since childhood. She resembled him more than he would have imagined. In her dull gaze, in her absent smile, he recognized the same pain that had accompanied him after his parents' death. He realized, almost bitterly, that this darkness was an inheritance, a shadow he had left in her without realizing it.

Bruce ran his fingers over an old photo from her first birthday after losing his mother. That day, Alfred had secretly taken her to Metropolis in a desperate attempt to give her some happiness. But even at the amusement park, where laughter and noise were contagious, her face remained a vacant mask. She wasn’t really smiling, as if something inside her knew she would never have the normalcy that other children enjoyed.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce rested his head on the pillow that had been hers, wanting to cling to the scent of his daughter. But there was no trace of her aroma left. Alfred, in an act of rigor that Bruce couldn’t understand, had eliminated any trace of her, perhaps trying to close a wound that Bruce was unwilling to let heal. He had reproached Alfred for hours and hours for erasing that last vestige of his daughter. But Alfred’s look, serious and filled with silence, told him what he already knew: maybe he didn’t deserve to keep those memories because he had failed to protect the person he loved most.

He closed his eyes, sinking into the pain of each thought that emerged from that dark room. Everything reminded him that, somehow, he was responsible for his daughter's disappearance, as if his own shadows had consumed her. In his mind, images of what he could have done differently began to surface, a parade of possibilities where he was a better father, more attentive and less blind to her suffering.

Suddenly, Titus and Alfred the Cat entered together through the door, coming in silently, as if they understood the weight of that moment. Titus approached Bruce, resting his massive head on his knee, while Alfred the Cat jumped onto Bruce's lap, purring softly. Bruce petted the dog and the cat, finding in them the only comfort that seemed left to him. His voice trembled when, in an almost delirious tone, he confessed to them:

"Maybe I’m the real killer here. What kind of father lets his daughter get lost in the dark? What kind of monster was I that I never saw her pain? If she’s dead… if my little girl has left this world… then I am the only one responsible."

He paused, breathing heavily, as the words he wanted to suppress escaped his lips in a bitter and disturbing whisper. "Sometimes I wish I had… had stopped her mother. If she hadn’t been… if I had raised her from the beginning… I could have saved her from so much pain."

The words, though spoken in a barely audible murmur, weighed heavily in the room. He caressed the pillow, almost pleading for the past to change, for every mistake to be undone. The cat purred softly, as if understanding the pain Bruce was trying to stifle deep in his chest. Titus looked at him with eyes full of loyalty, without judging him, but not offering the redemption he desperately sought.

"I would give anything for a second chance," he whispered, his voice broken. "I would give my life to undo every moment that made her drift away. I would give anything to see her smile again, even if it were just once… even if it were just to tell her how sorry I am."

The house was silent, and in that instant, Bruce understood that there were no words, no time, no strength that could change the past. He was trapped in an abyss of guilt, with only shadows and memories now haunting him, reflecting his own empty and broken face.

Finally, he could no longer contain himself. Feeling the emptiness in his chest, tears began to fall onto the pillow, soaking it with his pain, as if the weight of his own guilt slid out in every sob he tried to stifle. His face was buried in the memory of his daughter, lost in the pain that tormented him with an intensity he could no longer bear.

It was then that Damian entered, dressed as Robin, with his katana stained with a dark red liquid that could be nothing other than blood, with a sharp and direct arrogance, breaking the silent mourning of Bruce. Coldly, he looked at his father and pronounced, almost with disdain, "No matter how much you cry like a whore, Y/N won’t come back."

Bruce looked up, surprised and hurt, but before he could respond, Damian continued with the same hardness. "While everyone was out in a gang like a bunch of lowlifes and came back empty-handed, I found something you didn’t even bother to look for while lying here like a cheap whore." Damian looked at him with a mix of disappointment and reproach, as if he couldn’t understand how his father had let so many signs slip by.

"Did you know? I had a relationship with Ivy, that old woman who had the indecency to date my little sister while being an old hag. Plus, she worked as a waitress in some bar wearing little clothes to survive. Like some common bitch. And the last time, she was seen in the subway, with a strange man with psychiatric crazy vibes... surely another one that slipped away while you were lying here." Damian’s words were blows to Bruce, each revelation a testament to how much he had let slip away.

Damian continued, each phrase laden with resentment and questions. "Why did she have to work? Why did she, the daughter of the renowned multimillionaire Bruce Wayne, the masked hero of Gotham, have to depend on a miserable paycheck that didn’t even cover the end of the month? And the subway, father, did she really have to take the subway like any unknown person in this city?"

Bruce looked down, unable to respond. Each of those questions was a dagger reminding him how far he had been from understanding his own daughter. He had ignored, or perhaps never wanted to see, the sacrifices she made to survive, the paths she took in search of something he had never given her. Now, with Damian's words filling the silence, Bruce realized he had condemned his daughter to the same fate he was trying to combat on the streets.

Damian watched him, his gaze cold and critical, as the room filled with a tense silence. For the first time, Bruce understood that perhaps he was never the hero he thought he was, and that in his attempt to protect everyone, he had failed to protect the one who needed him the most.

Bruce felt anger bubbling inside him, intensifying with each word that left Damian's lips. "How dare you come in here and say that? You weren’t a brother to her, you weren’t there when she needed you the most," he shot back, his voice echoing in the room like dark thunder. The image of his daughter intertwined with his rage, each contained tear now fueling his fury.

Damian frowned, unrestrained. "That's how I show my affection; you should be used to it," he retorted disdainfully, recalling that moment when he arrived at the mansion, he had stabbed Y/N with his katana. "I did what I had to do, and I don’t have to accept your reproaches. Everyone failed Y/N, even you."

"Don’t try to blame others for your own failures!" Bruce shouted, frustration filling every corner of his being. "You weren’t there, Damian. You can’t always hide behind your arrogance."

Damian crossed his arms, his defiant attitude unbreakable. "And what if I wasn't? At least I didn’t hide behind a mask of sadness. Better stop reproaching me and listen to what I have for you." He stepped closer, pulling out a half-open old cardboard box. "I brought you a gift."

Bruce looked at him suspiciously. "What is it now?"

"I went looking for Selina, but she slipped away like a scared kitten," Damian said, mocking the situation. "A waste of time, but I found Ivy in Arkham. She said little about Y/N, which annoyed me, so… well, here you go." He opened the box slowly, revealing Poison Ivy's head, the fresh blood still dripping from the edges.

Her face, once beautiful, was now serene, with pale skin and a touch of green that evoked her connection to nature. Her normally vibrant red hair now fell messily around her face, while her eyes, closed forever, seemed almost at peace, as if she had found a breath in the chaos she once inhabited.

Bruce felt as if the world had stopped. There was no horror in his gaze, only an emptiness where anger and sadness collided. "What have you done?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, but resignation permeated every word. The life of his daughter, the decisions he had made and what that meant now overwhelmed him.

Damian shrugged. "She was a monster, just like all of us. What matters is that now you have something tangible, something you can show."

"What kind of family are we?" Bruce let slip, feeling defeated. "This family is a failure."

"Oh, so it turns out we’ve been a family all this time?" Damian replied, scornful, but his tone was less certain.

Bruce closed his eyes, feeling the discomfort of the situation. "Take me to the apartment where she lived," he said, his voice enigmatic and cold. It was a request that resonated with the gravity of what he had lost, an echo of what he had failed to protect. As Damian looked at him with surprise and a hint of concern, Bruce knew that the truth he would face in that place was beyond any form of redemption. The darkness that had invaded his life was about to be confronted, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what he would find.

As Bruce and Damian prepared to leave, Titus and Alfred the Cat watched them from a distance. The dog remained alert, his ears perked, as if he could sense the tension looming in the air. His instinct told him that something grave was about to happen. Alfred, with his wise and sharp gaze, seemed to share the same unease, his eyes fixed on the men who were heading toward the dark fate they had chosen.

As Bruce and Damian headed for the door, Titus stepped forward, his expression a mix of concern and determination. It was as if he were trying to convey a silent message, a call to reason that his owners could not hear amid their emotional turmoil. Alfred the Cat, with his elegant stride, approached Bruce and rubbed his head against his leg, seeking comfort for the hero who seemed on the brink of losing himself even further in the darkness.

Turning around, Bruce felt a pang in his heart. He looked at his animals, those innocent beings who had always been there to offer him companionship, and realized that they were aware of what was about to come. In a world where violence and betrayal lurked around every corner, their departure was the beginning of something much darker.

With one last look, Bruce found himself in Titus's eyes, reflecting a mix of loyalty and worry. It was as if the dog knew that the decision they were making would not only affect them but would also drag others into a chaos from which they could not escape.

Damian, impatient, had already crossed the threshold, but Bruce paused for one more moment. "I’m sorry," he murmured, although he was not sure to whom he was really addressing: whether to the animals who looked at him with eyes full of wisdom or to himself for the path he had chosen.

However, it was already too late to turn back. With one last glance at the room where it all began, and at the animals who looked at him with concern, Bruce stepped into the dark world that awaited them, unaware that soon, everything would get worse. The air was charged with ominous anticipation, and the feeling that tragedy loomed over them like a shadow, deep and inevitable.

You lay on the bed, your body still heavy from the forced encounter, thoughts fluttering in your mind like butterflies trapped in a net. The room was enveloped in an unsettling gloom, the air thick with a tension that could not be ignored. Beside you, he breathed with a calm that contrasted with the whirlwind inside you. There was no name, no face to remember; it was just him, the one who had kidnapped you and made you his own, a figure who had taken your life and distorted it at will.

As you stared at the ceiling, the silence became a mirror of your thoughts. Rage and hatred toward your family surged within you, feelings that had once seemed so distant. They didn’t understand you, they hadn’t been there to protect you, and now, in this strange intimacy, you found yourself wishing to be with him more than with them. Confusion engulfed you; on one hand, there was a part of you longing for affection and acceptance, while on the other, there was a strange pleasure in the situation, a desire to escape the life that had caused you so much suffering.

Despite everything, you missed your mother. Her laughter, her hugs, the way she always knew how to calm your fears. But that maternal figure was slowly fading from your memory, drowned by the anguish of betrayal and loneliness. You found yourself trapped between the desire to remember the good and the hatred toward the past that had brought you here.

As the room remained silent, a dark and almost self-destructive impulse took hold of you. With trembling movements, you picked up a sharp object and pressed it against your skin, feeling a sting that was both physical and emotional. In that moment, you thought about the irony of your situation: you had lost control of your life, and in seeking an escape, you chose to hurt yourself.

The duality of your feelings was heartbreaking. On one hand, you yearned for freedom, to reclaim your identity and the love that had been taken from you. On the other, there was a part of you that felt alive in this new relationship, a twisted connection that kept you captive. The internal struggle manifested in every thought and every action, revealing the complexity of your situation.

You remembered moments from his life, the wounds he carried, and the pain he had faced. Had Bruce ever been so lost, so filled with sadness that he had to do the unthinkable to feel something? The idea that the man you admired could also have been vulnerable struck you like a revelation. You wondered if he had ever cried in solitude, questioning his place in the world, if he had ever felt so trapped in his own life.

As you touched your stomach, an old pain resurfaced. There, beneath the skin, was a scar, a reminder of the time Damian had hurt you with his katana, an act that had been both an attack and a cry of desperation. The brush of your fingers over the wound, although healed, still brought memories of suffering and betrayal, a deep connection intertwined with the pain you felt now. The scar was a metaphor for your life: a wound that would never fully heal, a reminder that pain is part of your existence.

Tears fell more forcefully as you thought about how your family’s decisions, rivalries, and chaos had influenced your life. Bruce, with his constant struggle against the shadows of his past, was a reflection of what you could have been: strong, determined, but also broken and lost. In that moment, you felt just like him, entangled in a cycle of suffering and confusion.

You allowed yourself to cry, feeling that perhaps in that vulnerability there was some freedom. It was a relief, an act of resistance in the midst of the oppression that surrounded you. As the outside world faded away, the pain of the scar became a reminder that, despite everything, there was still a part of you yearning to break free, wanting to escape this darkness. And amid that sadness, one thought grew stronger: perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way to find your path again.

The man let go of your cheek and, with a casual gesture, lit a cigarette, the smoke dancing in the air like shadows in the dim light of the room. His eyes, fixed on you, had a dangerous intensity. "Do you see this?" he said, exhaling the smoke slowly. "Now you are stained, like Gotham. You’ve been in the mud, and it’s your duty to clean yourself up. This is just the beginning."

He looked at you with a twisted smile, an expression that mixed amusement and dominance. "You have to understand that you can’t escape from what you are. The city is a reflection of yourself. And like Gotham, you too need to be purified." With a sudden movement, he offered you the cigarette. "Smoke. It will help you forget the tears."

You hesitated, but his eyes challenged you, a clear message that there was no room for denial. With a mix of fear and despair, you brought the cigarette to your lips, feeling its bitterness touch your tongue. "Don’t make me repeat myself," he said, his voice a cold whisper. "I want you to feel the poison, just like the city does. You are part of it now, and you must accept your role."

The pressure of his words overwhelmed you, each syllable a reminder of your distorted reality. "But why me?" you stammered, feeling desperation twisting inside you. "Why do I have to be part of this?"

"Because there is no choice," he replied with disdain. "There never was. Every day, every decision you made has led you here. Weakness is not an option. Look around you; Gotham has no place for the weak. If you want to survive, you need to get your hands dirty. And believe me, there is a lot of blood to clean up."

Your heart raced as you inhaled the smoke, the burning filling your lungs and leaving a feeling of emptiness. "What do you want from me?" you asked, feeling the power he had over you strangling you.

"I just want you to accept your new place. I want you to understand that in this world, death and destruction are inevitable. There is no redemption for the stained, but you can try to fix it… in your own way."

He trapped you in a dark cycle of thoughts, where each of his words echoed in your mind like a terrifying echo. You knew he was playing with you, manipulating your emotions. "If you don’t clean yourself, you will suffer the consequences. And if you cry for her again, I promise you will pay for it," he said, tightening his grip on your arm.

As the smoke dissipated into the air, the feeling of being trapped became more palpable. You found yourself between acceptance and internal struggle, but deep down, you knew you had to find a way out. However, the darkness around you grew more intense, and each of his words was another chain binding you to this fate you had not chosen.

The air thickened as he exhaled smoke, the room filling with a gray fog that seemed to reflect the chaos in your mind. He looked at you with an intensity that overflowed with obsession, a strange mix of affection and dominance that enveloped you. Despite the tears running down your face, you felt no sadness or fear. You had passed the stage of terror; now you felt strangely alive, almost liberated in your pain.

"My dear," he said in a soft yet authoritative voice, "you must not see this as a punishment. It is a purification. Gotham needs someone who understands its pain, and you are the chosen one." He leaned closer to you, his hot breath on your skin. "You are like a spark in this darkness, and together we can illuminate it. You just have to let the poison flow through you. With each tear, you are cleansing the city."

As he held you, the contact between the two of you was electric, and a part of you began to understand his madness, the way he had woven his dreams of greatness and purification through your own desires for belonging. "Did you know my mother was in Arkham?" he continued, as if sharing a special secret. "She was stained too. In her mind, she fought demons that no one else could see, just like you now. And look where she ended up: trapped in her own memories, in her own shadows."

The revelation hit you. A fragment of pain resurfaced, intertwining with the new knowledge. "What… what happened to her?" you asked, your voice trembling. It wasn’t sadness you felt; it was curiosity to know that story that had remained hidden.

"She got lost in the darkness of Gotham, just like everyone else," he said with contempt. "But that doesn’t have to be your destiny. You are stronger. My mother let herself be consumed by her madness, but you… you can take control. Let me guide you."

You fell silent, contemplating his words. The tears continued to fall, but now they were just a part of you, a manifestation of the internal struggle. You knew you were trapped in a dangerous game, but there was something in his promise of power and control that began to seduce you.

"So cry if you need to," he said, caressing your cheek with a touch that was both gentle and threatening. "But don’t let those tears weaken you. Every time you feel the urge to cry for her, remember what you are. Remember that the city needs someone like you to cleanse it of the filth."

"How can I do that?" you asked, feeling the echo of his words resonate in your mind. "How can I clean something so deeply rooted in darkness?"

"With determination," he answered firmly, his eyes shining with a mix of fervor and madness. "You must learn to see the beauty in chaos. There is power in pain. With every action you take, with every decision you make, you will be purifying Gotham of its own decay. And I will be by your side, guiding you. Together, we will be unstoppable."

As you absorbed his words, a strange sense of purpose began to take shape within you. Although his love was perverse, there was something in his vision that resonated with you, as if you were destined to fulfill that role. As the smoke from the cigarette faded into the air, so too did your fears, leaving only a cold and clear determination: you were going to take control of your destiny, even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

"No! I don’t want you to go!" shouted little Y/n, clinging to her mother's handbag with the desperation of someone who knows something important is about to slip away.

Her mother, a blonde woman with a tired gaze, let out a sigh of impatience. Y/n couldn't quite remember her face, but she knew it hardened at the tug on her bag, and without thinking, she pushed the girl, causing her to fall to the ground with a dull thud. Y/n looked up from below, her big eyes reflecting a mix of fear and pain.

"Stop being silly, Y/n," her mother murmured, struggling to hide the tremor in her voice. She leaned down, trying to smile, but the coldness in her eyes betrayed her. "You know I have to do this... for both of us. Everything I do is for you, even if you don’t understand it now."

The girl nodded slowly, but inside, she felt the truth—that repeated phrase was just a curtain. She knew there was something broken in her mother, something she was too young to fully comprehend but sensed in every harsh gesture, in every bitter word that hung in the air. Something that made her feel alone, even when they were together.

Her mother straightened up, adjusting the bag as if it weighed tons. She raised a hand in a mechanical farewell, and without another word, she left through the door without looking back.

Days passed in a haze of silence and dry tears. Y/n had no idea how much time had passed since her mother left, leaving the echo of her footsteps as the only reminder of her presence. Hugging herself, she spent the nights waiting for some familiar sound that never came.

When she finally opened her eyes, she realized her surroundings had completely changed. She was no longer at home; she was sitting in a cold, unfamiliar room, with gray walls and flickering lights dimly overhead. In the distance, she could hear whispering voices.

"How is it possible that someone left such a small child alone?" It was the firm, serious voice of a man. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she distinguished a police badge on the man's uniform. It read Commissioner Gordon.

Next to him, a red-haired woman spoke in a low voice. "Dad, you can't be sure. Maybe it was just a lie. You know how her mother was: a history of psychiatric hospitals and drugs at home. How do we know she didn't make up the story about Wayne?"

"Barbara, we have evidence that doesn't lie," Gordon replied coldly, his tone tinged with disdain. "We know the paternity test is real."

The girl felt the world sway around her. She listened to every word and felt each comment like a dagger sinking deeper into her chest. Those adults, figures of authority and trust, spoke of her mother as if she were little more than a mistake, something despicable that had left scars on her life. Sitting there, hidden behind a wall and hugging her knees, tears returned to her eyes, a mix of sadness and a terrifying understanding of what it meant to be alone in the world.

"Do you really think someone like that should have had a child in her care?" Barbara said from her wheelchair, her tone full of contempt. "She was probably just looking for easy money, manipulating everyone she could."

Commissioner Gordon frowned, clearly uncomfortable. "Barbara, that's not fair! Even if she didn’t lead the best life, she was still a citizen like anyone else, and she had the right to rebuild her life. No one is perfect."

From her corner, Y/n tried to cover her ears, but Barbara's words were impossible to ignore.

"I can't believe it, Dad. How could anyone in their right mind have left a child in the hands of that woman?" Barbara said with a cold, almost poisoned voice. "Someone who clearly had drug addiction problems and who was in and out of psychiatric hospitals. I bet she didn’t even know who the real father was."

Each word made Y/n's chest tighten even more. Her mind screamed silently: Stop! Please stop saying that about her! Her small hands trembled as she remembered the moments she had spent with her mother. Her mother, who although had those dark days and her brusque manner, had fed her, tucked her in, and cared for her as best as she could. Despite her mistakes, she had been her mother, and that was all Y/n could understand.

But Barbara’s words kept filling the room, like a storm of resentment. "I don't know how Bruce can even be involved in something like this. That woman was a burden to everyone. I can't imagine anyone worse as a mother."

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to block it out. It's not true. She’s not bad. She took care of me. We didn’t have much, but she always tried to be there for me. But no matter how hard her thoughts tried to silence the pain, Barbara's words left deep scars, increasingly difficult to heal.

As Y/n remained there, her tears already dry, her thoughts twisted in her mind like threatening shadows. She heard the echoes of Barbara's cruel words and Gordon's, and a silent resentment grew in her chest, almost like a slow poison. She tried to remember the good moments with her mother, but the dark thoughts seemed to drown them out. She was good, she was good... No, you can't say that about her... But those same thoughts tangled with hate and confusion, and the pain grew stronger.

Suddenly, everything turned white. The walls, the voices, the cold metal chair beneath her legs... everything disappeared into a blinding void that enveloped every corner of her mind. And then, there was only her, standing in that white abyss, with a strange weight on her shoulders and in her hands.

She looked down and saw a white armor, shining as if made of shards of moon and shadow. It covered her body completely, with firm, polished plates that fit like a second skin, protecting every part of her. The gauntlets were solid, with sharp and detailed edges, and in her hands, she wielded two katanas whose blades reflected that void like deadly mirrors.

The design of the armor was imposing and terrifying. The helmet resembled a bat, with long pointed ears extending upward, and a dark V-shaped visor that barely revealed her eyes. The lines that ran across her chest and arms formed the silhouette of folded wings, as if that bat awaited to unfold at any moment. The chest was engraved with fine black details, resembling veins radiating dark power. In the center, a small emblem in the shape of a black teardrop contrasted with the radiant white of the armor, like a mark of pain and sacrifice.

In the dim light of the void where she stood, Y/n felt the weight of the katanas in her hands as if they were extensions of her own being. In that moment, the white armor fit her like a comforting embrace, a reminder of the power she now possessed. She looked at herself in a non-existent reflection, feeling that every part of her being was ready to act, to reclaim what she had lost.

With a tremor of emotion and a palpable obsession, she held them to her chest, hugging them tightly. Words flowed from her lips, laden with a burning, almost manic desire: "Soon you will be mine... I will go home. I will be my little girl again."

The echo of her voice resonated in the white void, vibrating with the intensity of her longing. In her mind, an image formed of a home, a place where shadows no longer lurked and where her mother, though imperfect, would be able to embrace her once more. The idea of being together again, of transforming her pain into power, filled her with a fierce determination.

"I will come back for you," she whispered, her voice choked with a mix of tears and a crazed smile. "Nothing will stop me. I promise." The choked laughter turned into a murmur of echoes, resonating in the abyss like a sinister promise, as the world around her began to fade again, leaving her alone with her obsession and her new identity.

In the silence, whispers began to rise, soft at first, but increasingly insistent. One word repeated, muted yet burning, like a spark in the shadows.

K

e

r

o

s

e

n

e

The word reverberated in the void, growing more intense, like a kind of dark mantra. And when Y/n could barely bear the weight of those voices, one final phrase emerged, chilling and final:

"Death is the ultimate prize."

You walked through the halls of the old apartment block, your white armor shining in the dim light, like a bat defying the embrace of the night. The echoes of your heels resonated, a dark song reverberating in the solitude of the worn walls.

Your figure, sculpted in gleaming metal, was a silhouette of elegance and mystery, as you hummed a forgotten melody, slipping between the shadows like a whisper of the forbidden. Each step was a heartbeat in the silence, a chilling reminder that there is still life in abandonment.

The portraits on the walls watched you, empty eyes that seemed to come alive, as you moved with the grace of a specter, a macabre dance of light and shadow at dusk.

The doors, worn and creaking, whispered secrets of past stories, and you, guardian of those forgotten tales, advanced fearlessly, seeking what was left behind.

You were an enigma, a reflection of the lost, a shadow walking, dressed in white, in a world clinging to its demons, where the past and present intertwine in a lethal embrace, and the night waits, eager for your return.

You paused before the door of one of the apartments, its frayed wood opening like an abyss, a dark invitation that defied logic. The silence became thick, almost palpable, and the echo of your humming faded, leaving a void that swallowed the darkness.

The threshold awaited you, a portal to the unknown, and a cold breeze, laden with whispers, caressed your skin like a lost lover. Inside, the shadows seemed to come alive, a palace of echoes and laments, where time had woven a web.

Your heart raced, a mix of adrenaline and challenge, as you gently pushed the door. It creaked in protest, like an old ghost, and when it opened, revealed an abandoned world, furniture covered in dust, with withered memories.

The remnants of a past life crowded every corner, and a scent of decay floated in the air, but something more, a glimpse of presence, urged you to enter, to explore the hidden. You peered in, and the dimness embraced you, as if the apartment claimed you as its own.

Each step on the creaky floor was an act of daring, and the walls seemed to murmur forgotten secrets, stories of betrayed loves and lost souls. In the center of the room, a dark, diffuse, and shadowy figure formed among the shadows, like an echo of your own existence, a reflection of what could have been.

You stood still, breath held in the abyss of the moment, the half-open door, a threshold to your destiny, and the silence, now laden with promises, stripped you of fears, leaving only the certainty that in that space, you faced the echoes of your own darkness.

As you advanced, your eyes fixed on a dusty, worn wooden box resting on the small dining table. Something about it drew you in, as if it held a dark secret. You approached and, with trembling hands, opened it. Inside, horror was revealed: the head of Poison Ivy, the green hair still vibrant, a gaze frozen in time. You didn’t cry, but a slight tremor coursed through your body, a mixture of surprise and disdain for the brutality that had taken place in that space.

"Normally you enter through the window," you murmur to the air, with an ironic smile on your lips, as if addressing a presence you hoped would appear.

And then, as if the night itself had responded to your call, Batman emerged from the shadows, his dark figure silhouetted against the dim light coming through the window. The air became tense in an instant.

"Who are you?" he asked, his grave voice resonating with a mix of distrust and anger. "What are you doing in the apartment of Bruce Wayne's daughter?"

You laughed, a laugh that echoed in the empty room, filled with irony and knowledge.

"His daughter?" you mocked, your eyes shining with a mix of challenge and amusement. "So Y/n is your daughter. Isn’t it curious how things intertwine in this city?"

The silence grew heavy, and you felt his gaze intensify, evaluating every word you had spoken. He knew you had crossed a line, but the revelation had ignited a spark of playfulness in you.

"How do you know who I am?" The question slipped from his lips, but there was no fear, just an unsettling curiosity.

"Gotham has its secrets, Bruce. And I, like you, am part of this darkness. The identity of a hero or heroine is just a game of shadows, and in this game, you and I know how to move between the lines."

You stood firm, the tension between you palpable, as the echo of laughter still resonated in the air. Batman's figure, always imposing and enigmatic, seemed to waver at the revelation that in this dark labyrinth, he was not the only player.

The tension intensified, and Batman took a step forward, approaching you with an intense gaze.

"How do you know about my daughter?" he inquired, his voice brusque, each word laden with frustration. You remained firm, crossing your arms, letting the silence settle between you.

"Oh, Gotham speaks, even in whispers. The city has a way of revealing what heroes prefer to hide," you replied disdainfully. "Your life, your secrets, are more exposed than you think." He frowned, anger crackling in his eyes.

"What do you know about Y/N?" he demanded, his voice low and threatening, as if waiting for you to throw down a challenge.

"I know you didn't want her. That you left her in the shadows while you dedicated yourself to your personal crusade," you replied, irony dancing in your tone. "That girl grew up without a father, and you, the great hero of Gotham, preferred to be a myth."

Rage etched itself on his face, but there was something more, a hidden pain surfacing behind the armor of his anger.

"It's not that simple, and you have no idea what I've done for her," he retorted, his voice tense, each word like a blow.

"Really?" you asked, flashing a mocking smile. "What have you done? Cut off her partner's head, the only person I love, just to extract invalid information? What a great father."

An uncomfortable silence settled between you, as the air vibrated with unspoken emotions.

"You are not one to judge me," he declared, his voice tense. "You know nothing of what I've sacrificed."

"Maybe not, but I know enough about the void you've left," you replied, undeterred. "And I know Ivy was there for her. You, the hero, vanished while others took on the role of father."

The anger shone in his eyes, but there was also a spark of recognition. He observed you, assessing the courage that led you to challenge him.

"And who are you to come and point fingers? A lost anti-heroine in her own struggle?" he shot back, his voice laden with contempt.

"I am what Gotham needs," you replied, confident. "A reminder that even heroes like you can fail."

The discussion turned into a power struggle, both of you clinging to your truths, while Poison Ivy's head remained a sinister reminder of the choices you both had made.

Suddenly, Batman's fury exploded like lightning in the darkness. Without warning, he seized you by the neck, lifting you with surprising strength. The air became scarce, and the pressure on your throat made you feel vulnerable, although the mockery never left your expression.

"Where is Y/N?" he demanded, his voice charged with rage and desperation. The shadows moved around him, intensifying his figure, which seemed more monster than hero at that moment.

Despite the iron grip, you kept your gaze fixed on him, challenging him, feeling the adrenaline pulse through your veins.

"Are you that worried about her whereabouts?" you replied, a mocking smile barely hiding your disdain. "Maybe she's hanging from a hook in a slaughterhouse, who knows? That would be an ironic twist for a girl who grew up in the shadow of a hero, don’t you think?"

His eyes narrowed, anger and helplessness battling within him. You leaned in closer, feeling the pressure on your neck, but that only fueled your defiance.

"Don't laugh about this!" he roared, tightening his grip slightly. The fury in his voice was palpable, but something deeper kept him on edge.

"Me? Laughing? You, the great Batman, scared for your daughter's life?" you shot back, never breaking eye contact.

The tension was becoming unbearable, but there was something fascinating about the game you were playing. He was caught between rage and fear, and you, in your shadowy game, fed off his anguish.

"Do you know something? You're losing yourself in your own legend," you continued, while he held you in the air. "I'm sure you once dreamed that she would have died in that alley with her mother."

In that instant, something in his expression changed. The anger slowly faded, giving way to a deep concern, though he still held you firmly.

"I warn you," he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours. "If you lie to me, I won't show mercy."

You laughed again, though the risk was imminent, as your heart raced.

"And what will you do?" you challenged, your voice trembling but resolute. "Threaten me with your dark past? I'm here because I know the truth, and I do not fear your shadows."

Bruce's patience evaporated like smoke in the heavy air of that apartment. With a sudden movement, he hurled you towards the table, the impact resonating with a crash that reverberated through the walls. Your katanas slipped to the floor, leaving you defenseless. The furniture creaked under your weight, but adrenaline kept you alert, your instincts sharp.

You quickly rose, shaking your head to clear the confusion, while the anger on his face transformed into determination.

"I don't have time for your games, Kerosene," he shouted, stepping forward, ready to fight. "If you know Y/N, tell me!"

You steadied yourself, smiling defiantly as you positioned yourself, preparing for combat.

"Do you really think you'll throw away the only one who can help you?" you replied, feeling the pulse of challenge coursing through your veins. "I'm offering you a chance to know the truth, and you choose to fight. Very typical of you."

With a swift movement, he lunged at you, throwing a direct punch. You dodged, making an agile turn, but the atmosphere became a whirlwind of force and speed.

You charged at him, hitting him in the side, feeling how his tense muscles responded to your attack. It was not just a physical fight; it was a clash of wills, an explosion of repressed emotions.

"You’re an idiot if you think you can scare me!" you yelled at him while he tried to immobilize you. You twisted and managed to sidestep him, landing a blow to his jaw that made him stagger.

Bruce quickly regained his footing, his eyes blazing with fury. He advanced again, his movements precise and calculated, while you played with speed and agility.

"Stop!" he roared, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. "I just want to know where my daughter is."

"And I just want you to stop living in your hero fantasy," you replied, with a defiant laugh as you dodged another attack. "The truth hurts you, Bruce, and you prefer the fight over facing it."

The exchange of blows continued, the sound of fists colliding and the creaking of breaking furniture filling the air. The room became a battlefield, with the table as the central stage of your struggle.

Bruce, with a mix of skill and strength, cornered you against the wall, but instead of giving up, you seized the closeness. With an agile movement, you pushed him back, making him lose his balance.

"Are you going to keep this up? Destroying what’s left of this city?" you said, breathing heavily but not yielding. "Or are you going to listen to what’s really at stake?"

His eyes were now inches from yours, the fury and frustration of his search fueling the spark of the battle. Both of you were willing to fight, but deep down, you knew there was something deeper at play than just physical strength.

The battle continued, becoming increasingly intense and violent, like a whirlwind of unleashed fury. You launched at him, landing a blow that hit his chest, but Bruce responded with a punch that made you stagger; the force behind his blow was terrifying. The rage emanating from him was palpable, and with each attack, both of you took the struggle to a new level.

The apartment walls vibrated with the thud of bodies colliding and furniture being dragged. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the air as you crashed into a table, breaking it into pieces.

You got back up, a piece of wood in hand, and threw it at him. Bruce dodged it, but the fragment smashed against a lamp, exploding into a million shards. The light flickered before going out, plunging the place into an unsettling darkness.

Both of you moved like shadows through the chaos, and sweat and blood began to mix, the air filled with a metallic smell that only intensified the battle. Bruce landed a punch on your jaw, and you tasted blood in your mouth. You didn’t stop; with a cry of defiance, you responded with a series of rapid blows, each one stronger than the last.

You darted to his side, using your agility to hit him in the ribs. The impact made him stagger, but before you could capitalize on the opportunity, Bruce spun around and kneed you in the abdomen. The air escaped your lungs, and the sharp pain made you fall to your knees. However, you didn’t give up.

With renewed determination, you got up and threw a direct punch to his face, hearing the crack of his skin upon impact. Blood spurted from his lip, and the fact that you had hurt him only fueled his fury. With superhuman strength, he pushed you back, slamming you against a shelf, which gave way and collapsed on you. Books and personal items scattered across the floor, covering the place in even greater chaos.

But there was no time to stop. You rose amongst the debris, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. With a leap, you charged at him again, landing a blow that left a mark on his face. Rage and pain intertwined in the air, and both of you were on the brink of madness.

The room had turned into a battlefield, with blood staining the floor and walls. The apartment’s decor, once a refuge, lay in tatters, as if Gotham itself had decided to yield to the brutality of your confrontation.

Bruce, with his determined gaze locked on you, lunged at you again. Both of you were exhausted, but the fight was a necessity, an uncontrollable impulse that kept you standing. His fists and your movements were a wild dance, and amidst the chaos, both of you knew that the outcome of this battle would not only define the present but also seal your fate.

You charged at him, landing a direct blow to his stomach, and when he bent forward, you took the chance to hit him in the face once more. Blood spilled from his nose, but he countered with a knee strike, and the impact resonated in your bones.

The fight continued with increasing ferocity, the room transforming into a wreckage. Every blow exchanged resonated like thunder, but it was the moment when Bruce landed a punch to your side that made you fall to your knees again, gasping for air. The pain was intense, but there was no time to lament; rage and frustration drove him to push onward.

Seeing the opportunity, Bruce lunged at you, and with a rough movement, he lifted you off the ground, holding you by the neck and raising you into the air. You struggled, feeling the pressure increase, the air escaping your lungs. The room blurred around you as you began to lose control.

"Tell me where Y/N is!" he shouted, his voice echoing in your mind like a refrain of desperation and fury.

You were on the brink of passing out, your eyes clouding, but amidst the confusion, you managed to maintain lucidity, though it was becoming increasingly difficult. Bruce's hands were like a yoke around your throat, and the feeling of suffocation intensified with every passing second.

The pressure was unbearable, and you fought to free your neck, to breathe, but it felt like trying to break chains of steel. Your hands struck his arm, but he wouldn’t relent, becoming more focused, more desperate.

Finally, with a titanic effort, you managed to reach your helmet, and in a twist, you pushed him back, but the pressure of his grip was too much. It was then that, in a last-ditch attempt to free yourself, the helmet slipped off your head, falling to the floor with a dull thud.

The light of the apartment filtered back into your vision, and it was at that moment that Bruce, seeing your face, stopped dead in his tracks, the expression of his fury transforming into horror.

The face before him was not just an adversary; it was a reflection of his own daughter. The reality crashed against him like lightning.

"...Y/N?"

A/N ──── I WANT TO EMPHASIZE THAT YES, WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN THE DOCTOR AND Y/N IS REAL. And yes, it's necessary; you'll understand why by the end. Furthermore, Ivy's death has always been planned. In the next chapter, a female character will appear who, I warn you, will be a victim of the Waynes, and the scene will be a bit graphic and very grotesque.

I want to add that this chapter is very, very, veeeery weak because I’m very tired, not very inspired, and dealing with other things. I’ll try to do better for the next one and bring you a chapter of better quality.

And a warning for those on the taglist: if you’re already on it, please don’t ask me again and again to add your name because I end up getting confused and repeating names.

Also, there are some that I can’t add for reasons I don’t understand.

If you requested to be on the taglist before and you're not, please ask me here or send me a message; I don’t bite.

Feel free to ask me anything if you’d like.

Take a bath!

Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii

@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith

@redkarmakai @the-rouge-robin @twismare @wizzerreblogs @beeboopneep @mistfire1999 @delfinadolphin @expctron

Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing 's work and @klemen-tine 's work, be sure to check them out!

[skmhlml]

Hi, I've become OBSESSED with Mouthwashing in the past 48 hrs and am so very desperate for some nsfw with Curly if you're okay with it--- literally anything, like I am so thirsty for this fictional man

Date: Nov 2nd 2024

Note: this is gonna be my first NSFW, lord have mercy…

Sfw!

🩹 Behind closed doors, Curly's motions are firm, but he's careful not to push past your limits. He loves seeing you give in completely, his voice gets quiet and scratchy when he's guiding you through things. Expect growls of approval and a hand on the back of your neck.

🩹 Curly is all about the details. Whether it's the way he holds you in place or the way his hands roam, he's meticulous, fully focused on steering you to the rim.

🩹 though that doesn't me he doesn't absolutely love to tease and push your boundaries, to see how far you'll go. It's like a game to him, and every sound you make is a reward.

🩹 He has a way of propelling things his way, almost like he's challenging you to keep up. But there's also a certain admiration for it-he's strong, sure, but he never goes too far without making sure you're along for the ride.

General

🩹 Curly might have that harsh exterior, but he has a big soft spot for you. Little things, like the way your eyes fill with light when you’re happy or the sound of your chuckle, absolutely melt him. He’ll find excuses to just be around you, catching those moments whenever he can.

🩹 Some of his favorite times are just being with you in silence. Maybe it’s lying side by side, watching the big screen, or talking at night. He finds a sense of stability just by having you there, and he’ll hold your hand or keep his arm around you the whole time, completely content.

🩹 When the two of you are alone, he’ll drop the tough-guy act and be genuinely affectionate. He loves giving you small forehead kisses, gentle hugs, and soft touches.

🩹 He has a laid-back way of comforting you. If you’re stressed or upset, he won’t make a big deal out of it—he’ll just sit close, maybe put his arm around you, and say something simple like, “Where my hug at??”

(it's all for shits and giggles until you giggle and shit.)

[swampjawn]

What happens when you let a film nerd make an anime?

Fuuga Yamashiro (山代風我) joined Science Saru in 2017 as an Assistant Production Manager during production of "Night Is Short, Walk on Girl." He was essentially Studio Co-founder Masaaki Yuasa's secretary, but he worked his way up to assistant director on "Keep Your Hands off Eizouken" and finally got to direct his own first full Anime series, Dandadan.

Having worked so closely with one of the greatest living auteur directors, you might think he would share that overpowering individual creative influence, but as he has pointed out in interviews himself, it's much the opposite.

Instead of relying on his own creative voice, which he doesn't seem confident about in interviews, he literally collects techniques from his favorite movies, breaking them down into storyboards and adding them to his arsenal to re-contextualize later. And as you may be able to tell from watching Dandadan, his biggest influences aren't anime and manga, but live action film -- something he seems to have studied obsessively.

And when you compare the anime to the original manga (which itself is already filled with references to old movies and TV) subtle adaptation choices make the deft application of techniques borrowed from other storytellers very clear. Every choice is made for a reason and furthers the story being told in some way; nothing is there for no reason. like the simple, controlled camera pans and tilts that make the serpoian spaceship feel cold and sterile, or the crazywackysilly, un-predictable wide-angle camera movements that intrude on that cold sterile world when turbo granny shows up.

In one interview during the production of "Keep Your Hands off Eizouken" Yamashiro pulls out his notebook where he had collected all these techniques and gives an example:

"There's a technique called 'Dolly Zoom', which is a technique that changes the perspective of the background while keeping the size of the subject." […] "In 'Cult of Chucky,' which I saw recently, there is a scene in which a long passageway is filmed in telephoto, while a wheelchair moves forward. The character is 'getting closer, but the viewer feels farther away'. This is the kind of thing I collect." […] "I'd like to combine these things in various ways and do it in animation." (I took some liberties with this, the translation was pretty rough)

And sure enough, that exact same type of dolly zoom rears its head in Dandadan as Okarun sprints away from Turbo Granny and the mouth of the tunnel stretches impossibly into the distance.

It may seem counterintuitive to ascribe too much importance to the creative vision of one person who specifically talks about his own lack of strong creative vision, (and to be clear, he's far from the only person playing a major role) but I think it's precisely that encyclopedic knowledge of film techniques and that pragmatic, meticulous attitude that may have acted as a stabilizing force for Yuasa, and that also provides some needed structure to a ball of pure energy like Dandadan, while still preserving its essence and the eclectic influences that it wears on its sleeve.

Also, mad respect for using the seventh installment of the Child's Play franchise as your example of a dolly zoom instead of, like, Vertigo, Jaws, or Goodfellas.

This is just a sliver of what I talk about in this full video! A minuscule piece of the pie! Some tiny little crumbs for the peasants! So if you consider yourself worthy, go watch the whole video. I think it's good.

Uhh also reblog! I spent way too long on that intro animation, so I need it. Bad.

[slut4bill]

All For You - B.Kaulitz

𝜗𝜚 - bill kaulitz x fem!reader

𝜗𝜚 - horror

𝜗𝜚 - mentions of blood, murder, just gore in general

ღ - a/n: decided to try my hand at writing horror while I work on some smut fics...

"Baby" he cooed in your ear, putting on his sweet innocent facade as if he hadn't just brutally murdered your best friend right in front of your eyes. You felt sick to your stomach looking at the bloody scene in front of you, almost gagging when you saw what looked like a chunk of brain next to what used to be a head.

It wasn't always like this of course. When you first met him, he seemed like a sweet, decent guy, much different from the losers you were used to going out with, those men always used to getting praise for doing the bare minimum. Bill, however, would buy you gifts and shower you with love and affection, and in your eyes, he was the best boyfriend you had ever had. Perfect even. But of course, like all good things it had to come to an end, this whole 'perfect boyfriend' act becoming too good to be true. It started slow, as you noticed the way he started to become more protective of you but that was only natural right? He was just being a good boyfriend and it seemed like a sweet gesture. But then he started to get weirdly clingy, never leaving your side, always begging to spend every moment of every day with you which was a bit odd but hey you can't exactly say you hated the attention. Next came the small bit of obsession, it seemed normal at first just a few small mumbled I need yous or a random moment where he accidently blurted out something you swore you had never told him. And then came the killings, almost like a real life scream movie except the murders were never random, always someone you knew, someone you had just talked to the day before you saw their disfigured bloody body on the news. You were terrified when your boyfriend, the guy you loved so much, the guy who you swore would never hurt a fly, came crawling in through your bedroom window covered in blood with a toothy grin on his face as if he had just accomplished the greatest thing in the world. You were frozen in fear, eyes wide open as you tried to wrap your head around the sight in front of you. He trapped you in a warm embrace kissing all over your face assuring you that everything was fine and trying to convince you that all the people he killed had a reason to die.

Bullshit

You were shaken out of your thoughts by the feeling of lips pressing against your neck and the warmth of a pair of arms tightening around your waist. The only sounds filling the atmosphere were the soft clicks of Bills lips leaving your neck with a small 'tch' sound, not seeming to be stopping anytime soon. "Did you like my surprise?" he asked in a hushed tone breaking the silence. What? "What?" I ask more rhetorically than literally as tears brimmed at my waterline threatening to spill at any second. "Did you like my surprise?" he repeats again emphasizing every word this time. "I did this all for you baby, for us" he whispered in my ear as he continued trailing soft kisses down my neck. "Did I like it?" I laughed, "Did I fucking like it are you fucking insane you psycho piece of shit??" I yell as my voice shakes in anger, fear and shock. He looked down at me with a small hint of hurt in his eyes. "Don't yell love I was doing something nice for us" he frowns as if you getting upset about this was unnatural. you look up at him in disbelief. How is he failing to see what exactly is wrong about this? "How is this nice Bill you killed my best friend what is wrong with you-" you cut yourself off as your voice began to crack signaling that you were about to start crying. You sob looking at the lifeless being on the bathroom floor, the tiles already smeared with blood. "My best friend- h-how could you Bill" you asked in a hoarse voice, body still shaking from the breakdown you were having. He just hugged you tighter against his chest leaning down to kiss your cheek. We both stood in silence for a moment before he spoke up again. "She was trying to take you away from me I couldn't have that love you have to understand" he explained trying to reason with you. You were speechless and scared. More scared of your own feelings than the gruesome scene that had just unfolded in front of your eyes. Scared because despite everything he's done, what he just did, a part of you still loved him. And you couldn't bring yourself to push him away. "Let's go get you cleaned up, yeah baby?" he says referring to the small splatters of blood on your face and clothes sure to leave a stain later. You just nod still in shock and not able to properly speak as your mind tries to process everything that just happened. "Arms up" he hums as he lifts your shirt up over your head tossing it on the bloodied ground somewhere. He unclips your bra tossing it near the shirt and bends down to do the same with your jeans and underwear. He helps you step over the body and turns on the shower waiting for the water to heat up. Once it started to get warm, he carefully helped you in the bathtub squirting some shampoo in his hand and lathering it on your head, making sure not to get any in your eyes.

"I love you baby, I always will" he hummed in an affectionate voice, looking at you with nothing but genuine love in his eyes.

and you loved him too.

You were trapped in a living nightmare.

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

I WAS NEVER THERE - PART 2

FIRST CONVERSATION

Summary: Steve returned to the 1940s to find the life he thought he wanted. But desire has its own plans—and he’s found someone who knows exactly how to feed it.

Paring:  Steve Rogers/Reader Steve/Peggy

Warning: 18+ mature dark themes. Smut, Drama, Romance, BitterSweet / Possessive / Obsessive behaviour, Cheating.

STORY MASTERLIST

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact. 

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Steal my writing or the writing of others and karma will get ya.

You're good at hiding your emotions.

Your father always said it was a strength, something that set you apart. He taught you from a young age that showing too much emotion was as good as surrendering—that real control was the ability to stay calm when others couldn't.

"The world's full of people who wear their hearts on their sleeves," he'd say, his voice steady and detached, mirroring his personality. "Don't be one of them."

So you learned to keep your face neutral, your movements contained, to never let anyone see what might unsettle you. In rooms like this, where some of the brightest minds in the world gather, every glance and gesture carries weight. You know how to keep yourself level-headed and unreadable, as though nothing could shake you.

But tonight—just one month after that first dinner with Steve—your composure is slipping. The penthouse hums with the low thrum of voices, the same people spinning through familiar cycles of conversation. The air is thick with practiced smiles and thinly veiled gossip, a parade of familiarity that would almost feel comforting if it weren’t so stifling.

As you scan the room, it takes effort to keep your gaze from lingering on him for too long.

You sip from your glass, forcing yourself to act as though you’re just as invested in the evening as everyone else here.

Nancy, across the room, is already the center of attention, her laughter bubbling over exaggerated stories, while Peggy glides through the party like an effortless beacon, all grace and charm. It’s a scene you’ve witnessed countless times, nothing here should feel unusual.

But tonight, it does.

Steve stands beside Peggy, the very image of loyalty and composure, but something is off.

His gaze shifts through the room, his focus finding you each time, resting on you for just a beat too long—a quiet intensity that makes it harder to breathe, harder to maintain the ease you’ve so carefully cultivated.

You know he shouldn’t be looking at you like that. And he knows it, too.

Your pulse quickens and though you keep your focus on the nearest conversation, your thoughts are drawn back to him, to that piercing gaze.

It’s unnerving, this silent exchange, hidden beneath a polite façade that no one else notices. And it’s that very danger- the thrill of being seen without words, that makes it impossible to look away.

Feeling the tension getting the better of you, you decide you needed an escape, slipping through the crowd and into the kitchen.

You're relieved to find the room empty. The gentle clink of the door closing behind you the only sounds. For a brief moment, you savor the silence.

Leaning against the counter you pick up a wine glass and place it in front of you followed by a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. Taking a steadying breath, you begin to pour yourself a generous amount.

But the silence is short-lived. You barely have a moment to gather yourself before the door swings open, and there he is- Steve, stepping into the kitchen as if he’d been waiting for this moment all night.

“Taking a break from all the excitement?” His voice cuts through the stillness.

You set the bottle back on the counter, forcing yourself to stay calm. “Just needed some air.”

“Funny,” he says, each step closer, unhurried and deliberate. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

You feign a casual shrug. “.I’m not sure we know each other well enough for that to be the case.”

He chuckles, the sound soft and unsettling, as his eyes glint in the dim light. “Don’t we?” He leans against the counter, his arm brushing yours, far too close for it to feel accidental.

The weight of his presence has you instinctively pulling back, but Steve simply pours himself a drink.

“It’s rare to meet someone like you... at these things,” he says, taking a slow sip.

“I could say the same,” you reply cautiously, your voice almost betraying you. “Not every day you come across someone who's been to the future, no crystal ball required."

He laughs quietly. “True,” he says, “very true.” His gaze never wavers, as if he’s seeing straight through you.

"Still,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again, “You surprise me. Most people don’t.”

Your pulse quickens as silence swells between you, heavy and charged. You shrug, looking away. “Well,” you say lightly, “you’d be disappointed soon enough, I’m sure.”

His eyes narrow, studying you with a faint, knowing smile. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

A faint sound from the dining room breaks the moment, reminding you of the room beyond. You glance toward it instinctively, feeling a brief surge of relief. He notices and his mouth tilts into a quiet smile, amused.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks softly.

“No.” You shake your head, a touch of defiance in your voice as you look up at him. You refused to let him see you rattled.

“No?” he repeats, echoing your tone, as he steps closer, his presence towering, overwhelming.

“No…” The word leaves you as a breath, almost caught in your throat as you stared up into mesmerising blue eyes.

“Good,” he says, his smile widening. “That’s good to know.” He sets down his empty glass with deliberate slowness, and the soft clink of it hitting the counter seems to echo. “I’d hate to think I was making you nervous.”

Before you can respond, the kitchen door swings open. Steve steps away just as Nancy walks in, her eyes widening slightly as she sees you both, alone.

“Oh- am I interrupting something?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“No, of course not.” you say quickly, offering her a tight smile. “In fact, Steve was just leaving.”

Steve glances between you and Nancy, his expression cool and unreadable, as though he anticipated this exact moment.

“Goodnight,” he says softly, without another word, he slips through the door, leaving a chill in his wake.

Nancy watches him go, raising an eyebrow as she looks back at you. “What was that?”

You force a smile, shaking your head as you study the half-empty glass in your hand. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Part 3 coming soon. Thanks for reading xoxo

[creamflix]

nanami kento x reader; dark content. no reader gender implied. parasocial relationship. unhealthy obsession. comp sci! major kento. slightly inspired by my psychological horror choso fanfiction, but takes place in the same time as my perv! suguru fic and perv! satoru fic. i can't see this man doing anything outright perverted, sorry. — masterlist here ☆

nanami kento had always been a man of discipline, rising quietly to the top of his field.

when he graduated, he left university with the prestigious “golden compiler” award, a testament to his brilliance in coding. classmates admired him, professors hailed him as a prodigy, and everyone seemed to want a piece of his attention.

everyone except you.

you, the one person who hadn’t been captivated by his accolades.

you, who didn’t know him as the revered coding genius.

you weren’t even a comp sci major — your world and his couldn’t have been more different. he still remembered your clueless but endearing question the first time he’d met you: “so… you’re, like, a math tutor or something?” you’d looked up at him with an innocent curiosity that sent him reeling. he hadn’t known what to say, hadn’t known how to approach you at all.

so he kept his interest hidden behind his calm, stoic exterior, locking away every fleeting moment you shared.

and then he graduated, diploma in hand, awards stacking up behind him, and his career in game development waiting on the other side.

but he didn’t have you.

not a confession, not even a final conversation.

he was left with only memories, seared into his mind, of the way you’d looked at him that day, like he was just another stranger.

the emptiness gnawed at him.

so he buried himself in his work, crafting a career that would soon make him a legend.

but even as he rose to prominence in the industry, his memories of you remained vivid, unchanging, as if frozen in time. no matter how many years passed, he couldn’t shake the image of you, every detail so clear it hurt.

it started innocently enough.

the first time he modeled a character after you, it was just an otome game. your likeness became the sweet, cheerful npc, with wide, curious eyes that echoed your own. he even pulled phrases he remembered you using, weaving them into dialogue, until he could almost believe he was talking to you.

but that simple otome character wasn’t enough. the feeling of you — the memory of you — haunted him, driving him to re-create you again and again. his projects became shrines, monuments to a version of you that he preserved so obsessively in his mind. he put you into a fantasy RPG as a fierce warrior with steel in your gaze, strong and fearless. he lingered over every detail, crafting your voice, your mannerisms, your expressions, until he could practically hear your voice in his headphones.

“perfect,” he’d murmur to himself, his gaze fixed on the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “don’t change. stay like this.”

it was as close as he could get to having you. every new game was another world he’d build around you, another excuse to lose himself in the memory of you, pixel by pixel, line by line.

outside of work, he tried searching for people who could fill the void, partners who looked or acted like you. he’d sit through dates, waiting for that flicker of your smile, the same tilt of the head, a laugh that even remotely sounded like yours. but every time, he left disappointed, feeling the hollow ache grow deeper.

they weren’t you. none of them ever could be.

so he dove deeper into his work, pushing the boundaries of what he could do.

eventually, he was given the chance to develop a virtual reality role-playing game. this was his opportunity, his magnum opus. in it, he recreated you in every possible way — the exact shade of your eyes, the smallest quirk of your smile. the game’s interface allowed him to craft custom responses, and he wrote your lines himself, based on every memory he’d held onto so fiercely. when he slipped the headset on, it was like you were really there, like you were speaking directly to him.

“you’re perfect,” he whispered to the screen one night, fingertips tracing your face on the display, entranced by the illusion he’d created. “you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

he kept tweaking the game, pushing the realism, adding tiny details that only he would know. the memory of you was a drug, a compulsion he couldn’t stop feeding.

and yet, despite his creations, he found himself haunted.

you’d gone on to live your life, and he had no idea what you were doing, who you were with, what you’d become. you were out there, living a life he wasn’t a part of.

but then, every now and then, he’d catch a glimpse of you in the city. you looked different now — older, maybe a little more serious. you wore new clothes, your hair styled in a way that didn’t match his memory of you. each time he saw you, it sent his mind into a frenzy, but he’d convince himself these were just surface changes. he didn’t want to believe that anything about you could truly change.

because in his games, you were forever the same, perfect and unchanging, untouched by time.

on those nights after he saw you, he’d dive back into his code, adjusting little details, building yet another character with your likeness. he was trapped, bound to the memories of you that he’d preserved for himself, his own twisted devotion spiraling deeper.

“just stay with me,” he’d murmur to the screen, his voice barely above a whisper. “stay like this. don’t change.”

and in his virtual worlds, you never did.

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[httpvomitello]

I Can Explain *⁠.⁠✧

request: April O'Neil's younger sister, the same age as the turtles (in the first film they were 16-17 years old). And she met them much earlier, but did not pay attention to this older sister. Splinter, a smart rat, knew about the reader's relative, but kept silent, since she did not see the point in telling yet. When the ninja turtles contacted the older O'Neil. And so, when April was transferred to the turtles' lair in the first film, the reader, like "Oops", was lying on the couch, trying to hide from her older sister, since she could get angry at her. The sisters' relationship is reminiscent of Leo and Raph

next - I Am Fine

April still had the bag covering her face, but she could smell the place they were passing through. She tried not to show her discomfort, but by the time she reached the lair, and the bag was taken off her head, her gaze ended up going straight to the couch.

The second April saw her sister lounging on that beat-up couch, she froze. “Are you kidding me?” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through steel.

Her sister froze too, then tried to look casual as she slowly sat up. “Oh, hey! Didn’t, uh, expect to see you here, sis!”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me.” April’s tone had that no-nonsense edge that only made her sister's hackles rise. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Why was her sister in the lair of mutants who were once her pets?

The younger O’Neil rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in that defiant way she knew would get under April’s skin. “Hanging out? Just catching up with my friends.”

“Oh, you’re friends now?” April scoffed. “How long has this been going on? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“Maybe because you never stop to listen?” she shot back, the words out of her mouth before she could hold them back. “You’re always too busy with your reporting and acting like the world’s gonna fall apart if you’re not the one saving it.”

The room went dead silent, the turtles exchanging awkward glances. Raph chuckled, nudging Leo. “Hey, does this remind you of anyone?” He was looking way too pleased with himself.

“Shut it,” Leo muttered.

April stepped forward, the fury and hurt in her eyes enough to make anyone else flinch—but her little sister held her ground. “You think I don’t care? That I’m just obsessed with work?”

She scoffed, standing up and folding her arms, not backing down an inch. “It sure looks that way. I mean, I’ve been coming here for months, April. Months. You didn’t notice a thing because you’re too busy pretending you have to protect me from the big, bad city.” She jabbed a thumb at herself. “I can handle myself just fine!”

April clenched her fists, practically shaking. “You don’t get it. This isn’t just some fun club you can join, alright? These guys have been through things you can’t even imagine!”

“Then why do you get to be here?” she shot back. “What, you think you’re the only O’Neil who can handle this?”

April opened her mouth, clearly ready to fire back with something biting, but then hesitated, the frustration and pain mixing on her face. “I never asked to be here. I didn’t choose any of this! But when I found out, I had a responsibility—”

“Oh, don’t give me that ‘responsibility’ speech,” she cut in, throwing her hands in the air. “You always act like you’re the only one who can handle anything serious. You don’t trust me with anything!”

“Maybe because you never act like anything is serious!” April shouted, her voice echoing off the walls. “You just go around like it’s all a game, and that’s exactly why you don’t belong down here!”

Silence fell hard, the weight of her words hitting both of them. Her sister’s face darkened, that look of raw hurt settling in her eyes. April flinched, but it was too late to take it back.

Mikey whistled low. “Ouch. That was cold.”

Leonardo shot him a look that said not now, but Mikey just shrugged. April’s sister clenched her jaw, her hands in fists at her sides. “Fine, April. You don’t think I belong here? Guess what? You’re not the boss of me. And you can’t stop me from being here.”

April just shook her head, muttering to herself, “Unbelievable. You’re just so—”

“So what?” she challenged, stepping right up to her big sister. “Say it. Go on.”

“Enough!” Splinter’s voice cut through the argument, his calm authority making both sisters go quiet. He stepped between them.

“You two have more in common than you see,” Splinter said, looking from one sister to the other. “Both of you care deeply, in your own ways. But perhaps it is time you see each other not as obstacles…but as allies.”

April sighed, rubbing her temples, still fuming but a little deflated. Her sister shot her one last heated look before turning away, frustrated tears shining in her eyes.

Leo put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a sympathetic look. “ You can go rest if you want, we're going to talk to April.”

Agreeing, the girl left and headed towards Donnie's room. The turtles were already used to seeing the youngest O'Neil going there to get some sleep. And at the moment, it was the best thing to do.

[vinnsley]

Hi! I saw your recent post about wanting to write! If you're still caught up with Dislyte, could you write something quick for Chu Yao x reader?

(ignore this request if you change your mind or if you don't want to do it, it's totally ok!)

actually, im not caught up at all, i have 0 idea who this fellow is! 😝

So im gonna write headcanons of how i think he would act like based on voice lines and design. tho i might redownload it... sigh

didnt read again nor edit it, were raw dogging with this one

[--------------]

To me, he seems to be rather secretive and someone who tends to keep to himself. So the fact you even close to him to be friends — Let alone lovers was a miracle on it's own.

Especially if you weren't a Shadow Decree member. (Mortal, Esper, or part of the Esper Union, doesn't matter)

Based on him wanting to 'dominate' earth and heaven (Also probably everything beyond it), he would probably want to monitor you any way he could. As a way to make himself feel like he has the 'upper-hand'.

Definitely possessive and becomes easily jealous. Judging from his divinate art, he definitely has some type of trauma (My guess would be religious?)

"When all is chaos... i will rule." Even if this his echo intro, he looks like an uptight clean freak who cannot work or gets unnerved if he has to be in a disorganized environment. You cannot really convince me otherwise. So if you were to actually 'hang out' with him... you would need to be somewhere he affirms is clean to his standards.

He probably (definitely imo) has a twisted sense of 'justice'. To me, it seems like he's simply obsessed with the idea of pleasing Taiyi and would do anything to achieve praise and reassurance that he's good enough. (For what? 0 idea)

So... praise him. He would be surprised. Wide eyes as he looks over at you and if you're lucky, a slight blush forming on his cheeks. But don't overuse it. Of you overuse praise, it loses it's meaning (specifically coming from you.), if you would per se praise him daily for something he would shrug it off like it was just a random comment, not reacting or even focusing on you.

The same goes for those cursed 3 words. I love you. Don't overuse this either, ESPECIALLY this. Because i bet on my life that he wouldn't say 'I love you' even if his life depended on it. (Maximum only when he was in private or something.)

Talking about private, i said before, he's definitely closed off. You wouldn't know much of what he's doing, what's going on his mind, or what he's planning. And you would know even less if you aren't a Shadow Decree member. Though that doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't love nor trust you, he's just used to keeping to himself.

In all honesty, i doubt he's much of a talker either. I think he wouldn't speak unless he's spoken to or he deems fit to interfere. So it would probably be you doing most of the talking. But he would engage in the conversation with small quips and responses to let you know he is listening (and interested perhaps), and not ignoring you.

I think his love language would be gift giving. Trinkets he found or bought (maybe even hand-made, i think he definitely has some type of hobby he secretly very much enjoys and does it closed doors whenever he could) to give you. Definitely something usable or something you could utilize in a way.

I also think he likes proximity. It plays into him being very protective about the things he likes, enjoys or treasures. So if you're close to him, or he knows where you are (plays into monitoring...) he's fine and dandy. Just his usual self.

[sonadowwiki]

This will be hard to answer, but there's a combination of issues that result into what we see today.

Now, I'll explain how I see things from my point of view with the facts I've seen and researched, but you can take this as one person's view point or an opinion if you wish. Others can have more information on things and there will probably be a lot of individuals who disagree with me, but this is personally how I see things or make sense of things.

Personally, I don't think Ian's writing is good. After looking at several pieces of medias over a wide range of series, his writing is not great compared to many other series. You can tell that his writing is writing from a fan, not really a professional. This goes for other writers or those who direct things without the company's say in the Sonic series. (You can see the list of games I've played through this link.)

For example, the way he over explains things or has everything be voiced out is poor writing. What's better writing is these things being shown through action, not someone telling you what to think or perceive. To make a good story, you need to make the audience think, not tell them how to think.

He, along with other employees he works with, also try too hard to come up with excuses or try to fill in things that are supposed to make you think, with their own explanations to things. Examples of this is like the recent TailsTube giving King Boom Boo an origin story when he didn't have one, making Amy be over dependent or focused on her Tarot Cards, making Shadow have a fake Chaos Emerald so that Sonic takes that one instead of the real one in Sonic x Shadow Generations, giving names to characters that didn't have them before, explaining why there's a pinball machine on Chaos Island in Sonic Frontiers and Gerald's journal in general where it tries to claim that he was obsessed with immortality, which is why Shadow is immortal or trying to come up with lore as to why the Eclipse Canon is named as so or why Project: Shadow was called that. So, instead of over explaining things, it would be better to let people theorize or think on their own. That's the fun part about a story; thinking or coming up with their own answers until the ending explains it with all the context clues coming together.

In contrast, we can look at the Sonic x Shadow 2021 July Calendar Story where context clues are hidden within the story. A simple one, that is usually taken out of context, is when Shadow pouts after being told by Sonic that others would like to thank him for what he has done to save the city. The context clues you're supposed to take from that is that Shadow is being tsundere in denying that he's done any good because he doesn't think he is a good person while trying to act like he's an indifferent person to others despite him helping others out of the goodness of his heart. You can also know this because when Shadow gives Sonic the faded Chaos Emerald, he implies to Sonic that he would be able to restore it instead of himself because he's a good person (not himself). So from this story, you know that Shadow is someone who looks down on himself, that he looks up to Sonic, thinks Sonic's better than him, thinks Sonic's a good person and that he trusts him. These are taken from all the context clues hidden in the story.

But despite the poor writing that mainly comes from Ian, there are also other individuals who endorse this writing and encourage certain topics to be written in the projects they do. Another offender of these poor decisions is Iizuka. He is a major factor in the stream of things that has things end up being poor in quality or inconsistent. This includes inconsistencies within the series for characterizations and lore, what characters get highlighted over others, what characters get highlighted together, which employees work on what projects/get included into projects despite not being a part of the original team, on what certain projects are made that are mainly on the English side of things, and so on.

Since things are done by a mixture of people, not just one, it's not simple to say that it's only Ian's fault or that his writing is solely his fault alone. Other employees who influence him or work with him are also at fault for the result of things. For example, the TailsTube videos are also worked on by Tyson Hesse. Though Ian is said to usually write the stories for those videos, they go through inspection by Iizuka and Tyson also helps with them by art or other means. Though for this recent one, Tyson states that he was the one to write it this time. But besides that point, since Iizuka is the one reviewing them, that's why there are inconsistencies where Sonic and Shadow are very rude or mean to each other. Ian himself said that he got notes to make the story for the videos that way from Iizuka himself. And adding this to how Iizuka says personally that he doesn't see or want Sonic and Shadow friends despite the company stating they are friends multiple times, that's why the videos have the inconsistencies where they are mean to each other (with mostly Sonic being a jerk to Shadow all the time) despite actual lore showing them to be kind and supportive towards each other in several medias (even in the recent Sonic x Shadow Generations, Shadow supports and helps Sonic during the final boss fight with the Time Eater). This also explains why in the new Sonic Generations' dialogue they took out Eggman calling Shadow a friend of Sonic's and Shadow cheering Sonic on before he turns Super with Classic Sonic. But the Japanese (or the actual company) don't seem to agree with Iizuka since they didn't change their dialogue in Sonic x Shadow Generations from the old Sonic Generations and Shadow is still called one of Sonic's friends.

There are other employees who also help support the inconsistencies while using Ian's writing, such as the team at SEGA HARDlight who made Sonic Dream Team. The inconsistencies in their works are them focusing so much on Amy, acting as if Amy is the second or most important character in the series, having Sonic act as if he's okay around Amy, having Sonic give Amy a nickname that only exists in English medias, making it seem as if Amy is more competent than other characters, and so on.

Other employees also put their own inconsistencies into medias that they force the SEGA label on, such as The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog where they make Sonic overly kind to Amy along with Shadow being overly kind to her despite having nearly no history with her. And the one who overlooked the creation of that fan game is Katie from the America social media team, which Iizuka also approved of for it's creation despite the inconsistencies in it.

There's also the IDW Comics in general that force OCs into the story more than the actual characters from the series while acting as if they are official to the lore despite not being so. They also act as if Amy is more important than other characters, including Sonic, and have her replace Knuckles on Sonic's team. They also write Shadow incorrectly along with other characters like Silver. And the employees who work on those stories are a wide variety of people with Ian and Evan being two of the writers. Sometimes other comic employees also write things, such as Daniel and Gigi, which sometimes also have the characters mischaracterized.

So, in all, there's a lot of employees that contribute to the inconsistencies within the series that are mainly from the English side of things. These employees then go to influence some employees on the Japanese side of things too, such as Eitaro Toyoda, Ed, Kazuyuki Hoshino, KIKUZO, Yui Karasuno and perhaps more.

From being influenced by them, they think to give more attention to certain characters like the English side of SEGA or think that the lies they come up with are true, such as claiming that Amy is very popular or demanded for despite not making money in sales for games focused on her (Sonic Origins Plus [original financial report], Sonic Superstars, Sonic Dream Team, etc.). For example, they give more attention to Amy instead of Metal despite them being created at the same time (Metal was excluded from Sonic Superstars and Hoshino celebrated Amy's birthday first, but not along with Metal, to which he celebrates a day later after comments asked about Metal) or they try to make it seem as if she is a part of Sonic's Team when she's not. She's even included randomly in the background of pictures a lot (Sonic Pict June 2023 and Blaze's Sonic traveling to Asia picture). They also made her more important than Knuckles and replaced his spot with her instead (Sonic Origins Plus, Sonic Superstars, Sonic & Friends, Disaster Prevention Poster and the pictures I just mentioned/linked plus many more).

In Sonic Origins Plus, they focused more on Amy's inclusion and not have the focus equally on Knuckles being playable in Sonic CD.

In Sonic Superstars, they have her the third (or second) most important character instead of Knuckles.

In Sonic & Friends, they have certain lines of merchandise with Amy being included as the main three along with Sonic and Tails instead of Knuckles.

In the Disaster Prevention Poster, Knuckles is excluded and Amy is included instead along with Sonic and Tails.

In the Sonic Pict June 2023 and Sonic Traveling to Asia pictures Amy is included in the background, but Knuckles isn't.

Metal is also treated poorly by the English side where Amy is the one to get a 30th anniversary comic (2) but Metal is not focused on in the same manner.

[In this picture at a convention, they were disrespectful to Metal saying that, "And you too, I guess, Metal Sonic..." when saying Happy 30th Anniversary to Amy]

But I have to remind others that despite things seeming to be "up to Iizuka" or other employees I have listed, that's not the case or true in the slightest. Though Iizuka has a high position within the Sonic branch alone, he is not the highest authority in SEGA as a whole. How he (and other employees) always tries to be a part of a project or take credit for everything is also not how things are supposed to work in a company. If he was not picked to be a part of the team by the higher authorities in the company, he is not supposed to be working on that project or brought in to work on the project. The team chosen by the superiors are the ones who are supposed to work on the project only. So if Iizuka was not chosen, he is not supposed to be a part of that team making the product and he is not supposed to making things into how he thinks things should be. They are supposed to be listening to the company for each project, not themselves or Iizuka. Iizuka or these employees are not the company, they are supposed to be listening to the company's say/notes and how they want things.

These videos can explain things a little where things are supposed to be handled by producers and directors after being chosen by their higher authorities, things are supposed to be ultimately decided by the company (not the employees), and that the team should be working together towards the same single goal (which should include their superiors):

So, how things are handled in SEGA in the Sonic branch specifically are actually quite unprofessional. There are a lot of employees who are not working according to regulations or what's normally done in professional gaming companies. They also are unprofessional from always striving to be the face of a project or the company or striving to be higher than their co-workers when a lot of people are working on the projects, not just them. So when Iizuka, or other employees, try to claim the credit or clout from a project, it's actually quite unprofessional of them to do so, especially if they try to seem higher than the company who is actually higher than them and co-workers in everything. They also seem to fight on how things should be in the series, which then ends up being how Iizuka wants things instead of the company, which once again, is not how things are supposed to be and shows how unprofessional they are even more. Things are also not supposed to be up to how the fans want. Though we are the customers, we are not supposed to be demanding what we want to be done in the series, it's ultimately up the how the company wants things and we are to buy their ideas or creation, not the other way around.

[Roughly it talks about how there are many differences in opinions about things, to which Nakamura answers that people in the staff had different interpretations on things, so they went to Iizuka and he finalized how things were to be.]

Another unprofessional thing about these workers, which results in the inconsistencies or things that are poor in quality, is the fact that they don't know how to do what they are trying to do. It's like trying to write a book report without reading the book or drawing art of people without understanding anatomy. These employees are the same in that context where they think to make things on their own without the company's direction or they look at the fans for direction when the fans don't have experience or know what's best either when it comes to making games. They are not experts in the fields of game creation, therefore they shouldn't be looked upon for advice or direction like these employees have been doing in their latest works.

For example, it's like how Katie made a fan game without knowing how to make a game/structure things for a game or how these employees try to make games without even looking at the lore before creating something, and instead, they make games according to what lore they want things to be like. It's also why a majority of their games aren't fun in the sense of story since things constantly contradict themselves, tell you what to think or is just muddled in general compared to other games that are far more structured and organized with a clear purpose of keeping things consistent and wanting the audience to have fun or learn a good lesson (not with the purpose of pushing narratives on the audience or their thoughts on how they want others to see things or thinking of doing something "cool" for clout/to be liked by the fans).

Most of the time, when playing or looking at their medias, it brings me this question: "What was the point?" To me, a lot their stories result in this: Nothing lost, nothing gained in some manner. Sonic Dream Team? Ariem was fine and able to continue communicating with the cast, Cream was fine, and the good guys won. What did the characters learn from this? What did the viewer learn from this? I'd say nothing. Nothing lost, nothing gained. Sonic Superstars, the team goes on an adventure, gain an ally that most likely won't be mentioned again, beat the bad guys and lived on with their lives. What did the characters learn? What did the viewer learn? I'd say nothing once again. Sonic Frontiers, Sonic was corrupted but ended up okay in the end, his friends were also okay, Sonic even entertains the idea of going through it all again, SAGE ends up okay in some form despite sacrificing herself, the good guys win, the bad guy lost. What was learned by the characters? What did the viewer learn? Sonic learned nothing, Amy claims to learn about love but doesn't describe it or describe how or what she will show others to "show love," Knuckles just talks about going off of his island when he already does that a lot when going on adventures with Sonic and the others, Tails already does things on his own or tries to, the characters went on with their lives like normal or away from Sonic. The only thing that might be learned is Eggman learning to have family of his own, but that's the villain, not really the heroes. If the villain learned more than the heroes, that's quite something. But in the end, it's not like he's going to stop being a villain.

The companies are experts in directing things. They show this through their wide range of IPs they direct that have direction, organization and good lessons taught to the player/viewer, which are expressed well when the employees cooperate with them. These Sonic employees aren't the same in that retrospect, nor do they have the experience to make quality content that doesn't have everything be explained plainly or as a list to read. The way the Sonic brand is so different from other IPs like Atlus or Ryu Ga Gotoku games that have direction and organization should be an obvious indicator that those working on the Sonic brand aren't professional or listening to the company unlike the other brands in SEGA. Those employees in Sonic look more towards wanting to make a name for themselves, making their ideas go into the history of the franchise and telling people to believe in what they want you to believe in. On the other hand, the companies want to make good or fun stories, they want to share their thoughts to others without forcing them to think how they think so that they come to their own conclusions after seeing their experiences or thoughts on things and they don't look for clout when making these things. The two are very different in how they approach things.

There are times when the workers who are assigned to work on projects actually do what normal companies do and follow the direction of the company. Iizuka stated this recently when he states that he didn't know about the Knuckles Show until it was announced to the public despite having his name in the credits as a consultant along with Katie. He didn't work on the series compared to how he tries to always be involved with every project to every detail. That explains why the direction and story writing is so different compared to medias that have Ian as the writer. It's like how Sonic Prime didn't have Ian as a writer and only has him as a consultant, but it shows that he didn't work on it personally like how Iizuka didn't work on the Knuckles show personally throughout the whole project. How the stories are structured or how Sonic and Shadow are shown in a more friendly or caring manner show that they weren't always influenced or heavily influenced by employees like Iizuka and Ian. They weren't a part of the main team, only a consultant for maybe minor things. That's why how Shadow was characterized was so different and more on point to how he should be portrayed in Sonic Prime. Though when it comes to Sonic Prime, it was still influenced by English employees due to how much focus was put on Amy excessively and randomly, but it could be due to someone changing the team that was supposed to handle it while it was in creation.

So, in all, blaming only Ian or his writing isn't technically correct in the big picture of things. He is part of the blame, especially since he pushes his own narrative or ideas into things like other employees (such as the Commander's name), but it's also the fault of other employees he works with like Iizuka, Katie, Tyson, Karasuno, Hoshino, Ed, Justin, Kenneth, Jasmine, Thalia, Evan Stanley, Evan Bader, Ivo, Chris and so on. And because all these workers work together to do things without the company's say while promoting/glorifying themselves and while trying to change history/lore without the company's say, things become the mess we see today with lore inconsistences and so on.

What do you think how it is going to be sonic x shadows generations?

I wouldn't hold my hopes up about it. It seems that the only good thing about this game is the title and the merchandise that comes with it. Other than that, it seems that Western employees made a mess of it to the point they just added in random lore that makes no sense or certain narratives to push their interpretation of things onto others.

I also wouldn't be hopeful of it since they lied about the game being a port and changed things that weren't needed to be changed in the first place. A port means that things are copied and pasted onto another system. Some graphic enhancement might be done, like with Sonic Colors Ultimate, but that doesn't mean that whole dialogue and scenes are supposed to change. That's not a port, and changing things to that degree isn't a faithful remaster either.

I wouldn't be hopeful about the story either. It sems to be very out of character, inconsistent, just trying to be a copy of other standard or cliche stories and filled with fanfiction. I wouldn't recommend people playing it... but that's my opinion.

[coquelicoq]

Natsume: You didn't sleep a wink last night. Why not go and grab a few now? Natori [sparkling]: I'm just fine. It takes more than sleep deprivation to dull my dazzling self, so don't you worry your fussy little head. Natsume [concerned]: Nonsense like that is exactly what someone suffering from sleep deprivation would say! Sensei: Oh really? Has he been sleep-deprived every day of his life?

so i've been watching the natsume dub -

[eastgaysian]

[sattelite-of-love]

HARLEY QUINN in Batman: Caped Crusader

[milkbreadtoast]

"The perfect orv dub/Kim Dokja voice doesnt exis-"

EXPLAIN THIS!!!!! (@voiceactorken on youtube!!!)

[tlou-obsessed]

I am just gonna freak out about 'The Wild Robot': spoiler alert

How fucking genius is it to make Brightbill look all scared at Roz, looking for reassurance, his wing is messed up and he can't fly, he's looking at his momma and nowhere else. To have Roz get flashbacks to how he looked through the stages of life made me ugly sob, and then she rips the hardware 'the cold heart' out, and put Brightbill there, showing that he's her heart now.

Then Pedro comes in with the most heartwrenching voice acting, throughout the movie we get fink who begins out as a 'every man for himself' but his caring nature comes through when he's looking at Brightbill, and through Roz we see him change, he becomes kinder, and starts seeking out Roz, looking for a friend... and cares for Brightbill, motivating him. One of my favourite lines from the movie is : "Fly like you, not them".

Can we just cry about this moment too, because Longneck being the only goose who believed Brightbill was capable knew Roz ran to see her kid and decides to fly by one more time. Also can we just obsess about that, they really showed how important a support system is. This last look had the floodgates open.

[mollypaup]

i think a really great aspect of oofuri is how much it gets mihashi's ass for being overly timid and dependent. it would be really easy to write off the way he and abe interact as being abe's fault because he is overbearing, and a lot of people do, but it has some really great moments of going "hey, you cannot hide behind abe or depend on him to make every decision. it's not good for you, or him, or the team."

[wojtekaneko]

Some silly tma doodles I drew after finishing season 1! I'm really loving this story and all the characters T^T