#he's like if a rotting corpse was an alive guy

[szollibisz]

Most important part of Owen's characterization is that he's a bitter bitch. Like his stand-up young man act is great, but you know that man is rotting away on the inside from the constant anger and disdain towards the world, even before the fall. He's the most miserable person ever, he's just good at making people (including himself) believe he's just simply a super competent asshole who's better than everyone else. Like if anyone ever got to see behind the first few layers of how he presents himself they'd realize that man. This guy is just kinda sad and angry and never truly happy or satisfied, but he chooses not to acknowledge that, and he probably doesn't even know the full extent of it himself. And that's why his life flips on its head when he meets Curt who medicates his self-hate with hedonism instead of harsh conscious and subconscious self-discipline. The second most important part is that he's cunty.

[just-null]

YO, SUPER LATE SUPER LONG SUPER MESSY OCTOBER POST THAT I JUST SHOVED EVERYTHING INTO BC I DIDN'T WANT TO DO MULTIPLE. FUCK IT.

I forgot halfway that these were supposed to be costumes and not mini aus... SO REMEMBER IN MY PLACE, EVERYTHING IS HYPOTHETICAL. also. some have a bit of yandere elements to them bc its SO FITTING FOR NORITOSHI.

Happy late October, everyone. it's winter now. Let's get it, baby.

[Long rambles and doodles under the cut!]

Vampire!

I kept asking myself, "How sexy is too sexy.." and "How the fuck does a sexy vampire even look like without it being a shirtless guy w fangs or Edward Cullen....." I think I figured it out

Sure, sure, vampires are superhumans with sun allergies that can drink blood really hotly. They can also easily overpower you to feast and blah blah blah, but what if said vampire (Noritoshi) was too weak to do any of that? Not literally, but he craves your say. He wants not only your blood but your affection. He wants to get praised as he drinks you in. Are you comfortable? How much will you allow him to take? Do you want to get him back in return? Guidance with this makes him feel more at ease. It's still Noritoshi at the end of the day. He's going to find a way to be a little awkward about you because of his crush. He refuses to drink from anyone other than you, even if it causes his death. Therefore, he has to keep you healthy! For the rest of your lives..! Besides, he can't really go outside or else he'd.. y'know. So if you think about it, this is a very beneficial relationship for both of you!!

The only downside is that you're losing blood on the regular, and for some reason, more people are moving away... Probably nothing, right? Noritoshi is always there to keep you company and help you recover anyways.

Witch!

my attempts also bled into the witch design.... you got greedy with requesting two in one ask, but I'll spoil you this time bc I also wanted to see Noritoshi as a (sexy) vampire and witch. heh. AND I DIDNT REALIZE HED BE SO CUTE AS A WITCH..... WHAT THE FUCK?? rip momo, fight for your title of cute witch...

Noritoshi strikes me as one of those witches who'd rather be left to their own devices because they're running some important magic whatever in the background. though, he'll take some breaks and indulge you if you insist on having him around. Insist meaning you pass by and strike conversation, leaving him to neglect anything and everything to prioritize his time with you. He doesn't want to use magic on you unless it's beneficial for either you or both. Noritoshi likes a natural progression with you that he knows for a fact is true and not some product of some spell. Though it doesn't mean he wouldn't use charms and such to get you to interact with him more often to speed up the process!

Can't sleep? He has a remedy perfect for that! Bad luck? Oh no, take a charm. Nerves? A potion he perfected will help you ease your jitters. Annoying peers? With a snap of Noritoshi's fingers, they're gone! Just don't ask what happened. Enjoy yourself instead and come to him with any new issue. He's quick to resolve it.

Definitely has some sort of doll that looks suspiciously like you.. Noritoshi would probably talk to it and practice one liners that give you the strongest sense of nostalgia once he uses them. He's simultaneously giddy that the charm he put in the doll works but also a little annoyed that his hard work isn't surprising you, but leaving you with deja vu.

Idol!

i was crying the entire time bc what does an idol look like.... noritoshi is handsome enough to be an idol without actually being an idol... now i can confirm that idols are very well dressed though. thumbs up 100% but i had some thoughts...

[Idol]

Noritoshi would be the type to cherish his fans, but hold clear favoritism over you. he'd be those idols that look cold, but they talk, and they sound smug in a charming way. i don't know much about idols, but i know he'd be so fucking good.... he'd be the type of guy to sing to you amongst the hundreds in the crowd.... ahhh the interviews w these famous aus. they're just talking and acting like themselves. can you imagine Noritoshi getting asked the question if he has a lover or not? he can lie, im sure you're alright with that, but he doesn't want to!! he does have someone!!! someone he loves more than all his fans love for him combined!!! he just can't say it for the sake of your privacy and his career. so Noritoshi does what any charming guy who's good with their words does. he deflects the question. answering the question, but not really, that'd be something he's known for. fans online are split on why Noritoshi does this. some think he's trying to keep that side of his life private, others think he's trying to mess around, and others think he's hiding a secret lover!!! though the last one is usually seen as the outlandish one, sometimes it makes Noritoshi's heart drop bc they get some things right. "Having a lover is a complicated question hidden behind a simple disguise. If I had to answer, I'd say my lovers are my audience. they make sure i'm well cared for, some more than others." AND HIS FUCKING LITTLE SMIRK I CANT COUGHS UP BLOOD. IM A THEORIST TOO. SECRET LOVER. 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵

ON THE FLIP SIDE....

[Not an Idol]

An amusing thought where Noritoshi goes out in his casual clothes, and he's mistaken for an idol. No one knows who he is, but he just looks like he'd be one. bro's just trying to buy groceries, and now he has a fan group asking him to take pictures with them.. He'd tell them that he's just a guy, not an idol, but the group would still want a picture with him. it'd be a waste to pass by someone who's so naturally gorgeous, so with a sigh of defeat, he relents. It's just a photo, right? No harm done. Noritoshi'd go home and feel overwhelmed/embarrassed by the whole ordeal. later, he gets a call from someone in the kyoto group or you to inform him how he's all over social media, known as that handsome guy in the supermarket. HED BE COMPLETELY UNREACHABLE TO MEDIA OUTLETS BC NORITOSHI IS THAT GUY WHO DOESNT HAVE SOCIAL MEDIA.... he'd have to make one to make sure no one pretends to be him online. "Hello, I don't use social media, but I've been informed I've been getting attention online. To prevent anyone from being fooled by an impersonator, this is my official and only account. thank you." P.R. STATEMENT WRITING ASS.. his single post gets flooded with likes, comments, and DMs. it almost blows up his phone..... he was just buying bread, dude...... people try to dig up and find him through the other Kyoto group's social media.

[bonus] my second in command requested to put him in a fem idol outfit bc he thought it was funny. after frothing at the mouth and coughing out blood, I complied.

Doctor!

THIS IS SUCH A STRAIGHT FORWARD ASK BUT IT HAS SO MANY IMPLICATIONS. MY BELOVED CULT MEMBER.. THOSE EMOJIS GIVE ME A DIFFERENT IMPRESSION BUT IM NOT SURE.

Noritoshi as a doctor...... apple sales would plummet. his little clinic's business would skyrocket. sick cases would peak in his area. getting your heart checked by his stethoscope would be so fucking embarrassing bc all he'd hear is THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP

LIKE IMAGINE IF THAT WAS YOUR DOCTOR? BRO.

COUGH COUGH HACK WHEEZE COUGH COUGH.

Noritoshi would probably own a small clinic that he wants to expand. That or he opened one after working for a hospital for a while. He's a great doctor who's most likely respected but a pain in the ass to work with. Among patients, he's gotten the hot doctor reputation. Most want to be treated by him, but he's so professional, any chance of trying to flirt goes down the drain. Yeah, he puts his hair up to avoid it in his face even though his eyes are closed classic lab safety procedures. He seems like the type to have a soothing but authoritative voice during examination, so he gets his message across. it's a bit difficult when dealing with patients for Noritoshi. If he sees them too often, he firstly scolds you for not taking care of yourself, then feels guilty for not giving you the proper care. Keep yourself safe and healthy, or else Noritoshi will clearly :( Putting him in a yandere setting would be dangerous. He'd have a lot of control over you, considering he can prescribe medication, shots, visits, and other things.... he'd have a ball.... nothing that would cause you any harm, of course. he's only looking out for you and doing what's best for you..!

Pirate!

my second in command wanted a pirate. pirates are so fucking cool and i know damn well if this guy were a pirate he'd have a bunch of battle scars under that fancy coat.

Noritoshi as a pirate would be more than a little odd, but also fitting. He looks like the type of guy who'd be well put together, yet he's willing to get his hands dirty. Like the guy who got into the pirate life because of some personal issue that couldn't be solved fast enough through conventional means. Even as a pirate, i imagine he holds everyone to high standards. They're still pirates though.. so his expected standards aren't even that high. He has more freedom here, so even he himself lets loose once or twice. Especially with you. He's even able to get away with more violent actions for you, the seas are unpredictable, after all. While taking some treasure, Noritoshi'd toss you a gem or golden coin, just so you can say you were the first to claim it. Just so he can see that happy glint in your eyes when getting your hands on treasure. God forbid anyone try to get their hands on your hard earned goods. They'd be met with a bullet to the foot or a sword at their neck. Everyone and their mother knows how you're his favorite, but Noritoshi downplays it. Its not a crime to help out someone from his crew is it? Not in the seven seas. He leans more into his cold ruthless killer side here. He has goals and people to help keep in line whether hes captain or not. Yet when around you, he's almost adorable in how he shows you a pearl so entrancing that it reminded him of you.

Corpse Bride!

my submission to my Noritoshi Halloween costume closet.. CORPSE BRIDE, THIS MOVIE FUCKS. esp w the yandere elements.

Noritoshi 100% made you recite the wedding vows to him before accepting the ring. If you fumbled up, he'd correct you with SO much attitude and expect you to start from the top until you got it perfectly.

Hypothetically, in the chalice scene towards the end..

Noritoshi is the type to never be fully relaxed unless he knows for sure you'll be eternally his. In this scenario, YOU proposed to HIM but have to die to continue being together. Not only that, but someone in the living world is also after your heart. Someone who bleeds. Someone who's the obvious choice. Someone who can give you the life that you deserve. Someone who will succeed in their pursuits if you. remain. alive. Noritoshi's life was cut short, yet he still managed to lose so much and be abandoned a considerable amount of times. When he meets you and finds out about the possibility of having to go through that again even in death, it finally clicks in his rotting mind. He realizes he's been doing something wrong to keep constantly failing. Noritoshi revises his methods to a more.. selfish course. Why should he care about anyone else's wants or how his actions hurt them? You were the only one who made him truly fulfilled, to make him feel alive. The only one who deserves anything and everything good that comes from this world. Destiny is never done toying with him when he realizes your marriage is invalid because of your pulse and his lack thereof no matter how hard he'd try, but the opportunity arises. of course, he's ecstatic to give you an afterlife worth much more than what a silly beating heart can achieve. "All people die eventually. If you miss your living family or friends, all it takes is patience, darling. I'll wait by your side in the meantime." He weighs the pros and cons of everything, but when it comes to swaying manipulating your thoughts he only highlights the ones that'll get you on his side. in this case, the pros of dying to be with him! Honestly, the answer was so obvious that Noritoshi didn't know why he was stressing about it before. It hurts him to see you in any type of pain, but he reassures both himself and you that it'll only be for a moment. Afterward, he'll have the rest of your afterlives to make it up to you!! What happened to Till Death Do Us Part? Noritoshi thinks it's insulting that something as shallow as that could be so widely accepted. If your love were true, it wouldn't stop just because the world decided to take them away. "Till death do us part? Darling, don't be silly. 'Not even death will do us part' feels much better, doesn't it?" 

[zombiethingy]

it took some time to realize

Written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘shower’

And with special thanks to @griefabyss69 for betaing! 💜

Title from 'Alive' by Engrave

wc: 399 | rated: T (for language) tags: Eddie lives, concert, mosh pit, hopeful ending cw: references to depression [AO3 link]

Eddie feels alive again.

It's a fucking miracle.

It's already a miracle that he is alive and not simply a rotting corpse in the hellscape of the upside down. While his body was dragged out of there, patched back together, and made to breathe and pump blood on its own again, part of his psyche didn't get the memo and decided to play dead anyway.

Most days, he feels like doing nothing but rot – on the couch, in the new house, still feeling like a walking dead guy.

But not today. Today he's standing next to Steve in a sea of people, all screaming along to the lyrics of his favorite song. The infectious energy slowly seeps into him, making him want to be alive and move for the first time in what feels like forever. Then the crowd behind him parts, getting ready to let all hell loose, and he's itching to dive right into the pit – pushing, jumping, moving around with everyone in there – and just be alive with them.

Steve must feel it because he puts his hand on Eddie's arm, giving him a look and a little shake of his head, before he has to turn back around to intercept the first person stumbling into him and sending them back into the romping bodies.

Right, his body still isn't really healed either. It stings a little – but only until the next person comes hurtling towards them, and then it's Eddie's turn to push them back in, and another one right after.

Eventually he's content with being on the edge of the pit, side by side with Steve, protecting the crowd behind them and absorbing the energy of the people colliding together in front of them.

He could have gone without catching a shower of something – it has to be beer, he tells himself – just at the end of the song; it's easily forgotten when the next song in the set is an acoustic version of another masterpiece, when he gets goosebumps from how it makes him feel after being numb for so long.

Especially when Steve shuffles closer during the first verse, bumping his equally moist shoulder into Eddie's and reaches out to link their hands.

And he's never been so alive as when Steve – the miracle worker himself – sings the refrain at him, around the loveliest smile, promising more miraculous things yet to come.

[froot-batty]

Gods worst friend group !

I'm excited to finally be able to talk about them. Venture down there if you beware

These guys are pretty entwined, so just like in the Twobat backstory, It'll just be one big thing. BIIIIIGGG thing, sorry

Viktor Fries was born in Denmark, an only child to two very loving parents. He'd always had a love for the cold, which grew into a love for winter, which grew into a love for cryogenics. His parents couldn't get him enough books or research papers written about the subject, so his eventual decision to pursue it in higher education came as no surprise. At the time, Gotham University and WayneTech were the leading institutions in cryogenic research, so Viktor packed his bags and ventured off to America.

Kirk Langstrom was born a sickly little baby at Gotham General. He was born with Chediak-Higashi syndrome, which not only caused his albinism, but made Kirk very prone to bacterial infections, especially when he was younger. It would also cause motor issues as Kirk aged, resulting in the need of mobility aids like canes or a wheelchair. As a child, Kirk was teased for his appearance, likened to a vampire - or, on one occasion, an albino bat another kid had found and presented to him. Instead of being offended, this moment was what kickstarted Kirk's love for bats, and eventual pursual of chiropterology.

And for Hugo Strange....well, no one really knows where he came from.

The three met when they were all in college, and they became friends almost instantly. They were three smart outcasts who had little to no real friends before this, so naturally they latched onto one another. Hugo a little more than the other two, but I'll get into that.

For the time they were in college, they were good for each other! But as most things go, they drifted a bit after college ended. Viktor by now had fallen in love with Nora and gotten his job at WayneTech, and Kirk had gotten the opportunity to take a research trip to study Bracken Cave (which is where he'd meet his eventual wife, Francine). This left Hugo mostly to his own devices, which he put towards his career at Arkham Asylum and eventually becoming the head of it.

When Kirk eventually returned from his trip, they reconnected with one another. Now here's where I'm gonna talk individually about what happened to Fuck These Guys Up.

Chronologically, Nora getting sick and Fries' accident is what happens first. When Nora started getting really sick, Viktor and her had no idea what it really was, only that it had the potential to kill her if they didn't find a treatment. Viktor's desperation to find it would eventually lead him to Hugo, who agreed to assist Viktor in his research. When Viktor and Nora mutually decided to freeze her to give Viktor more time, Hugo allowed them to build the machine that would freeze her in an abandoned room in the basement of Arkham (which Hugo was using for his own experiments).

Viktor panicked during the process of Nora freezing, and went to turn the machine off in the middle of it, not fully thinking through what he was doing. It caused the machine to malfunction and the chamber (with Nora in it) to explode outward, releasing everything that had been meant to cryogenically preserve Nora out into the room. The injuries and exposure to chemicals should have killed them both, but the temperatures (and medical assistance) managed to preserve the both of them, though it left Viktor as a living but slowly rotting corpse, who is both being killed by the cold and needs it to keep living in whatever state he's in now.

Hugo was actually the one to find the both of them. Though he had personally never cared for Nora, he followed the plan she and Viktor had laid out, making a new chamber to preserve her while he had a suit specially made for Viktor in order to keep him alive. With a tracker installed inside of it so Hugo could know where he was at any time.

This is probably a good time to cut and explain what's wrong with Hugo. He is...insanely devoted to both Kirk and Viktor. They were both his first friends and he loves them very much and he will Keep Them at Any Cost.

So after Viktor awoke, and realized that Nora had been preserved (even though part of him didn't want that anymore), Hugo instructed him to begin working on a cure for her. Hugo couldn't care less if she died he'd get Viktor to himself then, but Viktor had grown dangerously depressed after the accident and the thought of one day being reunited with a cured Nora was the only thing motivating him to stay alive.

Because Nora's chamber is in the basement of Arkham Asylum, Hugo has control of when and for how long Viktor can visit her. If he doesn't make sufficient progress on her cure, he isn't allowed in.

Now, onto Kirk. He had no idea that was all happening, as their contact with one another had been limited, even after reconnecting. One day, though, Kirk had mentioned his interest in changing his current study to focus on his condition, CHS, instead of his bats. Mostly because he was worried about progressing into the accelerated phase, as most people with CHS do. But Hugo suggested instead that he could figure out some sort of treatment for Kirk - and don't worry, you can just go back to your bats! I promise it'll work; in fact, it'll have you feeling like Batman!

So Kirk, suffering from chronic pain and various disabling motor issues, agreed happily. He visited Hugo's lab when the "treatment" was finished and received two injections in the neck, which turned into those two scars. When it didn't work after a couple of days, Kirk was disappointed, and was ready to tell Hugo that he needed to try something else when something...happened.

Kirk blacked out for a couple of hours and woke up shirtless, covered in blood in an empty alleyway. And, strangest of all, he wasn't in pain.

And this kept happening. Every couple of nights he would black out and return home bloody. He attempted to hide this from his wife, but something like that can't stay under wraps forever, so when she found out she urged him to talk to Hugo and figure out what the hell that "treatment" did.

So he did (rather angrily, of course). Hugo would explain that the treatment was actually an experimental chemical he'd developed to be able to turn humans into animals, specially developed for Kirk to turn "at will" instead of being stuck like that permanently. Because of Hugo choosing a vampire bat as the animal for the specific "treatment" developed for Kirk, he would need to feed on blood while in bat-form, thus the reason he was bloody every time he awoke from his blackouts.

There was only one bonus to the transformation. The concoction was, actually, a sort of cure. The bat form didn't have the same chronic pain or issues that Kirk's normal body did. But it came at the cost of being a mindless, bloodthirsty monster.

All he needed to do, Hugo said, was figure out how to become the bat instead of letting it take over, and then he'd practically be the perfect creature!

He would have to keep coming to Hugo for regular injections, though.

Kirk initially, obviously, refused - he wasn't a monster, and he didn't want to hurt anyone or anything just to help himself. But he kept thinking about it. And thinking about it. Could he really tame the bat, and live as something powerful and strong? Something he'd never been?

It weighed on his mind so much that he inevitably returned to Hugo, just to try it. What he didn't know at the time was that the injections were purposefully addictive, growing worse and worse the more he returns to take them.

Hugo Strange friend of the year everybody

[circe69]

𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐇𝐢𝐦 - Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

narrative: you get kidnapped by graves, and ghost rescues you (in a very aggressive/sweet manner) warnings: violent, blood, injuries, kidnapping, manhandling tags: cleaning wounds, soft ghost, solving mysteries, being babied honestly, touching, sweet things amidst gore. a/n: as always, lmk if this is something you'd like a part two for! love you guys! part 2

A set of strong hands grabbed your two biceps and threw you to the ground, your body slamming against the wet pavement. You groaned in agony, blood soaking your ripped shirt around your sleeves, whilst your ears rang, and vision blurred. Someone leaned down, you weren't sure who, and pulled you up by your hair.

You screamed, "G- ugh, Get off of me!" Graves let a chuckle escape, making your stomach churn. "You tell whoever is unfortunate enough to pick up your rotting body that it was me who was merciful, letting you leave alive when you deserve nothing but a coffin too small for your corpse.”

He dropped your hair, making your head strike the ground.

"Let's go, boys. Oh, she'll be fine, grow a pair!" You heard his eager voice fade out and heavy boots walk away, followed by a metal door closing shut, the rust falling on the doormat.

All the sudden, you heard a flashlight click. It was quiet enough to almost be unheard, but your senses had been heightened, you were aware of everything.

"Who's there?" You whispered, not trying to. You tried to be as loud as you possibly could, but it wasn't until this moment you realized how scared you were of being caught.

"Who's there?" You whispered, not trying to. You tried to be as loud as you possibly could, but it wasn't until this moment you realized how scared you were of being caught.

No one answered, but you could feel someone's presence. You stumbled to your feet, bracing yourself on the side of an empty tank before standing up straight. "I know someone's there!" Nothing.

Sighing, you took a few more steps towards where you heard the click, almost hoping that someone was there listening to you. Your hand slid against the wet metal of the tank, and the other trying to locate where you were hurt the most and holding pressure to where you guessed.

A gun cocked. Your head turned in every direction, trying to see everything at once. I'm about to die, you thought. This was the end. There was nothing else for you to do but accept that you would never see any of your family again, none of your friends.

You walked a little more, almost giving yourself up to whoever it was, and you almost turned back around to hide in the unused tank before wet arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you back into a wall of a body.

Your screams filled the air, harsh groans were coming from the person behind you in response to your thrashing. "Put. Me. Down!" Kicking your legs in any way you could, but it didn't do anything. "Calm down, woman, I'm not gonna hurt you." The body turned around and started jogging towards a running vehicle. There was a man in the front, one you didn't recognize, but before you could scream anything else, you were thrown into the back of the car, and a huge man followed you. Your body hit a leather seat, and he was positioned in front of you, buckling your seatbelt as if you were a helpless child.

"Got her, Johnny. Move out," the man trapping you in a seat said. He said the terrifying sentence with gauze between his teeth, ripping a few long pieces off of a large roll and setting it back in the console. The driver wasted no time in throwing the gear in reverse at his command, and the dog tags on the rearview mirror jangled against themselves as he slammed on the gas.

You couldn't breathe, your head was spinning, and you weren't sure if it was from the loss of blood or sudden fear that you were going to die.

The man sitting in front of you was wearing a few things you deemed as strange: a cream skull-face mask on top of a black linen face covering. His vests and gear were anything but simple, you feared if he'd move the wrong way, he'd set off a bomb somewhere.

His hand reached up to turn on the dinky car light as the driver took a harsh turn. "Could you drive a little slower, mate?" His voice was aggressive, too deep for his own good. It was a weapon in and of itself. Orders that he made were automatically wishes that had to come true.

"Ghost," he said while opening up a few bandages and uncapping a tube of disinfectant, not even looking up at you. "Crazy man in the front is Soap."

You felt tears brew in your eyes as he talked to you in such a casual manner. There was no underlying threat in his words, even as scary as he was. A few heavy droplets slipped and audibly landed on your seatbelt, causing Ghost to look up at you.

Once he saw you crying, he sighed, not out of exhaustion or annoyance, but of something else. You weren’t sure what he was feeling, or why he did things he did. You weren’t sure anyone ever knew. He reached his gloved hand up and turned off the light, continuing to work in the dark. He'd be cursed for the rest of his life if he had to watch you cry.

A woman he'd never met, never even known existed, until that very afternoon.

"Sit down, men." Price said from the corner of the room, uncrossing his arms and walking away from his stance against the wall. "We've got places to be, people to save, Graves to fill." A few young newbies snickered at his joke; the rest stayed quiet. The captain circled the large table, passing out beige files and black masks to everyone sitting down. "Kate, the TV, please." Laswell clicked a black remote, pointing it at a flat screen and waited for a picture to pop up.

A young women appeared, maybe early 20's. Mid-length hair with eyes that could kill. Her license picture, as intimidating as you'd think it be to look into the eyes of a missing woman, it wasn't at all.

Her smile was beautiful, completely clueless at what the terrible world had to offer. What the terrible world had become. She was nothing but happy, just happy to be wherever. No one said anything, but they were all lost in the picture, not sure if what they were feeling was frustration or admiration.

"This is Y/N L/N." Price cleared his throat before continuing, "I used to work with her father, he's a good man. I owe him my life; I'd give him anything."

He made his way to the head of the round table, "Y/N's missing. He's given us the substantial responsibility of finding her."

Gaz spoke up after raising his hand for a few seconds, "Do we know where she is?"

"Well, where do we always find ourselves treading off to when we get any sort of call?" Price said in a sarcastic tone, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head.

"Graves." Ghost and Soap spoke in unison, the man in the ghost mask cleaning his knife off with a dirty rag, and the one in with the mohawk stirring some sugar into a mug of tea.

Laswell and Price nodded in agreement to their guess, and everyone else sighed audibly, some out of relief and others in annoyance. Graves was never the best option, but lately it's been seeming like the only option. Soap stood up from his seat, groaning as he scooted his seat in. "Well? Let's get on it."

"You'll be fine, luv. Swear it." Ghost said to you as he trailed his fingers along your head gash, feeling for the cut before using his other hand to pour isopropyl on a cotton round. He suddenly remembered the picture from earlier, the innocent face that's now bloody and bruised thanks to one of the men he's spent years trying to destroy.

"It'll sting," he whispered, and Soap in the front seat breathed through his teeth sharp. "Ooh, I know that smell. That's the smell of pain." You felt your mouth upturn slightly, inhaling the rubbing alcohol as well and leaning into the childhood memories that rushed into your brain. Ones of you falling down on the playground, scraping your elbow on the asphalt and running towards the nearest teacher.

"You okay?" Ghost checked in as he stuck a bandage on your head, and you hummed in response, taking a deep breath in as you leaned back on your head rest. "There she is," Soap said while looking in the rearview mirror.

Arriving back at the base, you felt your eyes droop open and closed, feeling comforted at the feeling of Ghost's thumb rubbing against the side of your jeans, trying to nurse you back to health to the best of his ability. Soap parked the car, slowly pressing on the brake to appease Ghost's previous request.

"You got her, Simon?" Soap asked as he took the key out of the ignition and quietly grabbing his backpack from the front seat. Ghost grunted in approval, and waited till Soap got out of car and shut the door before figuring out what to do with your tired body.

"Should I carry you?" He whispered, bracing himself on the armrest of your seat and bringing the other hand up to the side of your face, balancing your head on his palm as you tried not to fall asleep. You whined in response, not truly being conscious enough to reply properly. "Right then," Ghost said, looking around for things to clean up before heading up to the base.

He got out of the car first, jumping down onto the gravel and reaching across your lap to unbuckle your seatbelt. "Let's go, Y/N."

"You know my name?" You said sleepily as he picked you up with an arm underneath your legs and the other wrapped around your waist, squeezing gently to signal you jump into his arms.

"Course I do, you've been the talk of the town lately."

"Wow." Rubbing your eyes sleepily, it caused Ghost to look down at your in his arms, distracting him altogether from his mission. All the sudden, your waterline started to fill with tears.

"What, what is it?"

"I couldn't even fight back." You started to cry, your eyes pouring out on your face, something Ghost tried so hard not to watch but had to.

"It's alright, bug, not many of us can get a rile out of Graves anyway, that's reason enough for an award."

You chuckled at the sentiment, and at the fact that he cared enough to attempt to cheer you up. Even if his humor was the corniest you'd ever been around, it was enough to lift your moods a little bit.

As he walked you into the base, a cold chill hit your bare arm, you felt the dried blood crackle as you shifted. "Brr, am I right?" Ghost tried once again to make you crack a smile, walking you into the closest guest room. It was a quaint area, just one cot with a few cream-colored sheets and a dusty quilt that someone had definitely donated from years past. There was only one overhead light, and after Ghost gently set you down on the bed, he walked over to flip the switch.

“This okay? Is your head hurting you?” He asked considerately, walking back over to look into your pupils, making sure you weren’t concussed. “Not too bad,” you responded, rubbing a dry hand on your face, and pulling it back only to find it was covered in blood. Your eyebrows furrowed and you frowned at the sight, feeling ill knowing there was still remnants of your attack.

“You’re still quite bloody, I couldn’t see very well in the dark car, but someone else will-.”

“You could’ve kept the light on,” you interrupted him, sitting up slightly and leaning your head on the metal bed frame.

“What?” Ghost whispered, knowing good and well what you were implying, but not wanting to act it.

“You turned the light off, in the car, but you could’ve kept it on to see me better. Why didn’t you?”

He exhaled, slightly clicking his tongue against his teeth. “I know, I- I just couldn’t-" He paused to regain control over his stuttering, “I hated seeing you cry.”

Ghost walked over to a small sink, turning one of the knobs and dampening a rag before walking back over to you. He stopped a few paces in front of your bed, just to stare at you. The entirety of your body, nothing left unscathed. Your jeans were torn to shreds, red liquid lacing every stitch. The shirt you wore was drenched in rain and blood, and it ripped in the front, allowing cleavage to poke through, making Ghost’s eyes close abruptly when he saw it.

“You don’t even know me, Ghost, why would it bother you so much?” You adjusted yourself so your legs hung off the side of the bed, your shoulder facing where Ghost stood. “I know, but, I know of you.”

He continued, “Your father, he worked with Price, yeah? Price said your pops gave him the job of finding you.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, but before you could say anything, you were interrupted.

“Oi, Lieutenant, you’re needed. Price says it’s an emergency.” An unfamiliar voice yelled from the hallway, before a few loud knocks at the door.

“I’m takin care of the girl, Gaz,-"

“Nope, Price said now.”

He frustratedly stood up, tapping his foot a few times before turning to you again.

You spoke first, “It’s fine, really, someone else will come along and clean me up.”

Ghost nodded, crossing his arms across his chest. “You sure?” You nodded your head as well in response, knowing that he wasn’t just some soldier, he was Ghost, a Lieutenant, a leader.

A killer.

“I’ll be back in the mornin, I swear it. With coffee and everything.” With that, Ghost left the room, his large boots and velcro straps with keychains hanging from them rattling and filling the room before fading out.

You were terrified, there was no other way to put it. And at this point, could anyone even be trusted? Sure, Ghost seemed nice enough, he wasted his time to tend to you, and Soap was eager to help as well, but it all seemed too strange, too strategic. How was Graves connected to the 141 Task Force? Why had Ghost mentioned they had been affiliated before?

You pulled out a locket from underneath your shirt, a small medallion that would be worth thousands if you had offered it to a trader, but the thought never crossed your mind. Inside was a picture of your father, someone you hadn’t seen in years. How in the world would he know you’d gotten kidnapped? He wasn’t even in the same country, let alone care enough to keep tabs on you. He was a terrible man, someone you told yourself and many others to stay away from. There had to be something else going on, something beneath the surface and even if Ghost didn’t know of it, he was still a part of it.

As much as you didn’t want to trust Ghost, you feared he was all you could lean on. You promised yourself once he’d get back in the morning, you’d discuss it with him; how Price talked to your father, and if it was even your father he was talking to? Hopefully, he'd have the answers, and if not, you'd at least have someone to talk to.

Plus, it didn't hurt how attractive he was.

[jane-john-doe-tournament]

Jane Doe (Ride the Cyclone) Propaganda:

Great singing, also she’s literally wearing a doll‘s head bc she lost hers

do they have their soul or is it rotting somewhere with their head?

BALLAD OF JANE DOE IS SO SAD AND SHE IS GREAT AND I ONLY WATCH RTC ONCE BUT SHES NY FAVE OK

cool asf

She forgets her name after her death and has no story told in the production

She's so sweet and deserves the world. Her song (The Ballad of Jane Doe) is great.

the song goes so hard just listen to her song guys please

she literally died and her head was cut off so nobody could tell who she was PLEASE let her take one (1) W

BECAUSE SHE IS AMAZING. First she already won the tournament in the musical to regain life, as she won them over with her sad wet cat energy because she did not have a head and feared that she lost her soul. Second, she died on a roller coaster and lost her head, but stole her doll's head and thats very gender. Third, throughout the musical she is used as a vessel for religious allegory, she is an angel, she is jesus, she is a demon, she is forsaken but she is purity itself. Fourthly, she is is given the identity of Savannah with the greenest eyes after the other characters who died with her hold her a birthday party, and I think thats sweet because its probably some kind of meaning I cant see but auughfhfhh shes so cool

i mean her name isn't TECHNICALLY jane doe but we refer to her as such. she's so silly!! autism powers! i don't have a lot of propaganda tbh. i would've just been surprised had she NOT been submitted

She lost her head literally when the rollercoaster derailed. She wasn't able to be identified apart from the school uniform she was wearing.

Her name is forgotten, and so is everything about her. So she’s called Jane Doe. She’s very sweet and very creepy, but she doesn’t mean it

and im asking WHYYYYY LORRRRRDDD

I LOVE HER! she died in a roller coaster accident and was decapitated, her body not being found. in the show, her head is actually just her doll’s head. the coroners couldn’t identify her, so she was dubbed a jane doe. in the game to be alive again, she ends up being voted, her name being revealed to be penny lamb. anyways she’s a little creepy and also quite silly and she does her funny little waddle like a porcelain doll (or corpse).

She deserves it! She lost her head she shouldn't lose this too.

Not convinced you didn’t start this tournament just for her tbh

They have a great song and a true air of mystery to them. They also have arguably the best song in the musical, The Ballad of Jane Doe! I would definitely recommend listening to it >:)

—She LOST her HEAD and had it replaced with a PORCELAIN DOLL —In all seriousness her story is really poignant. No one could identify her body so she arrives in the afterlife not knowing her identity and she spends the show vacillating between depressed and angry at her situation, leading to… —“The Ballad of Jane Doe”, specifically Emily Rohm’s version, might be the most haunting solo in musical theatre history.

John Doe (Malevolent) Propaganda:

Spooky gay eldritch disaster (am I doing this right?)

Could have chosen any name for himself and picked John because a kind person called him that :)

fractured piece of an eldritch god that shares a body with a private eye after being fractured. chooses the name John Doe after said private eye goes into a coma

Because he’s an eldritch god who wants to feel human and who overcame a lot of obstacles and dangers!!! He sincerely cares about the main character!!! And he chose a name himself! Isn’t he cute??? He lost his body, he almost lost his memory, he fought for his right to exist, he loves animals, he loves his friend Arthur and I love him!

Being an ass, friendship, spooky supernatural stuff, he’s got it all

My man heard the name John Doe, realized he didn’t actually have a name, and just. Took it for himself.

I LOVE HIM. MY SON. HE’S TRYING TO CHANGE AND BE BETTER AND :(((( He’s a fragment of the soul of the King in Yellow (god of trickery and suffering iirc??) that gets trapped in a book in our realm while the rest of the King stayed in his own separate realm. When a human named Arthur Lester opens the book they get linked and John gains control of Arthur’s eyes & kills his partner (oops!). They proceed to go on a quest to find a way of separating them because neither likes the situation, and at first John (or The Entity, which is what he’s called at first) just wants to trick and use Arthur, and control his entire body (through the first season he also gets a hand & a foot) even though he doesn’t remember being The King In Yellow at the time, but Arthur makes him change and become more human. His turning point is when Arthur is shot and falls into a coma for a month. They get treated at a hospital and while John waits for Arthur to wake up so they can carry on, the body itself still gets taken care of. The time John spends alone, contemplating on humanity & everything he’s seeing and learning from Arthur, as well as the way a certain nurse speaks to him every day (specifically, she greets him good morning and good night, despite the body being unresponsive, John still hears because he is an entity linked to the body) and calls him John (they didn’t have ID on when they were found so they were classified as John Doe), changes his outlook and plans for good, and he asks Arthur to call him John; from this point on he admits he cares for Arthur, looks for his wellbeing too, and in general attempts to be a better person and to live for himself. The rest of the podcast (ongoing!!) explores Arthur & John’s relationship, struggle to survive, adventures in the eldritch… All while tackling each of their issues with themselves and each other and watching them both grow. John in specific learns to be the person he wants to be, how sometimes you’ll take a step forward and two backwards; he can be cruel and manipulative sometimes but he still tries. Personally I love his journey, it’s very realistic and you can see he is trying his best, and how he wants to be better than he was as the King In Yellow, and how much Arthur has changed him and how much he cares about him because of that; and how he’s slowly growing into being his own person :) if it ends badly ill cry so hard but!!! he’s John Doe because that’s the name he was being addressed as, and he’s made it his, and being John means he’s no longer the King and that he wants to be different, and John can fail or make mistakes but it’s part of who he is now, and that’s what matters. I am So Normal About Him

JOHN DOE (Malevolent) SWEEP

OH MY GOD JOHN DOE MY BELOVED 💛💛 (watch me just not clarify that would be so funny ahah) John doe (Malevolent) 💛💛💛 my silly He's so funny he makes Arthur bump his head into a dock because he didn't say duck in time and then laughs at him 💛💛

[biocrafthero]

Why Sunny’s Halloween costume is a mummy instead of a vampire

Okay strap in guys this is a long one

(Under a read more because I have lost my mind)

(Also for some stuff I’m using Wikipedia as a source this isn’t a professional essay or anything)

Something I have noticed with Omori fans is that, much like with other fandoms, people like to assign fun Halloween monsters to their favorite characters. For a character like Sunny, I have noticed that many people opt to make him a vampire, which is a choice that seems quite understandable. The idea of the modern vampire can be traced back to many different authors, the most popular one in the minds of most being Bram Stoker’s Dracula, which was published in 1897. Some of the visual and behavioral trademarks of a vampire has to do with things such as aversion to sunlight, pale skin, fangs, and the need to feast on the literal blood of others to stay alive. Vampires have always been considered undead, which aligns with their history throughout folklore; there were several instances where corpses were staked after being accused of vampirism.

Reading this, its easy to see why fans would assign a character like Sunny to the idea of vampires based on all of the common traits of vampirism. However, while I do enjoy AUs and such of a vampiric Sunny, I disagree with this common interpretation and instead propose the idea of Sunny being associated with a different kind of undead monster: the zombie.

(“But Kaun, didn’t you say in the title of this post that Sunny is associated with mummies?” Yes, but we’ll get there.)

The origin of the zombie can be traced back to several different sources throughout the world, the most well-known one being Haitian folklore during the 19th century. Regarding modern depictions, popularized by the film Night of the Living Dead, zombies tend to be slow, rotting, human undead (while it must be noted that undead animals isn’t particularly uncommon either). Much like vampires, zombies need to consume humans to survive, but the difference is that, while vampires only need blood in most depictions, zombies tend to eat all parts of the body. The idea of the brain being the specific target is something that’s only come up within the last fifty years throughout pop culture; adding to these newer additions, it was only within the last twenty or thirty years that the idea of the running zombie was introduced and subsequently popularized.

So what does any of this have to do with Sunny?

Well, thought Omori, we are shown clear evidence of why the idea of the zombie resonates with his character. The most obvious example is with Hellsunny, who can be found throughout the entire truth sequence, in some parts of Black Space, and in a very particular cutscene in the Hikikomori Route.

Now, while its easy for us to assume things from the POV of Sunny himself, sometimes its important to take into account the intent of the creator in order to interpret things such as this. So, once again, why a zombie?

Well, the choice of the zombie is quite obvious to me: the fact it is commonly referred to as the living dead. Now what does this allude to regarding Sunny? It most likely correlates with his emotions in the wake of Mari’s death, especially considering he’s the one who killed her in the first place. It is commonly said by people who have experienced the loss of a loved one feel as if they’re just drifting through life after their passing, and the same can definitely be said for Sunny. At the time the real world sections of the game take place, its been four whole years since the incident had occurred, and Sunny has both figuratively and literally wasted away in his own home. Characters comment on how he seems very skinny and/or frail, and how he clearly hasn’t been taking care of himself. In a way, its like a part of him died alongside Mari.

This is where we get to what some would consider to be an extension of the zombie archetype: the mummy.

Regarding its depiction in horror since the history of real mummies is an entirely separate conversation, the modern depiction of the (male) mummy can be found dating back to the 1932 film The Mummy. While most historical, real life mummies had their organs removed before burial, the mummy from the film (named Imhotep) was deduced to have been buried alive after it is discovered that its organs had not been removed at all. Now while the rest of the film’s plot isn’t quite as relevant to our analysis, I believe these details are important to note. The idea of the mummy being something sealed away, only later to be awoken again as some kind of living dead, is very interesting considering the parts of Omori that make this comparison to Sunny. The allusions to the idea of Sunny’s own home being some kind of coffin or tomb adds to these ideas.

This is why I think the vampire comparisons simply do not fit. The idea of the vampire inherently implies that the afflicted needs to take something from others in order to survive, and while the same can be said about zombies it must be noted that within recent years the idea of a kind zombie has been slowly making itself known. Additionally with mummies, aside from the blatantly orientalist bullshit regarding its history in pop culture, don’t tend to be depicted with having to consume any physical part of the human body (but physical violence in general is still on the table for them. They tend to be depicted as more on the level of vampires in terms of their intelligence).

In contrast, the living dead (referring to both zombies and mummies) tend to be much more passive. Most don't go out of their way completely to hunt humans, only hunting if one crosses their path—mummies even more so, with them not even needing human flesh to maintain themselves. When not hunting, these monsters tend to just... exist, not doing much of anything at all. They don't expend energy on actively looking for what they need to survive, instead opting for what they need to find them, wasting away all the while. And the thing is with zombies: they rot. They decay, bound by more realistic things than mummies are (which tend to be sustained my more magical elements in pop culture).

While the idea of having to actively go out and hurt others to sustain yourself is very interesting, when specifically regarding Omori’s canon, it doesn’t quite fit in line with Sunny’s character and his arc. In contrast, him neglecting his own needs and wasting away is more in-line with all of that, which is why he’s more commonly depicted as being a zombie or a mummy by official material.

I know this post is extremely long-winded, but I think this kind of analysis is very fun. Additionally, you don’t have to take my word as gospel, either. I enjoy AUs where Sunny is a vampire, since he’s in a position where he has to violate his own morals in order to sustain himself. I think it acts as a very interesting way to deconstruct his character, and to push him to his limits (including the brink of death if he refuses to hunt).

[anlian-aishang]

He could feel you staring. And indeed, you were. God, you sighed to yourself, he was so fucking beautiful.

tags: levi x reader, angst, smut, hurt-comfort, gun mention, injury descriptions, self-sacrificial thoughts, caretaking, insecurity [felt by levi], body worship, canonverse, fem!reader.

word count: 5400

It was a miracle you found them, even more miraculous that Hange did not snipe you first. Over the barrel of the gun, their hazel eyes ran bloodshot. A murderous, fight-or-flight fear you had never seen on the commander’s face. If not for the moonlight that outlined your surrendering hands, surely, you would have joined the two corpses on the ground between you both. 

“Hange!!” Your frantic scream scared sleeping birds off their branches. Flaps of their wings matched the spasms in your nerves. “It’s me!”

Your ears picked up the graze of metal as their finger twitched along the trigger. Eyes focused in to meet theirs in promise. Your jaw fell further, not at the proximity between you and death, but at the single tear that slid down their cheek. Trauma spilling over Hange’s bright and bubbly facade. 

They lowered the rifle with a sigh, one you could see in the thick white cloud of their breath. With an exhausted exhale, beneath their hood, they offered.

“Do you want to see him?”

// // //

Hange walked slower than you would have liked. On the other hand, they probably thought you were going too fast. They had not had the time to blink, let alone sleep, in days. It was what you reminded yourself as you dampened your pace for their sake, the sedative to your aching legs, yearning to sprint to him. 

They made intentional small talk, asking how your intelligence missions were going - wondering if you had a good grasp on what the Yeagerists were up to. Of course, it was all pointless now. Obviously, Floch and his faction had succeeded. The end of the world had already started. 

The commander could tell, and you knew that they could. They would not ask you such blatantly meaningless questions, unless there was something to hide. 

“Hange,” your voice was deathly low, “just tell me.” Eye contact deliberately, mutually avoided. “How bad is it?”

Another heavy sigh. Twigs crunched beneath boots. A silence that felt like forever, that almost spoke for itself. Hange looked to the starry sky above, and for a moment, your heart sank. Is he…?!

Hange shot you a smirk, pained but genuine. “He’s a tough lil guy, isn’t he?”

He’s alive. 

“Anyone else would be sauteed to bits, and to be honest -” Hange parsed, “- I still can’t figure out how he made it.” 

Sauteed. Fire? Bits. An explosion? 

“I can only think -” they gave a loose tug of their hair tie, “- it’s because he’s an Ackerman.”

You had not put it all together, but the bloodstained patch of grass, the worn handle with lone fingers attached, the bodies of former comrades rotting outside - all the traces you tracked along your journey here painted an awfully vivid picture. Through those tiny details, you constructed the larger story. Levi had been targeted, and if not for Hange’s intervention, your partner would have been murdered by either Zeke’s or the Yeagerists’ hands.

Yet, in the commander, you could sense a tremendous guilt. Blinded by Levi’s current critical condition, or perhaps the recent killings of their subordinates, they saw themselves as no hero. Finally, you recognized why Hange was slugging along: a delay. Conscious or not. Procrastinating the revelation of the new Levi to his old lover. 

While they wallowed in their own failures, you only saw their successes. Each trudge of their steps against the earth felt heavy, you longed to lighten them, to have Hange see themselves as the savior they were.  

“No, Hange.” A gentle hand to their back. They startled, then soothed, at your touch. “It’s because of you.” 

With hesitation, they finally met your gaze. Their skin a staunch pale even in this pitch black night. A stark frown, regrets within. And Levi would not have liked that.

“He’s alive, not because of his last name, but because of you.” Your delicate touch morphed to a fierce grip, shaking them. “Hange, please,” clenched teeth, quivering lip, “you know that, right?”

Certainly, they were smart enough to know that.

Hange pushed a single finger to their glasses, “Y…Yeah.”

“Hange.” Your smile was both sincere and serious. You clutched their hand with both of yours and squeezed, “Thank you.”

They cleared their throat and swallowed, an awkward, guilty laugh. “Maybe you should save your thanks until you see him.”

// // //

Nauseous with both fright and excitement. Anxious as you anticipated touching him, counterbalanced with the fear of causing him further pain. Relief as you watched his chest rise and fall. Disheartened at how labored those breaths were. The emotions you felt at his sight, all but indescribable.

Considerate as you always were - even to your own detriment - it was what everyone loved about you, especially him. Knowing how defeated Hange felt, and in the wake of all the reassurance you had provided them on your walk, you knew all your comforting efforts would have been dismantled if you started to break down. Subduing yourself, you clenched fists at your sides and dug your nails into your palms. Trembling lip dipped beneath your teeth, biting down to still. Toes curled within your leather boots, stabling yourself as knees began to buckle. 

Witnessing your reunion, emotions were contagious to Hange. They artificially lifted their voice and offered instructions - a thin veil of distraction. “Well!” Hange gleamed, “He’s been out for a couple hours now, ever since Eren's… well, you know.”

That was one way to put it.

“I really have no idea when he’ll wake up, but he will.” Hange promised. “If he doesn’t get up on his own, you may have to help him. Bandages need changing in a few.”

Bandages? You had yet to notice until then. Upon entering the camp, you froze the moment you saw him. At that distance, he was just a bundle of blankets. You brought your sleeve to your eyes and wiped away the blur, and only then did you see the gauze that engulfed his face. 

Another pang of nausea. Mouth gaped to sob. You threw your forearm over it. A contrived cough to conceal your reaction, it failed. 

Behind you, Hange frowned. This time, it was their turn to cup your shoulder in their hand. In your peripheral vision, they pointed to a decorated tree stump. “When you do, make sure to clean his wounds first.” Atop the makeshift table, an even more crude construction was this mobile infirmary. Missing even the bare minimums of battlefield first-aid. More horrific than not: black thread, long needle. Thin vial of clear liquid was significantly less than full. Its alcoholic sting, you swore you could smell it from here. The thought of pouring that shit on him made your stomach flip again. 

“If you didn’t come, I was going to have to do it,” they chuckled this time, instead of severity, Hange used a lighthearted approach to comfort you, “but I’m sure he’ll be more receptive to you putting him through pain! It seems you’ve got the magic touch.”

If Levi was awake, oh - a swift ass-beating that would’ve been, but you were much more merciful, happy to share a harmony in crude humor. A moment of blissful ignorance in an ignorant, humorless world. Your smile widened to a grin and you tossed a playful shoo, “Get out of here, you.” 

You had not expected them to take you seriously. Hange smiled contentedly, turned on their heel, and strode even deeper into unexplored forest. A dramatic shift in mood as you swerved from joking to panicking, “Wait - where are - what are - where are you going?” 

Hange shrugged their shoulders, palms turned up to the sky. No slow in their pace, not even a glance back to you as they called, “Can’t save the world on no sleep!” 

As their figure grew tinier, your jaw that had fallen open gradually began to close. Their footsteps faded away, from faint to silent. Whether they eventually flopped from fatigue or continued their stride, you never found out for sure. You saw how exhausted they were, mentally and physically. At the same time, you could only imagine the pressure and responsibility they must have felt. Insomnia or collapse? Likely a coin flip. 

And just like that, the two of you were alone. 

// // //

Survivor’s guilt, you were familiar with. After this long in the Scouts, among those you knew, those who had experienced it outnumbered those who had not. You yourself had lost count of your diagnoses. 

But what the fuck was this? 

He had not died. He wouldn’t die, that’s what Hange said. You had not taken your eyes off him, not for one moment, and his breaths were as recognizable as your own. Undeniably alive, so why were you grieving? 

Perhaps it was regret. Without him there to talk you out of it, you wondered why you shouldn’t feel any and spiraled into its acupuncture. If only you had been at the right place at the right time - there were so many chances to stop it! You could have overheard any conversation about the wine and warned him: stay the hardass captain, the wine’s dangerous! More intelligence about Zeke could’ve shown you how reckless he was, and if you had communicated that to Levi, he would’ve known better than to bring thunder spears anywhere near him. Fuck, even if you had just been there! Maybe you could have thrown yourself between Levi and the explosion. Better me than him.

Your hand snapped to your head and seized a punishing pull of your hair. You knew better than to think such thoughts. Not even for your own sake, but for his: he wouldn’t want you to feel that way!

It was disrespectful to him, and let us respect the wishes of the dead. 

You fucking idiot, he’s not dead! 

Angst of this intensity, at any other time, you would scream, throw things, thrash about. But with your insomniac sound asleep beside you, you would not even allow yourself that release. All you could do was mewl silently, rip grass from the ground, and hug your knees to your pitted chest. 

That lasted a couple hours, and it may have even longer, but the chill hit you like an early winter. Goosebumps had pricked your skin, chattering teeth had become audible. And if you were cold - he must be freezing. 

Selfish. Selfish! You chastised yourself as you stood from your stone turned seat. Seemed like there was some spare wood from whatever Hange’s latest project was, you set it gently atop the fire, cringed when it collapsed with a series of clatters. You winced and checked on Levi. Still sound asleep. The last two logs, you set them on the side closest to him, simultaneously the least and most you could do to keep him warm. 

But was it?

He looked so tiny on the forest floor so vast. So lonely on that slate of tarp. The crickets began to chirp: there’s room for you, too. 

Still, you stood there debating. Weighing internally: better to lay beside him or leave him be? You did not want to wake him, for he appeared to be in a semi-comfortable peace. At the same time, each time he shivered, you felt your veins run cold with responsiblity. Not doing a very good job at the whole caretaking, significant other task. 

Nature made the choice for you. A merciless gust of wind hissed through the trees, breaking branches along the way. Acorns and twigs tumbled to the ground with the gravity of heavy hail. Icy was its howl, providing only seconds of warning before the sharp drop in temperature. Almost immediately, the captain whimpered himself awake and bunched the blanket to his body. Even faster, your sprint to his side. 

Like a survivor to a raft, a plant to spring rain, that was how you clutched him. “Levi…” you soothed, “Levi, it’s me.”

Trying to open his eyes, eye, induced a splitting headache. Thankfully, his hearing had recovered from the piercing explosion and was able to recognize: it was you. Throat scathed dry, Levi failed to summon a response. The apple of his neck twitched in his attempt at a swallow. Water. 

In the pocket of your cape, a full canteen, “Thirsty?”

A subtle nod was all he could muster. Mouth sealed off, streaks of red tainted the white gauze, you supposed it was time. Time to strip off his bandages, to see him again, to learn what had happened. 

Hange had debriefed you. There was no need to ask. His pupil was a lens through which you could see it all. The disbelief still raw, the disappointment in himself, the trauma glazed over. Curiosity screamed within you, longing to know everything from the tiniest details to the major events. Louder, though, was your urge to tend to him - and you knew that an interrogation was not the right remedy. 

There was something more subtle, and perhaps even more telling than words.

“Levi, let me see.”

Hesitation.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Normally, he would slip in a snide remark. His own take on a joke. Tonight, it wasn’t there. 

But you were right, it was time. He felt disgusting. Gauze glued to his face - blood and sweat - the neat freak squirmed. The cool air of a wilderness night and spring water down his throat sounded most refreshing. 

Refreshing - like the new perspective you would have of him. Levi had not seen himself yet, but based on the immense pain he felt, his face of all places, he knew it couldn’t be pretty. In that way, perhaps it would have been easier if it was Hange. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him, but you were the only exception. You alone could scare him, the fear of how you would react to your lover turned monster. 

Slowly, you reached to your hip and unsheathed your dagger. Trustworthy eye contact silently conveyed that you would cut him free. Levi answered with a slow blink, an attempt at a smile, an attempt that was quickly retracted by his newly irritated nerves. They screamed at him for it, he subdued them by digging his nails - all eight of them - into his palms. With a mere fraction of his face visible, your ever stoic Levi looked even more so. His mouth completely covered, you misread his response. Your first hint towards a long road of recovery ahead, your relationship forever altered.

You crawled behind him and aligned your arm with his spine, “Can you sit up for me?” Like a true combat nurse, you did not wait for an answer before getting to work. Slow but sturdy, you lifted him just enough so that you could get to his nape. Though your care was tender, his reaction was harsh: sharp hisses and exasperated groans. It saddened you, how these strained grunts no longer frightened you - you had heard so much worse from both him and others. 

At the tail of his undercut, you pinched Hange’s knot and lifted the ties from his scalp. An inch of space, you slipped the point of your blade between them. New breeze on his most sensitive spot, knife at the back of his neck, Levi shuddered in your arms. 

“Don’t worry,” you rubbed your palm against his shoulder, “I’ve got you. I won’t hurt you.” I won’t let you get hurt anymore. 

One swift swipe! You slit the gauze, almost like pulling a zipper. Hand on his thigh, you pivoted to his front. Left hand was both hasty and soft, pulling the wrapping from the top of his head all the way past his chin. 

The mask was off. 

With his face now unveiled, you withdrew a handful of inches. A habitual up and down to evaluate his state, just like he trained you. 

The irises that snared you, there was now only one of them. Fresh stitches. Unforgiving black pierced his ivory skin. Crimson blood between the threads. A red so raw, you knew it was never meant to be seen. 

Your throat tightened, the words retched out. “It’s not -” you swallowed, “- that bad…”

A bad liar, you always were. Adorable at other times, gut-wrenching now. You had totally frozen, and all he could do was blink helplessly in wait for you to accept him. In those few seconds, voices in his head made a thousand comparisons. Uglier than a titan. More jarring than a corpse. All the shit you’ve seen, and you’ve never reacted like this. As your eyes glassed over, his reflection became even clearer to himself, confirmed his fears: hideous, he was hideous. 

Even though you stared, you gawked, he could not blame you. In fact, blaming you was his furthest thought, far beyond his first: blaming himself.

“I’m sorry.” Levi whispered. “I’m sorry.”

No. I’m sorry. Again, you ran through all the ways you could have prevented this. If only you had spied better. If only you had been there! He had absolutely nothing to be sorry for.

“I really…” Levi sniffed, his voice raspy, “I screwed up.” A single, silent tear rolled down his cheek. Then another, and another. “...stupid, fucking stupid.”

Seeing him cry always made you do the same. This time, though, your typical techniques left you. This Levi was unrecognizable, not just his physicality, but his personality as well. Even after the bloodiest expeditions, you had never seen such defeat in him before. 

Levi barred his teeth, blood had pooled in his lower lip and leveled with the rim. As tears spilled into open wounds, stinging relentlessly, he did not even flinch, for he felt he deserved it. Not just because he had put himself in that lethal situation, but because he had killed his former self - the only version of him anyone had ever loved - your soulmate.

“Levi…” your fingers ran down his chest, extra delicate this time. Beneath your touch - its insinuation familiar - his heart fluttered, “you deserve to feel good.”

Despite your kindling fire, Levi remained cold at your contact and stayed startlingly still. He couldn’t even meet your eye contact, instead, choosing to stare straight down at your knees, as if needing to absorb and accept that you were actually knelt before him. 

His words wavered, but his voice was a constant low. Hardly audible. Deeply depressed. “You… still want me?” 

Instant, unfathomable heartbreak. Chills, widened eyes, and a ringing in your ears, disbelief at what you had just heard. Against his chest, your fingertips dwindled. Overwhelmed with pity, nevertheless, he still could not bear a glance towards you. 

“Levi,” you cupped his cheek, beckoning his gaze. Tilting your head, a smile both teasing and kindred, “don’t tell me you’ve got amnesia, too?”

He scowled - halfway between too soon and smitten admiration. Only you would dare test him at a time like this. 

“Cause it seems you’re forgetting all we’ve been through already.” 

In each other’s eyes, everything came flooding back. The death of his squad and the months of ensuing grief. The broken leg that held him back from the tower, Eren’s capture, and the rescue mission - the one that costed Erwin’s arm and many more their lives. The return to Shiganshina, even fewer - including the late commander - returned from. Tremendous weights both physical and emotional, you had always been there to shoulder them with him. This was just another one of those spells, and you were a veteran by this point. 

“Prim and proper without any problems… that’s not the you I’m used to.” Curled knuckles tucked stray locks neatly behind his ear. Nails scratched the cusp on the way, summoning shivers from the man beneath you. 

You took his hands in yours. Fingers intertwined, two were notably missing. No matter, you concentrated, determined to hide your adjustment to this new hold. 

“What I am used to, though, is the way you’ll recover - even stronger than before.” You tugged his hand to your lips and spoke gently, confidently against them, “You always have.”

Levi shook his head and grit through clenched teeth, “I don’t know if I’m coming back from this one, sweetheart.”

Indeed, the path forward was hard to see. His body had been torn to true shreds. The Ackerman bloodline was gifted, but they were human. Regeneration of his sight and his grasp were impossible. Humanity’s strongest soldier had been knocked down a permanent rung. 

Suddenly, you feared that the superlative title had done him more harm than good. Love was not something you measured, and his combat abilities meant nothing to you, least of all now. Who said he had to climb that particular ladder? Why must he be a Scout first and person second? Levi had embodied the hope of humanity - and you could not blame the population for placing their faith in him. However, you were not just another member of the population. And to you, Levi was far more than his labels. Foremost, he was alive and he was yours. 

He’s alive! He’s yours!

“For fuck’s sake, Levi…” tears fell, your smile rose, the words tumbled out, “all you have to do is breathe and that’s already enough.” Tenderly, you hooked your fingers over the seam of his blanket and tugged down. Shamelessly, your gaze swallowed him, relishing in his flushed chest and its heightened pulse, “and look at you, you’re already doing that.”

The end of the world, nearly the end of his life, but your tears were what broke him.

It started with a couple shakes of his head. Matted bangs fell over his features, but the shaking of his body and his crackling voice revealed all. Levi pulled his hand from your grasp and clutched his wrinkled forehead. Thumb ground his temple, a coping technique from childhood. A few deep breaths, after then, rattled and shaky: the telltale start to his breakdowns. 

Salted tears poured into his split lip. On instinct, your thumb seeped into his mouth, replacing the burn with your sweet taste. God, how he needed it. 

He needed it. He needed it. A painkiller, but not a pill. Warmth, but not a blanket. To be loved, adored, and made to feel useful, no matter what it was he could do. He could hardly talk, could not even sip water on his own. But there was one thing you knew he could do, one thing that would lift his spirits, if only the length of an endorphin release.

A smile both sweet and seductive, innocent and intimate. “You’re going to make me cum. I’m gonna make you feel good.” One hand on his stiffening lap. One hand on his cheek. “And I’ll show you that you can still do both.”

// // //

It was not the same, and you would not pretend that it was. Not worse, just different. Even better in some ways. 

Inexplicably adorable. Learning to work with his left hand, he would lift his right hand to your buttons only to halt halfway and switch to the other. Pure, flustered concentration as he learned to communicate with his non-dominant hand, the most intimate practice possible. In the glaze of moonlight, his red blush radiated. Internally, he cursed the buttons and belts of the Scout uniform. Externally, he released exasperated sighs and frustrated moans. Undressing you used to take seconds, but after many minutes, your shirt was only halfway undone. Despite his mental irritation, it seemed neither of you truly minded: your arousal stirred with anticipation, his pupils dilated as he savored every second - every inch of your skin. Sex taking longer, who would complain about that? 

Extra weak. Each of his movements was accompanied by shakes, emphasizing the efforts he put into making love to you. Twitches in his reawakening muscles kept his touch active, keeping things exciting. His vice grips of your skin had melted to grazes and dances. His squeezes no longer cut off your circulation, but coerced blood into every capillary. Entirely conscious, desperately yearning for more. You realized: it was not his strength that overcame you, but the craving that faint touch incited. Exerted grunts and curses under his breath were melody to the hum of mosquitoes and crackle of campfire. The most surprising setting to be spicing up your sex life. 

Hyper-sensitive. The strain embedded in every motion had unraveled him quickly. And then there was you. Licking his wounds, tracing your tongue along his scars, you had thrown him off the tightrope balance of pain and pleasure, leaving him to scream in freefall. Teeth grazed his jawline, drawing screeches that felt sinful to listen to, but that didn’t stop you. Lips on his navel drew back-breaking arches of his spine. Acute and uncontrollable rolls of his hips. Touch-starved. Love-deprived. The feeling of unworthiness made every bit of affection that much more treasured. Every touch, a lightning bolt. Each wake, a calm. Mini orgasms wherever, whenever you felt him. 

So conscious of his body, of his injuries, your diligent attention revealed perfections you never noticed before. Tendons in his arms cast contrasting shadows over his skin, they flexed with every sensation he felt and every one he provided. 

You had always assumed it was the color of his eyes that was so magnificent, and indeed it was a lovely shade, but it was his angular brows and straight lashes that highlighted them so beautifully. 

New appreciation for his muscles - not just eye candy, not just strength - but their persistence and importance in keeping him alive. Across his abdomen, seamless symmetry, pair after pair of ridges. Overstimulated sweat covered and complimented every curve, his own spotlight. 

Your goal was to kiss every inch of him, make love to every inch of him. Lips curled to meet his crevices, leaving saliva and praise all throughout your path. “You’re perfect, Levi.” Again, you were crying. Tears dripped to his skin, medicine. “Perfect.”

Having danced with death, Levi was also experiencing a new infatuation with you. After hours of seeing nothing but black, your body was a constellation to explore. He had lost some digits, but two were enough to run his fingers through your hair. Smooth skin invited his hands to savor you, further welcoming with your singing nerves and satisfied sighs. Likewise, after hearing nothing but silence, your whines and whispers moved mountains within him. When he felt so broken, so useless, you managed to lift him up. You tugged him free from his constraints and marveled at his livelihood. Long and admiring was your stare at his erection, forcing him to acknowledge the proof that one thing still worked. 

Labored was his attempt to sit up, to take hold of you, but you placed your palms to his pecs and pushed down, “Levi, it’s okay.” Leaning over, your breast met his chest as your lips fell beside his ear, drawing shudders as you cooed, “I’ll take care of you tonight.”

Mindfully, you reversed the roles: using him as a crutch, signaling his worth and aid to you. By your hold on his shoulders, you sturdied yourself as you lowered your sex down onto his lap. You were ready. Your bodies were ready. Anticipation clearly coated his cock from tip to base. Your folds yearned to be filled, drooling onto your thighs with hunger. 

The back of your hand grazed his forehead, brushing his bangs - slick with sweat - aside. Unbroken eye contact. Unbroken vows: to love each other in sickness and in health. You smiled, he nodded. You inhaled deeply. He exhaled shakily. Lowering yourself down, he pushed himself up as much as he could. Enveloping him. Within you. Together at last. 

In that moment, the separation nearly felt worth it. In the sea of your love, a current of sympathetic sadism. The strife of his injuries had strung him to his last wit, making the second he entered you that much more intense. Levi strained beneath you, immaculate curses fallen past his cracked lips. Bringing Levi to tears and to the brink of bliss, you were certain there was no bigger confidence boost, no greater incentive to fuck him with all you had.

But then, when you did, you realized the true motive: how he made you feel. 

Face scrunched with each rise and fall, fingernails threatened to pierce his skin. Clutching him, you stumbled through your words - breaks between your repetitions. “It - It feels… You feel…” 

Levi swore his heart could have exploded with tension over what you were going to say, that was until you uttered the words that made his heart stop, “so fucking good.”

On his face, relief. Within your walls, elation. “Y-Yeah?” Levi moaned, a combination of clarification and pleasure. “F’Feels… good?”

“Oh yes, baby…” So good, you couldn’t stop. So good, you lost yourself. His passion so lively, so blinding, you nearly forgot about his critical condition. Rolled back eyes snapped open, checking on him. You nearly halted your pace and panicked, “You doing okay?”

Canines bit his lip, but its sting was washed away in your presence, captivating. Squinted eyes, narrowed brows, Levi threw his hand over his mouth and muffled himself, nodding instead.

You smirked, too cute for his own good, that was how you usually reacted. Tonight, though, after all the loathing and depreciation you had both witnessed and felt, your vision was swayed. Lightly but deliberately, you pinched his wrist and lifted it above his head. “No need to hide, darling.” Tongue pried his lips open. “Let me see you. Let me hear you.”

Levi managed just a sliver, but that shred of his silver gaze was enough. “I - I’m f’fine!” He stressed. “I… promise.” 

You lowered one brow in dubious concern, but he insisted breathlessly. “Please…” he whimpered, “Please keep going!” 

Finally, you rolled your head back and sighed, he asked you for something. Something you could provide. Something you could fix for your lover so broken. With this goal in reach, you shared his desire for utility. Sex was survival, evolutionary, feral. The only thing that could make you fuck a patient senseless. The only thing that could make him forget his failures. The only thing that would heal both of you.

Oh, how he needed it. So hard against your soft insides. A length that reached for the stars. Warm passion mortared with yours, inciting smacks and screams that echoed for the voyeuristic pines. 

“P-Please…” Levi begged. Let me cum. Don’t leave me. Stay mine forever. He yearned to say everything, but with your tidaling sensation and his fogged mind, the most he could manage was just the one word. Louder and louder, “Please, (Y/N)...” until his own climax cut him off, “P-Plea - hah’Ahh!!”

Steep and rapid thrusts, you were made speechless - not only by the pleasure they brought within you, but by how impressive they were. So much about him had changed, and he had every reason to be lethargic, but the power he demonstrated had not faded. Your heart sang with admiration, humanity’s strongest for a reason. 

You hummed, unabashedly drinking up the symptoms of his release. Well familiar with his display, your hips knew just how to match the rhythm of his convulsions. Eventually, they slowed. Eventually, he was able to open his eye again. You saw his panic, the embarrassment, having finished first. When his seed hit your furthest depths and you seized around him, though, it was wordlessly communicated: he had no regrets, nothing to be sorry for, for his climax was what brought you to yours. 

Well, wordless in a sense. Your incoherent cries and broken syllables were of no lexicon, but a language he was fluent in. Eight fingers clutched your back, helping you through your last few rhythms, “Come on. Come on, I’ve got you.”

“Fuck!” You reveled. You were the luckiest person in the world. Even before the pillowtalk, in the midst of your orgasm, you could already see: no one else would mute their stinging nerves just to make you feel a bit better, no one else would prioritize your happiness over their own, no one else would share your tears in the same night they shared your bed. In this dying world, there was only one man alive who would love you as you did him. And he was yours.

All yours. 

masterlist

[redactahoe]

Things I believe are true about babe:

Has a very thick Russian accent and sometimes struggles remembering their English

Forgets certain English words and describes them horribly(ie: spicy plant when referring to a cactus)

Sarcastic as all hell

Really does not understand or care for pack/clan etiquette, like a vamp king said babe should respect their elders and babes deadass response was “why should I respect you when the only thing you’ve done is managed to look like a 2000 years old rotting corpse while only being 60.” Completely dead faced and monotone

Has cans and will call David out for his bullshit

Psychology nerd

Just a nerd in general, they love reading

Has a vast and very large book collection

Only person other than David to be able to rangle Asher in

Besties with darlin, they’re both book nerds(babe and Sam are the only one knows that darlin is a book nerd)

Artist/painter, their sketches mostly come of the pack and of course Asher

Tragic mad scientist vibes(no I won’t elaborate)

Super mysterious/ “this person has a dark and grimy past but you can only get that in subtext”

Loves the supernatural and true crime

Immediately picked up on what Quinn was doing with the whole “hurting the things darlin loves” and called that out at darlins first meeting back

Knows a lot of disturbing things like how to properly dissect and hide a body and where exactly you have to stab someone to hurt but not kill

Poet at heart, they are the theatre kid

Is not scared of David at all or at least now they aren’t. At first they were a little wigged out cause he’s one big dude but now they’ll call him a bitch to his face

Very blunt, doesn’t sugar coat shit

Has an arsenal of violent threats that Asher and the rest of the pack aren’t entirely sure if they’re just threats

Has told somebody who was victim blaming darlin that if they don’t shut tf up babe was going to string their guts up while making listen baby shark on loop

On that same note Chrissy was talking just a little to much shit and they told him they were going to sew all his orifices shut if he didn’t shut himself up

Somehow is the worst under pressure but also works the best under pressure at the same time

Know how to fight

Also knows how to use a sword

Surprisingly a lot of patience(I mean look at who their fiancé is guys)

They’re dad is a very big and intimidating man of few words and their mother is the sweetest women alive

Their like average height but Asher is tall as hell so they look short next to him

[rynnthefangirl]

Honestly I don’t ever want to hear anything about Aemond being “bullied” or losing his eye. I don’t give a fuck. This psycho maniac massacred an entire house that were ALLIES of his— beheading every male Strong from old men to little boys and stacking their heads in a pile 3-feet tall— because he was having a temper tantrum after losing Kings Landing. Aemond had the most dangerous dragon alive and all he used it for during the Dance besides killing a child diplomatic envoy was to rain fire down on innocent civilians. Luke would have done the world a huge favor if he’d just plunged his knife into Aemond’s brain instead of taking his eye. I mean how much of POS do you have to be to make DAEMON the good guy in your 1v1 battle?

Nothing. I mean NOTHING. That has ever happened to Aemond in his pathetic worthless life even comes REMOTELY close to sort of maybe possibly justifying his literal war crimes. He’s the Westerosi equivalent of a fucking mass shooter. He cries about his stupid eye so much I cannot WAIT for Daemon to show him what a real fucking injury looks like as he plunges Dark Sister up to its hilt into his eye socket. The people who found his body were so real — they rescued Dark Sister and threw Aemond’s rotted corpse back to the bottom of the lake where it belongs.

[silentcrowsilentravens]

Stars alpha reacting to their partner pulling a Richard and sacrificing themselves for them?

"Pulling a Richard" lol.

I'd like to apologize in advance to Lisa Trevor for this.

Joseph Frost, Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, Brad Vickers, Barry Burton, and Albert Wesker reacting to their s/o sacrificing themselves to save them.

(Gender ambiguous).

Warnings: death, blood, gore.

Masterlists here!

Joseph Frost

Arklay Mountains. It’s the evening of July 24, 1998. Led by Captain Wesker, you and four other members of the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team are searching for signs of Bravo team and pilot Kevin Dooley, with whom contact was lost the day prior. 

You trudge through the tall grass, gun unholstered and flashlight scanning over every dark shape in your path.

A persistent sense of unease hangs in the air. You’d be hard-pressed to think of another time you’ve felt so on edge while on the job. 

There's shifting behind you. You whip your head around.

Joseph is standing there with his gun. "Jumpy?" he teases half-heartedly. You roll your eyes at him and resume what you were doing.

"Hey... wait a sec..." He motions for you to come over.

"What is it?" You point your light down as you approach. It catches a metal object laying in the grass between you. It's a gun. A standard-issue Beretta.

Joseph bends down to pick it up, which is when you realize that it's attached to something.

It's...

It's a hand.

A human hand with no human attached to it.

Joseph drops the severed part in shock. Both of you jolt away from it with a yelp.

Upon further inspection, realize that you know who it used to belong to. You recognize the fingerless glove and the wristwatch. They're part of a S.T.A.R.S. uniform. More specifically, the uniform of Edward Dewey from Bravo team.

For a moment, the only thing you can hear is the wind and your heart pounding in your ears. You can do nothing but stare in disbelief. 

There have been a lot of deaths lately. Gruesome ones. 

You’ve seen the crime scene photos.

You’ve seen the crime scenes.

They’re difficult to stomach.

But the feeling that washes over you here and now is particularly visceral. Every last drop of blood in your body has run cold. You feel dangerously close to hurling.

Edward is someone you see almost every day. He...

He’s a great man. A friend of yours.

He can’t be...

You finally manage to tear your gaze away and look at Joseph. 

“...Eddie can still be kicking,” he says blankly. “Guy doesn’t need both hands to live.”

Yeah. 

Yeah, Edward can still be out there. Alive. Hopefully. He's tough...

...

Is that...

...growling you're hearing?

Out of the corner of your eye, you realize something—multiple somethings are rapidly approaching. Joseph notices just a beat later than you do.

“Joey, watch out!” With all of your might, you shove your partner out of harm’s way.

He hits the ground. 

A bloody creature collides with you, its sharp teeth sinking into the exposed skin of your forearm. You cry out, wrenching your arm to the side in a desperate attempt to make it release you. It does, tearing a chunk of flesh away in the process, and quickly latches back on.

A second beast joins in, causing you to lose your balance and fall.

Followed by another one.

And another.

And another.

There are so many. They look like dogs and smell like rotting corpses, but you aren't paying much attention to that. You're in so much pain, it's difficult to think. They're quite literally eating you alive and all you can manage to do is flail about, weakly attempting to get them off.

Joseph shouts your name in alarm, scrambling to pick up his gun. His weapon-mounted light illuminates the mass of creatures pinning you down. Blood and viscera glisten.

He fires round after round, trying to kill them.

Jill, Barry, Chris, and Wesker rush over to help.

Your screams abruptly stop, cut off by an awful, strangled, gurgling noise as a set of teeth manage to rip your throat out.

"No!" Joseph keeps firing, unable to process it all. Just because you've gone quiet doesn't mean you're dead, right? Right? There's a chance you're still alive. There has to be! "Get off! Get off!"

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

"Joseph, it's too late!" Chris grabs Joseph's shoulder, trying to make him stop. Joseph won't. "We have to go!"

This can't be happening. This can't be real. You're not gone. You're not!

The remaining beasts turn their attention toward the rest of the team.

Finally, Chris and Barry seize Joseph by the back of his tactical vest and physically drag him along as they start running. He doesn't stop calling your name, doesn't stop reaching for you even as your body becomes further and further away from them.

"Brad!" Chris shouts as their helicopter abandons them. "Brad! Where's he going?!"

This night can't get any worse. They end up seeking refuge in a mansion. The moment Jill slams the doors shut and locks them, Joseph plops down on the floor, breathing hard and cradling his head in his hands.

He can't believe it. You're gone just like that. It all happened so fast... And if you hadn't done what you did, it would've been him instead.

He wishes it were him instead. His eyes begin to burn.

Jill Valentine

It's the dead of night in the summer of 2005. You and Jill are stranded in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea on the Queen Zenobia, which just narrowly avoided being completely obliterated by the Regia SOLIS.

Unfortunately, the ship still ended up getting caught in the shockwave of the blast, leaving you to deal with even more water pouring into the ship.

It's time to clear out and fast.

Both of you are swimming through the flooded corridors in search of an exit when eventually, you make your way into a room that has yet to fill completely. The surface of the water is in view. You speed up, sparing a glance over your shoulder to where Jill ought to be.

She isn't there.

You come to an immediate stop, a jolt of panic passing through you as you spin around in an attempt to locate her.

You find her a little ways back, having fallen behind because she's busy grappling with a sea creeper that's caught up to her. Damn things!

It's gotten ahold of her legs and she's fighting to keep its wide maw away. Despite their spindly limbs, earlier encounters have let you know that they're rather strong.

There's already been quite a stretch between this and the last opportunity you got to get some air. In the time it would take you to pop your head out and swim back to help Jill, it could already be too late.

With that thought at the forefront of your mind, you ignore your body's desperate pleas to breathe and make your way over.

You unsheathe your Bowie knife. Using all of your might, you drive it straight into the B.O.W.'s soft shell.

Blood turns the water red. The creature reels back with a high-pitched cry and you take the opportunity to seize your partner.

With a tight grip on the equipment harness strapped to her back, you begin to swim upward, pushing yourself to go as fast as you can.

You're so close. Fresh oxygen is just within reach when something grabs hold of your ankle and sharply tries to yank you back.

Looking down, you find the same sea creeper giving things another go.

'Get offa me, dammit!' You slam the heel of your boot down on its covered head until it releases you, then kick away.

You lift Jill and force her above the surface, managing to get her arms hooked onto a ladder leading up to a catwalk.

There's yet another tug on your leg, far harsher than the last.

You release Jill, not wanting to risk pulling her down with you.

Bubbles begin to stream past your parted lips and water floods your lungs. The burning in your chest is beginning to worsen exponentially as you're dragged away, simply unable to hold your breath any longer than you already have. You're certain this is it for you.

Jill coughs and sputters. As the darkness begins to fade back to the edges of her vision and she's able to form a thought other than 'I need air or I'm gonna die down here', she processes that you haven't resurfaced along with her.

Her still-pounding heart leaps into her throat and she curses, diving back down without a moment's hesitation.

Her eyes instantly lock onto a red cloud in the water, which both you and the sea creeper are in. It has you in its grasp and you aren't struggling. You aren't moving at all.

As Jill closes the rest of the distance, she continues to hope against all hope that she can save you.

The handle of your blade is sticking out of the creature's back. She yanks it out and plunges it into a new spot, tugging you free and kicking the thing as hard as she can, sending it into a wall.

With you in tow, Jill makes her way above the water and back to the ladder.

You aren't breathing anymore when she successfully gets you onto the catwalk. She hastily begins to perform CPR, determined to fix that. She has to.

Unfortunately, she can't. It's already too late for you.

Finally, resignation begins to set in and she lets her hands still on your chest.

Jill is no stranger to losing people, and there's a persistent nagging fear in the back of her mind about losing more. You've often been at the forefront of it.

She's always tried to push it aside, though, always hoped that it wouldn't come to pass.

Her fingers tremble slightly as they curl into fists. She lets her head hang.

If only she hadn't let that damn B.O.W. catch up to her...

There's a lump forming in her throat that she tries to swallow as she stands, sending you a silent apology for letting you down.

...

Even if she wants to stay here with you, she knows this ship isn't going to last much longer. Cursing under her breath and blinking away the tears beginning to form in her eyes, Jill keeps moving. She has to...

Chris Redfield

"We're picking up a large bogey on radar. It's heading right for you!"

Just when you thought shit had already hit the fan, that message came through on comms and not even a minute later, a tandem rotor helicopter appeared, dropping off another absolutely massive—probably a good thirty feet tall—B.O.W. onto the team's already full plate.

Echo needs three anti-aircraft guns taken out before further help can be given, so everyone tries to provide cover for Finn as he sets the charges needed to blow them up.

The wrecked buildings around you provide little cover from the ogroman, which is intent on crushing the lot of you.

Chris points out a weakness that can be exploited: Soft, exposed red flesh around where a big metal connector is sticking out of its back.

You and a few others distract the beast with bullets. Chris manages to leap onto its back while you do so, ripping out a bit of protruding bone and driving it straight into the weak point. The process is rinsed and repeated a few times before the ogroman dies, dissolving into a foul-smelling, steaming goop that leaves you coughing.

Two anti-aircraft guns down, one more to go.

Everyone's comms crackle. "There's another giant B.O.W. closing in on your location!"

A loud roar rings out.

A massive hand grabs onto a rooftop, sending shingles raining down onto a few j'avo.

"It's the one we lost at the Two of Hearts," Piers points out.

Chris orders the team to prepare to engage. You follow Finn to the last gun, making use of an underground passage that leads you into another building. When you're standing on the top floor, the target of the objective comes into view, sitting on the ground below beside a barricade.

"Let's try to make this quick."

The ogroman has other plans.

Finn and Piers, a little ways ahead of you, head down the ladder.

You and Chris are stepping out from behind a partially destroyed wall when it turns and spots you there.

The two of you begin to unload your clips into it, not getting too many hits on that weak spot thanks to the way it's positioned itself.

Click.

Click.

Click.

"I'm out!" you announce.

"Me too," Chris says. "Look out!"

A massive hand shoots out toward you.

You both dive out of the way in time. You land back behind the wall, and Chris is still out in the open stretch. Another hole is smashed into the building.

The ogroman draws its arm back, then raises it up and prepares to sweep it across.

"Chris!" You don't even think, you just act, launching yourself back onto your feet and sprinting toward him. It'll hit him if you're not quick enough!

The arm grows closer.

With mere seconds to spare, you shove Chris back to the floor.

All the wind is knocked out of you as the ogroman makes contact, sending you sailing straight over the edge.

You make a graceful arc before colliding harshly with the pavement down below.

"Shit!" Chris shouts your name in alarm.

He needs to get to you.

"Cover me!"

He slides down the ladder while other members of the team show up to keep the ogroman busy.

A red puddle has begun to form beneath you. By some miracle, you're still responsive, but only barely.

"You're gonna be alright. You're gonna make it. Just hold on, okay?" Chris begins to drag you over to cover. You let out a groan, unable to process any of what you're hearing. "I need you here." Speaking into his comm, he calls for urgent first aid.

Before long, your feeble movements begin to peter out. Chris feels his stomach drop.

"No... No, come on. You have to stay with me. You have to!" You mean so much to him. He can't lose you. He can't. Not like this.

One last raspy, rattling breath leaves your lips before you're gone.

The grief, the devastation is like an instant weight settling upon Chris' shoulders. He slams his fists against the ground and cries out, leaning down to rest his head against your chest.

This is his fault... He'll never forgive himself.

Brad Vickers

"Pizza's here," you announce, shutting the apartment door with your foot. It's late in the evening, and you and Brad decided to call in and order one for dinner.

(Both of you also went ahead and ordered one for Brad's friend, Jill, who has scarcely left her home since being suspended. Brad would've been as well, had he joined in on the shouting match she and three other S.T.A.R.S. members got into with Chief Irons over the mansion incident. You know Brad still feels guilty about it).

"Brad. Pizza." You pop open the box and waft it in front of his face before placing it on the coffee table. He snaps out of it and sends you a small smile.

"You pick out something for us to watch already?"

"Uh-huh." He places the TV Guide down and picks up the remote. "They're showing one of our favorite flicks tonight, actually."

"Yeah? Which one?" You plop down beside him on the couch with a few paper plates in hand.

...

Hours have passed, and you've fallen asleep living room. The movie has long since ended, the remaining half of dinner is sitting abandoned, and Brad is snoring lightly beside you. You might've remained that way until morning...

...if not for a loud noise from somewhere on the street below waking you up.

You slowly straighten up, removing your head from your partner's shoulder.

Then, you begin to process the not-so-distant sounds of chaos. There are sirens and people screaming.

'What is going on...?'

An orange glow is bleeding from around the edges of the drawn curtains. You get up and pull them open. Multiple fires are burning.

You hurriedly wake Brad. "Hey. Something is wrong," you tell him as you drag him over to the window. "Very, very wrong. Look."

"Holy shit." He blanches. "We need to go."

You throw on a coat and shoes while Brad puts on his S.T.A.R.S. getup. He grabs his Beretta. All you have is a pocket knife.

The two of you make your way out of the apartment, hurriedly heading down the corridor and into the stairwell.

When you reach the emergency exit at the bottom of the stairs, you encounter a problem. Before Brad even gets the chance to push the door open, something rips it off the hinges. It's a huge figure clad head to toe in a black outfit, which is dotted with small yellow hazard symbols and staples.

"S.T.A.R.S...." it growls.

After a moment's hesitation, Brad seizes you by your sleeve and begins to high-tail it toward the front of the building. Time to try the front doors instead.

The thing gives chase. It's fast. Surprisingly so.

Brad aims his gun over his shoulder and opens fire. The bullets appear to have no effect. Not good.

It lifts its hand. A thin tentacle shoots out quick as lightning, wrapping around one of Brad's ankles and tripping him up. He lands harshly on the floor, his weapon slipping from his grasp. It begins to drag him.

"Help!"

You stagger to a stop, whipping around and grabbing hold of him. All that accomplishes is making the pursuer pull you along as well.

"Let go of him!" You take your blade and slice the appendage in two. The half still attached to it retreats. You help Brad up.

"S.T.A.R.S.!"

A new tentacle pops out of its sleeves. The moment you catch a glimpse of it, you put yourself directly behind Brad.

Rougher than before, the pursuer swings its arm back, yanking you over to it.

"Brad, run!"

Brad doesn't. He freezes in place.

It picks you up by your face, squeezing so tightly that it feels as though your skull might shatter. You struggle. "Run! Before it gets y—"

Your sentence is cut off by the tentacle going straight through your mouth and out the back of your head.

You're tossed aside, dead as dead can be.

You land facing Brad, your face stained red and your eyes wide open. He feels himself begin to shake.

Then, he runs.

This can't be happening. This seriously can't be happening!

He should have stepped in to help you. Doubly so after you had done that for him.

He should have done something. Anything but just stand there! What the hell is wrong with him?!

'Oh, god...'

When it seems that he's finally lost the pursuer, Brad slumps against the wall and slides down it until he's sitting. Alone in a random building, he cries harder than he has in a long time. He's so incredibly angry with himself for practically letting that happen.

There's a hole in his heart where you used to be that can simply never be filled again. You're gone. Gone. He can't believe it...

Barry Burton

As the Starlight slowly sinks into the waters below, explosions rattle it, illuminating the pitch-black night sky with bright oranges and yellows.

You, Barry, Leon, and Lucia stand safely aboard the deck of the Umbrella submarine Barry hijacked. Admittedly, you're still a little mad that he scared you again. A few years back, when you were both part of S.T.A.R.S., he pretended to betray you and the others the same way Wesker had.

He did it to protect your daughters and kept the ruse up long enough for Wesker to let his guard down. Tonight, he pulled a similar stunt. He made a fake deal with Umbrella and acted as though he was going to hand Lucia over to them, abandoning you and Leon on the ocean liner in the process.

"Sorry, honey," Barry says, noticing the sour look on your face. "I couldn't risk them finding out."

You sigh. "No, I get it. I just can't believe I fell for it again, even if only briefly."

"I guess I must be that good of an actor, huh?"

"I wouldn't go that far," you tease lightly. "It was just the panic of it all..."

"Ouch." Barry puts on a hurt expression.

Somewhere behind you, you hear the crackle of a radio. "Hey, I'm finally getting through to headquarters," Leon announces.

Barry places a hand on Lucia's shoulder. "I'm sure Polly and Moira will be excited to meet their new sister."

Lucia's eyes widen. "You guys were being serious?"

"Of course!" Your hand lands on her free shoulder. "Welcome to the family."

She grins. A genuine, happy-as-can-be grin.

"HQ, this is Leon. Mission accomplished. We're heading home."

You glance behind you in an attempt to see Leon, but he's standing closer to Barry. Your gaze only finds his shadow. You look away.

Over the sound of the rain and explosions, your ears manage to pick on a subtle gurgling noise.

Once again, you turn your head. The shadow is beginning to change. It's distorting and growing.

With dawning horror, you realize that all of the B.O.W.s haven't been eradicated, that it isn't actually Leon standing with you guys, that he's probably still aboard the Starlight.

"We aren't out of the woods yet!" is all you can manage in warning before the Tyrant finishes turning into its true form, red, intestine-like tentacles shooting out of the wide cavity in its stomach.

Barry doesn't even get the chance to fully pull his magnum from its holster before you throw yourself into the path of danger.

Rather than your husband, the appendages end up grabbing you instead. With how your arms end up pinned to your sides, you can't grab your pistol or knife to try and free yourself.

Panic instantly tightens itself around Barry's lungs. "Good god! Lucia, get inside!" He opens fire on the monster, desperate to make it release you.

It swings you all around, making it difficult for him to get a clean shot. It slowly but surely begins to squeeze you.

A big gray forearm collides with Barry, sending both him and his weapon flying across the deck.

The monster leaps off the sub and into the cold ocean, slowly sinking.

"No, no, no!" Barry practically throws himself over the railing, grasping it with one hand and desperately grabbing for you with the other. Just barely, he manages to take hold of your webbing.

The monster tightens its grip and there's an audible crack. You stop struggling.

...

Barry stills, his fingers going slack. He can't breathe, can't believe it. The devastation hits like a sucker punch to the gut.

Your body fully disappears into the dark waters. This is one of his worst nightmares.

He curses, banging his fist against the sub. It should have been him, not you! Why did you do that?

...He knows the answer. It's because he means as much to you as you do to him.

He knows he would've risked himself like that too if the roles were swapped.

He wishes that they were. What is he meant to do without you?

Albert Wesker

By all accounts, Albert Wesker should be dead. Instead, he's woken up as something else. Something more than human.

And now, he needs to leave this place before it turns into a pile of burning rubble. It isn't clear how much time is left before the self-destruct sequence goes off, but it ought to be enough for him to make it back out the doors.

Most of the bioweapons are easy enough to take out and get past.

There is, however, one problem—one nuisance that is refusing to leave him alone: Lisa Trevor. She's followed him all the way back up to the mansion proper. Since she doesn't have the good sense to give up, he's had to take a different route in an attempt to lose her.

Finally, he thinks he might have. The exit is close. Just down the stairs, in fact. He can see it.

A door behind him flies open. He turns, tightening his finger on the trigger of his Samurai Edge.

"Captain Wesker!"

Oh. It's only you.

Albert is pleased to see that you've made it this far. Not that there was much doubt in his mind that you would. You're one of the best S.T.A.R.S. has to offer when it comes to your combat abilities.

"Where'd—" Your eyes widen before your features twist in concern. "What the hell happened to you?"

It's evident that you haven't run into Jill, Chris, Barry, or Rebecca since everything that happened down in the basement labs. This could work to his advantage. He was hoping to have you join him.

Sparing a glance at the absurd amount of red staining the front of his tactical vest, Albert tells you, "It's nothing serious."

You head closer and stare at him incredulously. It's a lot of blood. As in, more than should be outside of anyone's body if they're still alive. Maybe not all of is his? He isn't acting like he's injured.

"...Alright, if you say so," you reply, unable to shake your worry completely.

"Come with me. We're leaving." Without waiting for another second, Albert starts heading down the stairs.

"But what about the others?"

"There's no point in going after them now,'" he answers vaguely. "I'll explain everything once we get outside."

You hesitate for a moment before beginning to follow him...

...Only to be stopped moments later by an awful, raspy moan and a hunched figure hobbling into the entrance hall with surprising speed.

'What is that?!'

It's clad in a raggedy blue medical gown, wearing a mask that appears to be made of stitched-together human faces, and making a beeline for Albert.

He moves to pull out the gun he just reholstered.

The monster hunches further. A load of worm-like tendrils shoot out of its back.

Everything seems to be happening in slow motion. Wordlessly, you throw yourself between the two of them in order to save your captain from further injury,

As though they were sharp knives, two of the tendrils pierce straight through you. One through your stomach, and another through your chest. You land in a limp pile on the marble floor, blood pouring from your wounds and past your lips.

...

No...

No, this won't do at all.

White-hot anger slowly begins to crawl through Albert's veins.

"You have no idea how grave of a mistake you've just made."

Yet again, he deals with her, this time ensuring that it will be the last time. You watch through half-lidded eyes, unable to truly process any of it. You're teetering dangerously on the edge of nothingness and it's far too late for you to be saved.

Albert just about unloads the rest of his ammunition into Lisa, saving his last bullet so that he can send the chandelier crashing upon her.

"Be a good girl and stay dead." He sneers, then turns to you.

You're already dead. He picks you up.

"Don't worry, my dear. I'll fix this. I will help you rise from the ashes as I did. I will make you something more."

[alchemicaladarna]

If there really is a body, do you guys ever think how sad it is that we never end up finding one over the past two days since qBad has been dead?

The sad part isn't necessarily the decay of it all- the rotting corpse of a father, tio, and a friend that is still untouched, hidden by the fragrance of the lavenders. No, the sad part is the ability to deny his death because there is no corporeal evidence that confirms it. After all, the general rule to any character death is that if there is no body, then that character isn't dead yet, but in qBad's case, well...

Sure, his disappearance and goodbye letters confirm plenty- qBagi, Em, and Richas, I think, believe his death; especially qBagi because she hasn't known a day since she met qBad that he wasn't dying.

But what about Dapper and Pomme? They travelled to the ancient cities and risked their lives to retrieve a compass for a ritual that didn't even work. It was difficult to watch because Dapper and Pomme thought maybe there was still a chance he's alive somewhere; but even if he already reincarnated the fact remains that qBad is dead, and the person he has been reborn to isn't really their dad anymore. It's cruel because like the time the eggs disappeared, Pomme and Dapper don't fully know what happened to their dad, except this time we, the ghosts, know his fate yet are unable to tell them of it.

They're trying so hard to find their dad without realizing his body is right outside their home. They're two children trying to find their father who is already gone, still holding to that sliver of hope that he may still be alive. They're just kids, but they also deserve to know the truth.

QBad still lies there, rotting in the flower fields, untouched and unseen by everyone who passes by. The stench of decay is masked by the fragrance of lavender- like the ugly, painful truth still masked by sweet hope and venomous denial.

[lightlyt0astedtoast]

Been having brain rot over this corpse rabbit man.

"He's literally evil"

He's literally just a silly little guy. I'm physically incapable of disliking this man, he could nuke half the world and I'd be like "oh you.. 🤭"

He could run me over 15 times and then send me a card while I'm in the hospital that just says "fuck you, I wish you died lol" and I'd be like "so silly! ☺️"

I'd let this man skin me alive with a plastic spoon if he wanted to. I don't give a single shit. He could tell me to jump off a building and, fuck it, I'm doin' a backflip, just to add entertainment value.

[just-a-creep-babe]

My bestie and i were rambling last night about a jeff x reader fic idea v heavily inspired by the bride of chucky and lisa Frankenstein and god i wish i had the energy to write another thing but i dont, so its gonna bounce in my head aimlessly and im gonna make sure it hits every head that sees this ask too fjejfjejd

Reader whos a classic y2k good girl who had a lil bit of a fascination with serial killers, a bit of a hybristophile if you will. Maybe shes friends with nina and they both go a little nuts over dead or incarcerated killers.

Jeff, who is one of these dead serial killers, died in the mid 80s when one of his victims or the cops shot him. Reader finds out where hes buried and maybe does a little google search on black magic to try and resurrect him. Reader, who wasnt expecting to successfully drag his half rotted corpse out of the cemetary and into their house under their families nose, finds out she cant do a resurrection without giving her own life, but can sacrifice someone else, convinces a stranger on craigslist to come over and uses his body to resurrect her man. Jeff, whos now alive and in some random guys body, getting the answers outta her, smart mouthing and half threatening her, and finds it amusing when she giggles and blushes like hes just flirting. Makeover montage in her cute bathroom as he slashes his face again and gets this new body looking the way he likes it. Maybe even testing the new body put after, iykyk 👀👀

I got so much vibes in my head for this too, kicking my feet and giggling rn 😍

Ooooh i can just IMAGINE this as like that Frankenstein remake!! I haven’t had the chance to see it yet but the aesthetic looked so on point 🥰🫶

And then imagine not only does Jeff have to readjust to the modern era—but now all of his victim’s offsprings & relatives find out he’s come back & they start a manhunt for him!! V v good

[cuttingpenisblackmetal]

here's the full text of the 2006 pre-tv premier IGN interview with dethklok as it's now only available on wayback machine

.

Premiering Sunday, Aug. 6 at 11:45pm ET/PT on Adult Swim is Metalocalypse, a new animated comedy series from Tommy Blacha (Da Ali G Show) and Brendon Small (Home Movies).

Metalocalypse follows the on- and off-stage adventures of Dethklok, the world's most popular and heaviest heavy metal band. The band is so popular that thousands of fans will travel to a remote area of Scandinavia to hear them perform a single song: a jingle for a coffee company. So popular that these fans will sign "pain waivers" in case anything truly horrible happens to them at a show, which invariably occurs. The band members are also incredibly selfish and stupid, and they create a wave of mayhem, death and destruction wherever they go.

The members of Dethklok are:

Nathan Explosion - Vocalist. The lyrical visionary of Dethklok. Skwisgaar Skwigelf - Guitar. From Sweden. Fastest guitar player alive. Toki Wartooth - Guitar. From Norway. Second-fastest guitar player alive. William Murderface - Bass. No one in the world is full of more hatred than him. And he hates no one more than he hates himself. Pickles - Drummer. Raised in the Midwest, he became the world's most celebrated drummer after fronting L.A. rock band Snakes and Barrels.

The five Dethklok members recently sat down with the press to discuss their music, their influences, and the band. Below are their responses, followed by the pain waiver they require all Dethklok concert-goers to sign.

Q: First, let's start with the persistent rumors that Dethklok has signed a contract with the devil. Can you finally put this to rest?

William Murderface: I'll put you to rest.

Toki Wartooth: The devil is dildoes.

Nathan Explosion: There is no such thing as the devil because there has to be a god in order for there to be a devil. And we all know there is no god. And if there were a GOD then he would have protected us from signing that deal with the devil. And now we're stuck with a deal with some guy who doesn't even exist.

Q: If Dethklok is the heaviest band in the world, and also the most popular band in the world, what does that say about the world?

William Murderface: I'd like to destroy world hunger by destroying the world.

Toki Wartooth: I love questions, and dats a good one.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf: It means nothing because, heavy or not, the world is a black vortex of black Nothingness and I hate our audience.

Q: The band has both the world's fastest and second-fastest guitarists alive in it. Is that a bit of overkill?

William Murderface: I'll overkill you.

Toki Wartooth: No, it's "underlive." Ha ha.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf: Not at all. As the fastest guitarist, I prefer to have someone a little worse at guitar in the band, like Toki. Because I think you would takes it for granted that I am the best. Like you get used to a room filled with the smell of roses until you go into a room with a rotting corpse smell - then you go back to the roses room and extra appreciates it a greats degrees better.

Q: Is it too loud, or am I too old?

William Murderface: I'm too fat.

Toki Wartooth: You gots hairs in your ears.

Pickles: It is loud. It's very loud. Before each show I have liquid concrete poured into my ears so that I don't cause permanent damage. You gotta protect your ears, anyone will tell you that. But what they don't tell you is that you should protect other parts of your body from loudness - for example, we now have to travel with a gastroenterologist.

Q: Nathan, you have a distinctive vocal style. What do you do to take care of your voice and still fill it with anger and hate?

William Murderface: I'm not Nathan.

Nathan Explosion: Two words: Potato chips and chocolate milk. I can go for days smoking and drinking and killing myself staying awake, but have a glass of chocolate milk and a handful of potato chips and I'm good to go.

Q: What's heavier - your music or your lyrics?

William Murderface: The lyrsmusic…shut up!

Toki Wartooth: Oooh, good question, it's like a two-parter.

Pickles: We had them professionally weighed recently and the difference is fractional. But the lyrics actually were heavier. The one lyric that tipped the scales was "I have a hate horse torso whose face is a Corpse/ Lacerated innards and a ding dong doodily dorpse." Now that's heavy.

Q: What kind of gear do you use?

William Murderface: Krank amps and Gibson guitars.

Toki Wartooth: Gibson guitars and Krank amps, but Krank won't give us no hoodies.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf: Gibson guitars. I stick with my Explorer and Toki usually plays a V, Krank amps- right now I'm using the KRANKENSTIEN, Line 6 pedals, Digidesign plug ins. We gots endorsement deals with alls of them. We can wrecks dem all- they just give us more.

Q: What are your influences - musical and otherwise?

William Murderface: Those awesome medical shows about really fat people and tumors.

Toki Wartooth: Depression and wind.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf: My influences is my parent. I hates her beyond beliefs.

Nathan Explosion: I'd have to say I've influenced myself a lot. I listen to myself on records sometimes and think, "I could do that..."

Pickles: The sound of drums influences me. I say that I think because I am a drummer. And cymbals.

Q: What will it take for Dethklok to "sell out"?

William Murderface: We sell out every night, dildo.

Toki Wartooth: We sells out every night.

Nathan Explosion: Selling out is a point of view thing. I've redefined my word definitions of "selling out." I call it making things "more metal," and now it's impossible to sell out. We don't sell out at all. And we never will. I dare you to try. Seriously. Offer us any amount of money. And we'll take it. And we'll make it "MORE METAL."

Q: Death and mayhem seem to follow the band. Unlucky or cursed? Does it affect your music?

William Murderface: Lucky!

Toki Wartooth: Dat's life, deals with it.

Pickles: Death happens whether or not we are there. Though there does seem to be a little more when we are around. That's why we have the audience sign "Pain Waivers" to get into our show. It basically states that the audience is signing their life away should something horrible and "death-inducing" happen during one of our shows. And we can't be sued. Pretty smart!

Q: What is life on the road like for Dethklok? Do you prefer the seclusion of the studio to the adoration of thousands?

Toki Wartooth: Thousands?! You mean billions!

Skwisgaar Skwigelf: The way I looks at it is that you can't f**k studio gear. Well, you can. But it's better to be on the road and f**k things there - there are more options and shapes.

Q: What inspires Dethklok?

William Murderface: A flower with its brains blown out.

Toki Wartooth: Everything must die.

Nathan Explosion: For me, it's humor. The fact that we are rich and that we will die eventually. See, that's kind of funny to me.

Q: Any thought about solo projects? What does Dethklok do to relax?

William Murderface: My solo project is called Planet Piss. Like it or not, who gives a piss?

Toki Wartooth: I likes to answer questions and build models.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf: We relax with alcohol and Drug Buckets. And everybody's working on solo stuff always. That's cool. I'm in a Harry Potter tribute band called "10 Points to Gryffyndor." Also, I'm in a nudist Civil War styled band called "Depantsification Proclamation."

Q: Is Dethklok's music art?

William Murderface: When it's painted on your face.

Toki Wartooth: We gots an album cover of a Mona Lisa with blood.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf: Art is stupid. There is only food and death. So to answer your question: our music is both food and death.

Q: Much is made about Dethklok's penchant for pain and metal. But what about the groupies? Are there special ladies in the lives of Dethklok?

William Murderface: You mean like retarded?

Toki Wartooth: I don't wears no penchant.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf: I have no recollection of most of the women that I've slept with except for the paternity suits, which are null simply because they must sign a "fatherhood waiver," before a screw.

[cherryredstars]

Question about Simon because I was rereading your headcanons for him (sfw and nsfw)

1. I don't think he likes weighted blankets, or them being too tight on the bed, he might feel stuck and like there's too much weight on him and maybe remember being buried alive (was he in a casket? I always thought it was just dirt because idk how effective a rotting jaw would be against wood)

2. On that note, so you think he would like his s/o sleeping on top of him? Again I don't think he would because of being buried with his co

3. I'm not sure if Simon could take a afab's virginity cause if the amen breaks and she bleed he'd lose his mind (also supposedly the hymen can grow back, idk if it's just in the occasion of it breaking without penetration (one my friend's broke hers doing the splits I had unfortunate of trying to walk on top of a beam and falling open leg))

4. Do you think he'd be open for positions where he isn't facing his s/o if they were in front of a mirror?

As for my Simon:

1. Simon does military corners for his bedding when he makes it. When he sleeps in the bed, the covers have to be completely untucked so he can easily get in and out. Simon doesn't use a weighted blanket. He naturally runs warm, so he has no use for one. If you prefer a weighted blanket, he has a separate blanket he uses that is closer to the military grade. Adding on, Simon hates sleeping bags and the military sleeping rolls. It's too constricting and claustrophobic, and he'll end up sleeping on top of it instead of in it most times.

Also, he was buried in a casket, and he used the jawbone to break through the low quality wood and dug up from there. It wasn't those modern, high-quality, and shiny caskets. It's more of a beaten-up crate.

2. Sleeping on top is okay, only if it's not full body. You can throw a loose arm over his chest and a leg over his, but you can't be fully on him. It has to be something he can easily slip out of. He highly discourages it, though, because he can not be held accountable for his instinctual actions if he wakes up from a nightmare replaying the event and he feels another person against his skin. Over time, it gets better as his body recognizes your touch and the differences between your warm, living skin and rotting, maggot- filled leather and bone.

But, he is fine laying on top of you for a quick nap or cuddle, which is surprising considering how he was thrown on top of the corpse. Keep in mind that this is without any blankets or sheets covering him. If you guys nap on the couch and he's on top of you, it's okay. Long term sleep with blankets are a no-go.

3. Some women aren't born with hymens or don't bleed when they lose their virginity. Both bleeding and not bleeding are equally common. Some women, like you mentioned, already have their hymen broken by the time they first have vaginal sex. Bleeding from penetrative sex is also typically not in large amounts and looks different from regular injury-caused bleeding. So I think after long talks, reassurance, and appropriate precautions, Simon would take someone's virginity.

4. Mirror sex is a yes, but it isn't his go-to thing. He mutch prefers more intimate missionary positions. But, he likes mirror sex because instead of being able to just see your face, he can get a whole view of your body that provides him the ability to see your reactions. Gives him peace of mind.

Apologies for any typos or mistakes, I'm on the shuttle to campus LMAO