#grim n gritty

[vertigoartgore]

1992's Ghost Rider & Blaze: Spirits of Vengeance #6 Cover by Adam Hubert (art) and Ken Steacy (colors).

[misswynters]

Ma Meilleure Amour

featuring. ekko x fem!reader

a/n. doing my duty as a writer to fill the ekko tag with fics of him only (it’s translated to my best love)

inspired by. the song Ma Meilleure Ennemie and the scene with ekko and jinx in act iii (listen to it while reading)

Everything felt different. The streets of Zaun had the ever-present haze of smog seem softer, its grim edge dulled by the warm hum of neon lights. The streets bustled with life, as they always did, but the night gave the chaos a certain charm. The glow of green and pink signs reflected off damp cobblestones, while the occasional flicker of a malfunctioning lamp sent ripples of color through shallow puddles.

You walked side by side with Ekko, your steps slow and aimless, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. You didn’t, of course. With how Zaun always had a way of reminding you that the clock never stopped ticking. But right now, under the swirl of lights and the faint hiss of steam vents, it felt like time had paused just for the two of you.

Ekko’s hand brushed against yours every so often, and though he wasn’t one to initiate touch easily, you could tell he didn’t mind the closeness. He always had this way of being effortlessly cool, his swagger and wit making it seem like nothing fazed him. But you knew him better than most. You saw the weight he carried, the pressure of being a leader, a fighter, and a kid all at once. And tonight, you were determined to remind him what it felt like to just…be.

“Ever think Zaun’s kinda pretty at night?��� you mused, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ekko glanced at you, one eyebrow raised, before looking around. “Pretty? Dunno if I’d call it that. More like…gritty with a side of a green glow.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the one waxing poetic about this place,” he shot back, his grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine, maybe I’m seeing it through rose-colored glasses. Or maybe I just like walking around with you.”

That earned a chuckle from him, the sound low and warm. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned closer to you. “Well, when you put it that way…” The two of you wandered through winding alleys and across rickety bridges, the air thick with the scent of metal and oil. Every so often, Ekko would point out a shortcut he’d used for one of his time-bending escapades or share a story about an adventure with the Firelights.

But then he led you down a narrow path you hadn’t noticed before, his fingers brushing yours briefly to guide you. At the end of the path, you stepped into a beautiful hidden oasis. A rooftop garden tucked away from Zaun’s usual grit and grime. The first thing you noticed was the lights. Strings of mismatched lanterns crisscrossed the space, casting a soft, golden glow over everything. Tiny fairy lights were woven through the vines that climbed up makeshift trellises, their warm flicker like little stars in the night. The plants themselves were a mix of scrappy greenery and surprisingly vibrant flowers, their colors popping against the muted tones of the city below.

“Woah…” you breathed, turning to him with wide eyes.

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the faint blush on his cheeks gave him away. “It’s nothing fancy. Just a spot I’ve been working on.”

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect,” you said, your voice filled with awe.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze darting away from yours. “Figured it’d be nice to have a place to get away, y’know? Somewhere quiet.”

You stepped forward, taking it all in. A small wooden bench sat in the center of the garden, its surface worn but sturdy. Around it, the plants swayed gently in the cool breeze, their leaves catching the light just enough to shimmer.

“Come on,” Ekko said, his hand lightly brushing the small of your back as he guided you to the bench. “I didn’t bring you here just to stand around.”

You sat down, the wood creaking softly under your weight. Ekko settled beside you, close enough that his knee pressed against yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the lights and the distant sounds of Zaun filling the space. It was a working pattern. There was always a comfortable silence between the two of you.

“How long have you been working on this?” you asked softly.

“Couple months,” he said, leaning back with his arms stretched across the bench. “Takes a while to get plants to grow in a place like this. But I dunno…it feels good to build something, y’know? Instead of just tearing things down.”

You glanced at him, your chest tightening at the softness in his voice. Ekko didn’t let people see this side of him often though. I mean this was the boy who dreamed of a better Zaun, the one who carried the weight of his community on his shoulders.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder. “Just like you.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and a little shy. “You’re laying it on thick tonight, huh?”

“Just telling the truth,” you said, closing your eyes as his warmth seeped into you.

The two of you sat like that for a while, wrapped up in the stillness of the garden. Ekko’s hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a way that felt natural, like you were always meant to fit together.

“Hey,” he said after a while, his voice quiet.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For, y’know…being here.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your heart aching at the sincerity in his eyes. “Of course,” you said softly while winking. “You’re worth it, Ekko.”

His gaze lingered on yours for a moment, the golden light casting shadows across his face. Then he smiled. It was real, genuine smile that made your chest feel light and full all at once.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. His arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on your shoulder as you leaned into him.

“This is nice,” you murmured, your fingers tracing absent patterns on his arm.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little muffled. “It is.”

There it was again, the comfortable silence. The garden was quiet, bathed in the golden light of the mismatched lanterns. You rested your head on Ekko’s shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath against you. His fingers were still intertwined with yours, his thumb brushing small, absentminded circles against your knuckles.

It was peaceful, almost too perfect for Zaun, where tranquility was a rare luxury. The hum of distant machinery and the faint chatter of the streets below were a backdrop to your own private world. You thought this was it, that the night couldn’t get any better. But Ekko had other plans.

Suddenly, he shifted away from you, his weight leaving the bench as he stood. His warmth leaving your body. You blinked up at him, confused as he turned to face you, his signature grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He extended a hand toward you, palm up, the glow of the garden lights reflecting in his dark eyes.

“Dance with me,” he said, his voice soft but brimming with an irresistible playfulness.

You tilted your head, a laugh escaping you. “Dance? Here?”

“Why not?” He wiggled his fingers, urging you to take his hand.

You hesitated, glancing around. “Ekko, there’s no music.”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Oh, ye of little faith.”

Reaching into his pocket, Ekko pulled out a small, beaten up speaker, a relic salvaged from some forgotten corner of Zaun. He fiddled with it for a moment before a warm melody crackled to life, filling the air with a gentle rhythm.

You stared at him in disbelief, your lips parting in surprise. “You planned this?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool but failing miserably as a proud smile broke through. “Maybe.”

Shaking your head with a soft laugh, you placed your hand in his, the warmth of his palm grounding you. “Alright, Clockstopper,” you teased. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Ekko pulled you to your feet, guiding you to the center of the garden. The music swelled around you, soft and sweet, a contrast to the chaos of Zaun. His other hand found its place on your waist, and he held you close, his movements easy and unhurried. At first, you tried to match his rhythm, your steps tentative as you followed his lead. But it wasn’t long before your foot accidentally landed on his.

“Oh, sorry!” you gasped, pulling back slightly.

Ekko winced dramatically, clutching his chest as if you’d mortally wounded him. “You’re killing me here,” he said, his voice laced with mock pain.

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“Baby?” He laughed, spinning you unexpectedly. You stumbled slightly but caught yourself, the sound of your shared laughter echoing in the garden.

The two of you continued like that, swaying and spinning under the lanterns. Every so often, you’d step on his foot again, and he’d exaggerate his reaction, making you laugh until your cheeks hurt. But then, as the song shifted to a slower melody, Ekko’s movements became gentler, more deliberate. He pulled you closer, your bodies impossibly near. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint scent of zauns atmosphere lingering on him. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. The golden light reflected in his eyes, making them shimmer like they held their own constellation. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something raw and real that made your heart stutter.

“Ekko…” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the music.

He didn’t say anything, just leaned in slowly, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft and sweet, filled with everything words couldn’t express. Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as his arms wrapped around your waist. The world seemed to tilt, the glow of the lanterns and the soft hum of the music swirling around you in a haze of light and sound.

Time felt irrelevant—ironic, considering who you were with. All that mattered was the way he held you, the way his lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure.

Your heart swelled at his words, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the lights around you. Smiling, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too,” you said, the words as natural as breathing.

Ekko grinned, his hands tightening around your waist as he pressed a series of quick, playful kisses to your face—your cheeks, your nose, your forehead. Each kiss was accompanied by a soft giggle from you, his affection spilling over in a way that was so uniquely him.

“Ekko, stop,” you laughed, trying to pull away as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Never,” he said, his voice full of mock defiance as he caught your lips in another kiss.

The two of you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world forgotten. The music played on, the lights flickered, and Zaun’s ever-present hum seemed softer, almost distant. As the night stretched on, you found yourselves back on the bench, your head resting on Ekko’s shoulder as he absentmindedly played with your fingers. The garden felt like a dream, a little slice of peace carved out of the chaos. And in that moment, with Ekko by your side and the glow of the lanterns above you, everything felt right. Almost perfect.

banners. @anitalenia

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights

[pxnsneverland]

Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 8)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

plot summary: In the gritty underbelly of a city ruled by werewolf biker gangs, Austin Butler reigned supreme as the ruthless leader of his pack. A man of unwavering ferocity, he lied, killed, and stole without remorse, living by a code of violence that defined his kind. Yet, even Austin harbored a secret weakness – his childhood friend Bonnie Barlow, the one woman he had loved in silence for years. Bonnie's father had once been part of Austin's gang, but after his death, she fled the treacherous world of the werewolves, unable to stomach the endless cycle of crime and brutality. For five years, she remained a fugitive from her own nature, until a fateful night when her life took an irreversible turn. Freshly released from a two-year prison stint, Austin returned to his pack, reveling in the debauchery of their den. But his revelry was cut short by a frantic call from Bonnie, pleading for his aid. Rushing to her side, he uncovered a grim truth – in a desperate act of self-defense against her abusive boyfriend, Bonnie had taken a life, awakening the dormant werewolf within her. As the next full moon loomed, she would undergo her first agonizing transformation, a fate she had always dreaded. Defying the pack's ruthless code, Austin sheltered Bonnie, guiding her through the excruciating metamorphosis that tore through her body each lunar cycle. In the depths of her torment, their bond rekindled, blossoming into a love they had long suppressed. Nights of shared laughter and reminiscence gave way to stolen moments of tenderness, their connection deepening with every passing moon. Yet, their newfound bliss was a fragile thing, forever threatened by the harsh realities that governed their world. For Bonnie was branded a deserter, her very existence a betrayal in the eyes of the pack. If Austin's treachery was uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless.

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 2838

warnings/notes: n/a

Chapter 8: A Secret to Safeguard

The first rays of dawn filtered through the dense canopy. The golden light flickered across Bonnie’s serene face, illuminating her features with a soft glow that made the horrors of the preceding night seem like distant nightmares. As Bonnie began to stir, her eyelids fluttered like delicate butterfly wings, confusion and fear momentarily clouding her gaze as she adjusted to the unfamiliar surroundings. The rustic cabin was filled with the scent of pine and earth, a stark contrast to the harsh metallic tang of blood and chaos that had marked their last location.

“Austin?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, fragile and uncertain in the quiet morning air.

He knelt beside the bed, his large hand taking hers, squeezing it gently. “Bonnie.”

Her eyes searched his face, desperate for reassurance. “What happened? I remember… pain…” Her voice broke as flashes of memory returned—sharp and disorienting.

Austin’s heart clenched at her confusion and fear, his resolve hardening. He couldn’t shield her from the truth forever. “You… transformed last night, Bonnie. For the first time. And then there was an incident.” Austin’s voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the turmoil within. “Victor found us. He threatened to tell the whole pack about you. It... it got violent. You didn’t know what you were doing. You defended me—it was instinctual.”

Bonnie's breath hitched, her hand trembling within his grasp. "Did I... did I kill him?" Her voice was barely audible, a fearful whisper that echoed in the sparse cabin. The weight of her potential actions bore down on her, threatening to suffocate her newfound resolve.

Austin’s jaw tightened as he nodded slowly, confirming her fears. "It was self-defense, Bonnie. Victor was power-hungry and reckless. He would have hurt many, including you." His throat felt tight as he watched the horror unfold across Bonnie's features, her pale skin losing even more color.

She withdrew slightly, pulling her hand free from his. "I'm a monster," she murmured, curling into herself on the bed like a wounded animal seeking refuge from its own nature.

"No," Austin said firmly, reaching out to gently touch her shoulder. "You are not a monster. You are strong, Bonnie. Stronger than you know." His voice softened as he added, "This world... It’s cruel and unforgiving, but you’re not alone in this."

Bonnie looked up at him then, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "How can I ever live with myself knowing what I've done?"

Austin leaned closer, his presence a sturdy reassurance. "You learn, you grow, and you survive," he said solemnly. "This is our reality, and while it’s brutal, it doesn’t define who we are. We define ourselves by how we handle these situations."

Bonnie bit her lip, considering his words through the fog of her turmoil. The moonlight filtered through the cabin window, casting silver streaks across the wooden floor and reflecting off Austin's intense eyes, making them appear almost ethereal. "I want to believe that," she finally whispered.

Austin moved closer, his hand steady on her back, grounding. "And you will," he acknowledged, his voice gritty with shared pain. "You need to hold on to the fact that you did what you had to do to protect yourself—and me."

There was a long silence filled only by the wind rustling against the cabin walls before Bonnie spoke again. "What about the pack? What if they find out?"

"That’s where I come in," Austin replied firmly, his protective instincts surging to the surface. "I won’t let anything happen to you."

His words were meant to comfort, but the gravity of their situation hung between them like thick smoke. Bonnie nodded slowly, absorbing his promise with a mixture of fear and relief.

The morning progressed, each minute stretching long and taut as Bonnie gradually adjusted to the light, both literal and metaphorical, of her new reality. Austin, meanwhile, was lost in thought, strategizing their next move. The gang would surely be stirring, questions would be asked, and Jerry’s suspicious nature would not make things any easier.

“I need to go back,” Austin said abruptly, his tone leaving no room for discussion. He stood up, pacing the small cabin with restless energy that seemed too expansive for the confined space. “I have to make sure the story about Victor is handled right. Can’t let rumors spread or they’ll come hunting.”

Bonnie’s heart sank at the thought of being left alone, but she understood the necessity of his departure. “Will they believe you?” Her voice sounded small in the vast wilderness that surrounded them.

“They’ll have to.” Austin’s response was gruff as he stopped his pacing to look down at her. “Jerry might push back, but Bear will stand by me. He knows what’s at stake.”

The mention of Bear brought a slight sense of relief. Robert "Bear" Johnson had always been a calming force within the turbulent dynamics of the gang.

“What should I do while you’re gone?” Bonnie asked, trying to mask her anxiety with a semblance of composure.

"Stay here, keep low, and don't open the door for anyone but me," Austin instructed, his voice firm yet coated with concern. He knelt before her, taking her hands in his. "I'll be back as soon as I can. If anything happens, if you feel threatened in any way, there’s a revolver under the floorboards by the bed. Use it only if you must."

Bonnie nodded solemnly, the weight of his directive cementing itself within her. The responsibility of self-defense was a chilling reminder of her new reality. "Okay," she whispered, trying to steady her trembling voice.

Austin's eyes lingered on her a moment longer, his gaze intense and probing. He cupped her face in his hands pulling her into a tender kiss. As their lips parted, Austin's gaze hardened once again with the reminder of the dangers that lay ahead. "Remember, trust no one," he murmured, his voice thick with unspoken worries. He stood, adjusting the leather jacket that seemed to armor him against more than just the elements.

Outside, the wind had picked up, howling like the distant cousins of his kind, weaving through the dense trees that shrouded the cabin. He paused at the doorway, hand on the frame, and looked back at Bonnie. This glimpse of vulnerability was rare and fleeting but spoke volumes of his inner turmoil.

"I love you," he said simply, the words stark against the howling wind, before turning and stepping into the night.

Bonnie watched him disappear into the shadows, her heart aching with a mixture of fear and love. Left alone in the eerie stillness of their temporary sanctuary, she felt each creak and moan of the settling cabin amplify her anxiety. She moved to the window, peering out into the woods where shapes seemed to move with sinister fluidity between trees. Drawing the curtains quickly, she backed away from the window, suddenly aware of just how exposed they had been.

Meanwhile, Austin rode through the night, his sleek black motorcycle purring beneath him as it devoured the winding roads. The roar of the engine cut sharply through the stillness, echoing off the trees and sending shivers down his spine. His mind was in turmoil, a jumble of thoughts and emotions that matched the chaotic twists and turns of the road. Fear for Bonnie's safety gnawed at him like a relentless beast, drowning out any sense of calm or clarity that usually came with riding. But tonight, even the open road could not provide an escape from the relentless storm raging within him.

As he approached their secluded headquarters, the low murmurs of conversation and the occasional clatter of tools greeted him. The air was thick with tension, despite the everyday scene of bikes being tuned and polished. The scent of oil and grease hung in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of coffee brewing in a nearby corner. The sound of metal against metal echoed off the walls, creating a symphony of mechanics at work.

Jerry emerged from the shadows, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim light of the flickering bulbs in the garage. His face, usually unreadable, carried a hint of unease tonight. His eyes swept over the gang members busily engaged with their bikes before settling on Austin.

"Austin," Jerry called out, his voice low and urgent as he approached. The clatter around them seemed to momentarily fade into the background as tension knotted the air.

Austin turned, his expression shifting to one of guarded concern. "What's up, Jerry?"

"It's Victor," Jerry said, glancing around before continuing. "He hasn't shown up since last night's hunt. No one has seen him or heard from him."

Austin's heart hammered in his chest as he steadied his gaze, careful not to let the whirlwind of emotions betray him. "Is that so?" he responded, his voice even and controlled, masking the cold dread that snaked through him.

Jerry nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Yeah, and you know Victor. He ain’t one to vanish without a word. Folks are starting to ask questions." His tone was accusatory, a sharp edge cutting through the rumble of engine noise surrounding them.

Austin leaned back against his bike, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm sure there's an explanation. Victor's probably laying low for some reason. You know how he gets—always up to something." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he knew maintaining composure was crucial.

Jerry watched him closely, a deep frown creasing his forehead. "Maybe," he conceded grudgingly.

"But we need to be sure. The pack can't afford to have loose ends." His stance was rigid, mirroring the severity of the situation. The garage seemed to shrink with the weight of his words, enclosing them in a silent pact of suspicion and duty.

Austin nodded, understanding the implications. "I'll handle it," he asserted firmly, hoping to dispel any further doubts Jerry might harbor. "Give me till tomorrow. I’ll sort something out." He knew he had to tread carefully, balancing the lie about Victor with the need to protect Bonnie and maintain his authority within the gang.

Jerry's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before he grunted, seemingly appeased for the moment. "Alright," he said finally, stepping back into the shadowed periphery of the garage. "But keep me posted. We can’t let this slide."

As Jerry walked away, Austin felt the pressure mounting. He needed to weave his stories carefully now, more than ever. The gang’s stability, and more critically, Bonnie’s safety depended on it.

Turning away from Jerry’s retreating figure, Austin clenched his jaw, the muscles working under his skin as he calculated his next move. He knew that Jerry's eyes would be on him like a hawk on its prey, watching for any sign of faltering. Walking over to where Bear was adjusting the chain on his bike, Austin tapped his shoulder.

Bear looked up, his large eyes serious and wary beneath bushy eyebrows. "Everything alright, boss?" he asked, his voice low under the din of the garage.

Austin glanced around to make sure they were out of earshot from anyone else. "No, it’s not," he admitted in a hushed tone. "Jerry’s sniffing around about Victor. He hasn't shown up since last night, and you know how suspicions get around here."

Bear wiped his greasy hands on a rag, concern etching his face. "Victor's missing?" he paused, weighing his words carefully.

"Something like that, and it's turning into a problem." Austin said, his voice tense with urgency.

Bear nodded slowly, his expression grave. "What do you need from me?"

Austin looked around again, his piercing eyes scanning the dimly lit garage filled with the soft clatter of tools and the occasional rev of a motorcycle engine. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice even further. "I need you to come over tonight. Make sure no one follows you. It’s important that this stays between us for now."

Bear’s brow furrowed in concern, but he gave a firm nod of understanding. "I’ll be there," he assured Austin, clapping him on the shoulder with a heavy, reassuring hand.

As Bear walked away to gather his things, Austin felt a momentary relief before the weight of his responsibilities settled back onto his shoulders. He knew that involving Bear was risky, but the stakes were high, and he couldn't manage everything on his own anymore.

The garage was closing down for the night as Austin mounted his bike. The cool night air brushed against his face as he kick-started the engine, the rumble blending with a thousand thoughts racing through his mind.

He rode back through the dark, winding roads towards the cabin where Bonnie waited. Each turn in the road was familiar, yet tonight they felt unusually menacing, as if each shadow held a threat. The weight of his secrets and the safety of his pack felt heavier than ever as he accelerated, the bike's headlights slicing through the darkness.

Stay tuned for part 9!! Click HERE to view!

Taglist: @droopycoquette

[pluckyredhead]

(I ALSO have thoughts about last year's Robin Lives! one-shot, and by thoughts I mean a deeply skeptical conspiracy theory that there was ever any real possibility Jason would live back in 1988, but that's also for another ask.)

Please do tell

Okay, so I actually went back and compared the original Batman #428 and the alternate Robin Lives! version they released last year, and I think I've maybe talked myself out of my conspiracy theory, but here you go.

So supposedly, in order to meet printing deadlines, DC had two versions of Batman #428 ready to go: one where Jason lives, and one where he dies. That way they could keep taking calls to the 1900 number and keep the voting open as long as possible without delaying a comic.

For years, this page floated around the internet as proof that there was a version of the comic where Jason lived:

Aside from this page, the only significant difference between the two is this:

Original on the left, alternate on the right. You can see that the layout is the same, the two panels on the bottom are the same, and the staging of the whole middle row of panels is nearly identical, with Dick taking the place of Alfred in the alternate version. They're different enough that I don't think it's clever editing - Jim Aparo really did draw the alternate version.

THAT SAID, there's also this panel, from the page before:

Original on the left, alternate on the right. Obviously Aparo duplicated his own work, possibly with tracing or masking, to edit the coffins, and the lettering comes later so that's easy to change. And honestly the layout of the alternate works better: it's starker and sadder with less clutter.

But it doesn't really make sense. Bruce's second line just kind of hangs there without a conclusion. More to the point, though...why did he invite Commissioner Gordon to Jason's mom's funeral??? "Please come to my son's funeral in your inappropriate red coat" checks out. "Please come to my son's surprise biological mother's funeral in your inappropriate red coat; he will not be attending for Reasons" checks out...less.

When I first read Robin Lives! without having checked back with the original Batman #428, I was like "Holy shit they barely changed this, this is a scam, they never intended to let Jason live." Now, looking at those side-by-side page 16s up there, I do think they had a full version where Jason lived ready to go, at least penciled and inked. So I rescind my claim that it was a scam.

But the thing that's striking about reading them both is that the tone is exactly the same. It's deeply solemn and grieving (interjected with the absolute dipshit Reagan-era buffoonery of Joker becoming the Iranian ambassador, which is completely tonally inappropriate to both versions of the comic). It doesn't read like a near miss; it reads like a death. And the fact that the changes are so minor was probably necessary in order for Aparo to have both versions ready to go in time, but it means that the whole thing is weighted really heavily towards the version we got, the one where Jason died.

So given the Grim 'n' Gritty era in which this was published, the fact that the writer (Jim Starlin) is on record as hating Jason and wanting him gone (it could have been worse; Starlin wanted to do a "ripped from the headlines" story and have him die of AIDS, which I'm positive would have been disrespectful as hell and aged like milk), and little things like the funeral scene making a lot less sense if Jason survived...

I don't think the poll was fake. I think there was the possibility that Jason could have survived. But I think DC was banking pretty heavily on his death.

[halosdiary]

Pomegranates | Shota Aizawa x Y/N | MHA

Commentary: Wow! A MHA fic, that's been a good while. 💀💀💀💀

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader (Who else?)

Synopsis: Imagine you're a new deity, and you attract the attention of an underworld God who hasn't been seen in centuries. You only know of him through stories.

This is a whole new world for you, you were in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people. Everything was so grim and gritty, this was something you'd have to get use to. All of this you as a new deity was taught that the underworld was a place you needed to stay away from. Yet, you were so curious.

The underworld was a cold realm, ruled by a cold God. He wore a crown of 3 skulls and flowers that were look withered. Despite everything he had, the fear of others, power, wealth anything a God needs. But, there was something he did not have.

The yearning of someone to share this all this with. Being a underworld God was something no God wanted. The God looked down at his feet and closed his eyes for a second. He opened his soulless eyes, he felt phantom arms around his body. He heavily sighed, he thought he'd be strong enough to get rid of this feeling. The phantom arms soon engulf his vision, showing him throughout all the years he's been down here. No one. Just him.  He just wanted this to go away.

"You're alone. You're alone, no living being would ever want to be something of the dead."

"Enough." He spoke sternly.

He immediately stood up and emerged himself up to the surface. The sun hitting his skin always tend to irritate him. He just wanted to avoid the underworld for a little while. It would prove to be a rarity to see the underworld good on the surface.

He took a deep breath and looked at his surroundings, it seemed he was alone. That was until he saw a beautiful deity by the lake. You were tasked to get some water and come back to the goddess that takes care of you. The underworld God felt his heart skip a beat at the look of you.

He immediately snapped back to reality and groaned in frustration. He knew being sited was going to cause problems, problems he didn't need. You on the other hand were running with a pot of water until spotted him. You gently set down the pot and tried running towards him.

"Hey!" You cried out.

Startled, he looks your way and immediately sinks back into the ground. You tried to run as fast as you can, but he was gone. 

"Wait!" You yelled out, but all you saw was the ground and charred grass from where he sunk.

"Who are you, mystery god..?" You thought to yourself.

TAGLIST: @ryomens-vixen @littlemochabunni @lowkeyremi @bleach-your-panties @blkkizzat @buttercupblu

[rachelordwayart]

A commission for Ataris on Twitter & Bluseky of Zerg Kerrigan aka The Queen Of Blades from the Starcraft series! I've been really interested in inking techniques lately ('tis the season), so I went full force on this one, customizing myself some CSP brushes to get the textures I wanted. But although my ink inspiration was Osamu Tezuka, it came out more like a grim-n-gritty comic from the 90s 😂 Which is fun and fitting, but the contrast between inspiration and end result makes me laugh.

Commission info

[itsbeesknees]

Ode to the Grim Reaper

Terzo x GN!reader

——0——

Summary: Terzo is dead. Atleast.. he should be.

Warnings: MDNI, Angst, death, hurt/comfort, grief and mourning, revived corpses, use of google translated Italian, mentions of gore and blood (beheadings),

Word count: 2.3K

A/N: This is my first time doing an x reader, so don’t mind me testing the waters here,, I apologize if it sounds a little rushed, I wanted to try and keep it short.

Even though there is technically no smut, all my works are 18+ regardless, I do not want any minors interacting with my fics‼️

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Terzo is dead.

Well, he should be dead.

Dead people can not, should not, feel things once they’re gone. Their bodies must remain cold, frigid, and lifeless— becoming nothing more than a shriveled and polar shell of what they once were.

Dead people should also not blink. Yet here lies the deceased, supposedly deceased, third Emeritus brother, nictitating his dried eyes. He blinks again. Because, as it would seem, he does not play the role of a deadman very well. He’s a corpse abiding by his own rules now, curling his toes and sucking in a harrowing breath.

Terzo can’t entirely see yet, all that’s currently lining his peripheral is nothing but a kaleidoscope of dancing black dots and faint popping static. He doesn’t understand where he is, doesn’t quite realize he needs to be a motionless cadaver and not a quivering boy. But his neck burns. It won’t stop burning. A deadman’s neck shouldn’t burn, however the pain is singing Terzo away at the edges anyways, convulsing his nerves like a white hot live wire.

Lethargic and rather sluggish, he flexes his gloved hands as he wakes and settles deep into his weeping bones, palms eagerly sliding off his sternum and stretching outwards, only to be curtly stopped by a gritty glass barrier. The more Terzo’s vision focuses, the quicker he comes face to face with ragged claw marks that scoured each side of the coffin he had been tucked into, much like a porcelain doll propped in a curated case. The top pane of glass was missing, removed for replacement. It’s almost sickening how easily Terzo is able to pull himself up into a proper sitting position because of this, since he hadn’t been as fortunate when he first got shoveled into the casket.

Right. How long ago was that again? How much time had passed since he was lounging around that dingy table, squabbling with his brothers?

His neck continues to burn.

It wasn’t just his neck. The scalding infernal heat ran rivulets around the insides of his throat and melted his vocal chords as well, as if someone had butchered the muscle and sewed it back together with fishing line.

The horrid thought of such a thing has Terzo shooting his fingers up to brush along the cusp of his jaw, before briefly sinking them down to the culprit of his torment with a featherlight caress. The leathers of his glove won’t let him catch onto the cracking textures of his dried, flaked blood that had dribbled out and stained the collar of his chasable, but it snags the ridges of a fresh scar coiling in his skin.

It is then Terzo realizes, mortified, that his head had been severed and reattached.

His hands tremble as he peels back his gloves, wanting desperately to feel the festering wound for himself, without anything else in the way. To make sure that it was in fact real, and he hadn’t just conjured it up in a spat of paranoia in attempts to make sense of this wretched situation. Though, if Terzo was being completely honest with himself, none of this felt real. As far as he could be concerned, it was all some twisted dream. A dark carousel of sweltering nightmares and glass coffins and rancid stenches of death.

The calcine pinching in his throat reminds him not to get too ahead of himself.

Regardless of his fright, stripping away his gloves only seemed to distract him further, all due to the glinting band on his ring finger— A ring. A wedding ring. Which means a spouse. His spouse. His lover and muse. You.

The initial shock of ‘rising from the grave’ recedes like the tide of an unforgiving sea, with bittersweet tendrils of memory beginning to seep and ebb back into the fragments of Terzo’s shattered mind. Of course he remembers you. How could he ever forget?

The thought of you flanked any other pressing matter into the shadows of his closet, because he wasn’t quite ready to come to terms with everything else yet. It was all too much. If he actually accepted it all— the mockery, the failed expectations, the injected needle, the gaping laceration of a decapitation— he may actually just wither away. So, here Terzo’s quandary will rot in the metaphorical wardrobe with all his other skeletons, until he can finally will himself to face the monstrous calamity that was his death.

It took a miracle to puppet his body out of the casket, his joints hissing and protesting from days.. or months, of inexperience. He had to clutch the edges of the hardy table his coffin laid upon for good measure, since he surely would’ve fallen straight to his haunches if he hadn’t. Yet he managed to liberate himself nonetheless.

The room surrounding him was concealed by a tenebrous midnight, dim and sterile, wreathing his cryptic figure in gloomy shadows. Terzo knew this place, he didn’t need night-vision to attain that he was hobbling around the morgue. The lack of light made it much more troublesome to make a break for the door, but it spared his already splintered heart from anymore misery. Because, if the lights had been on, he would’ve seen the bodies of his brothers displayed pristinely in their own polished coffins.

Lucky for him, Terzo supposes, that the door with the wrought iron handle was unlocked. He has to strain his muscles to wrench it open, which is comical, but expected for a reanimated corpse. Entering the hallway was a bit easier, yet he still leans on the walls for support.

Terzo has walked these corridors hundreds, if not thousands of times, but not like this. Never like this.

Everything was still, silent. No deacons or priests walked through foyers, no siblings of sin scuttled around the courtyards— You could blame that on the fact it was nearing one in the morning, and majority of the congregation was tucked securely underneath their crisp cotton sheets and puffy duvets.

Terzo was grateful for the relative solitude, really, because he certainly did not want to risk the chance of running into any members of the Clergy when all he wanted to do is get to you.

It’s childish, how hastily he longs to be with you through all this madness. His own head had gotten chopped off and weaved back on for fuck’s sake, he should be screaming, lunging into hysterics. Those are the proper reactions to grieving an unexpected death, right?

Later, Terzo assures himself, not all too convincingly, there will be time for that later. Preferably when he’s shrouded away from everyone, so no one can witness him crumbling.

Right now all he wants is you. Maybe he was greedy in that way, clinging to the idea of holding you again. Greedy with your affection, hoarding it like a dragon would with its finest treasures. Terzo loved the way you smiled, the sound of your voice, the way you felt, the warmth your company could bring. So much so, that he never wanted to let you go. Yes, the third Emeritus brother was a greedy one. But only because he’d been alone for so long. Terzo could be surrounded by multitudes of idolizing crowds on the daily and still manage to feel achingly lonely.

His loneliness stems from pure selfishness, he thinks, or his self sabotage thinks, since he can’t tell the difference between the two anymore. Terzo’s privileged, he knows this, he’s rich in the ways of friends and he’s never met someone who was poor company. Yet here he is, sequestered and drowning amidst his woes.

You’d probably chide him for his thinking if you were walking beside him right now. Terzo's lips quirk into a wistful smile. You were always good like that, anchoring his feet to the floor when all he wanted to do was let the hate consume him.

There was no use in ever trying to put up a front around you, because you were like a bloodhound that could smell malarkey a mile away. And even if Terzo was incredibly reserved and a tad bit stubborn with his emotions, you were patient. Waiting patiently, listening patiently, and when he’d finally rupture and lament into your open arms, you’d patiently card your fingers through the locks of his raven black hair.

There was a sense of vulnerability between you two, something you witnessed in Terzo that others did not, a sacred secret kept between two lovers. A mutual understanding. He may have been Papa once, but he was yours first.

The ministry is too hollow tonight, too big. A bitter gust of wind whistles through a set of open windows as the plodding corpse treks on, one stinging step after the other. The way to your shared quarters is muscle memory to him, it would be an easy path to tread if it wasn’t for the prickling soreness in his throat and chest.

Eugh, he definitely was a sight for sore eyes.

How would you react to seeing him like this, all things considered? There’s a chance you might scream, maybe even hurl a pillow at him, and Terzo would never hold it against you. He’s fairly terrified of his present state, too. Would you cry? Point a finger at his chest and wail and tell him over and over; ‘I told you so’? You had told him so, after all. You knew something was amiss ever since the Clergy tore Terzo off that stage during his final ballad of Monstrance Clock. You had been skittish and riddled with worry for his well-being, and despite all of Terzo’s consoling— he was fine, everything was going to be fine, mio caro.— you were right.

He imagined you enraged, furious at him, not willing to forgive, never willing to forgive. But you weren’t like that. Perhaps you’d cry, or scream, or throw something at him in a fit of shock, but never act spiteful. The most malicious Terzo had ever experienced you being was in domestic acts of grudgefulness in passing of some fatuous argument; like rolling over in bed and giving him the cold shoulder. Or drowning him out with the vacuum. Once you even went as far as ‘accidentally’ washing his whites with some of your cherry reds. Petty, but not cruel.

How far along were you in your stages of mourning? Were you still waiting for him to return to you? Have you locked yourself into the depths of your shared quarters? Have you shut the world out? Terzo hoped that if you were waiting, he hadn’t made you wait for too long.

He tries to break down the remainder of his journey into smaller, more manageable pieces. He reclines against limestone walls to catch his breath when the pain shocks him too much to bear, and starts again when the image of you enters his mind. He almost sobs at the sight of your door.

Hesitant, Terzo jingles the doorknob once, twice, then throws it open, stepping into the darkened room.

Everything is just as it was since he last occupied the space, however long ago that had been. Wedding pictures still hang pristinely on the walls, his comb is still intact on the surface of the vanity. It all remains hauntingly untouched, all except for the bed.

You stir from under the covers, most likely woken from the noise he made in opening the door, rising and blinking blearily in the direction of where he stood. There you were and here he was.

Terzo finds himself faltering, unsure of how to go about this. What’s the proper etiquette of greeting your lover after being recently deceased?

“Terzo?” You call out, voice faraway and hoarse, wavering at every step he takes towards you. Terzo should not be there. He’s dead, immobile in a glass coffin somewhere. You’re either dreaming or must have finally lost it.

But then he replies, whispering your name and moving closer, and the mattress is suddenly dipping from the weight of him sitting on its borders. For a moment you say nothing and he says nothing, only because he’s reaching out to stroke the skin of your soft cheek. His delicate touch makes you recoil frightfully as if you had been stung by a wasp, since you hadn’t actually been expecting to feel him.

“Is this real?” You breathe, eyes wide and flicking down to gape at the gruesome scar that decorated his neck like some debauched necklace of curdled gore. “Are you real?”

“Yes, amore. I’m real.” It pains him to speak, and Terzo’s larynx is definitely worse for wear, sounding all garbled and warbled. But he needs to talk to you, apologize for anything and everything. He needs you to know how sorry he is, because he failed you. He made all the wrong choices, and look where that ended him. It hurts, he really did try, he tried so hard to play the role, appease the Clergy well enough to leave him and his beloved be, yet he was playing checkers while the world was playing chess. And Terzo was never any good at chess. It wasn’t his fault, but he was too lost to understand that.

“I’m sorry.” He begins, it’s a start. “I’m sorry, mi dispiace tanto.” Then came the tears, dripping and smearing the paints that marred his face. It’s all coming crashing down now, every inhale he takes sounds like agony.

Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. He wants to say, needs to say, but can’t manage the words.

You take Terzo and ease him into your arms, shakily tucking his face into your shoulder so he can cry freely without anyone else seeing. It was what he always preferred; weeping into shoulders or pillows, hiding from the chance of being caught under a scrutinizing gaze.

Terzo is dead. Was dead. Should still be dead. But he’s not.

So, relieved and confused, but mostly confused, you thread your fingers through his hair. Later, you will talk and ask questions and shed your own tears until sunlight filters through the drapes. But for now, you hug Terzo, your Terzo, and shield him from the world as he wails anew.

—o—

[lilacthebooklover]

monty n felix (kg) either 16 or 47 plz?

i'll do you one better- why not both? <3

16. "It could be worse."

Felix is busted, and bruised, and betrayed, and bereft. He sticks beside the wheelchair boy with eyes full of hate and a fate cursed by his own bloody hands, and wishes things were different. They’re lonely. It’s their own faults. Wheelchair understands, his legs mangled and burning resentment alight in his eyes. They know of unexpected pain; the agony of their arrogant mistakes. Permanent injuries from those they thought they could trust. 

“It could be worse,” Wheelchair tells him, dry and hollow. Felix resents the notion. The gritty, determined optimism he can’t replicate stings sharper than that fall ever could.

47. "No-one needs to know."

Monty’s no stranger to secret deals. He’s grown used to hiding merchandise in his pockets, swiping illegal products for his shadiest buyers with a sort of grim, resigned determination. Felix Huxley is rich, and influential, and his company is far too successful to have avoided any corruption.

“Excellent,” Felix says, the handshake firm and filthy. This is necessary, Monty reminds himself. “I trust this will be kept a secret?

“No-one needs to know.” Monty confirms, voice low and hushed.

The chemicals stay in his jacket pocket, and Felix dismisses the matter like nothing happened.

It’s routine. It’s awful. 

It’s necessary.

[alarajrogers]

You know how there are all these Christmas movies where the big amazing thing is that Santa turns out to actually exist, and all the adults are big surprised?

This makes zero sense. If Santa really existed, then presents that adults did not buy would be magically turning up under the Christmas tree every year, and it would be obvious to all adults who celebrate Christmas and have children that yes, there really is a Santa Claus.

I want to write a story that explores this premise. Not one of those grim n' gritty things where Santa is really a child molester or is spying on you for the CIA or whatever, but realistic. What does the existence of Santa do to the world? How has the manufacturing sector been influenced by a being who does enormous amounts of manufacturing of certain types of goods, for free? Can Santa use his outsized economic power for the good of children everywhere, or is he a naive idiot blundering around in a world that has outgrown his capabilities? What do world governments think of a guy who can traverse the entire United States in the course of a single evening, making deliveries? Is there only one Santa or are Father Christmas and other cultures' versions of Santa all different guys?

My feeling is that at some point, as children started being influenced by branding and corporations got bigger, Santa switched from having the elves manufacture everything to give to the kids, to buying toys from the corporations and giving them away to the kids, giving him incredible economic power since he's basically the largest buyer of certain types of goods. Where does Santa get his money, and what does he use it for?

Again, I'm not about the grim n gritty; Santa in my view is a genuinely benevolent entity who will not do anything he knows to be harmful, but either he was never human or he hasn't been human in hundreds of years, so does he actually know what is harmful? Elves are not exploited and oppressed, they are fairly compensated for their work, but how do they feel about existing in a world where there's basically only one guy they can work for because the rest of the world has become too dangerous for them to exist in?

And does Santa do anything about children living in dire poverty whose greatest Christmas wish is enough food to survive, or a roof over their heads? Isn't it kind of gross to be giving some kids bicycles while ignoring the children who are being brutally abused? And what about Jewish kids and other kids who don't celebrate Christmas; is Santa deliberately ignoring them because he's a Christian bigot, or is there some other force at work preventing him from helping them?

I'm not Christian myself except in the cultural sense; I was raised Catholic but became agnostic around 8th grade, and my parents were an atheist and a Deist who were both cultural Catholics but not actually religious. And I'm not interested in shit like "Santa is the spirit of giving at Christmas" because I am an sf/fantasy writer and my whole thing is exploding metaphors into something more realistic. (Philip Pullman said, "It's a metaphor, don't expect it to do the work of a fact." Well, I do, Mr. Pullman. My metaphors are very hard working and they can pull their own weight almost as hard as a fact.) I want to know... if Santa was real, how would that change the world we live in?

[amuhav]

what kind of love are you

quiz: here tagged: @bool-prop

E T H R Y O N // Love as a Choice

You choose to love. Love does not come to you easily, but every day you wake up and choose it. It would be so easy, wouldn't it, to grow cold and callous and grim. But you rise to greet the world, making the conscious effort to find something, anything to love. When you fall for someone, you do not kid yourself of their flaws. Instead, you resolve to see them for who they are, mistakes and all and you love them all the same. Your love is work, and it does not come easy. Your love sweats and toils. It is calloused and sunburned; it bears scars and comes with stories. Your love is worn, but it is no less valuable for it. Being loved by you is like being loved by a gardener, a mother, a teacher. Your love may not always be the simplest, but it is worth the effort.

A I L O S // Love as a Performance

Your love is a masquerade, a dance, a work of art. You love with a veil across your face, unable to allow anyone to see the real you. Can that be considered love, you wonder? As a performer, you have all your lines prepared, and you know exactly what to say and when to say it. You’re charismatic and bold, seductive and hypnotic. Your love is a snake’s melody, the siren song of the sea. Your love is enchanting. Your love is melodic. Your love is afraid and fearful and longing. You ache to tear the veil off, you ache to cast poetry aside for the sake of something real and gritty. You’re terrified of the very thought. Being loved by you is to be loved by an artist; it is to be a muse. It reflects others beautifully, but never, ever yourself. Not really. Not truly.

[ray-elgatodormido]

(note: I started writing this a few days ago but got busy)

Shit I just had a dream that just gave me an idea for the plot my 3k dark fantasy verse and it was essentially a massive RPG game that plays around with the idea of Zhuge Liang’s timeloop thing. Incorporate both high fantasy xianxia and grim n gritty wuxia. More grim wuxia but still has quite a bit of fantasy stuff.

Essentially, the world has kinda gone to shit. There’s demons everywhere and a civil war going on. The customizable player character is roped into the whole mess with their starting gear and stats determined by chosen background. The magic system has a bit of an in lore explanation that has something to do with cultivation to fight off the demon hordes. People who practice cultivation would age at a slower rate and be able to empower themselves. There’s also a bit of technological advancements but it’s mostly just magic guns idk.

Gameplay consisted of top down Diablo style mode with puzzle solving to progress certain stages. But conversations with characters are more 3rd person and cinematic. But the dream wasn’t very consistent because yeah.

The in dream player probably fucked up a bunch of plot things throughout the playthrough because by act 3 ish Guan Yu was an evil demon lord and Lü Bu was dead except not really it’s a fake out that has yet to be revealed as a fake out and they’re probably going to duel. I remember there were a lot of cool outfits.

Thinking about it, the time loop thing is probably the funniest in universe explanation for respawning. Boss killed you? Time loop. Fell off a cliff stupidly? Time Loop. There’s quite a bit to play around with this concept and I have this idea where certain characters are aware of the time loop shit and question the protagonist on what could have caused their death and time loop reset this time. Like. Dumb Ways To Die 3k Edition.

I need a moment. I think I’ll return with this idea. And read up what folks came up with to flesh things out.

[blackbackedjackal]

Ohh your taste in anime sounds like mine. Not really a fan of shonene but sometimes one will hit different, and I really online like psychological/thrillers/horrors too!

What psych/thriller/horror stuff would you recommend?

Yu Yu Hakusho is prolly my favorite Shonen. The final 2 seasons aren't like, amazing, really niche plots. But like EVERTHING up until the end of the Dark Tournament is baller and that's at least 50 episodes.

I love sharing Another with people just to see their reactions lol. It's like, the anime version of Final Destination (it gets grim as hell sometimes) BUT it's really well written and executed.

Shiki is super slept on. The art style's not everyone's cup of tea but really interesting characters and the stakes (teehee if u know <3) feel really high for both main parties involved.

Death Parade is SOOOOOOO unique and fun and interesting. Love a lot of the characters and plot and worldbuilding they gave. It's short but it's really good.

Biased towards Hellsing & Hellsing Utimate solely for Integra but the show itself is a problematic fave. It's gorey, it's gritty, has a list of content warnings a mile long (like please do your research if you decide to watch it, like even I have to skip scenes), but I can't be mad at a show that has a biracial milf lead who kills n*zis. Queen shit honestly.

Hell Girl I haven't watched in a long time but I remember really liking it a lot. Mononoke as well, just stunning animation <333

Parasyte. 10/10 TOO MANY TEARS like lord. It was a lot better than I expected.

[pxnsneverland]

Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

plot summary: In the gritty underbelly of a city ruled by werewolf biker gangs, Austin Butler reigned supreme as the ruthless leader of his pack. A man of unwavering ferocity, he lied, killed, and stole without remorse, living by a code of violence that defined his kind. Yet, even Austin harbored a secret weakness – his childhood friend Bonnie Barlow, the one woman he had loved in silence for years. Bonnie's father had once been part of Austin's gang, but after his death, she fled the treacherous world of the werewolves, unable to stomach the endless cycle of crime and brutality. For five years, she remained a fugitive from her own nature, until a fateful night when her life took an irreversible turn. Freshly released from a two-year prison stint, Austin returned to his pack, reveling in the debauchery of their den. But his revelry was cut short by a frantic call from Bonnie, pleading for his aid. Rushing to her side, he uncovered a grim truth – in a desperate act of self-defense against her abusive boyfriend, Bonnie had taken a life, awakening the dormant werewolf within her. As the next full moon loomed, she would undergo her first agonizing transformation, a fate she had always dreaded. Defying the pack's ruthless code, Austin sheltered Bonnie, guiding her through the excruciating metamorphosis that tore through her body each lunar cycle. In the depths of her torment, their bond rekindled, blossoming into a love they had long suppressed. Nights of shared laughter and reminiscence gave way to stolen moments of tenderness, their connection deepening with every passing moon. Yet, their newfound bliss was a fragile thing, forever threatened by the harsh realities that governed their world. For Bonnie was branded a deserter, her very existence a betrayal in the eyes of the pack. If Austin's treachery was uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless.

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 2510

warnings/notes: n/a

Chapter 4: Calm Before the Storm

The slender fingers of dawn crept through the gaps in the heavy, hand-hewn blinds, casting long, spectral shadows across the timber floor. Bonnie stirred from the depths of a dream-filled solace, her eyes fluttering open to the ceiling above. She lay nestled in Austin's muscular embrace. His chest rose and fell against her back in a rhythm that sang a lullaby of protection, a serenade of safety in this world of wolves and violence.

Her mind echoed with the echo of last night's conversation; Austin's voice rumbling like distant thunder, fierce and unyielding as he told her about the approaching full moon, his duty to the pack, his defiance for her safety. A sense of foreboding filled her heart at the thought of what this could mean for them - for him.

"Bonnie?" he murmured sleepily.

She sat up quickly removing herself from his embrace suddenly feeling very self conscious. “I-I’m fine. Sorry to wake you.”

Austin blinked away sleep, his blue eyes, as cool and piercing as a winter's dawn, focused on Bonnie. He sat up, the quilt pooling around his waist, revealing his chiseled torso.

"Don’t lie to me," he rumbled, reaching for her. His hand captured her wrist gently, but firmly. "You've got that look in your eyes. What're you thinking?"

What was she thinking? She was thinking about how muscular he had become and how cute he looked when he was just getting out of sleep. No, she had to stop. Austin was her childhood friend, the one who had always looked out for her and always kept her safe. This friendship was more important than whatever was currently tugging on her heart. Besides, she didn’t have time to think about it. Not with the impending full moon.

“I’m just hungry,” she partially lied, “I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.”

Austin's eyes softened with understanding and concern. He let out a little sigh, and then gave her a soft smile that reached his eyes, a rare sight that was only bestowed to Bonnie. "Let me fix you something to eat."

He got up, grabbing a loose shirt off the floor and shrugging into it before moving towards the small kitchen at the far corner of the cabin. Bonnie watched as he busied himself preparing some food for her - his broad shoulders taut with strength, blonde hair tousled from sleep falling over his forehead.

The sound of sizzling soon filled the quietness of the space, and Austin turned round momentarily, giving Bonnie a comforting smile that made her heart flutter erratically.

Bonnie found herself watching Austin intently. His focus was entirely on the food he was preparing, yet there was a certain grace about him - a lethal elegance that contradicted his rugged exterior. A sudden pang of emotion flowed through her veins, strong and unbidden.

"I'm making some eggs and bacon," he said, "Should only take a minute."

The rustling of pans filled the cabin as he cracked some eggs into a bowl and chopped up some vegetables. The smell of frying bacon wafted through the air, mixing with the scent of freshly cut wood from the fireplace. Alongside it, there was a hint of his delicious musk that lingered in the air from last night. Her stomach grumbled at the thought of food.

A few minutes later, Austin placed a plate in front of her on the bed, its contents steaming gently. She sat up slowly, taking in the thick-cut bacon and two sunny-side-up eggs arranged neatly on top of toast points. Her mouth watered at the sight and smell of it all. The scent of breakfast filled her senses as she picked up her fork to take a bite of egg yolk oozing over its edge. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste - warm buttery toast cradling flavorful egg yolk, interspersed with salty bacon and slightly charred bits. Austin watched her intently, studying her reactions to everything - including the way she ate his food. It made something stir within him deep inside.

"This is amazing," Bonnie commented between bites.

He chuckled softly from across the room where he sat on one of the log benches by the fireplace, finishing his own meal. "I try my best."

Finishing breakfast quickly, she felt more grounded and content than she had in hours. Despite everything that loomed over them both, this small moment felt like normalcy again; just them being themselves amongst nature's beauty around them.The hearty breakfast did wonders for Bonnie's empty stomach and the fresh air cleared her mind. She leaned back against the pillows, taking in deep breaths of the earthy scent of pinewood mixed with Austin's masculine musk that lingered in the air, wishing she could hold onto this peaceful moment forever. "Thank you," she whispered between bites.

Austin nodded, his head turning slightly towards her with a small smile playing on his lips. He stood up abruptly, stretching his strong arms above his head before grabbing a cloth to clean up any dishes left behind.

The clang of metal on metal resounded as he placed dishes into the sink filled with soapy water. The sizzling sound faded away as he turned off the stove top before returning to sit again near her by the fireplace. He watched her with those calculated blue eyes which seemed to see straight through her thoughts - those intense gazes making Bonnie's heart skip beats once more.

She couldn't help but notice how his body radiated heat; each flex of his muscles shifting under his clothes sent waves of warmth towards her direction. She tried not to focus too much on it but couldn't help herself; his broad shoulders tapering down into a strong V-shape torso leading to lean hips. His blonde hair fell over one eye, giving him a boyish charm despite the roughness around him - an irresistible mix that awakened something inside her.

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, blushing as she looked away, hoping he hadn't noticed her staring.

"What is it?" Austin asked suddenly, his icy eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Bonnie's flushed face.

"Nothing," she stammered, shaking her head.

Austin chuckled, a deep, hearty sound that vibrated through the cabin.

"You're a terrible liar, Bon," he teased lightly, moving closer to her. He reached out and gently brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. The touch sent shivers down Bonnie's spine.

The air between them crackled with tension as Bonnie found herself getting lost in those piercing blue eyes again. The distance between them seemed to shrink, making her heartbeat quicken. Austin's proximity and the way his eyes bore into hers was unsettling yet exciting. She swallowed hard, trying to gather herself.

The peaceful moment was abruptly shattered by a guttural growl that resonated outside the rustic cabin. Austin sprang from the bed, his heart pounding with fear and adrenaline. He rushed to the window and cautiously opened it. In the distance, he could see the headlights of a bike pulling up to the cabin. Cursing under his breath, Austin knew exactly who it was - Jerry, who always seemed to show up at the most inconvenient times.

Without hesitation, Austin grabbed Bonnie's hand and pulled her out of bed, rushing her to the back door. He swung it open as quietly as possible and gestured for her to hide outside. She looked at him with confusion and worry etched on her face. "Who is that?" she whispered.

"Jerry," Austin gritted through clenched teeth. "That son of a bitch would be the only person to come visit me after just seeing me last night. How did he even get along with me in jail?"

Bonnie froze in shock. "You went to jail?" Her voice trembled with concern.

Austin didn't have time to explain now - there would be plenty of time for that later. "Just go hide," he urged, motioning for her to find a place to conceal herself. Just as a knock sounded at the door, he made sure Bonnie was safely hidden before quickly answering it himself, bracing himself for whatever lies or excuses Jerry had concocted this time around.

"S'up, boss?" Jerry greeted brusquely, his figure massive and imposing even in the early sunlight. His gruff voice echoed eerily through the silence as he kicked the kickstand down on his bike and began lumbering towards the porch.

Austin, who had long learned the art of concealing his true emotions, casually leaned against the doorframe with an air of indifference. "Jerry," he replied coolly, keeping his voice steady. He watched as Jerry squinted at him suspiciously, his broad shoulders visibly tensing under the worn-out leather jacket he always wore.

The two men eyed each other for a moment, taking in each other's hardened exterior. Jerry broke the silence first, grunting as he took a step closer to Austin. "Thought you might want some company after being in the slammer for so long," he said nonchalantly, scratching at his grizzled beard.

Austin nodded curtly, not wanting to engage in any further conversation than necessary. "I don’t."

Jerry raised an eyebrow at Austin's curt response, a hint of suspicion flashing in his gaze. He didn't say anything for a moment, studying Austin's stoic expression. Austin's heart pounded against his ribs like a wild drum. He maintained his indifferent facade, curling his hand tighter around the door frame. Jerry shrugged, looked around the cabin, then back at Austin. There was a silent standoff between the two men for a moment before Jerry finally broke it by saying, "Come on, now. It’s just friendly concern for you. That’s all."

"Right," Austin responded, his voice dripping with disbelief. "Since when did you start caring?"

Jerry gave a shrug, the creeping sunlight highlighting the scars that marred his rough features. "Times change," he said cryptically.

The air seemed to thin between them, the tension palpable. Austin clenched his jaw as he contemplated Jerry's words. His right-hand man had never shown any sign of concern before. Something was amiss.

"Well, your sudden change of heart is touching," Austin said, injecting a note of sarcasm into his words, "But I don't need company. I need quiet."

Austin didn't miss the flash of annoyance that crossed Jerry's face at his refusal. His large hands curled into fists, knuckles whitening visibly. But instead of lashing out as Austin expected, Jerry slowly unclenched his fists and relaxed his stance.

"Alright," Jerry said gruffly, turning away and heading back towards his bike. But before he could hop onto it, he paused and turned back to Austin. "Just remember," He said, his eyes cold and hard. “Tomorrow is the full moon. The pack will expect you to lead the hunt since you’re back.”

With that, he revved his bike loudly before roaring down the dirt path away from the cabin, leaving Austin alone once more in the serene wilderness. Austin watched him until he was nothing more than a speck in the distance, a feeling of unease settling deep in his gut.

Austin took a deep breath, trying to shake off the unnerving encounter. As soon as he was sure Jerry was far enough away, he called out to Bonnie who emerged from her hiding spot behind a large tree. Her eyes were wide with fear.

"Is it safe?" She asked tentatively.

Austin nodded, stepping forward to embrace her in his arms. He breathed in the familiar scent of her hair, a mix of vanilla and honey from her shampoo. She didn't resist but her arms hung limply at her sides. "What about the hunt? Jerry has a point. They'll be expecting you." It would be suspicious if he didn't show up for the pack's regular hunts, especially since it had been awhile since his last one. Someone would come looking for him and find Bonnie in the midst of her first full moon transformation.

Austin sighed, rubbing circles on Bonnie's back to soothe her. "I know," he said gruffly, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew what the full moon would do to her, how it would awaken the beast within her. It was something he wished she never had to experience.

"I can't leave you alone during your first transformation, Bon," he admitted, his grip tightening slightly around her small frame. "It's painful... and dangerous."

"But what about the gang?" Bonnie asked worriedly, her voice muffled in Austin's chest. She knew better than anyone how crucial Austin's role was in the gang and how dangerous it was for him to defy their expectations.

Austin sighed heavily again, running a hand through his messy hair. It wasn't going to be easy dealing with the gang's questions and suspicions. But he had an idea - a risky one. He pulled away from Bonnie, looking down at her with determination burning in his blue eyes.

"You mean more to me than any gang or code," Austin's voice resonated with sincerity as he spoke, his eyes locked onto Bonnie's. She understood the weight of his words, their predicament a testament to their bond. "There's an old bomb shelter underground in the woods, a few miles from here. My dad used it to train me when I first turned. It's secure, no way out once you're in. During the hunt, amidst the chaos and bloodlust, I'll slip away to be with you." The plan was daring, risking exposure if anyone caught wind of Austin's intentions. Yet, he hoped his aggressive display at the bar had deterred prying eyes.

Fidgeting nervously with her hands, Bonnie longed for Austin's presence during her impending transformation but not at the expense of his allegiance to the pack. While she had never felt tied to their ways, it had always been different for Austin. His destiny seemed predetermined by his father's legacy within the Blood Moon Riders.

"Austin... during my first shift, I won't be myself," Bonnie confessed worriedly, haunted by visions of losing control to primal instincts and savagery. “Austin…I won’t be myself during my first transformation. Dad said it was like having no control over your body, thinking of nothing but blood and rage and tearing things apart. What if I hurt you?”

Austin met her apprehension with a smirk that drew a pout from Bonnie as she crossed her arms defensively. Stepping closer, he reassured her with unwavering confidence. "As an alpha, I possess strength beyond that of regular werewolves. If things go awry, I can hold my ground against you."

"But won't the full moon affect you too?" Bonnie pressed on anxiously.

Acknowledging the challenge in her gaze, Austin admitted candidly about controlling his own transformations except during pack hunts under the full moon when primal urges surfaced briefly before being suppressed by guilt and remorse once blood was shed.

Before Bonnie could voice further concerns, Austin interjected firmly yet tenderly. "No arguments," he asserted with conviction in his eyes,"I will protect you."

"Even from myself?" Bonnie questioned softly, uncertainty lingering between them like an unspoken dare.

With a resolute nod and a steadfast gaze fixed on hers, Austin affirmed his vow without hesitation: "From everything."

Stay tuned for part 5!! Click HERE to view!

[v0idspeak]

RQ stream notes

So today Rusty Quill streamed! Woo! Alex J. Newall did a creative jam to create an audio drama in... 2 hours? I think? Anyway! I took notes!

The end result was an elevator pitch, synopsis for 6 episodes, and a somewhat fully-produced pilot episode.

It features three main characters (two protagonists and an antagonist) and two entire dogs, in a Noir Western setting.

Enjoy the notes! (Warning: they are long.)

Alex' ground rules -No swearing/anything that'll get him kicked off Twitch -Only original stories -No TMP spoilers or he gets bapped -6-part series with 10min of fully produced audio drama

-Genre - usually do a genre blend (between two different genres) (ex.: romoantic-horror) to allow for more elaborate concepts Genre choice: Noir | Western -Did some brainstorming for keywords in Aesthetics -Quickly going through Wikipedia to research the genres and find points to fill the project guide. Determine how long we have VS what kinds of stories we have time to do -Get a couple characters (3 to be exact) -Elevator pitch -Character bio detail brainstorming -Quick summary of each episode, per season -Cannibalism gave title idea: Eat the Rich (lmao actual cannibal Shia LaBoeuf) -Text between brackets is to the creators' benefit rather than in the actual episode -Pilot needs a Final Complication/hook/cliffhanger in order to get the listener's attention -Alex abuses of speech-to-text (it fights back sometimes) -Writes pilot script -Writes tagline mid-pilot scripting -Once script is over, highlighted parts that are being voice-acted -Started actually voice acting the scene -Silent sound markers (snap fingers - wait a few seconds - snap fingers again. I think this is for denoising purposes) -Occasionally makes voiceacting notes/redoes lines -Moving screams in separate layers. A lot of things he's doing can be done automatically but he's doing it in Audacity manually so we see what's going on. He'll also be taking shortcuts and such that he shouldn't -Silence marker - effect - noise reduction (after getting sound profile for the silence) -(reduce memory load by doing Stereo To Mono while working; do NOT do this for a real podcast ahaha) -Normalize audio -Audacity is a destructive audio program which makes things Difficult (I think Reaper isn't which is neat) -Use fades to hide a cut -One track per scene? -Use scene cuts where a lot is left unsaid -Once dialogue is cut, finds SFX (he has soundbanks - soundbanks good) -Oh No Soundscaping (TM) -And then Music (ft. Upbeat Sax- I mean what?) -Exporting stuff is very frustrating (ft. Alex flappy hands, but angy) -Does artwork during exporting (ft. Alex goat noises) (graphic design is his passion) (he's using Paint) -EQ work! -Exporting -Alex is very good at doing the post-episode monologue

Brainstorm Template: -Key Info *Title (Eat the rich) *Logline (It's dog eat dog in the belly of the new world beast) *Elevator pitch (Grim the gritty outsider with nothing to lose stumbles upon the railway being built none other than Princeton with dangerous labour practices and there's a secret conspiracy that can only be unearther with the help of Elisa Thorne. Mining equipment, illegal land grab at the outskirts of OldNew Manchester *Genre (Western | Noir) *Series format (6x10 episodes)

-Aesthetics *Tone (introspective | outside the law | Death of the wilderness | Gritty | Vigilante | Brooding | Corruption) *FX (Wind, tumbleweed, Narrator/VO, guns, whip snap, gravel, vultures, door hinges, whistling, campfire, horses, wood, saxophone, sound of smoke, train heist) *Music (Slow n low, sax, jazz, saloon piano, blues/harmonica, banjo, cello) *Visuals (dust bowl, urban, smokey, wilderness, night, American, chiaroscuro, trenchcoats, hats)

Project guide -World guide *Noir (No happy endings promised) *Sandbox (calamity james retelling,

-Characters CHARACTER | ROLE | AGE | PRONOUNS performance guide Bio

Elisa Thorne | LAW LADY | 37 | She/her No nonsense brusqye, played by April Bio: Has wife, has cool dog, loves flowers, run away from money,

Grim | GRITTY OUTSIDER | 55 | They/them Mr badger from Wind in the Willows meets An no country for old men Bio: Never sleeps, sharpshooter, Also Has A Bigger Dog, caffeine addiction

Elon Princeton | CAPITALIST | AGE | HE/HIM Just everything that's wrong with the world right now condensed into a person Bio: Menacing knitting, Illegally obtained Emerald mine, father of Elisa's wife, allergic to dogs

Season synposes

S1 - 1 (pilot) (Grim rolls into town as Elon is announcing that they can finally finish the final phase of the railway connecting city with a remote outpost, Eliza attempts arrest due to dog attacking Elon, Grim driven out of town as he is too dangerous to be captured, Grim sneaks back into city because they cannot leave without their coffee. Discover Elon's conspiracy - they are hgiding bodies beneath railway [Elon is a cannibal] [Elon is an actual accountable cannibal accountant lmao] [Picked up in the Emerald Mine Disaster, continued bc he likes it & hates the poor]. Grim gets a pardon if they help take Elon down. Eliza discovers her wife has disappeared) 2 - (Eliza investigates missing wife with poor results, Grim gets involved despite themself and starts using off the book methods to squeeze info from contacts including some ranches from outside of town & implied secrets about Elon, Grim gets results - gunfight - Elisa forced to rescue Grim - forced to get along - respect each other) 3 - (staged train robbery to cover up final shipment of bodies, Grim injured) 4 - reversal (Eliza's wife revealed to have been covering for Elon, Elon takes control of town and Eliza is framed for robbery. Eliza forced out of town.) 5 - knot (Elon covers up recent scandal (illicit affair with newly arrived rancher) w disappearance of [???] Discover bodies) 6 - conclusion/finale (Discover Elon cannibal, Elon eaten by dogs, Eliza's wife Irene chooses Dad over Eliza bc NOIR, Grim leaves, there is no justice)

Pilot script *Scene 1 Grim rolls into town as Elon is announcing that they can finally finish the final phase of the railway connecting city with a remote outpost, -Grim is unimpressed and picks a fight -Eliza attempts to descalate situation despite hating Elon and fails bc Grim is unhelpful & dog is worrying Elon -Grim hears automobile backfiring, assumes they are under fire, gunfighting ensues (gunfighting shoes???) -Grim flees town (Grim driven out of town as he is too dangerous to be captured)

*Scene 2 Grim sneaks back into city because they cannot leave without their coffee. -Via railway into city -Witnesses bodies being laid amongst the sleepers (Discover Elon's conspiracy - they are hgiding bodies beneath railway)

*Scene 3 -Despite Grim's instincts, they decide to warn sheriff Eliza about bodies (Twist because Noir -Alex) -Eliza arrests Grimm (assuming they are lying) until hearing name Elon -Dogs like each other :D -Irene enters with late night surprise dinner for Eliza - immediately hides suspicions and lies to wife about Grim. Grim is shocked but plays along. (This thing writes ITSELF!! -Alex)

[Elon is a cannibal] [Elon is an actual accountable cannibal accountant lmao] [Picked up in the Emerald Mine Disaster, continued bc he likes it & hates the poor].

*Scene 4 (written after scene 5 - lull in action -Grim sitting on Eliza's porch and mulling things over - plays harmonica

Scene 5 -Eliza discovers wife has disappeared and demands Grim's help bc they are an oustsider & closest thing to friend that Eliza has in this messed up city Grim gets a pardon if they help take Elon down. Eliza discovers her wife has disappeared

[HERE, Alex takes more detailed notes and doesn't really pause so I didn't note the dialogue and such. Also Alex's accent is glorious.] [He talked about digging a pit and now everyone in chat is spamming DIG] [The speech to text keeps writing Gunfight Ensues as Gunfighting Shoes.] ["I like Grim. Grim's a fun character." Same, Alex, same.] [Shoutout to Alex doing beatboxing with a weird dog noise while trimming sounds] [plays thunder sound "Ohohoho! I don't care if it's Gothic! My wife has dissapeared KPHHHHHW"] [Alex' frustrated sounds are something to behold. Gremlin noises fr.] [Chat has started singing Hellfire by the Mechanisms] ["I warn everyone, this isn't going to be a thing that is pleasant to listen to"] ["NARRATION!"] [File is huge. There is now a vote in chat, called Chonk? with three options, Chonk, Chonk, and Chonk. The first Chonk won!] [Notetaker's note: I still miss Winston Princeton]

TMP news: "Jonny has pitched to me the most horrific thing ever" [about s3 of TMP?] etc etc (can't share it. WHAT A TEASE >:| /lh)

[halosdiary]

Ryomen Sukuna x Reader Anime: Jujustu Kaisen Word Length: 1.1k CONTAINS: Manipulation, NONCON, Phycological abuse

"So many ideas, so little time."

This is a whole new world for you, you were in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people. Everything was so grim and gritty, this was something you'd have to get use to.

How could such a sweet boy, be a vessel to something so disgusting, unruly and monstrous? You look at the boy you once called a friend with fear and disgust. You didn't have a archive, you had to get use to him.

You loved Itadori, you want what's best for him. But his "friend", his friend was a completely different story. You could feel him grab your wrist. You hissed and tried going for a strike on his cheek to snap him out.

Unfortunately, the demon looked at you in the eyes as he caught your other hand. He just smiled, wickedly.

"You poor thing, you." He taunted.

"You should know by know. We're a surprise. Deal with him, deal with me. Simple as that."

You wanted to back away. You wanted to, but for some reason you couldn't move. It was like he had a string to you. Teasing you, indirectly making you feel like you're choking. Yanking you, trying to pull you closer to him by force. He beckoned you to come to him, and with that you started walking, but not on your free will.

The closer you got to him, the wider his smile was. Your look of fear, you practically begging him to let you go was giving him such a delightful time.

The curse squeezed his own hand and at an instant you passed out, and fell to the floor. Your body feel numb, but at the same time it felt like it was being used, tossed around, violated.

You could hear faint screaming, they sounded panicked, angry and even remorseful. You still couldn't open your eyes, but you could feel your body be lifted up. And taken away.

"Are they going to be okay?" A voice wa lingering in your head. It felt familiar, but you couldn't put your finger on it. 

"We need to let them rest. You can talk to them later on." 

"Hey, has anyone seen...Y̶̨͌ȕ̸̡j̷̡̑i̷͙̐?̵͙̚" 

"Y̶̨͌ȕ̸̡j̷̡̑i̷͙̐?̵͙̚ I haven't seen him for days now. He just brought back [Y/N] here and he just left." 

Everything was pitch black. But you were coming to, you could somewhat if yourself wake back up. 

Y̶̨͌ȕ̸̡j̷̡̑i̷͙̐?̵͙̚ Y̶̨͌ȕ̸̡j̷̡̑i̷͙̐?̵͙̚

Why was that name so fuzzy to you? My eyes were starting to part open and you looked around the brightness of the room. You slowly sat up, and suddenly felt a sharp pain down your lower body. You winced and groaned from the pain. You felt a warm liquid drip down from you. Your heart was beating very fast and you rip the blankets from under you. 

You were bleeding. 

It was almost as if..someone was there before.  

You didn't want to believe that, that had happened to you. All you can remember was that you and a friend were hanging out, but you noticed he was acting weird, like he was fighting off something or someone. You then heard a bellowing chuckle, it startled you. You looked around to see who was making the noise. You didn't see anyone.

You assumed you were hearing things since you just woke up. Your body was in no way to move at the moment, but you did not want to stay in bed all day. So you tried again and stood out of bed for a few second before having to hold onto something for support. You struggled a bit just to the bathroom. As soon as you made, you heard the laughter again. 

You glared and look around, nothing. You sighed and limped over to the mirror.

"You felt so great. At some point, I'm just going to keep using you until you break completely." 

You gasped as you feel a part of your skin split apart and a mouth was formed. It was talking to you. HE was talking to you. You backed away in horror, only to be met with a sharp pain from down below. 

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!" You screamed at the mysterious mouth. 

"The real question is, what did YOU do?" It spoke once more. "The boy hasn't been himself as of lately. Wonder why?" 

"D-did you have something to do with this?" You stared at the mirror as you see that hideous thing form a smirk. "Who the hell even are you." 

"...Ryomen Sukuna." He spoke in a menacing tone. "And you're my newest toy." 

"Like hell I am!" You protested.

You wanted to move again but you couldn't. It was like he said you were his newest toy. The curse wasn't going to let you go away easy like that. With all this new knowledge you were trying to process, you were starting to put two and two together. Your eyes widened at the sudden shock, and you lied your hands on the counter of the bathroom. The mixture of what looked like semen and blood trailikg down your legs and then you could heat the cursed mouth just laugh at you.You could feel tears starting to well up. 

He violated you. You knew something wasn't right about your best friend. Why he was so distant, so withdrawn, very hesitant. Oh Yuji. If only you were here. Droplets of tears were falling from your cheek. All the curse could do was laugh at how broken your spirit was. 

"..Where's Yuji?" You asked. 

"Hmm? The Itadori brat? He's gone." Sukuna bluntly stated. 

A hand covered your mouth, you couldn't help but cry to yourself. You then could hear Sukuna's tongue click. 

"He's still here. He's a broken spirit." Sukuna boasted. "Couldn't save the one person he wanted, and now that I've marked you he won't talk or come out." 

"Dear God, was this..was this my fault?" You asked yourself through your sobs and tears. 

"Oh most definitely." The mouth answered for you. "You're absolutely the most worst thing to ever happen to him. All he ever did was talk about you. It was disgusting." 

The irises in your eyes were shaking from processing all of this. You balled your hands up in a fist. You were being berated and even gaslit into thinking this was your fault. You were angry, in pain and you just wanted your favorite best friend back. The fact that this was what Yuji had to deal with. Sukuna continued to berate you, but all you did was shut down and back away from the mirror as you couldn't even feel the atmosphere engulf you into the darkness. 

[inkykeiji]

Ahh anytime i read ur stories or think of these characters I always picture them taking place in a gotham city type vibe. Where the underworld rules the city and what are cops gunna do ya know? When half of them are involved in these crimes

anon!!!!!!!! i love u!!!!!!! oh my gosh!!!!! this ask made me squeal so loud because batman is my all-time favourite superhero and i LOVE gotham city; the grittiness, the grimness, the grimyness, everything the city is at its core, i love it all so so so much!!! <3 so i’m super flattered to hear that my work gives off these vibes!!! i’m kind of obsessed with gotham city as a concept and as an aesthetic so it makes sense that the atmosphere n setting has bled into some of my writing!!