#any given character is trying to stab any other character in the back at all times

[itsacruelsummerwithyou2]

rivals is just adult gossip girl. that’s it, that’s the show.

[python333]

im in love with your content omg😭 your writing style is just chefs kiss

can i req a reader with the tf141 being on a mission and hearing an enemy say something in british slang and they just go "what did they just say.." in comms? like a reader who doesnt know anything about slang like not even that bars in the uk r called pubs (if im not wrong) and just nods whenever a private talks in slang, and their brain is just trying to figure out what they just said?

its just a really silly plot with a silly reader :3

pardon? — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the req says, you know nothing about british slang and on a mission the enemy speaks british and you dont know what theyre saying :3

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 2.6k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note HI YES I LOVE THIS REQ!! i take every opportunity i can to make fun of british people so this is right up my alley!! tysm for the compliments hjfhdjskf recently ive been getting more praise on my works and it makes me so happy i love yall. again, sorry if this sounds a little rushed or if any parts are incoherent, i wrote this at 12/1am and im both more productive and write more nonsense at this time + this one is wayyyy shorter than ones i usually do because i didnt know what else to write for it so i apologize for that as well! this is pure fluff and humor (i like to think im funny) so enjoy!!

“—eah, and now we have to camp out here ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do it ‘imself, so I feel like we should have a chat with the others, see if they’re willing to leg it out of here with us,” An enemy soldier suggests to you, his British accent thick enough that you think it might be cockney.

You cross your arms to hide your shaking hands and nod in agreement, as if you understood anything he said, and put on the same shitty British accent you’d been using for the past five minutes you’d been talking to this guy.

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” You agree, clearing your throat before asking, “You know where the others are stationed?”

“You don’t?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you suspiciously.

“Mate, all the orders I was given went in one ear and out the other,” You sigh, holding back a wince at your desperate attempt to sound more natural using British slang, “I just know I’ve got to stand out here and shoot the enemy.”

The enemy eyes you suspiciously and he takes a moment to try and read your face before he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, actually. Which would be weird, if we’re in the same platoon, don’t you—” 

You sigh and quickly pull out the small switchblade you had hanging on your belt, stabbing the enemy in the neck before he can say anything else and grabbing him before he can drop to the ground, putting a hand behind his back as you half lead half drag him into a dark alleyway beside the building he was stationed outside of. 

You quickly set him down into a sitting position and take your knife out of his throat, tucking the blade back into the handle before adjusting it to latch onto your belt once again, letting out a frustrated huff as you stare at the now dead man in front of you. 

“[c/n], how copy?” Price’s voice crackles through on your ear piece. 

You push in the PTT button and lower your voice, “Copy, I fucked up a little bit. One of the guys was onto me.”

“You were there for five bloody minutes,” Gaz’s voice rings through, his tone both disbelieving and amused, “How’d he already catch onto you?” 

“The British are smarter than I thought,” You breathe out, standing up and looking around for a ladder to climb to get to higher ground before anyone spots you. You go farther into the alley and find an old, rusty ladder with rungs that look like they’d snap if someone sneezed on them too hard—perfect for climbing up.

You wrinkle your nose as your hand makes contact with one of the rungs but don’t say anything otherwise, instead wordlessly hauling yourself up onto the ladder. 

“Reminder that there’s three British people with you, currently,” Ghost’s deadpan tone crackles, his breathing heavy, as you can tell he’s whispering into his mic, “All of which are very smart.”

“I caught you reading the instructions on a box of tea bags the other day, don’t fuckin’ talk right now,” You grumble, slowly climbing up the ladder, hating the creaking noises it makes as you do. It sounds like it’s going to snap at any minute, and you try to go up as fast as you can, but one wrong move and you’ll easily slip, some of the rust that flakes off of the ladder enough to make you slip up. 

“They were circles,” Ghost says, exasperated, “I didn’t know if that made a difference.” 

“I thought British people were supposed to know everything about tea,” You roll your eyes, putting your hand on the next rusty rung up on the ladder. 

“Yeah, L.t,” Soap agrees with you teasingly, the wind hitting his mic, making it obvious that he’s running, “Thought ye Brits were s’possed to ken everything ‘bout tea.” 

You laugh quietly to yourself as you finally make it to the top of the building, the top just high enough for you to look at the few soldiers below and hear a majority of their conversations without them noticing you.

You get to the edge of the rooftop and pull the sniper rifle you’d been carrying around off of your back, glad to finally be back in your element rather than trying to get in undercover, and set it up. 

You pull the stand out and set it on the edge of the roof, and look through the scope of the rifle, lining it up so that it’s aiming directly at one of the soldier’s heads, specifically the one that was standing directly out of the entrance you originally were meant to try and get into—but doing this didn’t change much.

Regardless of if you got in or not, he would’ve died, and the others would’ve gotten in too. You getting in first was just meant to make it more efficient.

You press down on the PTT button on your earpiece as you look through the scope of your sniper rifle, keeping the aim on the soldier in front of the entrance, “The guy in front of the entrance is just standing still, so whenever you need me to, I can shoot ‘im down.” 

“I don’t think we need to get in just yet,” Price hums, “But maybe in a minute.” “M’kay,” You hum, taking your eye away from the scope, instead just looking over at the enemy soldiers. You lay on your stomach, leaning your head down a bit to try and listen in on the enemy’s conversations easier, trying your best not to make yourself too obvious.

The conversations were pretty boring and almost the same for every soldier you’d eavesdropped on, for the most part. Enemy soldiers joking around, talking about what they’ll do once they’re on leave—like they would be able to do that after you completed your assignment—and just some general team camaraderie.

The lackluster subjects of their conversations weren’t bad at all, no, in fact, you could care less what they talk about. 

It was their stupid accents you hated. 

Are you surrounded by British people everyday? Yes. Does that stop you from hating on the British everyday? No. Okay, maybe the accents aren’t stupid, but God, they had the thickest cockney accents you’d heard in your entire life, and it was making your eavesdropping so much harder, and had almost been the reason you were given away earlier.

They used slang words that you’re certain you’ve never heard before in your life, and used analogies that didn’t even make sense—you heard one of them use the words, verbatim, ‘Don’t get stroppy’. Stroppy? Stroppy? 

You narrow your eyes down at the soldiers below you, listening to a conversation they’d just started up. 

“—eah, ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do anything about it, so now we have to camp out here and wait for somethin’ to happen,” One of the soldiers scoffs, “I’m telling you, man, if I see that skull-masked bloke runnin’ ‘round out here, I’m legging it from ‘im immediately.” 

You draw your eyebrows together in confusion, but you stay silent for now. Isn’t that exactly what the other soldier said? Are they like a hive mind or something?

“You’re legging it?” The other soldier asked, sounding almost incredulous, “What happened to you chattin’ to some of the others about your loyalty and what not?” “All that’s irrelevant when the fuckin’ grim reaper rolls around and starts murkin’ people like he’s been doing for the entirety we’ve been here, mate,” The first soldier laughs, “You think I wanna be here when he does that?” 

“Don’t act like a prat about it, man—fuckin’ talking’ like you can outrun him.” “A prat? I’m not—” You tune out the rest of their argument and instead try and figure out what they were saying.

A prat? Legging it? Can’t be arsed? What the fuck? You push the PTT button on your earpiece and as quietly as you can, you ask, “I need some help. Serious help. Life or death situation.” Immediately, Price’s voice rings through, “What? What is it? What happened?” “The soldiers are British and I can’t tell what they’re saying,” You answer, ignoring Price’s relieved sigh on his end, “I need help.” “Jesus, fuck, don’t scare me like that,” Price sighs, taking a few breaths before continuing, “Alright, what do you need help with?” 

“Figuring out what they’re saying.” This time, you hear Gaz’s voice crackle through, “Well, you’ve got three British people here—tell us what he’s saying.” 

“One of the guys was talking about ‘legging it’ if he saw Ghost heading towards him, and talked about Ghost ‘murking’ people, and then the other guy he was talking to told him he was being a ‘prat’ about it and he got all offended,” You eloquently say into the earpiece, watching as the argument gets a little more heated. You can hear an amused huff from Ghost on his end and a scoff from Soap in return. 

“They’re just saying they’re gonna run away if they see Ghost because he’s been killing a lot of their soldiers, and the other guy said he was being a prat, which I guess is like…” Gaz pauses to think of how to explain the slang term before settling on, “Someone who’s kind of full of themselves, I guess. Or ignorant. Either or.” 

“They couldn’t just say that?” You muse quietly, still staring down at the enemy soldiers. 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that,” Price’s voice cuts through, “Go ahead and shoot the guy down. I’m ready to head in.”

“Got it,” You hum, quickly putting your eye back up to your scope and readjusting it a bit before quietly warning, “Shooting him now.” 

You pull the trigger and the enemy goes down immediately, and through your scope you can see the small twitching of his body as the other soldier starts to freak out.

You quickly aim the gun at his still-alive friend and shoot him down as well, silently congratulating yourself on your good aim and continuing to look through the scope, watching as Price runs in with Gaz and a few other soldiers. 

They struggle with the door for a moment and you sigh before pressing in the PTT button on your earpiece and quietly saying, “Price, Gaz, move away from the door for a sec.”

Wordlessly, they do as they’re told, and you take the opportunity to line up the gun’s aim with the complex electronic panel on the outside of the door and pull the trigger, shooting the most crucial part of the panel, causing it’s functions to disrupt and as a result, the doors open. 

“Thanks for that,” Gaz breathes out as Price kicks open the door, his voice cut off a bit at the end as he takes his hand off the PTT button too quickly in order to follow after Price. 

“Uh huh. Of course,” You say offhandedly, taking your eye away from the scope of your sniper rifle and listening to the loud sirens go off in the facility the others break into, and push yourself up so that you can sit up straight to properly watch it. You grunt as you sit up, stretching your arms out for a moment before letting them fall into your lap. 

“Are they in?” Soap asks, curious, his voice a little strained and breathy. There’s no loud gusts of wind coming through his mic anymore, and you look around for a moment, before your eyes catch on to him climbing up a ladder to get to the rooftop adjacent to yours.

Your lips twitch into a smile at the sight of him completely clueless to your presence and you press your PTT button to talk. 

“Yeah, they’re in,” You say, watching as he finally gets to the rooftop, “Didn’t you hear the sirens?” 

You can see Soap’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion for a moment, and he looks around for a moment before finally seeing you on the rooftop directly next to his, and he looks surprised for a moment before a grin splits across his face. You see him press the PTT button on his mic as well. 

“I did, yeah, just wanted tae be sure,” He says into his mic, looking right at you as he does, “It’s a surprise seeing you here.” 

“Imagine how I feel,” You muse, almost to yourself, before looking away from Soap and speaking up, “Ghost, you don’t wanna join us on the rooftops?” 

“Absolutely not,” He replies almost immediately, making you huff out a small laugh and Soap’s grin grow, “I’m perfectly fine on the ground.” 

“Where are you?” You ask, scanning the area around you for Ghost, “I feel like I haven’t seen you this whole time.” 

“I’m just behind the facility,” Ghost hums, voice still a low whisper, “I’m gonna be heading in once Gaz and Price make it to the second floor to clean up the first, in case there’s anyone left.” 

“You’ve been behind the facility this whole time?” Soap’s voice cuts through, surprised by the fact. 

“Mhm,” Ghost hums. 

“It’s a bit boring back there, innit?” Gaz’s voice crackles through, his voice a little breathy, “You can sweep the first floor, by the way. Should be nobody left, though. Pretty sure all the soldiers were just faffing around, not doing much.” 

“Fucking faffing around?” You ask incredulously to yourself, though apparently your voice is loud enough to make Soap chuckle. 

As if he can read your mind, Price’s voice comes through, “Faffing around is just doing nothing or doing nothing particularly productive, [c/n].” 

You sigh and push your PTT button this time, talking into your mic, “You couldn’t just say that, Gaz? You had to say something silly like faffing around?” 

“It’s not silly,” Gaz says, his frown audible, “They were faffing around.” 

“Jesus, fuck,” You breathe out, laughing lightly, “It’s totally silly.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah it is.”

“No it’s—” 

“I just want one day where you two don’t start up stupid arguments like this,” Price’s tired sigh comes through, “Just one day, I beg of you both.” 

“Aw, Captain, we were just faffing around,” You whine playfully, the misuse of the slang making Soap cover his mouth with his hand to muffle his laughter and you hear Ghost groan into his mic. 

“That is absolutely not how you use that,” Gaz says, though you can hear some laughter in his voice—from your very non-British accent saying British phrases, you presume, a small grin gracing your lips at the thought. 

“It sounded natural to me,” You lie straight through your teeth, shrugging even though only Soap can see you. 

“You’re insufferable,” Gaz groans, making you laugh quietly, “Never use British slang again, please.” 

“What if I get a British accent? Will that fix it?”

“Nothing can fix what you’ve said today, [c/n].”

“Well that’s dramatic,” You scoff, “I’ll learn British just for you guys.” 

“Holy shit, please stop talking,” Price’s exasperated voice interrupts the both of you, “You’re both insufferable. Drop it.” 

“… I don’t think I will,” You say defiantly, making all three British people in the same voice channel as you groan in unison, the sound sounding like some sort of middle school choir trying to sing in harmony, “I’ll use Duolingo or something to learn it.” 

“British isn’t a language you learn, you muppet,” Price grumbles, making you snort. 

“Muppet?” 

“It’s someone who’s dumb and clueless and can’t take a hint, like you,” Ghost defines, “And Soap, most of the time.” 

“Daen’t go draggin’ mae into this,” Soap’s voice quickly cuts through, “I haven’t said onything.” 

“Uh, yes you absolutely did, earlier, remember?” Gaz argues, ignoring Price’s protests for him to stop arguing, “About Ghost being stupid with the tea thing?” 

“Oh, I’ll have you all know—” 

“Ghost, don’t start—” 

You listen as the once casual, teasing conversation turns into an argument and chuckle quietly to yourself, knowing that they’d be arguing about this until you all finished your assignment.

[sixstepsaway]

so here's the thing

i've seen a bunch of people say on twitter and stuff how... ed's behavior is very abusive and his anger is dangerous and he isn't romantic lead material because of it

and i get where they're coming from

but to me the main issue isn't putting ed in the position of a romantic lead, but not crafting the narrative around his characterization so that it allows for a spicy romantic pirates-in-love narrative instead of...whatever this is.

i'm going to try and explain this. idk if i'll do well but i'll try

the way she show presents stede is as an innocent baby who isn't really equipped for pirate life. he goes into a fugue/disassociative state whenever there's any real violence, apparently, and needs protecting by other characters when things get too rough - for example when ed is telling ned lowe not to take the poker to stede.

that's fine! it's honestly adorable to see a masc character being so soft around the edges and being protected by other characters this way.

(i'm not going to touch on stede's... eh... not great characterization this season rn)

then there's izzy, who is shown as a bit violent, a bit rough around the edges. he's more likely to draw a sword or throw a punch or hit someone with a chair or take a punch like a champ. violence is just part of life for him and that's okay, it just Is, from small things like smacking stede on the ass to bigger things like being wall slammed, it's not all that big or bad for violence to happen around and with him, he tends to give as good as he gets (there's some nuance here but i'm talking the macro themes not the micro of what izzy does vs is done to him)

and finally there's ed

ed is presented as violent (stabbing knives at guys, telling fang to use the snail fork etc) and used to a life of violence, and then in season 2 he's presented as really violent, his anger coming out in dangerous and terrifying ways

and frankly, i'd be super into it if he and izzy were the main ship and that twisted dynamic from the first two episodes of s2 was explored and fleshed out into something deeper

friends to enemies to lovers who fight and fuck. angry pirates who lay hands on each other, who break the whole ship with each other in the heat of passion.

except instead, s2 gives us... abuse. it gives us izzy cringing and lowering his head and trying to protect the kids crew from ed's angry outbursts.

so when stede comes back and he's still soft around the edges and ed headbutts him and it's deliberate, it's... not a great look, and the vibes are a bit skewed

if stede fought back, if when ed struck out at him he struck back, if they fought rather than it being one-sided, if it was friends to enemies to lovers and not presented as healthy, but maybe they can work their way there, who knows, maybe even more like anne bonnie and mary read because hey, they were doing something very similar?

except they were both into it. they were both enjoying the fighting and the fucking and the burning down the house.

stede's not enjoying it.

i cannot describe how much i hate this sequence just because of the way stede flinches

anne and mary don't!! mary jumps at the unexpected bang but she doesnt flinch, she doesn't cover her face like she thinks the vase will be coming for her not the wall and anne? looks so into it

and the thing is that in real life, no, you don't want to date someone who throws shit around, or headbutts you

but in fiction when it's two fucked up people doing this shit together like anne and mary?

that can be fun.

but instead what we've been given is stede flinching and apologizing to ed and then all of ed's...what, semi-redemption???? is done away from the other collection of people he abused, and then he spends some time on a fishing boat wearing a dog collar and everything is fine because he's good now and won't be doing anything bad ever again

and it's just... poor writing. the vibes are rancid.

i spent a really big chunk of time between s1 and s2 defending ed. i kept saying how what he did to izzy by making him eat his toe wasn't abuse, it was a one-off and abuse isn't a one-off thing it's a pattern, and then s2 made it a pattern.

explicitly. explicitly a pattern.

not just one toe but three.

jim saying "you're in an unhealthy relationship with blackbeard"

and all ed offered izzy was a "sorry about your leg" which might've been fine if izzy survived and they could work on this more, but instead that's all the apology and closure izzy will ever get

ed threw a chair and a vase and made stede flinch in fear and stede was right to do that. what part of any of this implies this will never happen again? that stede won't press the wrong button at some point and be on the receiving end? none of it

and if we'd been presented with a s2 stede bonnet who could handle himself and stand up for himself and fight back, then maybe i could imagine that turning into a weird sexy fucked up anne/mary like thing and maybe that could be why they put that episode in, but instead it feels like that episode was going, "look, see, ed's violence is fine because these two are fine with it with each other"

but stede isn't

ed and izzy or ed and stede in an unhealthy battle of a relationship could be such a fun, interesting and downright sexy thing to watch unfold on tv, and could honestly end somewhere far more down the chill end of the spectrum, but that's not what we've been given here

i cannot argue that ed isn't an abuser anymore, and not just of izzy but of the whole crew. he terrified frenchie.

it's not good writing to try and lean into the idea that ed and the pirates are violent and live a life of violence, so it's okay that ed's been violent, while simultaneously presenting his violence as traumatic and abusive, and then less than three episodes later saying oh it's fine now, he's just a little meow meow who can do no wrong, see?

especially considering they had him murdering people at the end of the season. and sure, you can say the english are just cannon fodder and they dont 'count', but they did before. ed explicitly did not kill before, and that included the english, or the spanish, or anyone else. so either they count or they don't, but flipping him on a dime makes no sense.

ALSO

having ed be the son of an abusive man who threw plates at his mother and made her cringe and then having ed kill his father to protect his mother and then a season later having ed become the kind of man who throws chairs and vases and makes his love interest cringe is, again, not bloody optimal

i want to say again i dont CARE about tv always presenting healthy relationships or tv always giving us aspirational goals. i want messy fucked up dynamics and terrible people making terrible choices, and still, to this day, i fucking love ed teach. i would honestly love to have seen them continue with ed's darkness and bring stede into it and see where they went with that, to have stede kill ned lowe and not just bury his feelings in ed but get off on it, enjoy the violence, and see where that led, but no

and so instead all we end up with is a protagonist who is being set up for a lifetime of abuse from an intimate partner, and a romantic lead who abuses his love interests (and yes. izzy is a love interest, he is set up like one and positioned like one and treated like one), frightens his love interests with his violence, is erratic and most of all inconsistently written. he was so sorry about scaring fang as though he hadn't been deliberately terrifying the whole crew for fuck knows how long? what?!

the whole fandom has spent so long saying, "no no, i know stede bonnet irl was a slave owner, but ofmd is using the names and not any real piracy, it's more disney piracy, you know? so that kind of stuff doesnt exist!" and then they flipped around and went "blackbeard is blackbeard and so he is evil and does all these horrible things" and i dont know how to rationalize the two sides of that because it feels so out of place

i'm getting rambly, this isnt a particularly well constructed thought process, i just feel like we were robbed both of a toxic, violent relationship that could be fun to see explored on tv and a soft and sweet love story between two middle aged men exploring their first loves in one fell swoop and there's no way for s3 to bring either of those things back because they got utterly torpedoed by making ed a horrible person

ugh

[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 1)

Word Count - 3k 

Summary - Doc (y/n) is a medic at a base camp when they meet Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley, when they meet for a second time it is because he’s been injured. During the two weeks it takes him to fully recover they develop an unspoken friendship. Simon’s next assignment is to escort a convoy across enemy lines, which would have been a walk in the park if they weren’t a part of that convoy. Even worse is when his worries and fears become real. 

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Trauma, Opioids (they’re prescribed but i just want to add this in case), Slow Burn, Eventual Smut  

A/N -  im working on part 2 rn but it may take a little time for me to finish and upload but im in the middle of finals and have been busy with studying so please forgive me  

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The first time Ghost came through your tent he was bringing in his comrade, Soap, for medical attention. It was a gunshot to the arm but nothing detrimental. A clean shot and the bullet had gone right through.

Ghost had remained quiet and observant but answered any questions you had about the wound. 

“When did this happen?” 

“Half an hour ago. Give or take.”  

“Any meds?” 

“Shot of adrenalin.” 

You had sewen up the gunshot and nursed Soap back to health. However, Mr.MacTavish had been a difficult patient and after a week you discharged him early just to get him out of your hair. On multiple occasions you caught him trying to escape, claiming he was fine and ready for combat at least once a day. Most special ops were deluded like that, most thought they were superhumans. In a way, they kind of were with the speed at which they recovered. You would never tell them that. It would just go to their head.   

Your tent has since been upgraded to a deployable field hospital. With a total of 50 beds and 15 staff members. 

The second time Ghost made his way your way was on a stretcher. It was a deep and disturbing stab wound to his side, and if it were even an inch deeper it would have punctured his lung. It took you the whole two weeks he needed for recovery to get the full story out of him. Apparently, it was a series of unfortunate events which resulted in a hand-to-hand scrabble. He’d dominated his opponent and came out victorious but not without injury. He’d been all on his own for hours before finally making it to Exfil. In those few hours, he lost a lot of blood and was without any sort of analgesic until he was in the helicopter on his way here. Whatever the field medic had given him for the pain was enough to completely incapacitate the beast of a man. All the same, it was doing its job and controlling the pain. Your team had to do an emergency surgery at the base camp because he wasn’t stable enough for a medivac to a major hospital. 

The man was in a foul mood when he awoke the next day. He wasn’t rude and uncivilized, but he made it clear the last place he wanted to be was bedbound in a field hospital. When it was mentioned he was going to be sent back home for recovery, he downright refused.  

Strangely enough, it was also the first time you saw his entire face. When he first came in you were so amped on adrenalin and stressed that you didn’t register that his mask had been removed. It was immediately established that no other personnel apart from the small 3-man team already working on him would be allowed to interact with him to ensure his identity remained confidential. It was more for their safety than his if everyone was being candid. Even in his charts any identifiers were redacted and replaced with “John Doe”. 

Two days post-op he insisted he be relocated to his barracks because he “could handle his own”. You compromised and told him you’d allow it under the one condition that he lets you come and check on him at least once a day. He did, but he didn’t exactly have a choice either because you would have shown up anyway. 

That was where you were right now. 

You knocked and waited for a response before letting yourself in, your supplies and kit in hand. It was just after noon when you arrived. You scanned his room. It was clean, almost barren. His blinds were half open, and the window cracked to let in the cool, fresh air. The clothes he was wearing when he came wounded were still in the biohazard bag we gave him when he left. The tray of food on the desk beside his bed was left untouched, and judging by the food variety it was from breakfast. 

Upon hearing your arrival Ghost had forced himself into a sitting position. His face flushed with the change of position. His dark eyes were rimmed red from a lack of sleep, and his facial hair was growing. He was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants with the insignia of his old company and a plain black shirt. The shirt was loose and thin, but it did nothing to hide the muscle hiding underneath.   

You rolled your eyes, blew out a breath, tossed your bag onto the bed beside him and pulled out the rolling chair at his desk to sit in front of him. 

“You look like shit,” you knocked his elbow in a silent demand to lift his arm. 

He grimaced but did it without complaint, “Ya, well I feel like shit.” 

You lifted his shirt to get a look at the bandage underneath. There wasn’t any shadowing or blood seeping through so you gave him a quick nod before dropping the shirt, “Have you taken anything?” 

He jerked his chin to the little orange bottle on his desk, “One of those.” 

You picked it up to read the label, Oxycodone 10 mg OD.  

“Nice, but you should be taking it with food,” you tilted your head in the direction of the untouched food. He merely shrugged, his eyes weary. His eyes turned the same golden brown of a whiskey glass in the sunlight.  

You discreetly took his respiratory rate before moving on, “Any side effects? Nausea? Headache? Upset stomach?”  

“Nope,” he said in exasperation. He leaned back onto his elbows, his long body stretching out across the width of the bed with his legs still hung over the side in preparation for you to change his dressings. 

You gave him an unimpressed look, before pointing to the garbage bin he had at his bedside. There wasn’t anything in it but it was placed here in preparation,  “If you aren’t going to be compliant I’m going to bring you back to the infirmary.”   

“It came and went already. I’m fine,” he moved to lift his shirt, hinting at you to hurry up get the dressing change done and leave. 

You scooted the chair closer, preparing your materials and supplies on his bedside table. When you removed the bandage and revealed the stitches you clicked your tongue, he hadn’t pulled any of them but the fact that it was still bleeding made it apparent he’d been more active than he should have been. 

“How’s it lookin’ down there, Doc?” He rolled, his gaze following your movements with predatory grace. You glowered at the nickname. 

You hummed, “Mhm.” and started cleansing the wound with saline before donning gloves and cleaning it more thoroughly. He hissed at the contact and you looked up, he had pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. His body tensed, and his muscles taut. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive. Alluring even. Especially when he was in this position, and had that look on his face.  

“Are you going to survive?” You asked pulling back slightly.

“Just cold s’all.” 

He made it through the rest of the dressing change without so much as a flinch. In fact, he might have fallen asleep near the end for a second. He didn’t open his eyes until you finished securing the gauze with the last piece of tape. His lids were heavy and his mouth was pulled down into a slight frown. 

“You going to eat lunch?” you tugged off your gloves and threw them into the bin beside you. 

He nodded sluggishly and laid back on the bed, folding his hands over his abdomen. Maybe the Oxycodone was making him drowsy, but he looked like he desperately needed rest. 

“Did you sleep well last night?” You rolled back on the chair, giving him space. He shook his head. You quickly finished cleaning up any remaining supplies or trash before filling out his chart, “Maybe if you didn’t keep reopening your wound you’d be healing faster and sleep better.”     

He replied with a quiet, almost boyish chuckle, “I’ve been behaving, don’t worry.” 

“You’ve been nothing but extra paperwork,” you retort, tapping his leg with your foot. You stood with a snap of your notebook. “What do you want to drink with your lunch?” 

“Just water,” his eyes remained closed and you made your way for the door, bringing his cold breakfast with you. 

You returned with a new tray of food, this time you picked foods that would be easy on the stomach. The damn fool must have smelt it as you walked down the hall with it because before you could knock he was opening the door and stepping aside to let you in. 

“Such a gentleman,” you tapped his shoulder as you passed. 

He seemed to perk up at the brief contact, “As always.” 

You placed his tray on the table before picking up your bag to get ready to leave for the day, “Any last request?” When you turned to face him your cheeks heated at the way he regarded you. His face softened, melting into something akin to respect. He was so expressive and you didn’t think he was aware. Perhaps it was because he had grown accustomed to the protection of his mask. You almost didn’t wait for his answer before taking your leave, making an excuse that you needed to report back. You did, but it wasn’t anything urgent, you just needed to get out of his room. Away from him. If only to remember how to breathe. 

The process for the following two weeks was the same, only each day you stayed a little longer. You talked a little more. Despite his reputation, he was… normal. He was a little aloof and standoffish at times, and horribly, criminally unfunny, but he grew on you. You were slightly upset and maybe even a little scared you’d never see him again when you officially discharged him. Even worse, you were scared to see him again. Only, every time he returned from a mission he would come to pay you a visit. You might have considered calling him a friend. Might have considered wanting more from him.  

Soap would sometimes occupy Simon, having made a connection with you of his own. A different type of connection, but a wholesome one. Soap had made a jest about just recruiting you as the 141’s personal field medic instead of bothering you at work every other week. Simon had shot the idea down like water on a fire, and the topic was never brought up again. He simply stated, “Never letting that happen.” 

He had his reservations about you entering an active warzone, let alone going on assignments with a squad like the 141. He’s never outright said it but he developed a soft spot for you. Over the months he had unintentionally carved a hole in his chest just for you; a place where he could protect and watch over you. His fondness for you only made it all the harder when he received the 141’s next assignment. It was a regular convoy escort but he felt sick when he read your name on the list. He even went so far as to double-check the itinerary with Captain Price. Went so far as to try and get you removed from the assignment. When you learnt of what he was doing you cornered him and chewed his head off. You understood his trepidations and his actions, but both of you knew he was out of line when he tried getting you booted from the mission. 

The convoy, mainly consisting of medical personnel, equipment, and supplies, would be moving right through enemy lines to get from your current base to a new one a few towns over. It would be dangerous, you weren’t naive, but you were your own person. You were simmering, but you couldn’t help the twinge of regret for yelling at him. 

In the days leading up to the mission Simon had grown distant, but remained watchful of you. He kept quiet, but you could see it in the shadow of his eyes, and in the muscles between his shoulders that he had a lot to say. 

There was a total of 5 medical personnel that were being transported, yourself included. You would be a vehicle with Butters, who was elected as the head medic for the new base, and your driver was going to be none other than Captain Price. 

As everyone was preparing to leave and loading up the last supplies, you caught Price and Simon in a quiet conversation, you couldn’t hear their exchange but you could tell it was heated. Price rolled back on his feet, fixing Simon with a tight-lipped smile before shaking his head. With that Simon backed away from him, pointed a finger at him saying one last thing before he turned and stalked towards the vehicle he would be in, obviously unsatisfied with Prices’ response.   

Butters sidled up next to you, his pack slung over his arm and offering you yours in his other hand, “There has been a slight change of plans,” he sighed, “Our voyage is now split into two days, we'll be staying overnight in a town in between. Our route hasn’t been completely cleared yet.” 

You turned your attention to him, your brows furrowing, “So they want us to have a sleepover behind enemy lines?” You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it. 

Butters shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the turn of events. Butters always seemed to keep his thoughts and feelings close to his chest, but it was clear very little invoked thoughts and emotions out of him. He enlisted when he was 18 years old; he was 32 now with a wife, 3 kids, and another on the way. There was a high probability he would be asking for leave in the next couple of months so he could be there for his next child's birth. It sucked because he was the only other medic you were close with. You’d miss him. 

Butters and you jumped into the back seats of one car with Price, you’d be in the middle of the convoy, Ghost, Soap, and another medic in the other would take the rear, and Gaz and Roach would be in another vehicle at the front. There was also a total of five transport trucks. The convoy would be a giant target as we passed through, which is why the 141 was tasked with our protection.   

Price explained that the ride would be slow-moving and briefed the two of you on what to expect. He instructed you both to stay alert and that there was a chance of running into a hostile.   

The first couple hours were incredibly boring, but Butters alleviated some of it by tasking you with going over the manifestation of everything you guys were hauling with you. You also made conversation with Price about his last leave, he had returned home and “sat on the patio and smoked cigars” for two weeks.

 The sound was louder than anything you ever experienced in your life. You didn’t even have time to scream before the force of the detonation knocked you unconscious. 

It couldn’t have been longer than a couple of minutes when you finally regained consciousness. The vehicle was now completely upside down, the wheels still spinning as they faced the sky. The seatbelt was the only thing keeping you from landing face-first into shattered glass and rubble. 

In front of you, Price was already pulling himself out the window and onto the street. He looked back into the cab and for you and said something. 

Nothing was processing right. Not his words. Not your thoughts. Not the sight before you. Everything was foggy, as if it was a dream. 

Price reached back for you, bracing you with an arm before releasing your seatbelt. Your knees cracked as they hit the roof, the glass ripping through your uniform. The pain didn’t even register. Price hauled you out with him before going back in for Butters. 

Only he didn’t. 

Instead, he returned with his gun. Before he could stop you, you crawled back in for Butters to get him yourself. 

You froze. There was no saving him. There was almost nothing left. 

He was on the same side the anti-vehicle mine went off. 

You slowly backed out, shaking your head not believing your own eyes. 

Price was crouched beside you, his back to the vehicle, his eyes revealed no emotion. 

You looked back down the road you had just come down and the transport truck that was tailing you had stopped before entering the intersection. Beside them was the truck that Ghost and Soap were in. Ghost was jumping out, his gun drawn. Soap slid from the passenger seat to the driver's side. The medic they were escorting jumped out the back and ran for the transport truck. 

It was then you noticed that Price was shooting at something down the intersection. You could see the flash as the bullets left the barrel and smell the gunpowder, but you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything. 

You brushed your fingers to your ear and when you looked at them they came away red. Blood.

The sheer force of the blast ruptured your eardrums. 

You watched as Ghost applied suppressing fire and sidestepped in time with the truck as Soap rolled it into the intersection.

Price looked over his shoulder at you, his mouth moving. You could see it in his eyes the moment he connected the dots and caught that you couldn’t hear he turned to Ghost. Who jerked his head towards you and met your gaze. His eyes were wide, panicked. He ditched the cover of the truck and sprinted over while Price took over the covering fire. He slid into you, his gloved finger coming up to grab the sides of your face. He was gentle but urgent as he turned your head from side to side to inspect the damage. 

You caught your reflection in one of the side mirrors, and couldn't recognize the person staring back at you. Their expression cataonic. Blood leaked out their ears, down their neck, and blood dripped out of their nose. Their teeth had gone through their bottom lip from the impact of the blast.  

A low ringing began as sounds started to come back to you. Then it turned into an agonizing peal like you had stuck your head in a fire alarm. Ghost didn’t give you a chance to cover your ears because he was already pulling you into his chest, pressing one ear into his chest, and covering the other with his free hand. Using his remaining hand he raised his gun and pulled the trigger. 

Soap pulled their truck up next to yours, making a barricade with them. He slid out, being careful to keep his head down and ready to join the fight. 

Ghost started walking back towards the buildings behind, using his body to shield you from stray bullets. He smelt of gunpowder, sweat, and dust. He smelt familiar. His hard body against yours felt familiar. You felt the reverberation of his voice in his chest as he yelled something. You stumbled back with him as he moved, but he was practically carrying you at this point so you wouldn’t fall. His gun dangled at his hip. Soap was at the door to the nearest building, kicking the door open, the lock shattering. 

The ringing in your ears was still present but you make out their muffled yelling as the rest of them filed in. Ghost sat you down at the far wall and behind rows of shelving units. Price and Soap guarded the entrance.

Price started talking into his radio, “Gaz! We got enemy fire coming from southwest of the fire hall. We’re down one and another has been wounded. We are fresh out of wheels, they planted fucking mines,” he yelled into his radio over the sound of oncoming and outgoing gunshots.  

“We’re on our way,” Gaz’s voice replied through the Ghost radio that was attached to his shoulder.  

Ghost then knelt back down in front of you and swore. His hands shook as he reached for a rectangular pack at his hip, a little red insignia printed on the front. A med-pack. He dumped its contents onto the floor, rummaging through it until he found what he was looking for. 

He lifted your leg and started wrapping your thigh, but not before you saw what he was swearing at. There was a two-inch gash in your leg exposing raw flesh and muscle underneath. 

“That’s not good,” you breathed. It felt like your throat was torn to shreds; as if you had inhaled the explosion itself. 

“You’re fine,” he didn’t look up as he wrapped. It was tight enough that it hurt and you could feel your heartbeat crashing against the pressure. Despite that, the bandage wasn’t going to last.

You choked a laugh, “You might want to get out your, ‘I told you so’s’ while you still can,” You meant for it to come off as nonchalant but your voice quivered. 

“You’re fine,” he repeated. 

“I left a kit in the back seat,” You sucked in a sharp breath when he pulled the gauze one last time to tie a knot, “I don’t know if it survived though.” 

Because it was right next to Butters before the mine tore through the side SUV he was on.

Before I could say another word, Ghost was moving towards the door. Requested for an update, then asked for covering fire before exiting the door. He returned moments later with the kit. When he brought it over he made sure to place it behind him so you couldn’t see the condition of it. You imagined it to be macabre. 

As the adrenalin pumping through your body drained it began to tremble, cold rushing into your bones. Blood was already starting to dot the surface of the bandage. 

“Powder,” You instructed Ghost. He moved fast, cutting the bandage away with the blade he pulled from its sheath at his thigh, and tearing open the packaging. It was a quick-clotting powder used to stop the bleeding. 

You were no doubt in shock because you couldn’t feel the pain anymore. He rewrapped your leg; somehow, it was even tighter than before. You heard Gaz give an update over the radio, asking for more details and you could hear Price relaying the plan. 

Your breaths became shallow and sedated, your strength ebbing away. You fought the urge to close your eyes in fear of never opening them again. 

Ghost tapped a hand on your cheek, “Don’t be falling asleep on me, now Doc.” 

You were barely able to ground out a “Sir, yes, sir,” before your chin hit the front of your chest and succumbed to the darkness pulling at you.

Part 2 

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

[thetardisisnotourdivision]

Ok I mean absolutely no offence to anyone but;

All the people saying that making Susan a villain would be a bold move - have you SEEN the classic series??? This autistic teenage girl has more feral energy than any other companion except perhaps Leela and was TERRIFYING when she wanted to be. She tried to stab Ian and Barbara. She fucked up a bunch of cavemen and put a human skull on a flaming torch for comedic effect.

Not to MENTION the amount of trauma that girl has. Time War? Losing her entire family twice/three times?? (Because she'd have outlived her human family on Earth. The third family is Team TARDIS btw). Abandonment issues??? It's not a huge leap to assume that something traumatic happened on Gallifrey, given how she acts. She's also related to the Timeless Child - god knows how many times she's regenerated - for all we know, she discovered a long time ago that she is incapable of dying, and she has no idea why. Couple that with violent tendencies and an extreme talent for telepathy (even the Doctor was surprised by how strong her abilities were) and you've got an extremely messed up character.

Make Susan the villain! Show kids that if life fucks you up, sometimes you fuck up too, and that doesn't mean you're unworthy of love! Have her commit atrocities to try and get the Doctor to come back to her! Let her fuck shit up!

[bookofbonbon]

strut: through a roundabout - coriolanus snow

Characters: Coriolanus Snow x Reader.

Warnings: Vehicular manslaughter- maybe.

Summary: You're always late to work and today was no different.

Word Count: 400+.

A/N: Inspired by one of my posts on my other blog @sihtriggyr. Enjoy!

You were late- again.

Three weeks under the tutelage of your infamous uncle and you could count on one hand the number of times you had arrived to work on time; your tardiness toward your employment quickly cementing itself as a bad habit you couldn't quite shake- not that you were trying to. Not really. As your uncle said, cars are a luxury few can afford, there is no traffic in the Capitol and yet you are always late.

You glance toward the digital numbers flashing on the dashboard, the clock telling you that you had ten minutes until sign on, however, given the snail pace that you were traveling you wouldn't arrive until five minutes after that.

You approach the unnecessarily large roundabout, merging smoothly into one of the several lanes. Pressing your foot down on the pedal, the vehicle lurches forward, steadily gaining speed. Today, you decide, would be the day you would arrive at work on time this week. The thought however, is quickly banished as you glimpse a flash of red in the middle of all of the lanes.

You slam urgently down on the brakes, steering wheel jerking to the side accompanied with the screech of tyres and the smell of burning rubber but, there's a loud thud anyway- you were too late; you had just hit a young man with your car.

Your heart pounds heavily in your ears, fear poisoning your chest and spreading through the rest of your body as you throw the car door open and run to the aid of the young man without a second thought for yourself.

He's on his side when you approach. Breath catching in your throat, you kneel behind him, instinctively pressing two fingers to his neck to check his pulse. It's faint but it's there and aside from his torn clothes and what looked to be a few scratches, the young man looked otherwise fine and you remember to breathe again.

With shaky hands, you ease the young man onto his back, a stab of annoyance replacing the fear that poisoned your chest as irritation begins to set in.

"What sort of idiot goes strutting through a roundabout?" you question angrily, fingers delicately brushing the centre of his palm.

So, finally you look at the young man- really look at him. Your nose wrinkles immediately, mouth twisting itself into a deep scowl at the familiar face.

Coriolanus Snow.

Coriolanus Snow is the sort of idiot who goes strutting through a roundabout.

Maybe you didn't feel so bad about hitting someone with your if it was him.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2023. All rights reserved.

[dreamsinmoonlight]

Dude, I need part 2 of Yandere Alastor with Angel Reader, could you do it?

(HERE WE GO! Part two: Electric Boogaloo. I dedicate it to Hoizer's "It Will Come Back". Because, I mean, that song is a yandere song to it's depths.

Part One: Oh Doe

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: yandere!Alastor, angel!reader

Genre: Same as before, yet maybe a little more? And a little hope even?!

Pairing: we both know what this is

Summary: After your reunion, you came to understand that you didn't understand some things. But other things never change.)

My Doe

In the weeks that followed since your arrival at the Hazbin Hotel, you come to understand more and yet at the same time you couldn't help but feel you didn't understand nearly enough.

Angel was a sweetheart, once you got past some of his stranger tendencies, the ease and constantness of his flirting and flaunting of his sexuality. At first you had been confused and flustered because you weren't used to such things, not at all, and you learned eventually there was an element of amusement to it for him, because as Husk liked to inform you "your wings show off way too much, kitten, and the spider loves watching you flounder". Which didn't exactly stop you honestly but you started to get past it and you started to notice the loneliness and the injuries and the sweeter aspects of him. No one liked to talk about it but sometimes you got him to agree to let you use your angelic magic to heal the worse of it and he's tell you such fascinating stories of hell with the brightest shine in his eyes, you couldn't help but like him.

Speaking of Husk he was much the same but it was more like getting past the grump and the walls the ex-Overlord had up. He had the most info to share with you, not to say that Charlie didn't but talking to her was like talking directly to a rainbow; she was sweet and optimistic and you loved and adored everything in that in her but when it came to the cold truth, it was Husk who seemed most willing to talk.

It took a few days before you found out why he knew your name and you learned he was in some ways like you: a collar and chain kept him tied to Alastor, unable to escape him anymore than you were to escape from your memories and past with him. There was a small edge of concern you caught early from his words to you, that Husk knew you were something Important to Alastor, in ways that made him all the more dangerous to you. There was some pity to it and you appreciated it to a degree though you tried so hard to smile and act as if it was nothing, as if you hadn't had nightmares again of that day, of the way Alastor had looked, had sounded, the feel of his hand on your cheek wet with blood, your own blood. Of the fear, of the pain, of the darkness before coming to as an angel in Heaven.

You met Lucifer, and he was a strange person who you felt oddly comfortable around because how could you hate someone who looked at their daughter with the love in his eyes? He was such a funny and energetic person and you were fascinated by the way he, this enemy of Heaven, could be such a shining light. And how much he and Charlie resembled each other.

You met Nifty, strange, insane Nifty, who laughed and ran around and ranted about bugs and looked at you with the widest stare before trying to stab you with the nearest implement; Angel had had to stop laughing first, Vaggie screaming as she held back the tiny cyclops, before he could explain what had happened during the battle. Ah, you thought; so this was the one who had given Adam the final blow. But the order to stab any angel she saw didn't seem to be completely gone and you just giggled and smiled and said it was okay. You didn't hold it against her in any way.

You met Cherry Bomb, Angel's friend, and you tried not to giggle because you knew her already so well. Sir Pentious spoke of her with such glowing warmth you couldn't see anything but what he surely saw when you looked at the punk explosives expert.

You learned about them, you became part of their group, and you worked hard to find all the ways you could possibly help the hotel, help Charlie, and you understood all that so much. But still you found you no longer understood Alastor.

The Alastor you knew had always been a gentleman and so was this Alastor but there was so much darkness to the way he moved. And you couldn't help but see something else when he smiled at you, hidden behind the cruelty, the violence, the obsession that you should have seen so long ago before it got too bad but no, it was far too late for regrets on that.

Always he was near, even now. You sat on a stool at the bar area, humming a soft tune to yourself as you waited for the others to come home; Charlie was out on a date with Vaggie, Angel had gone to his job and Husk was out gambling as he often did. Nifty was somewhere, she never left the hotel unless she was taken out by one of the others, and as for Alastor, well, he said something about needing to do a radio broadcast. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remembered the sinner who had whistled at you when you had gone out with Charlie the other way but you weren't too sure why they came to mind.

Your wings were stretched out and you could feel the eyes from the shadows; they were everywhere and here they were watching you. The first time he'd popped out of them you'd been terrified and Angel nearly threw every book in the study at him with words that an angel like you should never have to hear. Alastor let you keep your wings but the price seemed to be the shadows were always watching you, just in case. You shivered and bit back a whine, instinctively pulling your wings back in to wrap around you, a futile attempt to hide from the staring and the sensations you felt. The result was the feel of fingers along your feathers and an ache in your chest you attributed to fear and anxiety maybe mistakenly.

"Oh doe, look at you hiding away like a scared little fawn" came that staticky but clear voice, digging its way into your ears and leaving you wondering if it would be easier to stay inside or come out.

"Alastor," you whispered his name like an old prayer; it used to be something that gave you comfort, in a life long gone, when the one it belonged to had been a dear friend, a close friend. When you'd felt you known him. Not this stranger with the same voice and memories and feelings.

Those fingers became claws and you tried to swallow the whimper that threatened to leave you as you felt him get so close to ripping into your skin. Your blood would be golden now, not red, not red anymore; would it make him happy or angry?

"I suggest, my doe, that you not keep hiding from me," he said in a whisper that almost sounded sweet, almost familiar; for a second you could pretend it was dear sweet Alastor, before it crackled, "You wouldn't wish to upset me, now would you?"

Of course not. You remembered, you remembered too well, you remembered more often than not now that you saw him so often. This stranger who had the ghost of your old friend.

You hesitantly unfurled your wings and looked out, eyes wide as you looked upon the face of the greatest threat to your safety you knew. Those bright red eyes, that large yellow grin full of large yellow teeth all in points, the two tufts that you recognized as ears immediately, still standing up tall. He was still pleased, he was not angry yet, he was not annoyed yet. He would maybe not hurt you-

A small crackle of a chuckle left his mouth and you gasped as you felt his claws dig into your wings, puncturing thin sensitive skin, narrowly avoiding nerves that would leave you grounded if harmed. Feathers stained gold fell to the ground and you could not help but cry, the pain intense; your wings, like any flighted creature, all too delicate, all too sensitive. The tears came without ever a chance of holding back, of stopping them, and the softness of your cry, there was obviously something appealing in the way you looked and sounded because you saw that terrifying face soften and for a second, through the tears, you thought you saw your Alastor again.

"Oh doe, my doe," he said and pulled his claws free to cup your face in his hands; how many times would he streak your cheeks with tears and your own blood, "Have I told you how beautiful your eyes are when they're brimming with tears?"

He wiped your tears from your eyes, leaving more blood on you in his wake, before drawing his hand to his mouth and running his tongue along his claws. He still smiled, he never stopped, he never seemed to do anything else; you looked up at him and saw the emotions instead in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, shivering, shaking, bleeding, your wings aching in their urge to fold but unable to do so from the pain; you'd be fine, you'd be fine, you wouldn't die, you'd be fine.

"Don't apologize for being so brilliant to me," he said and his eyes narrowed, "Just never try to hide from me again; I haven't been able to see you in such a long time. I never wish to let you out of my sight again, that's why they're watching you after all."

"I'm sorry," you repeated and flinched as he reached out to touch your face again.

With your eyes closed you couldn't see his expression, not the way it wavered for a second, when the facade fell but returned long before you would ever know it was gone. Alastor stroked your cheek, admiring the way the golden blood painted your skin, and he tilted his head just a bit, just to the side.

"I'll forgive you, if you come up to my room," he told you and a jovial tone took over, "It has been so very long since the last time we sat about listening to music together, my doe, and I must say I have greatly missed it! The princess is a precious one and Husk does his best the dear boy but no one else I ever have known has understood the proper way to appreciate jazz as much as you do. Come, before the others return and surely drag you and/or I into another ridiculous and fanciful adventure; we're well overdue for one after all~"

You opened your eyes and looked at him and he was still smiling, still the same. Red and pink, deer demon, red eyes, yellow sharp teeth, dapper and torn all at once, fear and danger and violence in one neat form.

But you smiled back and you reached out to take his hand.

Alastor the Radio Demon you didn't understand. But you understood Alastor the radio host, the man who used to walk with you through the rain and scold you for giving away your umbrella every time. And that's who you saw smiling at you, even if just for a second.

[pascaloverx]

NO LIGHT

SUMMARY: Your life is simple. You are a pastry chef who has just opened a bakery near your home. A new life, being a new person. But when James Barnes shows up at your bakery injured, asking you to offer him shelter, your life takes a sudden turn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters in this fanfiction are not my creation and all belong to the Marvel universe. This story will feature scenes of violence, brief intense intimate moments, and inappropriate language. To the readers, I wish you a good read and ask that you engage with the fanfiction if you like it. Do not interact with this fanfiction if you are underage. Enjoy reading.

PREVIEW TWO

ONE

You are exhausted. What should have been the perfect end of the day turned into a real action movie right in front of you. And the worst part is, you still don't know the name of your handsome client. But that doesn't even matter. He'll probably be arrested anyway. And the question that most disturbs your mind is, "Are you being his accomplice?" But something else scares you more: how will he react when he finds out you hit his head on the ground twice? It's not your fault; you're not used to dragging anyone across the floor of your bakery.

"Are you planning to make a hole in the floor?" Barnes or whoever he is asks with a certain sarcasm. You didn't even notice you were pacing in circles in the back of the bakery. Barnes is lying on the floor, his forehead bleeding, and looking at you as if he's trying to figure out your bank password.

"Do you have a plan for us to escape from here? Will we need new identities? What will we be to each other? I was thinking about it, and maybe we could be dating. Fiancés would be weird since I don't know your first name, but definitely dating works. Or maybe you could be my husband who just lost his memory. Personally, I'm fine with a new identity as long as I can have a bakery and good company," you say nervously but trying to be confident while finishing biting your nails, which honestly are so bitten that your fingers are hurting. The handsome blue-eyed man quickly gets up from the floor and holds your hand, stopping you from biting another nail. His eyes are staring into your soul in the most penetrating way possible. It's almost hard to breathe.

"My name is James, in case you're interested to know. You don't need to be nervous, we won't have to run away. Now can you explain so that I understand how I ended up in the back of your bakery and why I feel like someone hammered my head?" Hearing your handsome client's name might have given you chills, but right now you're trying to find a way to say that you let him fall from your arms and dragged him by his feet into your establishment.

"I personally believe that our biggest problem is that you stabbed a guy. But if you want to talk about the damage to your head, I admit it. I admit that I wasn't prepared to to hold you. If it happens again, I promise to be more careful." You speak softly, like someone who wants to comfort the other person. Barnes looks at you like he's judging you.

"Does that mean you didn't bring the body of the guy in question into your bakery and he's outside?" Barnes concluded incorrectly but he seems to be disappointed in you. You wonder if at some point in your brief history together one day it seemed strong enough to carry two men. Of course he doesn't have to know personal things about you but I think he put a lot of faith in you.

"So, thanks for the vote of confidence. Obviously, after helping you—which you haven't thanked me for yet—I went to check on the other guy. And here's the bad news: he escaped. Or rather, he disappeared. And any sign of your fight: the knife, the gun, the blood; everything evaporated. But not all news is bad; there was a blackout on the street. Which, thinking about it, might have been caused so they could attack you without being recorded. Whoever you pissed off is smart." You say, trying to be positive, but Barnes seems to be feeling guilty about something.

"I need to go somewhere now. I appreciate the help and the headache. But listen to me carefully," he says as he approaches you and lightly touches your face, which is honestly quite distracting, "don't tell anyone about this; if anyone comes here asking about it, make up something but don't tell the truth. Don't worry, I'll be back soon, so try not to panic." Barnes speaks with incredible self-confidence. But inside, you're afraid he won't return, which you make somewhat obvious when you hold Barnes' hand just before he leaves.

"Try to be careful. I need my number one customer intact to try my new bread recipes," you say, trying not to sound too clingy while still concerned for his safety and indirectly for your own. After all, nothing is stopping them from trying to eliminate you. And Barnes said you would be safe with him. He chuckles lightly and then leaves. You get lost for a bit but after packing some things at the bakery, you go home.

After a warm bath and sleeping in your cozy bed, you feel like a new person. At least that's what you try to convince yourself of while having breakfast at six in the morning, getting ready to open the bakery. In reality, you barely slept, so you thought getting your hands busy would be the best solution. When you arrive at the bakery, you try to ignore the bullet hole in your wall as you put on your apron and prepare the dough to make some cookies. After all, what is more comforting than a nice batch of cookies? Of course, you also put the bread dough you prepared yesterday to bake, along with a cake you mix up after making the cookies.

"Good morning, would you be Miss Y/L/N?" A man in a black suit accompanied by a young boy also wearing a black suit approaches the counter, and you naturally smile, trying to be friendly. But the truth is, now you're suspicious of everything and everyone.

"Yes, that's me. What would you gentlemen like to order? Today I made chocolate chip cookies, and modesty aside, they're delicious." You say, trying to convince yourself that the two in front of you are just customers and pose no threat. The younger guy even seems to be a real customer, paying attention to your menu on the counter and getting excited about the possibility of eating chocolate chip cookies. But the other guy is terrible at disguising his intentions. He's analyzing every detail of your bakery. Fortunately, you found a picture your best friend gave you at the bakery's opening, which brilliantly hides the bullet hole in your wall.

"Sorry, I'm Agent Stark, and this is Agent Parker. We're actually here on business. There was a report of noises resembling a physical fight and gunshots. My partner and I are asking some questions to see if anyone saw or heard anything suspicious. It would be extremely helpful if you could assist us." Stark says while still seemingly looking for any signs of wrongdoing in your bakery.

"Unfortunately, I can't help you. But I can offer you both a hot cup of coffee and a cookie on the house." You smile fakely like you're not afraid of being discovered. You quickly get them two cups of coffee and two cookies. Agent Parker ended up getting two cookies, while Agent Stark only got a cup of coffee.

"We thank you, Miss. If you see anything strange or suspicious you can get in touch with us." Agent Parker speaks as if he was trying to convince you. Agent Stark looks at him sideways and then takes a sip of coffee. After Agent Stark lightly elbows Parker as if he forgot something and then Parker hands you a card with a phone number.

"I'll get in touch if I see anything strange, but I have to get back to work. I hope you have a good day." You say politely while trying to get rid of them. The two quickly head towards the exit of your bakery, bidding you farewell. You go back into the bakery after seeing the two agents leave. Your bread is already done, and as you take the bread pan out of the oven, you hear a noise at the back exit of the bakery. You place the hot pan on the table near the oven and then grab the rolling pin, heading threateningly towards the noise. But before you can attack any potential threat to your life, you find yourself face to face with Barnes.

"You always have a very peculiar way of welcoming me. But I'm glad you didn't betray me." Barnes says, holding the rolling pin you were holding firmly and moving closer to you. For a moment, you thought you might kiss him right then and there, but you're interrupted by a red-haired woman who enters behind Barnes.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Kiss-eki: Dear to Me

*Kicks open door*

SURPRISE BITCHES! I am several days late and hundreds of dollars short, but I did finally *finally* decide to watch Kiseki: Dear to Me in an attempt to add one more show to the Completed Watchlist for 2023. This was a show I was planning on watching a bit earlier, probably closer to the time it was actually airing, because I'd heard it was ridiculous and thought it would be a good show to have on in the background during work. But @ginnymoonbeam had my best interests at heart and told me that I Absolutely Could Not Do That because There Was Body Language Dammit!

If I have not made it clear, THANK YOU FOR SAVING ME, GINNY!

Kiseki was absolutely wild and completely insane if you try to describe a single aspect of the plot whatsoever, but I would have given it a ten off sheer entertainment value if it wasn't for those back to back fake outs with Chen Yi being shot and Fan Ze Riyu being stabbed. But, I digress. I have only seen three things from Taiwan at this point, but those three shows have provided quite a lot of evidence to the claim that Taiwan is nearly unparalleled in their ability to portray domesticity and physical chemistry. I have also heard that Taiwan has a tendency to create content on more taboo subjects, and Kiseki was my first forray in to that side of Taiwan considering Ai Di and Chen Yi are brothers and Bai Zong Yi is a minor when he starts his relationship with Fan Ze Riu. I think both of these subjects were very smartly handled in their set up and their structure. I normally hate the like, adoptive siblings falling in love thing, cause like...that's your sibling, but they don't give us a lot if any flashback to these boys growing up together, and they don't share last names, or really call their adoptive father Dad, so there are quite a number of abstractions in that dynamic that means this is the first time I didn't have a squick about it. And having Fan Ze Riu trying so desperately not to succumb to his feelings for Bai Zong Yi and to put that distance between them, to have Bai Zong Yi be living alone and also be 17 so he's pretty close to legal age, and then to have Bai Zong Yi be the pursuer in their relationship both serve extremely well in making that relationship feel responsibly handled.

I have not been in the tags, so forgive me if this has already been done, but I have not stopped thinking about the first kiss between Ai Di and Chen Yi or the first kiss between Bai Zong Yi and Fan Ze Riu since I saw them and I simply *must* do a scene/body language breakdown about both of them. God, it's good to be back!

[side note: I was going to split this up with funny titles like Cat Boy and Mr. Sulky, but I realized that actually could apply to both couples...]

Ai Di and Chen Yi

Okay FIRST OF ALL, I just want to say that I love Ai Di, I love how ruthless and blood thirsty he is and how incredibly dangerous and scary he could be...if he wasn't so easy to pick up and carry around like a football, or like...a feral, hissing kitten. I am going to focus mostly on the first kiss that Chen Yi initiates with Ai Di because holy shit was there so much complex emotion and reaction packed in to that pretty small moment, but before I do that I am contractually obligated to acknowledge how fucking brilliant it is to show how much/how well Ai Di and Chen Yi know each other, by having Ai Di torture Chen Yi for information by threatening to feed Chen Yi incredibly spicy baby corn AND TO HAVE THAT TACTIC WORK. And to show how much Chen Yi tolerates by having him easily get out of the restraints and tie Ai Di up when he gets bored. Fucking incredible character choice to show how absolutely batshit Ai Di is, fucking incredible relationship choice to show how well Ai Di knows Chen Yi, and fucking incredible choice to use for a call back later. Also, fuck this show for that birthday cake scene! Brutal.

Okay. That said:

You know Ai Di has not for one second stopped loving Chen Yi, and now he is being met with some actual interest from Chen Yi. Chen Yi is full reciprocating what Ai Di has wanted for so long and if this were a typical BL with more simplestic characterization, we would have gotten the moment where Ai Di just melts in to it, fully lets himself have it. Accepts that Chen Yi has woken up, gotten with the program, and is ready to be in a relationship with him. And to be honest, that is what I was expecting. Ai Di has been such a loud and obvious simp for Chen Yi that I thought for a moment he would be the kind of person to let himself have it. To not question it too hard, especially because he is young and impulsive. So imagine my surprise when I got this reaction from him instead:

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses

Ai Di likes to challenge, likes to push buttons, likes to press. And he starts this scene doing just that. He is on his way to tucking Chen Yi in to bed (folding the edge of the bed spread over him because Chen Yi is drunk off his ass and too heavy for Ai Di to manhandle under the covers. But the second that Chen Yi starts simping over his Boss again, Ai Di stops performing any level of care for Chen Yi, and you can see this little change in his face where he gets annoyed and actually undoes his little moment of care and pulls the bedspread back off of Chen Yi and then he postures and he’s trying to act tough, and he’s needling intentionally, and all of these things where he is trying to be antagonistic to Chen Yi because that is the only way that Ai Di really knows how to express his emotions and he’s butt hurt about Chen Yi once against obsessing over someone Ai Di knows he can’t have when he is right there. 

Now, Ai Di gets manhandled a lot by Chen Yi and while he isn’t able to break out of it, he does very often struggle/fight back to get out of Chen Yi’s grip when he’s been baby carried away from a scene like a sack of potatoes. Which is why I do think Ai Di is giving in to his own feelings a bit here because he…doesn’t do that. He lets Chen Yi pull him closer, he lets Chen Yi push him up against the wall. And he’s still needling but it’s all bark, no bite. When he starts calling Chen Yi impotent his face softens looking up at him. 

And then Chen Yi goes in for the kiss and Ai Di’s eyes go wide, you can see an entire internal monologue running through his head. I am fairly confident there are some what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck’s going through his head when Chen Yi first kisses him. 

gif by @khaotungsfirst

There is a moment, just a moment so quick where Ai Di kisses back, where his heart gets the better of his judgment and he lets himself *have it* for *just* a second, and then his brain snaps back almost immediately and he bites Chen Yi and pushes him away. 

And honestly, I do not understand how actors work, because Ai Di’s face twitches. How the fuck does Louis do that?! He’s out of breath, and his mouth is agape, and he looks horrified, and heartbroken, and confused, but maybe a little hopeful. Like he won’t let himself believe that Chen Yi would actually do this. Like he is thinking Chen Yi is doing this out of pity, or just to shut him up, or mess with him. Because Ai Di messes with Chen Yi all the time.  This is what Ai Di wants. He wants Chen Yi, but now that he is face to face with the possibility he does not have the ability to believe in it. 

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses

And in a very rare occurrence he listens to Chen Yi when Chen Yi tells him to get out of his room. The gears are definitely turning, but he simply cannot believe it, and it is so fascinating to me thinking about all these little microexpressive moments we get from Ai Di later on in the show that he really does not believe that Chen Yi kissing him in Episode 6 was Chen Yi actually admitting feelings, because every time that Ai Di tries something like torturing Chen Yi with spicy baby corn, or flirting to try to get Chen Yi to be uncomfortable or to back off, he reacts with genuine confusion when Chen Yi flirts back. 

Case in point: 

gif by @25shadesoffebruary

gif by @shijiujun

Bai Zong Yi and Fan Ze Riu First Kiss

It’s really interesting for me to compare this kiss to the Ai Di and Chen Yi kiss because they feel like completely mirrored (read: reversed) reactions. Where Ai Di leans in to his kiss for a moment for a moment and then forces himself to push away, preventing further intimacy, Fan Ze Rui forces himself to push away for a moment and then leans in to it, allowing the intimacy to proceed.

gif by @alejunsu

The set up is incredible, and in my opinion, foreshadows the fake amnesia plot in that Ze Rui is absolutely laser focused on his task (treating Zong Yi’s wounds) and intentionally ignoring everything else because he knows that it is irresponsible for him to initiate a relationship with a seventeen year old. Zong Yi is the first to lean in and go for a kiss, and he lingers at a distance that is respectful but with obvious intent for as long as it takes Ze Rui to look up and notice. There is a split second where Ze Rui’s eyes flit down to Zong Yi’s lips, and then he puts himself right back on task. Zong Yi is not to be dissuaded and goes in for the kiss again. Ze Rui notices, and grabs at Zong Yi’s shoulder to stop him, furrowing his brow in what I would consider confusion and focus, but once again his eyes betray him and he looks back at Zong Yi’s lips. This time without looking away, so Zong Yi continues, leaning in slowly and Ze Rui is drawn in at this point, he is frozen there, he isn’t trying to disengage from the inevitable anymore, unable to rebel against his own desire. 

gif by @alejunsu

Their lips meet, and to me it looks like Ze Rui is shocked, like his brain has short circuited and he doesn’t know where to go from here. It’s like his body is just reacting and reacting before his brain can catch up with the responsibility. He kisses back before his brain has really processed what is happening, and then he knows he shouldn’t be doing this so he tries to push away in the most half-hearteded attempt to be responsible, and a second later he’s abandoned the effort and started engaging more enthusiastically in the kiss. 

I do not fucking know how Hsu Kai does it because I swear to god Fan Riyu was cycling through about a hundred different emotions in this one moment and they were all acting against his physical reaction to the kiss. The way his arm goes out to Bai Zong Yi's shoulder to try to keep physical distance between the two of them, while he is having a full out internal war with himself? Holy fucking shit. It’s really like his brain is going “is this actually happening? Shit yes it is I have to- fuck it” 

gif by @maxescheibechlinichacheli

And at the start of his active participation in the kiss he is still not letting himself have it. I think he is still stuck on the fact that he shouldn’t be doing this, and as a result he pushes Zong Yi back so he can see his face, study it. All it takes is for Bai Zong Yi to go back in yet again to continue their kiss, and then it’s all over for Fan Ze Rui. He’s all in. His hand goes to Zong Yi’s face, to his neck, and before we know it he is pulling himself in to Zong Yi’s lap from the floor so  smoothly. 

Reunion Sex 

I initially was only going to focus on the Ep 6 Ai Di x Chen Yi and the Episode 7 Zong Yi x Ze Rui moments in this post, but I am so in love with the structure of the reunion sex scene that I absolutely had to talk about it. 

Again, I do not understand how actors work because Hsu Kai just knocks it out of the motherfucking park. I love that when Fan Ze Rui rouses from sleep and starts muttering under his breath and engagin with Zong Yi, you don’t need any visual confirmation from the story whatsoever to understand that Ze Rui definitely has actual dreams of reuniting with Bai Zong Yi. And you don’t need that additional confirmation because of how Hsu Kai sells the talking in his sleep moment here when he’s riding on the pills and alcohol. 

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

He blinks through heavy lids and reaches out toward Zong Yi instantly, his smile is absent and dreamy, and unrestrained in a way that genuinely impresses me because I feel like it is hard to pull off acting the kind of drowsy you are when you’re still trapped in the limbo between wake and sleep when you’re not actually experiencing it. Ze Rui’s touches are unrestrained, his eyes are barely opened under their own weight, and he’s loose and droopy still when Bai Zong Yi lifts him in to the hug. Ze Rui’s bones look heavy and his muscles look loose, and he’s not really able to maintain his own structure as a result. Settling back flat pretty quickly have Zong Yi has released him from his embrace. 

And then the light changes and the setting gets dreamier despite the fact that Ze Riu is actually starting to wake up, being reminded this is real, Zong Yi is real with grounded touches that we see in close up. And I am so sad we don’t get to see Ze Rui’s face at the exact moment of the scene when it clicks for him that this is real, because it happens during the close up of the hands (which I am also fine with :D). But when we pull back out into the wider shot, Ze Rui is already sobbing against Bai Zong Yi’s cheek. And Ze Rui tries his damndest to be his normal jokey, smiley self once he knows what is happening is real, because that’s who Zong Yi loves, and that’s who Zong Yi deserves after all the pain he’s suffered for Ze Rui but instead he just…breaks. Y’all I lost it at the way all the strength just falls away from Ze Rui’s voice when he says “kiddo”. How small he sounds when he says he’s sorry. The meekness in his voice during his own apology speaks volumes for how important it is, how much weight it carries. Because Ze Rui knows what happened to Zong Yi over the past four years. He knows all of it. He knows that Zong Yi went to prison to protect him, he knows that Zong Yi got attacked there, he knows that Zong Yi has memory problems now because of it. 

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

He has all of this guilt that is driving the way he interacts with Bai Zong Yi in their interlude here. By the way: “It’s been 1,573 days. Did it hurt?” is joining my list of Incredibly Devastating Lines. And it’s not just because of the line itself, it’s not just because of the way Bai Zong Yi shakes his head no. It’s especially devastating to me because right before Ze Rui asks the question, he slides his hand up to the back of Bai Zong Yi’s head and massages it a little bit with his thumb, like he’s trying to rub at an ache in hopes of getting rid of the pain. It is in no way the focus of the scene, and the action is mostly cut off and regailed to the edge of the screen, but jesus fucking christ it did wonders for me in terms of selling the scene. 

Anyway, Ginny was right, the body language was incredible, and I’m glad I didn’t watch this live or else I’d have gotten zero sleep writing essays every day of the week about some of these scenes

[adelrambles]

Tips on Writing Bishop

I've been asked a couple times for advice on how to write a good (03-style) Bishop, and I'm well-aware he can be a bit tough to get a grasp on. As someone who's studied him specifically to learn how to write him as accurately as possible, I figured I'd compile some thoughts in case it'd be helpful to anyone else. I know a lot of Rise takes on him are basing off the 03 version, so maybe this could help generate ideas, too. SO!

Big Overall Points!

At the core of EVERYTHING Bishop does are two primary motivations. The first: the protection of the earth. What this means to him can get tricky, because it doesn't necessarily mean protecting the people, at least not all of them. But it will be better understood alongside the other:

The second: The protection of his sense of safety. Bishop has been deeply traumatized, and everything he does is born of a want to avoid that pain ever again. In his mind, earth is a safe area, a controllable factor, and anything outside it is a danger that must be eliminated. This is why he will still be willing to put himself and other people on the line in service of this; any sacrifice is worth the greater goal. (It's worth noting, Bishop will claim the first as his motivation freely, but is likely not consciously aware of the second.)

Bishop deals in Big Picture ONLY. Another reason Bishop will willingly throw away anything, including the lives of the people he claims to protect, is that he seems incapable of understanding things on a small, individual basis.

Bishop is a cold personality. He does not have strong displays of emotion. He does emote, but for the most part it's muted, so I recommend using emotional bursts very sparingly. (In my own writing, as an example, I try to limit my use of exclamation marks in his dialogue as much as possible.)

At his core, Bishop is afraid, and his response to fear is aggression. This also makes it particularly difficult to talk him down, if he's put in an emotional state. His response to not being in control is often violent retaliation.

With those basic tenants understood, let's move next to some major personality traits:

Bishop is a controlling personality. This is a direct result of his trauma response. Things that can be controlled are safe, therefore he must control everything. If something cannot be controlled, it's a threat that must be eliminated. If he doesn't know why something happened, he becomes angry (including even when it benefits him.)

Bishop is very low-empathy. When writing him, I try to keep in mind that he cannot put himself in the perspective of others. (Or if he can, he doesn't care to.)

Bishop is a sadist. He gets personal enjoyment from hurting others.

Bishop likes fighting, but only when he's winning. He will quickly leave if he can't see a guaranteed victory.

Bishop is paranoid. This is probably self-evident, but it's the reason he's often so well-prepared even when things don't go to plan.

Bishop genuinely seems to enjoy science. He's shown to be far more lenient with scientist characters than anyone else, and he seems to involve himself in his scientists' projects to a degree. Enough to, at the very least, understand their work. (Given he was the one set to dissect the turtles, it might also be argued he has some medical or biology background, himself.)

Bishop is an opportunist and scavenger. He can roll with failures as long as he can find something to get out of it. If he's presented with an opportunity to stab someone in the back, and he has something to gain? He'll take it without a second thought.

Bishop is deeply self-blind. For all his perceptiveness and strategic prowess, Bishop is not very self-aware in the slightest. He is completely blind to his own hypocrisies, and thoroughly confident in his own righteousness.

Bishop adapts fast. He accepts situations for what they are and acts (Though he may still be angry about them, or what have you.) This is likely a skill developed via longevity; the world around him has changed rapidly, but he doesn't feel out of place at all.

Bishop will take extreme risks and thinks wildly outside the box. Also self-evident, if you're familiar with the plans he enacts throughout the show. He'll put a lot on the line if he thinks the reward is worth enough, and he's willing to go to extreme lengths to get what he wants, even if his plans would be considered crazy by normal standards.

Bishop is persistent. If he wants something, he won't stop until he gets it. If he fails, he'll retreat, make a new plan, and try again. It is very difficult to convince him to back down (and certainly not on moral grounds.)

Habits and triggers I've noted:

Being restrained of any sort puts Bishop in a panic. He is more likely to have an emotional response in these scenarios, and seems to have (an albeit muted) desperation to escape. (See: Leatherhead restraining him in the first encounter; His reaction to being trapped on the surgical table in Head of State.)

When being duplicitous or suppressing a reaction, Bishop will go to adjust his tie. This could possibly be considered his tell.

Bishop seems to have a particular fear of aliens blending in as humans. His slayer project was built around the assumption that this is a common threat. (Worth noting: This makes The Shredder the model of the exact threat Bishop is afraid of. Technically, Bishop himself may also fit the description of a threat shaped like a human.)

Writing considerations:

In 03's narrative, Bishop is EPF and EPF is Bishop. Narratively speaking, any organization Bishop is head of acts as if it is an extension of his will and character.

Bishop is shown to strike fear and/or discomfort into most characters he interacts with. Anything beyond this is an outlier, and will draw a reader's attention.

Dialogue-wise, Bishop is generally succinct and blunt. He does dabble in gloating, though, and especially likes to upset others. If he's given a chance to be mean, he'll usually take it. It can help to consider he has a Mission Mode and a Normal Mode. When it comes to Mission Mode, he gets straight to the point and hates unnecessary talking. Otherwise, he's still not very talkative, but will take the time to make pointed jabs or talk through a plan. A lot of his sense of humor seems to be rooted in how He's Better Than You (And You're Going To Die Painfully.)

It's a common pitfall that Bishop is depicted as seeking out the turtles. In 03, once he gets their DNA, he's done with them. Any encounters after that are incidental. Bishop does not care about anything that won't effect his greater goal. If he's targeting another character, it should have to do with a greater plan.

Bishop is an extremely competent combatant, shown to be able to handle up to 7 opponents at once. For a breakdown on his fighting style check out my other post on that!

Bishop is hard to kill, and oftentimes he accidentally contributes to his own defeat. (The hook from Bishop's Gambit is an example I get a LOT of mileage out of, as a perfect symbol of his self-defeating prophecies.)

We almost only ever see Bishop in the context of his work. While it could be construed that he depersonalizes himself, it's much more clear that the narrative depersonalizes him. As far as we, the audience know, Bishop's work is all that he is.

It's unclear if Bishop was released from his abduction or escaped. Depending on which you ascribe to, this can have ramifications for his mindset on how to deal with the alien threat. (Personally, because so much of his inability to cope hinges on a feeling of helplessness, I believe he was released. If he escaped on his own power, that undercuts it, somewhat.)

Thematically-speaking, Bishop parallels both his own torturers and his own victims at the same time. He has perpetuated the cycle that traumatized him in the first place by trying to fight fire with fire. (In that vein, I don't think he's capable of understanding that, not seeing aliens as people in the first place, just dangers. Considering how deeply ingrained his trauma is in his worldview and actions, it would probably ruin him, if he were ever able to actually grasp it.)

Bishop and EPF are likely a commentary on the military of the time 03 was coming out. This can be something worth keeping in mind, when figuring out his greater themes in your story, though it can just as well be discarded if it doesn't fit.

Adding to that, Bishop has an extensive american military background. His skills and knowledge will reflect that.

Bishop also plays on and references a number of real-life alien conspiracies. It can be worth digging through conspiracy history to drum up ideas and themes, too.

The ethical and philosophical quandaries of Bishop's body-hopping and humanity tend to not hold too much weight, because Bishop, himself, doesn't seem to care.

If I think of more I'll certainly be adding on to the reblogs of this post! Or, if you have more thoughts, please feel free to add! If you're in the mood for more Bishop ramblings, that's practically most of this blog atm, but this post is a particular favorite. If you're interested in Fast Forward!Bishop, specifically, consider this post! (also read Taking Pawns. slipped in that self-promo, nice.)

[fyeahaudiodrama]

Happy @podcastgirlsweek to all who celebrate! While I haven't had the time to properly work on fics (and probably won't this week because oops, hurt my hands yesterday) I still wanted to take the time to highlight some favorite podcast girlies along with everyone else!

The prompt for Monday is highlighting podcasts with women in the leading roles, so here's a few of mine (and hopefully, some new ones of yours if you don't know them yet):

Back Again, Back Again: Ilyaas, you absolutely fantastic disaster of a fantasy ace, never stop trying.

Breathing Space: While the show is anthology with a rotating cast, some of my favorites from across its run include:

Evie Yuriskin

Amity Archer

Any characters who were introduced one episode and then started referring to each other as "my wife" by the end or by their next appearance

Camlann: Some apocalypse survivors interpret dangerous dreams about dark magic to cope. Some knit sweaters. Both are valid and should kiss.

City of Ghosts: Featuring the grungy, disgruntled, tormented-by-visions LADY detective of your dreams.

Desperado: Take note - give your ladies knives. And god powers. And witchcraft. And a sniper rifle, for good measure.

Do You Copy?: I think [REDACTED] deserves three weeks of paid vacation

Fawx & Stallion: Madge Stallion is THE moment. She's six feet tall. She can't stop making innuendos. She's not your fucking Mrs. Hudson (although, she is - no, I shan't say).

Hi Nay: Mari & Laura are my everything - the loving and self-sacrificing hero and the newfound friend who chooses to stand by her side (fire axe and all).

Inn Between: Oh, my Inn Between girlies, where do I start? Fina and Betty, the OGs and life partners that even death couldn't stall? Rosie and Zara, the new best pals who chose to stay together? Phoebe, just one step at a time learning what she deserves and what she doesn't? All impeccable, A+.

It Makes A Sound: Any show focused on music is going to be a slam dunk for me, but Deirdre's quest to reclaim her memories as well as those that tied her to her mother is so damn real and compelling.

The Kingmaker Histories: No female character in this show has ever done anything wrong. Colette gets a migraine pass. Ariadne can turn people inside out. Daphne is owed this for working in a theme park.

Life With LEO(h): Janiiiiiine, so messy and smart and dedicated and she cares so much, I love yoooooou.

Me and AU: Kate's worries and desires and doubts are some of the realest out of any audio drama so when do I find an Ella too

Palimpsest: My faaaaavorite gothic horror anthology, each one fresh with a different brand of haunted, tormented, secret-keeping (and quite frequently gay) gothic protagonist

The Pasithea Powder: Jane and Sophie. Sophie and Jane. What more could you need? <3

The Silt Verses: Women who start cults/leave cults/seek an end to the endless cycle of meaningless sacrifice as so valid. For all your wet cat(fish) woman needs.

Second Star to the Left: Because I always love a good Ishani performance. Hi Gwen, please tell Boots I love them.

Small Victories: You want sad wet cat women? How about one that literally can't stop self-sabotaging (but at least manages to draw the line at sabotaging others...occasionally). She even gets stabbed!

Starfall: I mean, kind of a given, but anyway, Leona definitely exists because she's the kind of action protagonist woman I always wanted - one that could be unapologetically powerful, but still full of flaws and desires (especially ones that weren't about falling in love and minimizing her own strengths). She's even autistic!

Stories From Ylelmore: Keryth! Keryth, Keryth, Keryth! She reminds me so much of the kinds of characters I would make up when I was younger - I love her and her small magic so dearly.

The Strange Case of Starship Iris: Hi queer space pirates <3

Unseen: Another anthology show, but Harry Winters and Never-Ending Circles remains one of the most perfect premiere episodes I've ever heard in audio drama.

The Way We Haunt Now: Get your podcast ladies here, dead or alive!

We Fix Space Junk: My favorite type of repairman is a woman who could kick my ass.

Wolf 359: I don't think I need say much more here - y'all know and love 'em just as much as I do.

[dovithedarklord]

Stucked - Part 7

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

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Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, König x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, injury, some body horror, and drugging. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Author's Note

The climax of the story is getting closer and closer, and now you meet someone who knows what kind of place you're stuck in.

Hello!

Sorry for the long delay, but I was finally able to get back to writing! The story is slowly coming to an end and the last important character enters.

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

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The eerie silence of the forest penetrates every unprotected pore of your cold body like a latent sickness, as if the ominous uneventfulness would be a precursor to a deadly disease that can push you into a sick bed festering with ulcers at any moment. And you know that this calmness is only a fleeting mirage, because in every dark corner, in every hidden hole, something terrible can be lurking, which can ruin the unsettling ease with which you fled from your pursuers. Even though you're surrounded by the soft breeze of the night, the sighs of the branches dancing in the wind passing through the trees, the frightened shuffling noises of the feet of animals coming to life under the dead leaves, and even though the owls try to lull your suspicions with their melancholic songs, you already know this horrible prison all too well. And thanks to the last few hours, you won't make the mistake of trusting in its mercy again. Because in this fever dream, there is no benevolence, no compassion, only survival. And you do everything to win, because there is no other way out.

The time you spent wandering in the woods in the pitch-black night seems endless, and even though you know you're far away from the lake and the deformed creatures that turned the water into a putrid graveyard, the dull stabbing pain in your lungs reminds you of with what hurry you managed to disappear from the watchful eyes. You were just a hair's breadth away from being caught in the violent embrace of a beast, and if you hadn't found the pearls, you wouldn't have had a chance to make that daring escape with which you threw yourself into the thick of the forest before. 

If you had any hopeful foolishness left in you, you'd think the game had given up on its cruel pursuit of fun and finally presented you with a generous gift. But you know that this goddamn purgatory feeds on the sweet nectar of suffering and will do everything to squeeze every last drop of luscious misery out of your flesh and bones. And as it flashes before your mind's eye, how the red and purple stains of the damaged blood vessels drawn into the tissues disappeared from your leg following the cool caress of the beads, you become more and more certain that it was all just a morbid coincidence. Maybe even this nightmare-like torture chamber can make a mistake, because you doubt that it offered you this miracle voluntarily. Like when a bug appears in a video game, causing the world embedded in pixels to slip for a moment, and through the distorted chaos, the system reveals secrets that you should have never seen. And maybe it did. Maybe this diabolical place is finally starting to crumble under the weight of its own evil. 

But you know that now is not the time to ponder how the well-known hell will turn into a completely new kind of horror, because you only need to take a look at the map resting in your hand to know what your task is. On the yellowed page, the unknown gray building stands out with such definite outlines, as if someone had painted it there with liquid metal, and for a minute the sharp lines of the rough sketch seem to dance in front of your tired eyes. While trekking through the wild vegetation, you had time to decide where your path should lead you next, and although the knife-like anxiety in the depths of your stomach relentlessly pumps the warning acid of uneasiness into your limbs, you're aware that this new location didn’t appear without purpose. There's something there that makes this place important enough to have a prominent spot on the map, and that's enough reason for you to risk another disastrous adventure. After all, you have nothing to lose, right? A new killer, a new death, another damn mark on your skin, but a chance to find an exit. And at this point, you're ready to seize anything to get out of here.

It's almost cartoonishly comical, the way a small blood-red line on the stained page traces your journey so far, like a path sketched up with a crayon in the middle of the splotch-like woods, and this small detail only makes you even more certain that you're stuck in a grotesque game. The system keeps track of your progress, and although the knowledge that you cannot hide from the invisible gaze only increases the uncomfortable tightness in your chest, for once this atrocity has at least some benefits. For the dull edge of the gray building emerges with an uncanny glow from behind the dense curtain of foliage and branches, like a glimmering fragment of the imagination that may fade away at any moment. Even though the game follows your every move, it helped you to reach this point, and you're terribly grateful for it.

You keep your eyes fixed on the slowly approaching house with an unbroken focus as you carefully thread through the thicket of dry bushes, and it’s only due to random luck that you catch on your periphery those tiny, uncertain little blobs that rest serenely on one of the nearby trees. And when your brain finally registers the stimuli, you suddenly halt in your march, as if an unknown force had severed the nerve fibers wiring your muscles. There is something sickeningly familiar in the way the small human-like figures sway between the withered branchlets, and it dawns on you a few seconds later why your mind thought it was important to stop here. Because you saw the same dolls made of sticks at the shrine, where the map was waiting for you, and no matter how much this is a sure sign that you're moving in the right direction, you're unable to banish the instinctive sinister feeling stirring in your brain cells. At first, you thought that maybe they had erected that hideous monument in honor of the tentacled creature that lived in the lake, but now you know that they wanted to pay homage to something completely different. And whatever that unknown entity is, it doesn't bode well for you if teeth pulled from jaws, brown with blood, and clumps of hair lead to its grace.

But a completely new kind of confusion comes over you when you shift your attention from the sprawling tangle of dead twigs and finally spot the boot lying on the ground, almost hidden under the dry crown of curled leaves surrounding it. Perhaps you could chalk it up to a morbid coincidence, a background element without meaning, which fades into oblivion eventually, but the game has engraved in your mind with blood and pain that nothing here is just an insignificant detail. And as you step closer and examine the forgotten footwear, you discover those tiny, white shards on the faded leather covered in muddy dirt, which shine under the filtering moonlight like glitter. However, there is something quite unsettlingly velvety in the way the crushed pieces stand out from the grimy material, and as your vision finally sharpens enough to recognize the tiny red specks between the zig-zagged edges, you know what sits so innocently on the surface of the boot. Small pieces of grounded bones, which cover the abandoned object as if someone sprinkled it with granulated sugar. And this makes your stomach turn with such an elemental force that you stagger back from the horrible surprise, as if the very sight of it could breathe death into your cells. Because however that bone dust ended up on that unfortunate shoe, you don't want to suffer the same fate as its owner.

However, you’re jolted out of your stupor by an unexpected crack, which deafeningly pierces into the motionless quite between the tree trunks, and you crumple the map deep into your pocket with reflexive panic and turn in the direction of the noise, as if someone was pulling you on a string. And a completely impossible relief ripples through you, loosening the tennis ball size knot your stomach has shrunk into, as you find yourself face to face with an old woman, who freezes with her wicker basket full of chopped-up wood clutched to her chest, her face pale with a look of horrified shock like yours. You see the fright reflected in her eyes, as she looks you over slowly, and the thought arises in you that maybe you yourself might not present a more inviting sight than the boots. Because although the mementos of your wounds, colored with bruises, have disappeared, your dirty, wet clothes clung to your battered, paralyzed body, and at this moment you're quite sure that with your eyes widened with fear, you must remind her of a trapped wild animal.

A torturous, tense moment of stillness passes, and when you see the frail, worn-out old figure relax, anxiety releases its grip on your insides as well, and you let out the breath that has been trapped in the supple prison of your lungs with painful tension until now.

"Oh my… are you all right, sweetheart?" Comes the sincere question in a strangely accented voice, and the tenderness in her words hits you completely unprepared. And although an intimate, motherly concern moves between her features, as her thinning eyebrows meet under her gray hair with worry, you still can't suppress the flicker of doubt that whispers from the back of your skull to be careful. You don't dare to trust anything anymore, and a stranger rarely means good in this damn world. Yet, your tortured soul yearns for the tiniest spark of humanity with such pitiful force, that you involuntary let your spine loosen the painful stiffness that resides in it.

"I'm lost." You answer, carefully rolling the syllables on your tongue, savoring the caution that instinctively settles in your mouth and restrains your sociability. Although the woman seems defenseless, you already know how unnoticed a beast can hide behind the mask of sweet kindness. At best, she’s an insignificant NPC, an additional character who merely fills the void, who, like Pam and Rebecca, is condemned to eternal death, and waits unsuspectingly for the killer to appear to strip her of her aged flesh. And you want to hope that she's just a helpless puppet of the storyline and not another threat, because you want more than anything to have someone else suffer instead of you finally. Because you lost the compassion that would be appalled at this thought long ago.

"How about you come to my house?" She makes the timid offer, and as her gaze catches the thick layer of mud embedded in your T-shirt, you can see how her mouth curls into a line full of doubts. As if she would understand without asking any questions, that you've been through an endless hell that has soaked itself into your pores through the soft cotton, and can't be expressed with words. "I'll find you something warm to put on." She adds, and you feel the awareness with which she tries to dispel the restless rigidity radiating from her to not frighten you. As if she were talking to a trapped fawn, which would be able to take flight at the slightest thoughtless move, even if its shackles would flay its legs, trapped between the razor-sharp metal, alive in the process. And it makes you realize how pitiful it is, that the events of the never-ending night transformed you into a raw, pulsating nerve so easily. But you suspect that this is what has kept you alive until now.

Although the suspicion of the stranger has already settled into the depths of your consciousness, you still make yourself nod, because even if you don't know the woman and have no idea what might be hiding behind the defenseless exterior, you're aware that you're serving yourself as easy prey for the monsters in the forest.  And you know it's only a matter of time before they catch a scent and appear breathing down on your neck.

"Alright... Come on, I don't live far from here!" She motions towards the building resting in the distance with her head, and you immediately know where her home could be. And if you had doubts, now you're quite sure, you've become involved in a new storyline, no matter how accidental this unexpected meeting seems. The game can always surprise you with new horrors, but as merciless as this world is, it's also as predictable. Because it's addicted to its habits, and you have learned to interpret its hidden signs. There are no coincidences, only tools that lead to your doom. And if you were already on your way to another trouble, then you let yourself be lead into its open mouth.

She hesitates for a few seconds, waiting to see if you change your mind and retreat into the desolate depths of the forest, but when you continue to stare at her like statue frozen in place, she turns around with the ghost of a small smile on her face, and beckoning you with her knobby fingers, she aks you to follow her. And you join her a moment later, keeping that respectful distance that speaks more to the mistrust swirling in your belly than to the thoughtfulness you feel for her. Perhaps an onlooker would think that you're just a scared little girl tagging along with her in the maze of tree trunks, but you feel the energy slithering through your legs, ready to run off at the very first odd move. You may be a slow learner, but you could repeat this lesson even after waking up from a dream. Don't let yourself be fooled. Because you've outlined the ideal possibility, but even the whirlwind of your imagination cannot authentically paint the worst-case scenario for you.

After a few meters spent in wordless peace, as the last remnants of the wild vegetation, frozen from the autumn cold, disappears, the concrete building, for which you decided to drag yourself through the goddamn forest, emerges almost abnormally in the small clearing. It stands out from the dark foliage as strikingly as an old silver ring forgotten in a black velvet box, and there is something quite unsettling about the way the tiny windows stare down at you from the monotonous walls. Like hungry mouths, waiting for a victim that they can grind up with their glimmering glass teeth. And you notice, what grotesque similes your brain is making, but you're unable to suppress the voice in your head that tells you, that there is no one in this artificial world who would call this their home with peace of mind. Because the structure looks more like a slaughterhouse with its inhospitable, barren frame, on which the holes from the crumbling plaster and the dry carpet of faded lichens bordering them gape like scars left behind by smallpox. The building may have been standing here since the game's universe was created, and in light of this, it’s even more baffling to you why it appeared only now.

But you can't ponder on that now, because you reach the house, and the old woman hurries to the shabby entrance with an agility that belies her age, pushing in the thick wooden panel covered with flaking red paint with a light movement, and opens the door of her home to you with the same helpfulness with which she led you here until now. Even though she doesn't say a word, you still understand the gentle plea with which she invites you in, because you see the worried light dancing in her eyes, with which she examines the uncertainty glued onto your features. And you want to believe in this softness more than anything, but what helps your leaden legs move the most is the knowledge that you know you can't turn back. Because Johnny and Simon are out there looking for you, and even if you were to avoid them, you'd already delved into a new thread of events. And you fear how the game would punish you if you were to deny its generous gift. Therefore, gathering all your remaining composure, you force the faint curve of a weak smile into the corner of your mouth and head towards the interior of the house, fighting the instinctive feeling that makes it seem like you're walking straight through the entrance to the scene of your execution.

As you cross the threshold made of rickety boards, the characteristic smell of old houses snakes into your nose, the fusty stench of moisture that has soaked into the walls over the decades and the stale essence of powdery, old perfumes, which awakens nostalgia in you with an almost visceral force. And there is something extremely homely about the old chest of drawers, forgotten in the small hall, and about the lace tablecloth spread on the top of it, chewed by time, on which a bouquet of worn plastic flowers sits in a glass vase, like the last witnesses of a couple of long gone, sentimental memories. The old nick-nacks accumulated over the years rests in neat order, and even on the walls, the frames, covered with pale gold, hang with measured precision, with black and white photos of unknown people in them, testifying that perhaps, according to the story, the woman might not have lived here alone once. They looking into the camera with blank expressions on their grim faces, and you swear that they're staring into your soul with their dull, dot-like eyes.

And when the woman rushes past you towards the inside of the house, disrupts the thin layer of dust that settles on the worn surface of the furniture, and as the musty smell traveling with the tiny particles settles into your nose, it occurs to you that, despite the homely atmosphere, it's as if no more than a few stray ghosts would actually live here. And your subconscious warns you about this small intuition, which makes you sneak after your host with careful cat-like steps, like a curious child who knows she's straying into an area that adults have told her a thousand times not to venture near to.

The lamp hanging from the ceiling is the only source of light as you enter the kitchen after the the old woman, and the light bulb casts filmy, yellow rays from under the milk-like porcelain onto the battered furnishings of the little room. She’s already busying herself, and shoves chopped pieces of wood into the dilapidated stove, scaly with peeling white paint, glancing over her shoulder as she hears the shuffling of your shoes on the worn linoleum.

"Sit down, I'll make you some tea to warm you up!" She speaks up, and by now all uncertainty has disappeared from her voice, giving the impression that it was not a torn stranger, but an old friend who appeared in front of her humble abode in the middle of the night. And, as she digs out an ancient teapot from one of the cupboards, and the faucet turns on with a loud creak, as she steps to the sink and fills it with water, you wonder what will come next. Now you can't rely on your routine, with which you were able to tell exactly which breath followed the other in the cabin, and this creates an uncomfortable, gaping hole in your insides. And that sends a robotic rigidity into your limbs as you walk over to the table in the middle of the kitchen and settle down in one of the thick oak armchairs, because fear begins to twist in the bottomless pit that anxiety has opened in you, as your eyes scan the room for danger. You should feel bad that you're so persistently looking for a trap in the woman's hospitality, but you have experienced firsthand how big a mistake it is when you let yourself to be overconfident.

"A few minutes and it's done." She comments on her haste, and turning towards you, she leans against the shabby kitchen counter, finding you with her searching gaze again. Now that you have entered the scene of another dangerous mission, your consciousness automatically accepts the stimuli that your brain may have tried to push away until now. And you see the sparks of interest swimming through the pools of her eyes, but despite the soft expression still sitting on the worn face, the stress is too strong for you to let your guard down. You'd like to think that only your paranoia brings out this visceral suspicion, but you're smarter than that. "How did you get lost?" She formulates the completely legitimate question, and your ear once again discovers the accent that, despite the light tone, gives her words harshness. As if tiny little pebbles would be gurgling in her mouth, making every consonant flow out a little harder from her paper-thin lips. Maybe Russian?

"We just went for a walk with my friends. I lost them." You finally break your silence with a half-truth, which is just honest enough so that your tone is not colored by the sound of lies. You have no reason to tell her what happened during the endless torture of the past hours, and you have a gut feeling that it wouldn't help you if you mentioned to her what kind of monsters this demonic place has entwined your fate with.

And when the telltale shadows of doubt creep across the old face, you become quite sure that you have made the right decision. You can tell from the little quiver that makes the corner of her mouth twitch that she doesn't believe you, but there's just enough goodwill in her not to try to inquire further. You see how suddenly her throat jumps as she swallows the demanding questions, and you're quite sure that she knows exactly what happened to you. She must have resided in the middle of the forest long enough to know its every evil nook and cranny, and you doubt that her innocent facade is what has kept her alive. Whatever the purpose of this storyline, it is not a coincidence that she lives here in the middle of nowhere, and there is even less chance that it was thanks to some harmless tricks that helped her home to stay so undisturbed. This also raises a series of dangerous assumptions in you, and you can almost feel how the buzzing of suspicion in your head sharpens as a result.

A sudden whistle interrupts the thread of your thoughts sinking into ever darker pits, and the woman, breaking your silent examination, settles back into her caring role, turning to the teapot angrily steaming on the stove amid soft curses. And you take advantage of this to explore the hidden corners of the room, searching for small signs that can reveal what you're dealing with. It’s quite obvious that another important clue will be hidden here, and you have to do everything you can to find it, because you don't know how much time you have until the two men or another killer find you, one who has been lying dormant waiting for the opportunity to play with you until now.

And now that you take a closer look at the room, you discover more and more little details you missed when you wandered in here. You can see the touch of old hands in the order that resides in the small hole of the kitchen, but you can spot the silky blanket of spider webs that weave the plates decorated with flowers on the shelves, as if no one has used them for decades. There are rich bouquets of dried plants hung on nails on the wall, but below them, you can clearly make out the yellowed newspaper articles written in a language unknown to you, on which the same black and white people you saw in the hall look back at you. And when you squint and try to observe the figure emerging from under the withered flowers of one of the herbs, you see how a little boy, dressed in old-fashioned clothes, is cut through by the unknown mark, which almost decapitates him with the edges engraved with graphite. At first, the drawing may seem like a simple scribble, but you recognize the needle-sharp points of a star in it, as if someone had carved a grotesque crosshair there…

The knocking of the mug's porcelain jolts you out of your investigation, and you wince with the surprise of a small child caught in mischief, turning your gaze back to the woman, who takes her seat across from you with a much tighter smile than before. And the tenderness on her face turns into something completely cold, as if only habit would keep the friendly curl in the corners of her mouth in place, and the softness that used to be able to inspire sympathy in your soul has disappeared from them. Now her expression transforms into sharp lines, which are deepened into gloomy furrows by the yellow light filtering down from the lamp, as if would the woman transform into someone completely different in an instant. Someone you shouldn't be around.

"Drink up. It will help." She pushes the cup towards you, and you know it's not just your ears when you feel the impatient tone in her voice, from which the offer sounds more like an instruction than a well-meaning nagging. And you don't react for a tense moment, and despite the anxiety churning in your stomach, you try to keep your cool, because now you recognize the fleeting shadow that hides under the gentle warmth. Like a hawk waiting to strike, she follows your movements as you wrap your fingers around the handle of the mug, but she can no longer deceive you, because you've seen the same expression before. Although it's not Johnny's handsome face and the sparks of his sky-blue eyes that want to divert the suspicion that is scratching your insides, the disguise of an old woman feigning cordial concern would just as effectively put anyone's doubts to sleep. But she can put on any mask, you're already able to distinguish the vileness under the sickly sweet surface. And this woman wants to hurt you, you're sure of that.

Still, you pull the steaming beverage in front of you with almost automatic movements, trying with every cell not to let her figure out that you suspect something. You need her to reveal herself, because that's how you can get her to lead you to the clues that can get you out of here. There is something hidden in this damned house, and you feel it in your bones that it’s important to find out what it is. All your fake innocence seeps into the way you touch your mouth to the porcelain, and the luscious scent of herbs and fruits snakes into your nose. And although you don't feel the sting of poison in the steamy clouds rising from the tea, it fills you with a bad foreboding when the woman leans forward with artificial benevolence frozen on her face, watching with almost intrusive interest how you start sipping the hot liquid. And you feel more and more tense with each passing second, like an ant stuck under a magnifying glass, which has just begun to feel how the rays of the sun breaking through the lens burn its legs into charcoal stubs. And you see the dissatisfaction when you hesitantly lower the cup.

"Drink it all. You need it." She encourages you, almost cooing, and her accent is more reminiscent of an impatient mother who tries to dictate medicine to her protesting child with a barely controlled temper. Gentle, but just as much as boiling water forgotten under the lid. And you feel how the little hairs rise on the nape of your neck, as her glassy eyes fixate on you with unblinking persistence.

Uncertain silence settles in the tiny kitchen, which makes the saliva in your mouth thicken into molasses as you return the woman's stare. Under the flickering light of the old bulb, everything seems to change, and out of the corner of your eye, it looks as if the flowers painted on the wall would turn into wax, dripping off the plaster dirty from grease. But you’re unable to turn your gaze away from her, as she studies you with the immobility of a predator, and you have to forcefully suppress the trembling that awakes in your hands as you raise the mug to your lips and take another small sip. And the excited light that passes over her features does’t escape your attention for a minute, as she follows the almost painfully sweet liquid traveling down your throat. And now you're sure that no matter how harmless this elderly woman seems, evil is hidden under her frail frame. Because the pearls hidden in your pockets come to life with an almost warning glow, as the strange, bitter aftertaste sits on your taste buds, which the sugar has been able to suppress until now.

Under the pulsation of the little red spheres, the light buzz, that the brew wants to envelop your brain in, has no chance of spreading, but you know you have to pretend that she was successful, whatever she smuggled into your drink. Because there's a reason why she's trying to knock you out, and maybe if you make her believe that you let her trick you like an unsuspecting fool, then she'll reveal what she's up to. That's why you let the fatigue throbbing in your limbs creep onto the fibers of your muscles, numb with lactic acid, and you let the exhausted yawn loose that, now that you're finally resting, falls through your mouth sincerely. And you hear that satisfied little hum with which the woman finally leans back, when she assesses the unexpected force of the sleepiness washing over you.

"Perhaps it would be best if you stayed here for the night." She offers, and there is nothing to unsure about the way she presents her proposal to you. A selflessly offered opportunity, behind which lies a statement to which no opposition is expected. And it’s exactly this determination that dispels the previous softness, and fills her old joints with an almost youthful energy, when she springs up and starts towards the kitchen door, giving you one last, almost painfully fond look. "You just stay here and rest." She adds, and you feel nauseous from the kindness under which the poison of cruelty ripples, and which creeps into your ear canals with snide unsolicitedness.

When, after an uncertain nod, you lay your head down on the table with languid weakness, she hurries away towards the maze of the corridor giggling, with such immense glee, as if an unexpected present had fallen into her lap. And you, closing your eyes, order every part of your body to remain motionless in anticipation, slowing your breathing to a trembling evenness, listening through your own shivering for the woman's footsteps. You have to remain unnoticed because you're sure that if she realizes that her tea has failed to relax you enough, she'll come up with something much more painful to get the desired effect. You're not sure what her goal is, but you don't have time to create unnecessary excitement for yourself.

For minutes, only the soft puffs of the air flowing through your nose fill the room shrouded in an almost disturbing quietness, but despite your pulse pounding in your ears with an almost deafening noise, you wait until all the sounds die down between the old walls. And when you decide that you have wasted enough time, you carefully push yourself away from the worn furniture and stand up with your eyes fixed on the shadows beyond the door, watching for an unexpected visitor with every move you make. But, when nothing happens, and only the low buzzing of the light bulb and the hooting of the owls filtering in from outside travel through the empty house, then you sneak towards the hallway.

As you step out onto the corridor, it takes a few uncertain seconds for your eyes to get used to the dense darkness, and when you're finally able to make out the pitch-black outlines of the furniture, you set off into the unknown. The age-old parquet floor creaks under your shoes, reminiscent of the soft squealing of a mouse, and with each step you take, the presentiment tightens its grip on your insides. Because you have no idea where the old woman could have gone, and the fact that she can appear from behind any of the doors lined up next to each other is just enough to awaken the needle-like prickling of stress in your muscles. As if a thousand tiny ants would be crawling under your skin, and clenching your teeth, you fight the tempting compulsion to escape. You know you're wading into the swampy abyss of certain danger, but you also know you have no other choice. And not finding a clue is not an option. You have to move on or you'll be stuck here forever.

You wouldn't be able to tell how deep you ventured into the uninhabited house, but everything turns into an unsettling uniformity as a dull entrance follows another insignificant door, and the pictures hanging on the walls serve as your only companions in your wanderings.The lifeless eyes following you send shivers down your spine involuntarily, because although they're nothing more than the imprints of strangers lingering in the past, yet there is something bleak in the faces of the people on them. But when you discover something familiar, you stop dead in your tracks to take a closer look at the many of photos hidden in the frames, and you don't have to think long to recognize the boy from the kitchen. Although he may be much older here, and the childish roundness of his face has already been banished by the hormones of adolescence, but the light eyes stare at you with the same stern expressionlessness as they did from the shadows of the herbs. There is something hard in them, something angry, lurking beneath the frozen stillness, waiting to strike. And the longer you stare, the more the unpleasant feeling intensifies in you, which plants the impossible idea in your mind that the next moment he will come to life and, reaching through the scratched glass, wraps his pale, thin fingers around your neck.

A thunder-like bang tears into the empty quiet of the building, and you, shaking in terror, break out of your paranoia-woven imagination to spin around and start searching for the noise with the alarm of a frightened animal. And when the sounds don't die down, but are enriched by the clanking of a chain and the murmur of a muffled conversation, then you come upon the worn door, ajar, on the tattered surface of which a star-like scribble greets you, roughly sketched up with blood-red paint, the same that someone drew on the boy in the newspaper article. And you become aware with an uncomfortable certainty that the game has finally revealed your next destination to you, no matter how much every cell of yours protests against venturing towards the source of the increasingly loud clamor.

Every single nerve of yours tenses as one, as you move closer, keeping your eyes fixed on the cracked varnish clinging to the wooden surface, considering each step before the next, and the closer you stray, the sharper the violently snapping words become, and even though you don't understand them, you can feel the simmering ire in them. You open the door with your trembling fingers wrapped around the doorknob, and the saliva crawls down your dry throat almost like shards of glass, when you try to dispel the lump that has grown there. But nothing welcomes you, only a set of stairs covered in faint light, which leads you down into the uncertain darkness, and you feel the force of fear twisting your guts, as you muster up your courage and set off to the rickety steps.

The lower you go, the wider the hidden world of the basement opens up in front of you, and the more painful the horrible smell, mixture of the sweet stench of rot and the sting of sweat, pierces your nose. With each breath, the stagnant, moldy air penetrates deeper into your lungs, and if your brain weren't occupied by terror, you would wonder what kind of disease you're filling your chest with so voluntarily. Although to your own ears, every noise your shoes mak on the old stairs is ear-splitting, you know, even through the uncontrollably roaring fear inside you, that the sounds of your arrival will be drowned out by the wild discussion unfolding on the other side of the wall bordering the stairs. You recognize the woman's voice in the furious foreign expressions, but that's not what makes you halt hesitantly on the last step. It's that unexpected, raspy male baritone that stops the momentum of your curiosity from taking you any further, because even though you can't see the face associated with it, you feel the deadly threat traveling in the growl-like rumble.

"ублюдок!" The woman erupts, and even you cringe instinctively from the caustic rage that sits in her tone. "You ungrateful wretch!" She spits in a way that you finally can understand, and you hear the crunch of the dirt and dust sliding under her shoes as she take a step forward, as if she were moving closer to someone, but further away from your impromptu hiding place. "I should have let them take you!" The end of the heated cursing snaps, and with this the stormy exchange of words turns into painful silence, as if the shadows hiding on the dirty floor had absorbed not only the rays of the faintly flickering light, but also the sounds. And from this, even you know that something came out of the woman's mouth that shouldn't have.

The basement falls into an icy stillness, and the tiny hairs on your skin rise as you lean against the wall and listen, wondering if you made a mistake by coming down here. However, as your frightened eyes wander around the dimly lit room, you discover something in one corner that catches your eye with its golden glow. And you lean forward like someone who has been mesmerized, trying to decipher through the dying light of the old bulb hanging on the ceiling, what might be hiding in one of the shelves under the piled-up, dusty mountain of junk. And the relieved joy that washes over you when you notice the lost key that leads to Johnny's attic, is almost ridiculous, and for a fleeting moment, you're sure that it's just your eyes playing games with you. But the tiny little object winks back at you with an unmoving serenity a few long seconds later, and you already know what your task is.

"Oh, my little boy... don't be angry! Mommy loves you, you know that, right?" You hear the apologetic shush, and you're filled with an ominous feeling as you lean forward from behind the wall, clinging to the crumbling bricks, to see how safe it is to get the key. And your eyebrows knot together in confusion when you're greeted by nothing more than the old woman, who, stepping towards one of the dark corners, spreads her arms as if waiting for someone to fall into her arms. Although at first, you're sure that age and loneliness have warped her mind so much that she imagines one of her loved ones in the shadows, but as your gaze falls on the mattress, brown with dirt, lying by the wall, and the plates soiled from the rotting leftover food, you dismiss your naive assumption. Someone is here, and based on the dried, yellowish stains on the torn bedsheet, they weren't forced to retreat here now. But you don't care about that. Whoever is imprisoned here, you're not here to help them.

"I found a new friend for you... She is much prettier than the previous ones! You want to see her, don't you? If you're a good boy, I'll bring her down for you... You do as mommy says, yes?" The woman continues, mumbling the kind words with an almost atoning tenderness, and it becomes painfully clear that whatever lives down here, this old bitch tried to drug you because of it. And when you remember the boot sprinkled with bone dust found in the forest, you banish the idea of thinking about what could have happened to those who were dragged down here before you. You have more important things to do than brood over the deaths of imaginary strangers… as cruel as that may sound.

But just as you finally take the first brave step and leave your hideout with careful stealth, the chain rattle comes to life again, and you freeze, forgetting about the key, when a dull crack silences the old hag. Like when a ripe, juicy melon cracks and splits into two when a knife sinks into it, but deep down you know that it's not fruit juice you hear splashing on the floor in fat drops. And you're unable to resist the pull of fear, which draws you in the direction of the noise against your will, but as soon as you see the woman slowly staggering back from the dark corner, you immediately regret giving in to the impulse. Because when your eyes find the handle of the large knife protruding from her head, you clamp your hands to your mouth, trying to force back the horrified scream that rises in your throat. 

The woman clumsily stumbles backward, and you see the uncertain surprise in the trembling hands with which she reaches for her hair, slowly covered into a crimson veil from the blood, touching the wooden handle almost in disbelief. And there is something quite pitiful in the way she turns around in confusion, amidst frightened whimpers, brushing away the strands stuck to her eyes by the red streams running down her forehead. And you, swallowing the bitter taste on your tongue, take a terrified step back, as you suddenly see how impossibly tight the skin clings to the edges of the bones emerging from the sunken face, as if a parasite were about to break through a thin membrane. The pale tissues look unsettlingly papery, and you have a lingering fear that the dull, matte white of her jaw might penetrate them at any moment, as the woman's mouth opens in a silent scream. Unfocused eyes find you, and you're horrified to realize that maybe she wants to ask for help when she wobbles towards you with shaky legs, but you're frozen in terror, as you stare at her motionless, like a deer stuck in the headlights of a car. And you watch in shock, when after what seems like eternity, she, with a gurgling rattle, finally sprawls out on the dusty ground, like a sack full of rotten potatoes.

"You're finally here." You hear the hoarse voice from before, and as you look for its owner in terror, you see how a strong figure emerges from the darkness of the shadows, dragging the heavy shackle of the chain hanging from his thick neck behind him with a metallic clang. But what worries you even more than the muscles hidden under the torn clothes, is the pair of impossibly blue eyes that emerge from under the mask covering the unknown man's face, which look at you with cheerful interest, as if he had found a small bird with a broken wing. And from the cruelty glimmering in them, it immediately becomes painfully clear that he is the kind of person who would rip your wings out by the stem to free you from suffering. "I was waiting for you, Bunny."

(ублюдок (ublyudok) - bastard).

[burningvelvet]

more rambling thoughts about wuthering heights now that i've finished my re-read

1 wuthering heights is basically the looney tunes if the looney tunes were goth. 90% of the novel is people arguing, dying, and running around threatening to kill each other, and often all three of those at once.

2 love how it's filled with dark humor. "he's such a cobweb, a pinch would annihilate him" is such a camp thing to say about the terminally ill child you abhor and who you spend weeks trying to set up on dates with your dead lover's child so you can steal her property when your son finally dies. heathcliff lecturing his son on Seduction 101 right in front of cathy 2.0, trying ridiculously to play cupid and compel them to fall in love with each other before giving up and just kidnapping her instead... surely he's the most insane brontë man?

3 i can't remember what i had for dinner last night but nelly dean can remember what the weather was like on any given friday twenty years ago (love her and her snarky comments)

4 love how after nelly finishes telling the story to lockwood she's like "any way. so you know cathy 2.0 is single right ;)))" and then cathy 2.0 shows zero interest in him. so then he's like "oh i just remembered i have somewhere to be :/" then fucks off to london for nearly a year then when he comes back nelly is like "nvm as it turns out cathy and hareton are actually soulmates lol who knew! gee, it's a good thing she didn't like you!" and he's just silently suffering. emily was just fucking around here. hindley was the only linton/earnshaw/heathcliff who was wild enough to marry someone who didn't share either his gene pool or his neighborhood.

5 i imagine joseph to look like smeagol from the lotr films but taller

6 [heathcliff, after stabbing his alcoholic arch nemesis and then pushing his servant into the puddle of the blood] "Wash that stuff away; and mind the sparks of your candle—it is more than half brandy!” LMAO

7 this opinion list is just turning out to be a list of the most insane heathcliff moments but truly the novel should've just been called "heathcliff"

8 heathcliff's weird paternal feelings for hareton, saving hareton's life, him saying he would truly love him if only he wasn't hindley's child, basically giving hareton his blessing to love cathy 2.0 toward the end... so oddly endearing

9 heathcliff walking out just before the "i am heathcliff" part of her speech. why WHY

10 hindley protecting isabella from heathcliff before she flees was nice and i wish we saw more of their dynamic around the heights. honestly aside from the child neglect (which is par for the course in wuthering heights) hindley is a pretty sympathetic character; his rivalry with heathcliff was fueled by both sides and truly the fault of their father for pitting them against each other by letting heathcliff usurp hindley's place of favoritism as a boy. hindley's gambling and drinking, his general dissipation and failure to secure his son's future, are all tragic.

11 i think hindley/edgar/heathcliff are all interesting foils for each other; they each lose the women they love and are left to be single fathers, and each responds to the task totally differently. if we include mr. earnshaw, all the fathers in the story essentially fail their children after all the mothers die. hindley and heathcliff have a special parallel through their lifelong brotherly competition, the women they love both dying in childbirth, and in their own deaths. hindley slowly kills himself while ignoring everyone around him; heathcliff also kills himself, but only after trying to systematically ruin the lives of everyone around him. they also say that they want to kill each other but fail when they try; heathcliff nearly kills hindley but ends up saving his life at the last minute.

12 heathcliff jr. is so terrified of heathcliff sr. and so traumatized and petrified by fear and he doesn't deserve the hate he gets for being annoying. he's been sheltered his whole life, his mother just died, he was sent to his uncle/cousin only to be immediately torn away from them to be abused by a stranger who treats him horribly, he's terminally ill, he's still a kid, he's threatened into marrying someone he barely knows, etc.

13 if any of you have seen the british comedy show "the young ones" that's literally hindley's household in wuthering heights when joseph/hareton/hindley/heathcliff/isabella all live together. the filth, the slop for dinner, the petty games, the violence, the fierce hatred yet weird loyalty to each other, etc.

14 i really wonder how cathy would have reacted to heathcliff's treatment of everyone else if only she had known the full details (ie his harsh abuse of isabella, his son, cathy 2.0, etc.)

15 heights was my first brontë novel but i think i like jane eyre and tenant better now that i've read them all back to back! next on the list is likely agnes gray. anne, my underrated queen!

[divineerdrick]

Homestuck Beyond Canon Upd8 for September 29, 2024

This is honestly a great time for an upd8.

I'm not doing so hot right now. Both my migraines and my fatigue have decided to start kicking my ass even harder. And I'm a little frustrated with that, since I've been trying to participate in the Path of Exile Runic Strife Gauntlet. But that's going to be hard if my body is going to be fighting me. I'm not making very good time as is, and I can't afford to lose a character due to lack of focus.

At times like this, Homestuck is often a comfortable blanket I'll wrap myself in. This comic has gotten me through hard times in the past, especially with amazing wealth of talent and compassion that's in the community. Even now, with probably a pretty hard chapter coming, I'm very much looking forward to it. I'm hoping we can get some more catharsis for Vriska's arc, and maybe finally give her another much needed breakthrough.

Here we are. Finally behind the 8 ball.

Hah! Also, apparently this is just "Later" so we don't have a definitive time frame. At least that probably means another year hasn't gone by.

That . . . that is a much more upbeat Serket than I was expecting. Hopefully she's not playing strong after her encounter with Scratch. She really does need to take some time to process that and move past it.

Nice boss pick there, in more ways than one.

Okay good! Looks like she did take some time reflect and recover. I'm hoping she actually spent some time addressing things though. Would have been nice to see some of that, but Homestuck has a habit of leaving some things to the imagination.

Looks like some opening up might have happened there. That's good! That means progress has definitely taken place!

Fefeta! Chewing everyone's ear off as usual! It's actually a cute contrast to Davepeta going on one of their usual tangents.

Vriska's never been shy about getting in on the RP action. Much less menacing than a Mindfang RP, but also still very much Vriska.

Hah! Vriska's trying to wrap her head around the sprite shenanigans.

Fefeta! No!!!

Nope. Not gonna explain anything.

No glomping without consent!

Consent and glomp achieved!

Looks like they're literally calling them hells. Also awesome art.

I'm still going with (Vriska), but that leaves the opportunity for Terezi to show up too, just as Aradia showed up with Tavros.

Kinda reminds me of the faint image of the stage at the center of the black hole.

Hey! I got one!

Wow! Really pushing the age difference here. This Vriska is still 6 after all.

It's one thing to apologize. But this is still a valid Vriska. Can you accept her.

And apparently she can't do it.

Wow! She really just peace'd the fuck out!

And that's it for the chapter. Vriska has hit another wall. Despite the fact she knows she should, she can't accept the part of her she views as having given up - as choosing happiness over the mission. She's probably telling herself that this version of her left everyone behind when they still needed her, and she can't accept that. But the simple fact is that version of her is still a valid her. It's still a path she took. We don't see any other versions of Vriska in the bubbles, because but for one well placed punch this was Vriska's fate. Sally "thewertsearch" just got to Vriska's death in her liveblog. Scratch makes it clear that Vriska always chose to fix the coin, always chose to go fight jack, and Terezi always stabs her in the back because she knows what the consequences will be. It's a constant across all timelines. And that Vriska always fights to stay relevant until everyone but Meenah leaves her. And then she chooses happiness instead.

And apparently, Vriska just can't deal with that.

[ohthethingswedoforlove]

Yandere!Matsuno brothers headcanons

My favorite group of insufferable bastards! This part two of two posts, with this one's being about Ichimatsu, Jyushimatsu and Todomatsu.

Warnings: yandere characters; descriptions of violence; stalking; manipulation and blackmailing;

Ichimatsu

💜 If the other brothers haven't already given you enough reasons to run for the hills by this point, then rest assured that Ichimatsu is here to give you a few more.

💜 He's definitely the creepiest, even if unintentionally a lot of times.

💜 You'll probably feel a bit alarmed right from the very first encounter with him.

💜 He's quite intimidating, after all. The "I feel like this guy might just stab me as soon as I turn my back" kind of intimidating.

💜 But, hey, at least he prefers to keep to himself. He doesn't exactly go looking for trouble.

💜 Most of the time, anyway.

💜 Your relationship with Ichimatsu is going to take the longest to develop.

💜 He likes to keep himself isolated, and has a hard time both communicating with and trusting others.

💜 But your first interaction probably had something to do with cats.

💜 He spends most of his time surrounded by them, the times he even bothers leaving the house are usually to go see his alley cat friends.

💜 He either found you interacting with or taking care of a few stray cats yourself, or you just happened to see this guy completely surrounded by cats and got intrigued enough to strike up a conversation. 

💜 Or attempt to anyway. He most likely didn't humor your attempts a whole lot, leaving you to interact mostly with just the cats.

💜 But either way, he can't help but feel a bit intrigued. He was still nervous, sure, but... You didn't seem too bad.

💜 So, now that he's curious, what's he going to do? What's the next logical step?

💜 Well, stalking, obviously.

💜 It all started on a whim.

💜 He saw you once again after that fateful day, and felt inclined to see where you were going and what you were doing. But he didn't want to directly approach you in any way. Of course he didn't.

💜 And after that, his curiosity only grew.

💜 He feels... A certain connection with you. He can't quite explain it. 

💜 And in the beginning he didn't want an explanation anyway.

💜 This is all a big hassle. It's stupid. Why is he even bothering? It's not like someone like you would even want to look at garbage like him.

💜 But he can't find it in himself to stop.

💜 No matter how many times he insists to himself that it's pointless, no matter how many times beats himself over the idea that you would never even care for him in the first place.

💜 He can't can't stop thinking about you.

💜 He can't stop himself from trailing right behind you every time he even just notices you from the corner of his eye.

💜 Now it's part of his daily routine. He seeks you out, he has your schedule memorised from the top of his head.

💜 Which resulted in you two interacting quite a few times, actually. He tends to follow way too close by and freeze up when you look at him, leading to you both "bumping into each other" more than he planned to. 

💜 And you keep coming back for the cats as well, which kind of cemented him as a... Friend of yours. Or at least as that guy you know that's always surrounded by cats. Hey, probably means he can't be that bad despite the intimidating look, considering how much those little guys like him. Right?

💜 Right.

💜 Actually, it's kind of funny. Because you definitely have nothing against him, but he has convinced himself that you must hate him. Why wouldn't you, considering who he is?

💜 And in turn you're convinced that he's scared of you. Which is not too far off from the truth, to be honest.

💜 If it isn't you starting conversations, he's content with simply observing you as you do your thing, watching and following from afar.

💜 Though, given enough time, he might actually start to warm up enough to try and be the one who approaches first.

💜 Ever since that day you first met him is like you can't really stop encountering him.

💜 And he hates it when someone else steals your attention away from him.

💜 Is it selfish and weird? Yes. Does he care? No, definitely not.

💜 Anyone else he sees you with is in almost immediate danger.

💜 Because while he's very reserved and even soft spoken around you, with others he doesn't even hesitate to get aggressive and confrontational.

💜 Because he definitely can't stop this unbearable, boiling rage every time he sees you so happily talking and spending time with others.

💜 It's not fair, is it?

💜 The way they so easily get what he struggles to have.

💜 He's easily the most violent out of all of them, contested by Choromatsu as a close second.

💜 But unlike Choro, he doesn't try to keep up appearances. He has no reason to. After all, why bother pretending to be better than the horrible, horrible person he already is?

Jyushimatsu

💛 Jyushimatsu... Oh boy, Jyushimatsu.

💛 He's weird.

💛 Well, all of them are, but Jyushi is an entirely different breed of weird.

💛 First impressions might scare you off a bit. He's loud, chaotic and just straight up nonsensical in a lot of the things he says or does.

💛 But if you stick around, you're quickly going to find out that Jyushi is easily the kindest out of all of his brothers.

💛 Careful, though. He's also the most detached from reality, in a way that gives the word "delusional" a run for its money.

💛 Jyushimatsu goes by whatever he thinks is right. It's more of a "feelings" based system than "morals" based one.

💛 And while that can translate into his bordering on naivete cheerfulness most of the time, it can also translate into a less pleasant and surprisingly violent path.

💛His intention might not be to hurt or scare you, but collateral damage is nearly impossible to avoid when dealing with Jyushi.

💛 He's kind of unpredictable in that regard.

💛 Sometimes it seems like he genuinely doesn't even think that what he did would be considered wrong, while other times he appears to be perfectly conscious of what he just did but simply doesn't care about the consequences.

💛 He doesn't even do anything out of malice, at least most of the time anyway; it's just what he considers to be a reasonable response or solution to whatever current problem he's facing.

💛 Though, he might start to understand that something's wrong when even his brothers started to call him out for being way too weird about this new "friend" of his.

💛 The other five might take a bit to realise just how attached he is and what he's willing to do for you, but it will reach a point when not even his own brothers will try to entrevine.

💛 They know better than that. They know that he doesn't really work by "normal and reasonable" logic. They don't really need or want an aggravated Jyushimatsu at their throats.

💛 This is your problem now.

💛 And, well, he might be unpredictable, but he's still extremely loving towards you.

💛 He really does adore you.

💛 Jyushi will always try to make you happy, to leave you laughing at his jokes and antics.

💛 If you're happy, then he feels like he can be as well!

💛 Just as long as you're also willing to spend 24/7 with him, then everything's going to be perfectly okay!

💛 Oh, yeah, about that... Jyushi might as well just be physically glued to you now. Because he doesn't really let you go anywhere without him.

💛 It reaches a point where it feels like you can't have your own personal life separated from him anymore.

💛 Again, This doesn't really feel like it's coming from a place of malice or intent to control you, Jyushi just doesn't see the need for you two being apart.

💛 I mean, you two love each other! So shouldn't you always be together, then?

💛 Just... Don't outright reject him, and specially don't do it too harshly.

💛 The poor guy might not take it too well.

💛 And trust me when I say that the last thing you want from Jyushimatsu is an emotional meltdown.

Todomatsu

🤍 This cheeky, manipulative little bastard.

🤍 He might proudly hold the title of "cute youngest brother" of the group, but this guy is everything but the sweetheart he passes himself as.

🤍 He's cute, he's sociable, and he's the most well adjusted out of all his brothers. What's not to love, especially when compared to the others?

🤍 Well, not much, actually.

🤍 Todomatsu acts, more often than not, like a two-faced snake until he gets what he wants. 

🤍 And when he doesn't? Well, you can bet that he's more than willing to step over others until he does.

🤍 Though, he's the easiest one out of the Matsuno brothers to befriend, if that serves as a positive point.

🤍 Well... Kinda. He's the easiest one to hang around with, sure. But if he considers you his friend or much less someone he will bother with, that's a completely different story.

🤍 He probably won't see you as much in the beginning.

🤍 Especially if he also doesn't really find you all that attractive at first glance.  

🤍 All of the brothers all tend to be a bit shallow when they first meet you, but Totty might just be the worse one.

🤍 But when you do catch his genuine interest... Then, well, good luck getting rid of him.

🤍 Totty is a jealous prick. Once he decides that he likes you, it doesn't take long until he also decides that all of your attention should be directed to him and him only.

🤍 He already acted really polite around you, as he does with nearly everyone except for his brothers and the few he really can't stand at all, but there's going to be a noticeable shift in his behaviour when he's around you.

🤍 He's going to get a lot more affectionate, clingier, and he's going to make sure to double down on his cuteness, especially if he sees that you seem to like his whole "adorable" act.

🤍 He's also going to make absolutely sure that his brothers won't even get an opportunity to breathe in the same room as you. He knows from experience what happens when his lovely family finds out that he's interested in someone.

🤍 The last thing he needs is that group of freaks getting in between him and his plan to make you love him.

🤍 Oh, and you will love him.

🤍 It's not a "if", it's a "when", as far as he's concerned.

🤍 It might actually take you a while to realise that something's... Wrong.

🤍 But you will notice at some point.

🤍 Todomatsu is known for... Throwing tantrums, after all.

🤍 While he's just as quick to anger as most of his brothers, he's actually the least likely to take a physically violent approach. He knows that he can't and won't do much in a fight.

🤍 But that doesn't mean he can't ruin both your life and the lives of everyone who gets in his way!

🤍 Though, he's definitely going to target you over others. For practicality's sake, he likes to think. After all, getting closer to you has multiple advantages.

🤍 He also likes having leverage over you. Especially in the form of blackmail.

🤍 And, oh boy, is he good at blackmailing you!

🤍 He doesn't even care if you no longer see him as the perfect and sweet guy anymore. As long as you stay with him and play nice, he won't have to act like this anyway, he'll tell you.

🤍 The more you play along, the more affectionate, caring and willing to spoil you rotten he'll get.  

🤍 He might even get a bit too over the moon about you supposedly loving him back... Maybe you could use that to your advantage? Yeah, he's the most cunning... But he still has his moments of being as much of a dumbass as the others.

🤍 But if you don't want things getting out of hand... Just do as he says. He promises that you'll adore being with him, if you just give him the chance to show how much he loves you!

🤍 You'll be seeing things from his perspective soon enough.

🤍 He's sure of it.

[zzomb2ie]

this is an overdramatization of that moment of the stream. there is not intention of villanizing any of the other characters, just some q!bbh stan writing some angst.

—

The conversation had him tense for several minutes. His close friends had been picking on him for more than half an hour.

He was already feeling bad because Bagi as well as Tina seemed to hate the base he had made based on Soulfire. He felt bad about it, for some reason no one seemed to appreciate the memorial he had made to remember the only good thing about Purgatory. Bagi even admitted wanting to burn it, but it didn't make sense, he had spent so much time on it, why would she want to burn something like that?

Once he arrived at the circle of people, he tried to make room on one of the sofas because he felt too uncomfortable standing and watching them laugh among themselves, without understanding the context. It was awkward, but It was fine! They seemed to be having a good time.

Or so he thought - Until the conversation started talking about him. For some reason Richas was talking about how he (Bbh) caused problems in other people's relationships, thing he didn't understand, because he had helped one of the couples present in the room. He didn't feel too comfortable. He knew that he wasn't good with feelings of romance, it's not like he had a clear concept about it or was familiar with it.

He felt embarrassed.

Suddenly they started talking about his relationship with Forever. It felt like a great pain in the butt.

Everyone started talking about how

"They weren't together yet and it had taken months." he felt pressured. What was wrong with it? It had taken him long enough to come to terms with his feelings and identify them to now go quick. It didn't make sense to him.

Why did everyone looked at him like that? Why was everyone laughing with his name in their mouths but he didn't seem to be included in the conversation?

They started joking about his escape room project. And he could only think about a few hours ago enjoying watching his friends having a good time with one of his works, and for some strange reason, he felt hurt.

Why did everyone seem to hate what Bbh appreciated openly. Why did no one seem to take him seriously?

The conversation just continued. The truth is that he just seemed to have a good time in the few minutes that the conversation wasn't focused on him. He wanted to throw himself on the ground and let him come through the water.

Even when he was simply looking to talk alone with his son, someone would come to interrupt out of the blue. For some reason he felt a small ringing in his ears.

Maybe they were from the beatings given by his close friends.

Maybe it was because of the open wounds on his body and the radiation reaching his brain.

Maybe his brain was simply beginning to dissociate from all the stress he had been feeling in the last hour but hadn't allowed himself to admit.

Every time he left the others and came back the feeling got worse. It was like being stabbed in a wound repeatedly, without letting him breathe.

Why was he sweating so much? Why did his head hurt? Why did he feel a slight pressure on his chest? Was he sleepy? He wasn't sure, he just knew that breathing was difficult.

For a second he felt his eyes water and he felt frustrated, there was no point in feeling sad, right? So why did he feel like crying so much?

Everyone seemed to be having a blast, why was he the only one standing there watching everyone from afar?

...

For a few seconds he wished for the worst of his fears; being alone.

He tried to stay calm and wiped his eyes with one of his still discolored sleeves. Dapper was back, there was no point in feeling bad, right?

Everything was fine, completely fine.

He called Dapper aside and swallowed hard, trying to communicate that he couldn't take it anymore and that he felt exhausted by the situation. Dapper of course understood.

As always, his kid seemed to be the other half of his universe.

He felt extremely tired. He went home.

Although he still heard a slight ringing in his ears.