#i am either At Work or Deceased From Work

[lattesqueeze]

hello tumblr i have missed you :))

[someonehugratchet]

Ratchet who was neutral in the war.

He was neither Autobot nor Decepticon, but a medic for those who were caught between fire fights or who couldn’t fight. Sparklings, injured civilians, lower class citizens who couldn’t get shelter from either side for whatever reason.

Ratchet would go out himself and find them, brining them back to one of several hidden infirmaries he set up with volunteers and past students of his.

First Aid always stayed in the biggest one, which held all the sparklings as it was the safest.

Fixit would sneak between them all to make sure that all the set false safes were in order. He helped show the little ones where to gin in the case of an attack.

He believed Optimus Prime wanted to help, but the mech was too busy fighting the fight to be able to spare much time on the broken bots that had a chance.

They knew each other and Prime had worked to keep their bases a secret even as Ratchet resumed to let them sway him into fighting with them.

Megatron’s men were allowed only in one base where other soldiers were kept, guarded by Pharma and Remedy both. Autobots and Decepticon both had an understanding that it was neutral ground and no fights would be had, the two keeping in seperate wings of the fragile clinic.

That understanding was crushed after one fateful cycle.

Ratchet had responded to First Aids distress signal as quick as he could, travelling over half of Cybertron to get to the infirmary as quick as he could.

He arrived just in time to see Shockwave leaving.

With dread in his spark he had rushed through a secret exit and into the main room and instantly fell to his knees.

Over two hundred sparklings lay desecrated in the entire place.

Most of them were missing some part of their body, some burnt into nothing.

Ratchet only made a noise, a wailing sound of pure grief, when he saw the remains of First Aid clutching three little ones.

All dead.

His screams had only grown in intensity as he looked around the room and found that Pharma and Remedy had come to aid and fallen as well.

Ratchet could have stayed there and rusted over if he hadn’t notice some of his patients weren’t there, hope burning his spark as I rushed to the feeds to try and figure out where they had gone.

He watches the footage with grime determination even as he feels his spark shattering into pieces.

It falters for several moments when he watches Shockwave order some of his men to take some of the sparklings. He hears the disturbing mech say something about ‘suitable test subjects’ and feels the energon in his systems freeze. Ratchet’s heard of what Shockwave has done, how the unfeeling monster doesn’t care for the notion of ethical conduct and onto for results.

Eventually Optimus as some of his most trusted come by the hidden location in the hopes of stopping a massacre, only to find Ratchet sitting on the floor with the body of a sparkling in his hands.

He had tried to bring the femme back after seeing a slight flux in her tiny spark, but it was useless.

Bumblebee is hurt the most as it was the same clinic he had been raised in before he became a scout, seeing Ratchet work for years and being the main reason they had even known something was wrong.

He falls to his knees as Elita moves to check for Decepticons, if only to distract herself.

Optimus approaches Ratchet with grief in his spark, carefully removing the deceased sparkling from his hold.

“I… I am truely sorry, old friend.”

Ratchet looks up and sees Orion Pax, the young mechling who had once asked him for an autograph.

When he speaks it’s distant, like his mainframe as gone on autopilot, “He took some of the sparklings. We need to find them.”

Optimus nods, helping him stand on unsteady pedes, “We will, I swear we will it stop until we have.”

Ratchet looks at Optimus with a fire in his eyes, “I know. But Optimus, I don’t care about you code. I don’t care about your morals or war crimes, Shockwave will pay for this.”

For the first time since the war began, the Prime looked around the room and nodded with a darkness over his optics.

“You are right. They have gone too far to deserve honour.”

[andieperrie18]

Watching her fall in love

A/n: DISCLAIMER, I just wanna clear out that I HATE Mikio, OR LOATHE him. The man died too quickly for my liking. But I am currently at an emotional but productive mode in my Mizu x Reader fanfic. I needed to vent some writing. I just needed to write somethings to hurt myself, so now I would like to share my pain. I kept this one vague but clear cause certain parts would likely be in the fanfic. So please bear with its corniness and i do hope you enjoy and share some thoughts at the comment section how to make Mikio's suffering a bit more satisfying

Pairing: Mizu x Reader

Series: Blue Eye Samurai

You know she deserves to be happy. There was no reason for her to continue her vengeance now that her mother was actually alive and now has been encouraging Mizu to leave your debt and settle down with the man her mother had found that will surely provide for her.

Not that Mizu was not cared for in your home, with a small dowry left by your deceased father and the a simple home on a piece of land from your husband who worked tirelessly to own for your future before circumstances decided to rob you of the life that you could’ve had with him let alone have a child of your own.

After coming to terms with things, you swear to never love any other man than your husband. But the tides of fate didn’t really like that.

You were on your way home when you found a wounded Mizu on your way. Lucky enough, your place was near when she came stumbling in your arms clutching her bleeding side. In your home, you treated her, fed her and provided her all the necessary things to hasten her recovery despite her constant attempts to deny any more further gestures.

Your persistence rivaled hers and she can’t really do anything than just accept it if she wants to continue her quest for revenge. But she days go by and she can finally function properly, the closer she has become to you. Of course you already knew that she was a woman, tending to her wounds did require you to have her lay bare before you while under unconsciousness. But her eyes, a part of  her body that she has come to hate as it was the most visible defect of how she is immediately considered as a monster. You were no stranger to being cast aside so you know how to provide her the right words and comfort.

From that point on, she’s been your constant company either at your small plantation or someone to share food on the dining table. With her harsh childhood and upbringing, Mizu’s cold exterior was very hard but once you do reach her,  she is as gentle as a spring water bathing you in in cold warmth under a harsh sun.

“You know that I’ll leave as soon as I reach recovery,” she said with a frown as she sat across from you from the entryway. The evening was  young but the skies were burned by a millions suns from eons away and the full moon lingering among them. You looked at her as she did as well, there was a hint of sadness in her icy blue eyes.

“I know, and I will not force you to stay, if this path is what you need to find peace at the end of your road, then do so. Just know that when you’re ready  to find your peace, my doors are open to your company,” you offered a smile, one that she did return. One that had you marveling at it all throughout the night.

You haven't come to terms with your feelings with Mizu for quite a while and believed that you really cared for platonically. She has found a great friendship with you and you to her.

As a ‘friend’, you were lucky enough to be there at the small ceremony. Mikio didn’t want anything to do with her and denied any act of consummating their union. But Mizu didn’t worry much as you have provided a great company. Cracks to your resolve showed when you had succeeded to provide Mizu an opportunity to create connection with her husband. You had encouraged her to try approaching the man and keep in mind how persistent he is with that one particular horse he has been taming for days in your observation. Soon, Mizu was having a small conversation with Mikio while you watched.

Watching Mizu’s rough demeanor crumble so easily in his presence was infuriating, an emotion you quick to shut out. Guilt tripping was made easier upon having small conversations with Mizu’s mother who Thanked you for being there for Mizu and helping her create a relationship with Mikio. 

“Now that she’s out of your hair, you can finally find a husband as well, your still you my dear,” Mizu’s mother trails, but your attention was on the couple emerging from the green hills riding a horse along the orange horizon. Your eyes on Mizu, laughing, so free. An expression you never once got from her.

The final realization of your love for her was followed by a tsunami of heartbreak as you watched her capture her husbands lips in a kiss by a big tree that you came passing by. You watch her submit to his touch, lifting her legs off the ground and press tender kisses on her neck. You hid by a tree, back against it. You stare up the orange skies as you feel every thing inside you tear itself apart.

A/n: I Just needed to feel pain.

[death---dealer]

You know that little drabble you did with Caesar x Reader x Blue Eyes? Yeah I need more of that 👀

slay the boots down Houston I AM DECEASED

"That doesn't really make sense to me," You said, giving your utmost attention to Maurice who had just asked you if his conjunction he used in a sentence was indeed correct or wrong. Not like you knew, English was never a strong suit but you still spoke it well enough for him to feel comfortable to ask your advice. "Can I---" He handed you the rock that he had been using a make-shift chalk, tugging your thinned glove off with your teeth and letting it dangle against your chin, the rock too big for your own hands and it made you chuckle as you tried to grip it properly and looked at the wall Maurice used as a chalk-board, raising your hand to touch hard sediment against an equally hard surface and scraped it, the vibrations in your arm from the action causing a mild shiver to run down your spine, along with the raising of your jacket on the side where you had your arm above your head. There were always eyes on you, something that came with the territory of living in an Ape Colony and looking wildly different, smelling different and having different aspects in personality. Whether you were able to ignore them depended on whose gaze they were. Now, with your side exposed to the cold air as you fixed Maurice's work with a small smile towards him as your words formed the explanation of what you were fixing, it was abundantly clear to exposed, chilled skin that there were two sets of eyes watching, from the same slick perch, one pair green like the woods, one pair azure like the ocean. Both a force of nature, only one who had your heart. "So, yeah, I'd put the commas there if I remember sentence structure from when I was a kid." You joked softly, handing him the rock back with a grin as you imagined five years ago... You would not have put yourself in a world where you were correcting and talking punctuation to an abundantly smart Orangutan but there you were. Shuffling on your feet as his small green eyes looked over your correction, you felt another shot of electricity run down your spine at the thought that...

Five years ago you'd have never thought that you'd be with an Ape, much less the Prince to an entire Colony, your eyes scanning upwards towards him and making flurried eye contact that Blue Eyes was always quick to break out of fear of Caesar saying something along the lines of needing to focus on the task on hand. That seemed to be the case as you could see Caesar talking, unable to hear what was being spoken and you were left feeling flustered as Blue Eyes signed in typical rushed fashion, his fingers skilled in more ways than one you thought coyly and chortled before you attention fell in the larger of the two. Caesar commandeered any atmosphere he was in and it was remarkable to watch him communicate to his Son, hopefully teaching and gracing him with advice. Hard and tough as he usually was, knowing that Blue Eyes was either receptive to that or chose to lash out. Ever since mating with you, the Son of Caesar had become more receptive and garnered you silent thanks for the Ape King. The sweep of his broad shoulders, your fingers twitching in acute interest to touch him there to see if it felt any different, if their fur got darker and thicker with age. The notion that he had thought about you that way, about you being naked after the one awkward encounter racked in your mind as a vivid image flashed at the idea that he felt drastically different, harder, more commanding than his Son did--- Chittering caught your attention and you were torn out of the fantasy that drifted against the front of your brain and looked back down at the orange Ape next to you. 'Have good feeling... Blue Eyes and you will successfully mate.'

Ah. He must have seen you staring. The heat that ran against your cheekbones, down the flush of your neck and against the outer parts towards the tip of your ears kept you warm, no need for the bonfire you were considering sitting by that afternoon as you waited for Blue Eyes to wrap his council with Caesar.

Their impeccable ability to talk about even the most private things so casually left you reeling at times, but... Then again, you thought more pragmatically. It made sense Maurice would mention it, to reassure and confide information to you that you wouldn't get otherwise. He cared about the future of the Colony, as did you all, and if you were able to mate successfully with Blue Eyes then that would garner the Colony another heir.

'Hopefully soon,' Your signing was still slow but was getting better as you were becoming more familiar with the slay of their fingers and how drastically confident they were in their signing. Fake it until you make it was your motto regarding that. 'Blue Eyes won't leave me alone.'

A human joke that Maurice seemed to understand as he nodded his head slowly, a low chortle hitting your ears causing your lips to tilt into a smug smile as you had gotten him to laugh. 'Do not think he wishes to.' Maurice brought his eyes to rest on his closest friend and advisor, your fingers tingling at the fact that you knew exactly where he was gesturing towards with his gaze.

'Not the only one who thinks Humans are...' The orangutan was hovering his hands in the air and it was obvious that he was thinking about the word he wanted to choose. 'interesting.' Small eyes narrowed on you.

'Not that interesting,' You were surprised at your own speed to sign that, turning your body so the King himself was unable to see your clear and vivid language, 'Caesar has no interest in me outside of my ability to help him understand Human situations. That is it.' The slicing of your hands were aggressive and defensive, something that Maurice grunted about.

'Never said anything about Caesar.' Your mouth flew open but you were able to catch it on the way down before pressing your lips together in a tightly formed line. Damn, your mind yelled, you had made an assumption that... Confirmed Maurice's intentions. He was good at that, getting an answer from you by sliding around the actual topic. Incredibly smart and cunning and you found a lot of your Human aspects resting in him which is probably why you got along so well.

'I only want Blue Eyes.' There was hesitant in your signing that came as a shock, the pit in your stomach dropping as if you were unable to convince yourself.

'Ape,' Maurice was concise with his signing, 'Get defensive over mates. Make sure both know where they sit otherwise could turn bad. Worse if you are with... child.'

'Only Blue Eyes.'

'Keep your... eyes only on him then.' Maurice gave you one more piece of advice, turning back towards the wall to scribble some more words against it. Blinking, you watched the dexterity of his shoulders move before you dragged your eyes back towards Blue Eyes who allowed himself to slot into the gaze for a few seconds longer than he felt was allowed in front of Caesar.

'Soon.' He signed to you, 'Meet in nest?'

'Ten minutes?' You signed.

'Less, more likely.'

Was the curt response you got before Caesar felt your gaze upwards and turned to look at you as you were mid sign. Slowly, you dropped your hands and stared at him, flashing only a small smile before turning on your feet, resting a hand on Maurice's shoulder as a departure before you scattered down the slanted ground.

'Distracted.' Caesar signed at his son with a roll of his shoulders.

'Trying to ma-'

Caesar watched you until you were out of his vision before he fluttered his eyes back towards his offspring, 'No success yet?'

'Hard,' Blue Eyes grunted along with the actions of his hands, 'Human, Ape... Not sure if possible---'

'Possible, might take more time.' Caesar was firm in that, raising his hand to let his son go as your scent finally trailed towards him from the breeze that was pulling in and out of the wind. 'She waits for you. Go.'

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

hello! how are you? I hope everything is ok, it's me again, sorry for the inconvenience!

But I have a doubt, maybe this can even become a chapter

After the reader returns from Teyvat, all injured, having lost some fingers and teeth (from what I remember from Fitzgerald's chapter), Yosano is the only one who knew the total destruction done to the reader's body (Fitzgerald theoretically also know after having heard Pantalone and Ningguang commenting), having to take care of the reader and having her ability, well, we all know how Yosano's ability works, would she feel bad about having to use her ability on the reader to help him recover (even though it's the only way), besides, being a doctor, she has a greater understanding of things, do you think the reader's situation would make her sadder? Because she understand more about injuries, etc.?

thank you for your attention :)

Count them

Self-Aware BSD AU x SAGAU Imposter crossover

Self-Aware! Akiko Yosano x GN! Reader

Description: Yosano found another reason to hate her ability.

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Injuries.

Set during last bits of Lost and Found, during Reader being unconscious.

Short fic.

A bit of comfort at the end.

______

Yosano has a strange relationship with "Thou Shalt Not Die".

She wasn't fond of it. Yet, there is no way she will dismiss its usefulness.

The ability was powerful, but, Yosano wished, that it could be activated differently.

But, when she got her chance, she missed it. She choosed something different.

_________

Yosano looked at the screen of Ango's computer. He recently got access to game files and find a way to alter their abilities.

"So... I could either choose my ability be able to heal any decease, be it chronic, internal, or incurable by modern medicine, or have "Thou Shalt Not Die" activated without fatal injuries, but stuck with physical external injuries?"

Ango nodded.

"Yes. I am sorry, but, you can't have both."

Yosano closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

"Can I have some time to think about it?"

Ango smiles reassuringly.

"Of course, Yosano-san"

Yosano spent whole night, reading about diseases from real world. About experience medicine, about slim chances. And about not having chances.

In the morning, she chooses being able to choose any diseases.

_______

Yosano silently leave your room. She needs one moment to herself.

To write it down.

She returned to her room and took one of her books from the shelf.

A simple atlas medical book.

It took her few minutes to find pen and pencils.

She never thought about that part of her ability. About knowing what injuries her ability have healed.

You have many. And fatal injuries.

In no way it were good news, but, at least, there was no need for Yosano to hurt you more. To use her ability.

Yosano took a pen and opened the book.

Time to write them down.

______

Burned mouth

Broken ribs

Multiple burns on legs, arms

Cut off toes

Removed canines (all four)

Ear bitten off (old injury)

Shoulders were pierced (claws? old injury)

Multiple stabs in the chest (arrow, spears)

Left eye gouged out

Nose broken (not clear, if it was an incident, or from the hit)

All nails torn off

Patches of skin removed (all body parts)

Joint dislocated (rack?)

how dare they...

_______

Yosano hid the book with the list.

She won't show it to anyone.

She won't tell anyone about it.

The anger will fuel. Her anger already burns with rage.

They don't need to know. For nor.

Right now, they should focus on you.

And not on the desire to chop off everything that monsters have.

Right now, she should return to you. And wait for you to wake up.

_______

Yosano rubbed your feet.

"All toes are here." her voice was hushed and soft.

"All toes are her." echoed you.

Yosano carefully rubbed your knees.

"Your knees aren't dislocated."

"They aren't dislocated" repeated you.

It became your daily routine.

Yosano would point at every part of you, that were injured, showing you, reminding you, that you aren't injured anymore. That you are safe. That you aren't in pain.

Yosano finished with you and left for a moment to wash her hands.

When she returns, she sat down on the bed near you.

She squeezed your hand.

"[Y/N]... You will never be hurt again. You will never be scared again."

You nodded weakly. You still were scared. But, even so, you believed in Yosano's words.

Yosano carefully pet your head.

"Let's brush your hair."

Yosano helped you sit up and took a hairbrush from the nightstand.

Carefully and gently, Yosano brushed your tangled hair. You yawned. You had another sleepless night, and brushing made you sleepy. Yosano whispered.

"You can sleep, if you want. I will be here. We will be here."

'I won't leave. You won't dissapear. No one will hurt you. There will be no need to use my ability on you. For me to count them.'

"Sleep, My Dear Dango. Don't be afraid. You are home."

You doze off. You had no dreams. Just a healthy dreamless sleep.

______

Tag list: @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters @nervousinfluencertidalwave @ayameshu @izzieg3987

[screampied]

i will gladly elaborate my thoughts on cockwarming. nothing less for my queen ;>

but yeah! welcome to my ted talk! for starters, i think toji and kuna will probably be either the most impatient ones or THE MEANEST as in no gray area. they're just meant to be so mean and built to make us take their cocks how they want to :(((

i feel like suguru will tone down the teasing ykwim it's still there but like he's starting to get pussydrunk so it's not as condescending LMAO also for some reason, i feel like he'll do it as a very intimate thing that u guys only do every nce in a while OOOH WHAT IF???? COCKWARMING WHILE HE HOLDS A MEETING WITH HIS CULT??? AND YOU'RE SAT ON HIS LAP IN A PARTICULAR POSITION TO NOT GIVE ANYTHING AWAY??? HIS ROBES DON'T LOOK RUFFLED OR ANYTHING??? BUT HIS COCK IS DROOLING PRECUM AND THROBBING UP IN YO TUMMY????

toru my babyyyy, sighhhh, toru would be so cocky (yeah right) and he'd insist that he won't break first but guess who's begging u to bounce that ass on his big cock? yup, it's toru~

kentooo~ ugh kento would be just right. HE WOULD GUIDE US. TO TAKE. HIS. FAT. COCK. talking bout "that's it sweetheart. go slow so you don't hurt yourself... unless you're into that kind of thing?" JAFIAEHUFIHAEEAIFIAEFJAFJ listen honey listeeeennnnn "can you stay still on my cock while i work on some papers? i'll fuck you just how you like if you behave for me" I AM DECEASED

chosooooooo my og bby gurl~~~ poor mans would cry the moment you sink down on his cock but stay still :((( he be like, "what's going on? why aren't you moving, sweetie? am i hurting you?" NO MY LOVE UR COCK IS JUST SO THICK AND BIG AND LONG THAT I GET SPEECHLESS BC I LITERALLY FEEL YOU POKING MY THROAT UGGGHHHHHHH SIGHHHHHHH

p.s. bf saw my previous ask abt cocks so big that they hang and... we tested... some... theories....

-very very very bricked reading sesh anon<3

the descriptiveness oh u didn’t come to play 🙂‍↕️

I LOVE BIG COCKS. i need that on a shirt actually. woah cockwarming cult leader! geto while he’s holding a meeting ????? that’s so ?????? me when. sounds like a yummy fic idea icl 🌞. who do u think is the biggest packer in jjk. i’m gonna be biased n say my pookie toji BUUUUT i feel like suguru’s def up there, true form sukuna too. those two will annihilate your insides just for funsies

satoru looooves a girl who rides him good 😞😞😞 he’d cum from just the eye contact alone.

UR SORIGHT ANOUT KENTO HES SUCH A SWEETHEART. if he’s too big he’ll guide ur hips, whispering raspy praises in your ear while telling you to keep ur eyes on him :< oh ur tryna kill me. imagine riding kento while he’s taking an important phone call, n the other person on the line is like “is this a bad time mr. nanami? you sound out of breath.” i would cry

choso’s so big i js knoooow he’s packing that heat. it’s always the shy quiet ones trust☝️ it’s at least seventeen inches tall with girth and a cutesy tip color of #E3908F oooooh i need him no one understands me

[ontheticktick]

Deadpool & Wolverine AU Starter for @oozeyboozey

"Damn it! Son of a bitch! Fuck! Motherfucker! Our world is FUCKED!"

Wade threw the shovel that had been in his hands out of the grave of one James "Logan" Howlett. The merc climbed out of the hole he had spent way too fucking long digging, and begun to pull the adamantium skeletal remains. He released a frustrated growl as he begun to drag it over towards a nearby log.

"This would go quicker with HELP!" He pointed out to his plus one on this little venture. Or was he her plus one? The British motherfucker hadn't really made it clear in his little jaunt of exposition. Either way, Anya hadn't elected to help dig.

"Look..." he sat the skeleton in a sitting position between himself and Anya, "I’m not a man of science, but he seems incredibly passed away." He reached out to pet the knee of the deceased Wolverine. "But it’s good to see him! I gotta be honest, I’ve always wanted to ride with this guy. Logan. Me an' him, getting into a Deadpool and Wolverine. Just fucking shit up. Can you imagine the fun? The chaos? The residuals?" He sighed wistfully. "But noooo...No, no, no, no. Ugh...he had to get all noble and die FOR REAL. God damn it! We could really use his help right now."

The TVA agents arrived just in time to be at peak asshole level, likely intending on adding injury to the insult of being completely fucking DOOMED.

"WAIT! I’m warning you! We're not alone!

"Wade Winston Wilson and Anastasia Winnifred Barnes! You’re under arrest by the Time Variance Authority. Too many crimes to list, come out! Last chance! Throw out your weapons and come out peacefully!"

"We're not gonna give you our weapons! But we promise not to use them..." He moved to begin picking apart the skeleton he'd dug up. Looking to Anya, he spoke. "There are 206 bones in the human body. 207 if I’m watching Gossip Girl." He reached out to hand Anya a piece of the remains as well. "Here we go, Commie Mommy, just like ol' times...MAXIMUM EFFORT."

A Note for the Audience, From Captain Deadpool:

To be clear, I’m not proud of any of this. Anya might be though. She always took pride in her work...when we were TOGETHER. Thanks to a knock-off Grimace with a BALL SACK for a chin, though, half of her whole family vanished...and I couldn't measure up to be enough to help. Where was I? Oh yeah. I'm not proud of any of this. Not that you're going to see any of it unless you go see my new movie in theaters, but Anya won't be in that one, so just...PRETEND that she is, maybe. I could teach you how to pretend she's there. I've gotten real good at it in the last couple years. All of this though...The wanton violence, the whiff of necrophilia, it isn’t who I am, it isn’t who I wanna be. Who I wanna be? Well, to help you understand that, I gotta take you back. Before my little joy ride I took through space and time, to the day that changed everything...

His birthday was filled with his friends and loved ones...all 9 of them. He had been mingling with the guests, when he happened upon his roommate. Blind Al seemed a little jittery.

"Want to do some cocaine?"

"Hey!" The merc insisted, "cocaine is the one thing that Feige said is off-limits."

"What about Bolivian marching powder?"

"They know all the slang terms. They have a list."

"Even snowboarding?" Wade nodded.

"Even disco dust."

"White girl interrupted?" Blind Al's brows furrowed.

"Even Boris bump," Wade affirmed sadly.

"Poker show?"

"I wouldn’t even try powdered donuts."

The woman tried one last-ditch effort. "Do you want to build a snowman?"

Devastated as he looked to Althea, his shoulders fell. "YES...but I CAN'T." With that, he got up from the chair that he had been sitting in and retreated from the woman that was essentially his live-in mother, heading over to the snack table...and coincidentally, over to where Anya stood. He was honestly shocked that she had even wanted to attend his birthday party. His best guess as to a motive was PITY. His heart ached and his throat felt tight as he got closer to her, until he was standing beside her. Gathering up all of his nerve, he spoke.

"Thanks for comin'," Wade told her genuinely, if not a little stiffly from his rampant anxiety. "How's uh...how's work? You still traveling to exotic, distant lands? Meeting exciting, unusual people and killing them?"

[ryuzakemo128]

We're All Gonna Die - Part 2

Pairing: Poly 141 x Boomer

Content Warnings: Boomer is the female reader, third-person perspective, philosophical questioning, self-esteem issues (Female Reader), mention of deceased father.

Note: I have been thinking a lot about stuff and things. If you want to comment your own thoughts on any posed philosophical questions, please feel free to do so.

Masterlist - Part One

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: Boomer does some more deep critical thinking about what it means to be a woman.

“I don't know what to tell you other than I don't know what to think. Part of me thinks is this all it is? To put into an amount of effort into making yourself seem likeable to someone who wouldn't give you the time of day if you appeared to be someone they don't like to see?” Boomer questioned with a furrowed brow, pacing back and forth in front of the couch.

“If they don't see me as a woman. Then what does that mean for the rest of me exactly? Does it mean that I'm not enough for them? Why do I need to change in order for someone else to like me? Why do I need to alter myself in order to gain a career?”

“When a woman has a deeper toned voice like myself, people automatically assume I'm either trans without any prior knowledge or see it as some form of excuse to say I'm not a 'real woman'. I don't know what to think half the time because it feels like I'm talking to a brick wall half the time.”

“How long have you been thinkin about this?” John raised an eyebrow at the giant pacing around the coffee table like it suddenly became a tightrope over a pool of lava. Boomer's frustration was palpable, and John knew she had a right to feel that way. They'd all faced their fair share of prejudice in the military, but she had the extra hurdle of being a giantess with a deep voice that didn't match the typical damsel in distress.

“Well, my voice particularly? Since I turned sixteen. Just shy of a year off when I enlisted in the ADF at seventeen. So at least eighteen years. Almost nineteen years. Before you ask. The jokes about me a subpar and barely worth taking interest in.” Boomer paused to pick up her cat, Whiskers. Who came in from a long nap.

“And I don't exactly talk about it because why would I? I don't want to seem like I'm 'whinin' or 'complainin'. And I don't want to exactly want people to speak about it behind my back, either. Like, if you have an issue with how I am, why can't you just tell it to my face? Why are you bein a coward? Do you understand what I mean?”

Boomer stared directly at him. Wondering if she had taken a step too far this time.

John nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “I get it, Boomer. And it's bullshit.” He spoke with a firmness that made it clear he wasn't just saying it to placate her. “You're more than enough. You're a kick-ass soldier with brains to match. You've got a heart of gold, and you're loyal to a fault. And as for the voice, it's part of what makes you unique. Fuck 'em if they can't handle it.”

The conversation wasn't brought up again. Which, for someone like Boomer? It felt more of a relief rather than a hindrance. Though, when John heard a comment about Boomer's voice being unattractive? The gloves were off.

Was this one of the many reasons why she has never been on a date before?

What does it imply?

What notion does it implicate?

For all her eccentricities, she's still a person of her own making, and to imply she is less than other females around her? It seems like the bias is leaking into her work life. Othering her in some form of justification to keep her from dating completely? Is her genetics any less worthy than their own?

What does it mean to be a woman when the people around her seem to perpetuate a biased notion of what a woman should be?

Simon decided to plan a date with Boomer. He had taken it on himself to take Boomer out on a date.

If no one else wanted her? Then tough shit.

He's claiming his prize no matter what someone thinks of how she appears to be on the outside.

He hatched a plan with the rest of Task Force 141.

A plan began to take shape. To take form.

As Boomer boiled eggs as what she loved to call a 'light snack'. Which was more like a meal. Her appetite remained incredibly large because of the combination of her training needs and her high metabolism.

Now she stands inside the kitchen. Completely unaware of the plan forming under her nose.

[teecupangel]

Hey, it's me again :D

I have this plot idea or whatever it is called stuck in my head for some days now (not rlly connected tho to the HZD hc). It's kinda like an reincarnation/time travel fix it? Maybe? Sort of? And it could be AltDes, bc I love them together. You can use it tho if you like and/or if it tickles your fancy

Like Desmond grows up constantly being lonely, physically and emotionally. We know William and he prioritized Desmonds training over everything else. He runs away from the farm, doesn't trust other people bc he always has to watch his back so that his father & etc. won't find him(I honestly can't remember if he in game knew that The Farm was run by assassins and that the Templars exist).

Fast forward to like round about AC Brotherhood maybe? Also I am not entirely sure about Lucy, if she still was a template by the time Desmond stabbed her or if Juno (if I remember correctly) just didn't want her to interfere with her plan. Maybe Desmond has started to kind of consider her and the others as kind-of-friends-he-is-not-entirely-sure, but he is still wary of them, keeping them at a certain distance.

Either through coincidence, luck, the apple, Map, other Isu-bs or information from the assassin network, they find an old Isu-facility. Though accident, Desmond activates the facility and he and the others learn either by a until then dormant Isu-consciousness or through other means what this facility does.

They learn that it is a fabrication facility, to be exact, a human fabrication facility. The Isu started this project back when the humans began to rebel against them and it was supposed to 'replace' those who fled and rebelled against them. It was never finished and the only one of its kind. It was supposed to store 'souls' from deceased humans, so they can be 'reused' in new bodies, bc artificially constructing a soul is very difficult and heavily recourse, time and energy consuming. But the Isu couldn't ever get it to work properly, so it can only store 'Souls' who have some kind of Isu-'DNA'-Marker inside of them and the way how they are stored is like, they get pulled from the body and be dormant until 'reused' or they would just disperse. They are only able to be stored in their state of death, so technically they have all their 'memories' of their past life and the plan was for the memories to be wiped just before transferring them into a new body (which would be constructed in the facility, or at least that was the plan).

Maybe bc of a combination of his bleed, his current situation (mentally deteriorating; his lack of real emotional connection(at least that he is aware of) and wishing for someone to just be there for him, accepting him etc; the knowledge that the others kind of just do their job) and maybe a little bit of the feeling of impending doom he by accident starts the facility and either bc he doesn't register it or isn't sure what happened, he leaves and comes back maybe around two days later. He finds a tank/pod or whatever with a body inside of it(fully grown out but doesn't see the face). Now maybe he smashes the glass and gets the body out of there, it opens on its own or the one inside of the pod tries to break free(maybe succeeding). Either way, he gets the body out of the tank/pod and looks at the face and recognizes Altaïr. A reason why him could be because in the moment where Desmond accidentally started the facility, he has bled Altaïr (or as him), or thought about him in some other way and the facility is controlled via thoughts(but it can only be operated by someone who has at least a certain percentage of Isu-DNA, like in this case Desmond).

One path could be that Altaïr's souls wasn't wiped of his memories, bc the Isu couldn't fully implement this function or some kind of error occured or due to structural damage this part of the facility is too damaged to Funktion properly, so he still has all his memories from his previous life until his death. Or another idea would be that his memories would be partially wiped, bc of the same reasons but their effect would be a little different.

Desmond would form a emotional connection or attachment towards him, for example bc of his bleed, his loneliness. There is this little scene in my head, where Altaïr helps Desmond calm down, from either a heavy bleed episode or some kind of panic attack, where he ends up holding Desmond who clings to him like a life line. With the others he always tried to keep physical contact to a minimum, maybe bc it would make him extremely uncomfortable or it felt cold and emotionally distant, but Altaïrs touch in this moment is soft, warm, calming, which stands in stark contrast in comparison to everyone else. Desmond would then subconsciously seek his proximity again and again because Altaïrs presence would help him calm down and his bleed wouldn't be as strong.

How Altaïr would connect with Desmond I'm not really sure but ultimately he would try to help Desmond to the best of his ability and maybe through his knowledge with the apple and other Isu-artifacts or they find other ones and with some Isu-bs they prevent the eye from killing Desmond.

That would be the general gist in my head, but I have some other notes too:

The process of transferring a 'soul' from the 'storage' to the body could be either automated or manually. Maybe the 'soul' has to be pulled out of a basin or something like that and has to be put into the 'empty' body

The facility would only be able to construct one or maybe two bodies and transfer souls into them, before shutting down, either bc the power runs out or a cave in happens, rendering it completely unusable afterwards

Altaïr would probably try to take the others under his wing, kind of like in your 'Zero Eclipse' fic (bc tbh, I kind of really love this concept), after learning what happened to the assassins and how they are struggling. Additionally he definitely does not like William Miles for both his parenting skills and how he leads the assassins

And of course training them, or at least he would train Lucy and Desmond (bc hand to hand combat and close proximity :) )

That is all I have for now, what do you think of it?

Lots of love from me, take care and be safe

Okay, so my thoughts are all over the place XD

I feel like this Isu facility could be the ‘start’ of the resurrection myth in AC.

And we can even tie the facility to the ‘Mead’ that sets up the appearances of Sages of those who participated it.

The second facility that was meant to wipe out the memories could have been Yggdrassil that was stolen by Odin and modified to be used by his kin instead.

If you want to mess with Altaïr further, his body could take some getting used to. He was reborn in his prime after all and Desmond approximate that he might the same age he had been when Desmond had been watching his memories

(Of course, if you want to make Altaïr in his 60s, I’m all in because that man was quite the silver fox as well)

Altaïr believed that he’s trying to get used to his body because he remembered dying as a 90+ year old man.

That could just be the case or… if you wanna screw with him…

Maybe his body is more Isu than human and the strange Isu-human hybrid body that the facility creates is also one of the reasons why the facility was abandoned.

.

Timeline-wise, we can go for Brotherhood and we have 2 options:

Option 1: instead of going to the Colosseum , they reached this facility instead because of some reason. We would have to think of a reason for this.

Option 2 is easier to implement. While they are running away from Rome after Vidic and his stooges came at the end of AC2, they had to go to a different path because they heard of a coded message that Templars are around the same route they were going to take. Lucy thinks something is wrong because she didn’t hear of this part of the plan.

Also… None of them knew who was the one that sent the coded message, all they know was that it was sent on Rebecca’s backup backup phone.

The detour leads them farther away from Monteriggioni and into another part of Italy where the facility was underground. They only hid in an abandoned mine because they heard some kind of chatter on a radio frequency they were listening into (turns out some locals were using it because one of their members’ son ran away from home) and Desmond felt something call for him there.

They were only meant to stay inside for the night then try to get to their next safe house (something Lucy insisted) but things go… haywire because of Desmond ‘accidentally’ turning on the device.

.

The soul part being a basin could be something similar to my idea of the Afterlife project in the Desmond is Zagreus’ Sage idea.

In that idea, soul is pretty much the memories and consciousness of a person in digital form. This is similar to Clay’s digital avatar in Revelation, only that these souls are in stasis. Maybe Clay even used the same way to upload himself in the Animus.

The basin in the facility could be a ‘middle ground’ that downloads the data of a person from the Afterlife project that still exists somewhere in the world, forever recording every single death of humans (or, if you wanna lower the ‘size’, any being with Isu DNA)

.

Lucy would probably try to hide the fact that she’s a Templar even while being trained by Altaïr. Altaïr is super sus of her but everyone keeps saying that she’s an ally and it doesn’t take Altaïr long to know that they wouldn’t believe him if he tells them that he believes she’s a spy.

Desmond might so he focused his attention on Desmond because Desmond never treated him like he needed to be handled with care as someone who had just woken up in this ‘new world’.

That’s how they start to grow closer. Both of them aiming for friendship but ending up in a more intimate relationship because of how easy it was for them to understand one another.

Even if Altaïr was born centuries before Desmond, Desmond’s upbringing on the Farm was too similar to his own in Masyaf that he knew the words Desmond wanted to hear.

The words he had hoped someone would tell him back then.

This could easily go for a ‘us versus the world’ setup if Altaïr isn’t able to connect with the rest of the team as well.

.

I read ‘might be able to construct one or two bodies’ and I’m like: counteroffer, Desmond accidentally uses the device again and this time, two more pods start working. Unfortunately, the facility did not have enough resources for both sooooo…

Desmond is now the accidental father of two young babies who may or may not have the memories of Ezio and an unknown ancestor of his (since he doesn’t know Ratonhnhaké:ton is in this one)

Thank you! We're staying safe right now but here's hoping the terrible weather comes to pass soon.

[lets-try-some-writing]

okay but what about robots in disguise?? its not a favorite of mine but it’s still pretty good. russel and his dad are decent lol

Frag that show.

It disrespected TFP on every level and for that it has my eternal hatred and contempt. The humans were annoying, and I HATED how many interesting plot threads there were that were either done poorly or with so little tact that the writing team should have just scrapped it. The designs are tolerable, but I hate how canon TFP characters lost so much of their individuality in their designs (coughtheopticscough). Smokescreen is fricking GONE, which bothers me more than I care to admit. We see the rest of the team enough to be reasonable, but they all appear in ways that don't really make me happy.

Ratchet was done well enough in my opinion. I like his RID design. It suites him. Optimus's design can go die in a hole, they brutalized that mech. Same with Jazz. Frag those stupid shoulder pads.

Grimlock is fun, I appreciate Sideswipe, although his helm hair thingies I think need a redesign to make sense in relation to his alt mode. Strongarm was HORRIBLY underutilized and I hardly saw any character growth in her. Drift and his crew were interesting, but similarly not given much room to grow. I really liked Windblade for the most part, especially the episode where she tries to baby Optimus and comes out having relearned that Op is still a PRIME with MILLIONS OF YEARS OF WAR EXPERIENCE.

The Primes who've done nothing but sit on their rears had NO RIGHT to belittle Optimus at every turn. Nor did the show have the right to make him an idiot for the sake of making Bee look smarter. As @nova--spark has pointed out, the personality Bee got in the show matches Smokescreen better. Bumblebee wouldn't have SUCKED so much at the whole leadership shtick. What happened to all that skill shown in the movie huh? HUH WRITING TEAM????!??!?!

While I am on this train. OPTIMUS DIED SO GOSH DARN LEAVE HIM ALONE!!! He should have stayed deceased, or if they REALLY needed him back, he should have either returned as an Civi or came back with actual issues. Like dang hear me out mate.

Optimus is forcefully returned to life, beats the Fallen with his borrowed power, but then has to actually deal with the consequences of essentially being a walking bomb for a while. Make him start losing plating, make his frame HURT, make him slim down again into the TFP base design. Just, give him a reason to have to sit back and RECOVER. Not this whole half hearted limping around garbage. To add to that, don't baby the mech. Let him stay at base and fulfill the role Ratchet did in TFP. Let him use his knowledge to teach and offer wisdom, plan battles and locate enemies. For Primus's sake he could have gone undercover on Cybertron or something if they really needed him to go be useless elsewhere.

THEY COULD HAVE EVEN HAD AN ARC WITH HIM GIVING THE TEAM A WAKEUP CALL!!! SIdeswipe has no respect for the mission, Grimlock is a fool, Strongarm is too snarky, and Bee in this seems to have largely forgotten about the seriousness except for during key moments. They could have made Optimus a minor antagonist, forcing the team to follow wartime standards since they laid down this plot thread regarding issues between leadership styles and Optimus trying to take control of the operation more than once.

I would have paid money to see Optimus's wartime mentality show itself in the best and worst ways through how he worked with this group of non war vets on a Decepticon capture mission. Maybe even have him use lethal force once or twice, or at least hint at it so that people can be reminded that he is a mech who went to war, killed countless bots, and both drove their people to and saved their people from extinction.

Bee could have had to teach Optimus to calm down. He could have helped eased his leader out of his wartime mindset. Or following that whole council running Cybertron route, Optimus could have had his moment of being very much right when he points out WHY he fought at all and gestures towards the new council. There was SO MUCH potential in this show, so many good threads and interesting Decepticon character that could have given so much depth to the war and the aligned continuity as a whole, but they were almost ALL ignored.

*deep breath*

Alright, sorry about that. I have big feelings in regards to how dirty Optimus was done. Moving on, the Predacons were killed off supposedly and that pisses me off ESPECIALLY because it was done in a fricking offscreen setting. What the hell happened to Predaking??? WHERE DID HE GO????

Starscream's design was rad though, not going to lie.

Where is Shockwave? No seriously where is that fragger? After several years of the map he MUST have an army growing in a tank somewhere.

Soundwave. Why. ARe. YOU. HERE??!?!?!? I love you man but dang you are so out of place. He made sense in the context of trying to get to Megatron, but idk he felt like he deserved better. He should have been the big brain behind the Cons on Earth if you asked me. It would have made everything far more intense, especially if the Cons dont follow Decepticon creed as seen by Soundwave.

The humans were annoying. Sorry they just were.

Fixit is Primus's gift to RID and he's one of the few individuals who makes it less annoying. Idk, I just like him in reasonable doses.

WHERE ARE THE TFP KIDS?! WHY HAS BEE NOT CALLED THEM?? GOOD HEAVENS THERE IS A WHOLE SUBPLOT RIGHT THERE!!!

*yet another deep breath*

Apologies.

To put things simply, I would rather a group of fanfic writers put RID together than whoever the writing team was. They could have made a coherent story with deep characters that actually address the ramifications of millions of years of war and lingering functionalist mindsets. They would have done the lore and the world justice even if there were no main characters popping up.

I think RID has so much potential, but that almost all of it went right down the toilet due to either the higher ups sticking their noses where they don't belong or because the writing team couldn't go two minutes without retconning or otherwise destroying established everything.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[dutifullylazybread]

Hi Darcy!! Love your writing so much!

Since you're opening up Headcanon requests, I was curious: What do you think Rolan's nightmares contain? Same for Cal and Lia maybe?? I love how you alluded to Rolan's nightmares with how he wakes up "choking on his own panic" I always think Rolan's nightmares are either about his mother, Lorroakan, or both! I can't wait to hear your thoughts!

Thank you so much! 🥹 I had a blast reading through your fics the other day—so thank you for sharing such lovely writing with all of us.

So this was a really interesting thought exercise for me. I was a little nervous to start this headcanon list, because I wanted to do these three characters justice.

I have done my best to pull from nightmares I have had, and I have also conducted research to make sure I am not working solely from one point of view.

Content warnings: Nightmares as a result of living through some pretty terrifying experiences, parental death/finding deceased parent (mentioned at the end of all three sections) and discussions of past abuse (found in Rolan's section).

Nightmares - Cal, Lia, and Rolan

Cal

Cal dreams of falling.

To be specific, he dreams of when Elturel descended.

The reason I say this is because I came across this MtG card illustration of the Descent into Avernus, and it has stuck with me:

So when Elturel descended, would it really be too surprising if some people lost their footing and fell off the edge?

As Elturel is dragged into Avernus by these chains, cityfolk are being ripped off of the ground. If they can’t grab onto something stable enough to hold fast while the city descends, or if they aren’t flush to the side of a building, then they are likely flying off of the edge.

Cal had been running errands for the general store that he worked at when Elturel descended. Were it not for the sturdy building he found himself pressed up against, he might not have survived the Descent.

Now, he frequently dreams of falling into the River Styx. He doesn’t usually wake up when he hits the water, but he will dream of staring up at the city, and he can’t move. He can’t swim to the surface.

Cal also dreams of Moonrise Tower’s dungeons. He remembers the smell of rot and death, and he remembers the sounds of things moving around in the shadows.

When these nightmares take a turn for the worse, he manages to get out of the prison cell, and he starts searching for Lia. He knows something bad has happened, but he can’t find her.

He, like Rolan, dreams about finding their mother's body.

Lia

Lia dreams of Zariel. My personal headcanon is that, when Elturel was pulled into Avernus, Lia was likely in the city’s square (Shiarra’s market). This would be a place where there would be a lot of people, especially when the Descent occurred. So after the city was pulled into Avernus and chained above the River Styx, Zariel landed in the city square.

Zariel would have made this appearance to 1) scare everyone shitless, 2) to show off the forces under her control, and 3) to make it clear why she chose to drag Elturel into Avernus. She would make it known then and there who was at fault, because she would want to sow dissent amongst the people of Elturel.

And Lia, who had been in the midst of training, was right there. Perhaps paces away from Zariel. And she brought a detachment of her devil army with her. 

Lia dreams about fleeing the marketplace. She never looks behind her, because she fears either Zariel or her devils will be there, at her heels.

While she runs, she searches for Rolan and Cal, calling out for them but receiving no answer.

She tries to find her way home, but as she flees, the city’s streets become almost maze-like. 

And, at a certain point, she feels like she is running in place. The street stretches out in front of her, her legs are moving under her, but she simply can’t gain enough traction to push herself forward.

She will usually wake up just as she feels something grapple her from behind.

If her nightmares turn into sleep paralysis, she might dream that Zariel is in the room with her, watching from the shadows cast by her wardrobe.

When Lia dreams about their mother, she dreams about trying to run towards her but never reaching her. When having these dreams, she feels like, if she can't reach her, something very, very bad will happen.

Rolan

So I agree with you that Rolan dreams about Lorroakan. There are indeed instances where he just relives Lorroakan's abuse as a flashback.

He also dreams about getting lost in the Shadow-Cursed lands. He wanders through the forest, calling for his siblings.

If he dreams of Elturel, then he dreams of running through the house, calling out for Cal and Lia and their mother. No one answers. 

It’s like he is moving through a strange haze. He is looking everywhere, but he knows that no one is there. He can hear chaos outside of the household, and it makes him panic.

Something is banging on the front door. He cannot find his family, but he knows he needs to before whatever is outside gets in.

I do headcanon that their mother died before Elturel was returned to the material plane, but she was alive prior to the Descent. 

Rolan and Cal found her body.

In his nightmares, Rolan rushes out into the garden, thinking that he might find Cal or their mother there.

The garden wrapped around the house. And when he immediately steps outside, he is struck by this deep, sickening dread. He knows something is wrong. He wants to go back inside, but he is compelled to keep walking forward. He remembers looking for his mother out here before and finding something horrible.

He wants to go back inside, but he can’t.

Before he rounds the corner to where the flowerbeds are, he wakes up.

[albertasunrise]

Oops Baby - One too Many

Masterlist

Summary: Being best friends with Frankie meant movie nights, drinks with the guys and a shoulder to cry on when you got your hear broken. He is head over heels for you but you don’t feel the same… yet a drunken mistake will tie your lives together forever!

Relationships: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+ (I am so excited to share this with you. Came up with this idea ages ago, just wasn't sure who to use. Was between Frankie and Marcus Pike... Though our cutie Fish would work best though. Hope you enjoy ♥️)

Series Masterlist -

"What's wrong with me Frankie?" You grumbled as you downed the last of your drink and motioned at the barman to get you another "I mean... Do I have cheat on me written across my forehead?"

"Nothing's wrong with you." He gave you a reassuring nudge and a sweet smile "The guy was just a fucking idiot and couldn't see how good he had it."

"You have to say that." You scoff "You're my best friend."

"No, I mean it." Fish pouted, his eyes growing sad "If I was with you I'd never let you go." His whole body went rigid at his confession and so did yours.

In all the many years you had known each other, Frankie had managed to keep his feelings for you buried. He had watched as you went from relationship to relationship. All of them ended the same way. You cried into his t-shirt as he fed you beers to try and numb the pain.

He coughed in an attempt to dispel the awkward silence that had now settled over you both. His left hand fidgeted in his lap as he grabbed his beer and drained the remainder of it in one large gulp.

"Another!" He said as he motioned at the bartender "Never trusted him you know." He stated as he returned his attention to you.

"No?" You question, your eyebrow quirking at his statement.

"Nah... Guys with eyebrows that well maintained are either cheats or gay." he stated plainly and you spat your beer over the bar "Woah... Mind the shirt."

"Sorry." You choke out as you bash your chest to dry and clear the beer in your throat "You can't say shit like that Francisco."

"What?... It's true."

"No I mean you can't say shit like that whilst I'm taking a sip of my drink!" You chuckled "You nearly killed me."

"You're smiling though, are you?"

"That I am." You agreed, giving him a sweet smile before supping at your beer again.

The two of you moved on to other subjects then. How Will had finally bitten the bullet and created an online dating profile. How Ben was smashing his fights and how Santi was expecting a baby with his wife in Australia.

"Talking of parents... How are mels?" You asked and his expression grew a little sadder at the mention of his, somewhat recently, deceased wife.

"They're doing okay." He replied with a nod "Taking each day as it comes. No parent expects to bury their kid..."

"I bet!" You sighed as you leaned into him and rest your head on his shoulder "I don't know about you... But I think we need more drinks!"

"You going to be okay to get home if you drink much more?"

Ahh sweet Frankie... always the worrier.

"I'll work it out Fishsticks."

"Please don't call me that." He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically before fumbling to catch his hat that had slipped off his head "You can crash at mine if you like?" He propositioned "Seeing as I have the house to myself for the weekend."

"Sounds good." You grinned, perking up immediately "Bartender! More beer please."

...

You weren't sure how you'd got here. One moment you were drinking with Frankie in the bar and the next you were pinned against his front door as he painted your flesh with kisses. His hat and shirt were long discarded and you revelled at his form. Strong arms, broad shoulders and a tiny waist. His tummy was a little softer but you found it endearing and you found your mouth watering as you unfastened his jeans and pushed them, along with his underwear, down his hips.

Then, in what felt like the blink of an eye, Francisco Morales... Your best friend of six years... Was naked as the day he was born in front of you. Normally this is where you would start to panic. Yet, you found yourself so wrapped up in the feel of him that you didn’t have time to. You were dragged back to the present when Fish plunged two thick fingers into your heat, pulling a filthy moan from you and you grabbed his biceps firmly as you threw your head back in pleasure.

"What me to fuck you right here or in my bed?" He purred in your ear and you clenched around his digits.

"Start here... Bed later..." Was all you could pant out before you were grabbing his length and stroked it as he roughly fucked you with his fingers "Fuck Frankie... I need you now."

"Mmmmm." He hummed as he grabbed your thighs and lifted you, wrapping them around his waist.

Your arms instinctively looped around his shoulders as he pushed you against the wall beside his front door, mewling as he drove into you in one deep thrust. He was easily the biggest you'd ever had. Filling you so deliciously that you knew after tonight, he was going to ruin all other men for you.

"Fuck you feel incredible." He growled as he pushed into you, finding your sweet spot almost instantly "Just like I imagined."

This statement would, in any other situation, have given you pause but right now as he continued to fuck up into you with a precision you'd not expected from him, you paid it no heed. He was literally fucking you dumb. Pleasuring every thought out of your head except for one.

A revelation that had taken you by surprise.

You sweet, quiet, reserved Francisco had a filthy mouth... And you loved it. You soaked it up. Revelled in his praise and bathed in the warmth that filled you. He was quick to tip you over the edge. Something guys often failed to do without some stimulation but not Frankie... Not he was able to make you cum with just his length and his mouth.

"That's it, baby." He purred when he felt you peak "Cum for me beautiful."

He fucked you through your high, attacking your neck with kisses and nips as he then went about chasing his own. He fucked you like his life depended on it. Focusing his thrusts so that he could wring every last ounce of pleasure from you before he fell.

"Frankie I'm... I'm..."

"I know baby." He cooed "Me too."

"I'm cumming." You sobbed as he pushed you over the edge one last time but this time you pulled him right along with you.

He collapsed against you, panting as he desperately tried to keep himself from collapsing to the ground. You were now a limp mess in his arms, panting and grinning like a fool as you smiled at him.

"Let's get to bed." Fish managed to say after a short pause "I wanna taste you sweetheart." He stated before pushing away from the wall and carrying you down the hall to his room.

It was going to be a long night.

...

Your brain was pounding.

You groaned as you rolled over to grab your phone, only to find it wasn't there. Two Tylenol and a glass of water, however, were waiting for you. Taking the tablets you threw them in your mouth before downing the water, practically groaning in relief. You then started to study your surroundings and realised that you weren't in your bed.

You were in Frankie's.

"What the hell;?" You questioned as you started to push yourself up and then you realised that you were naked.

Completely naked.

Your heart started to race then. Your mind reeled as you tried to remember what happened last night. You had gone for drinks with Frankie after learning your boyfriend of two years had cheated on you. Then things got a little blurry. You tried to focus... Things come back to you in flashes but then you remembered what you had done.

You had fucked Frankie.

"Shit." You groaned as you scraped a hand over your face "Shit, shit, shit!!"

You grabbed one of his shirts from the wardrobe and headed down the hall, the smell of bacon pulling you into the kitchen where Frankie was standing in just some shorts. His hair was a curly mess. His neck was littered with the evidence of what you two had done last night.

Catching movement from the corner of his eye, Frank looked up to see you gingerly walking in in one of his shirts and his mouth went dry at the sight. He smiled sweetly at you as he pushed the bacon off the heat and went to pour you a mug of coffee.

"How you feeling?" He asked as he grabbed the milk and poured it into your mug, nodding when he was satisfied with the colour of your drink.

"Sore." You groaned, nodding your thanks when he handed you the drink he'd made you.

"Mmmmm." He hummed as he smirked at you, the twinkle in his eye making your stomach twist "The good kind of sore or..."

"Frankie-"

"Last night was amazing." He purred as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close "Wanted this for so long."

"Frankie I-"

"Felt too good to tell you how I felt. I've hated watching you with all those other guys."

Your mind was suddenly assaulted with memories. His smile as he told you his deepest secret.

The night before...

"I need to find someone like you Fish." You sighed as you sipped at your beer "Someone sweet and kind that will treat me right."

"What if I could be that someone?" He asked and you perked up, looking at him in confusion.

'What?"

"What if I could be that guy for you?" He repeated, his eyes doing that puppy-dog thing that you found impossible to resist.

You don't know what came over you but as you looked at him. All dark eyes and sweetness. You decided to kiss him. He didn't respond straight away and you panicked for just a second before he was returning it, his hand threading through the hair at the base of your neck as he deepened it.

"Wanna get out of here?" You suggested and he nodded.

"Fuck yes." He practically panted.

The walk back to his place wasn't a quick one. Any opportunity he had, he'd stop you so that he could kiss you. Unable to get enough of you.

"Fuck... I have wanted this for so long." He panted between kisses "Wanted you for so long." Another firm kiss had your knees going weak "I love you..." He whispered against your lips as he rested his brow on yours.

You should have stopped it there. You should have told him that you didn't feel the same... But you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. Your body wanted him too much and you were a slave to your desires.

So you didn't say anything.

You just followed him home.

...

You were pulled from the memory by Frankie calling your name.

"Baby you okay?" He asked as he looked down at him in concern, brows pulled together.

"Frankie I... Shit, I don't know how to tell you this." You sighed as you pushed him back "Last night was a mistake."

"What?" He all but squeaked and you felt like the worst person in the world.

"It shouldn’t have happened." You sighed as you ran your free hand through your hair "I was in a bad place and I shouldn't have kissed you. We were both super drunk and it... It was a mistake."

"I told you I love you." Frankie growled, his voice taking on a tone you'd not heard from him before "I confessed to you how I've been feeling all these years and you slept with me."

"I know, but Frankie I-"

"No... You don't know." He interrupted as he turned his back to and gripped the stone countertop in front of him "I have been in love with you for years... probably since the day I met you. I told you last night that I wanted to be the guy you wanted and you kissed me... You led me to believe that you wanted the same thing."

"Frankie I'm sorry I hurt you but-"

"I think you should leave."

"What?"

"Get your shit and leave." He growled and you sobbed.

"Okay." You choked out before putting down your mug and making your way into his lounge.

Your clothes were strewn all over the place. Evidence of what you two had done all over his home. Changing back into the clothes you wore the night before you walked back into the kitchen to find Frankie sitting at the breakfast bar, staring at the new mug of coffee in his hands.

"Frankie I... I'm sorry." You sobbed "I never meant to hurt you I just-"

"Please go."

You nodded. Choking out a barely audible "Okay." Before walking to his front door and leaving. You knew this was your fault. You saw an opportunity to bury your sorrows and you took it. But at the expense of your best friend.

You had royally ruined everything.

...

2 months later...

You hadn't spoken to Frankie since that night.

You had called and texted but he had chosen to ignore your attempts to contact him. If you were being honest, you didn't blame him. You had taken advantage of his feelings for you. You had secretly known for a while that he had feelings for you and a part of you had tried so hard to feel something back but you couldn't. You didn't get why though.

He's hot. Kind. Funny.

He's the whole package and yet you still kept falling for men you knew would wind up hurting you. They were all the same. You knew going into each and every relationship that it would end with your heart broken and yet you kept dating them. You were your own worst enemy.

Then, exactly two months to the day that you had broken your best friend's heart, you'd taken a test that was going to change everything.

Ben had kept inviting you to drinks and up until now you had kept declining. This time however you had accepted. You needed to talk to Frankie and he was always at drinks. You just hoped that your going wouldn't push him to ditch them that night.

When you stepped into the bar you could hear Benny call out to you and you smiled as you make your way over, noting how both brothers were smiling up at you but Frank was looking away.

"Hey." You said as you made your way to the table and sat down on the chair Ben pulled out for you "Long time no see."

"Well, whose fault is that?" Will grumbled and you grimaced as you nodded your head.

"Touche."

"Got you a beer." Ben said as he pushed the beverage towards you.

"Oh, I'm not drinking tonight." You said as you nudged it back "Alcohol hasn't been agreeing with me lately."

Frankie snorted and you tried hard to ignore the reaction. You desperately wanted to talk to him. For him to acknowledge you but you knew that he wasn't going to do that. You had hurt him.

"So what's new with you?" Ben asked "How come you've ditched us for the last two months>"

"Had a lot going on." You answered, not a complete lie "Some stuff happened and I needed some time to deal."

"What stuff?" Will asked and you sighed.

"I lost someone." You elaborated "A friend and I miss them."

"Shit Titch, I'm sorry." Will said as he gave your arm a friendly squeeze "Anyone we know?"

"I don't really wanna talk about it." You said as you gave them a weak smile.

"Figures," Frank grumbled under his breath and you looked up at him in shock.

"What was that Fish?" Ben asked and Frankie shook his head.

"Nothing." He growled out "Need another drink."

"What's his problem?" Will asked and Ben shrugged.

"Been off for a few weeks now." Ben sighed "Think he got his heart broken."

"He was seeing someone?" You pushed and Ben shook his head.

"Dunno but I haven't seen him like this since Mel died." That statement made your stomach roll "He's been really forlorn. Doesn't wanna talk about it though. He's not the guy to kiss and tell but I think he might've been seeing someone and she ditched him."

You let out a sigh as your hand reached into your pocket and clutched the item in there. You needed to talk to Frank but you weren't sure how you were going to get him to listen to you. Little did you know, it wasn't going to be how you hoped.

You were an hour into drinks when Ben finally snapped. Each snide remark Fish made when you answered a question had him at tipping point. So in a fit of rage, he opened the can.

"What the fuck is your problem Fish?" He snapped, taking the older man by surprise "You've done nothing but make shitty remarks about Titch all evenin'... Something happen?"

"Doesn't matter." Frankie grumbled and you sighed.

"Frankie I-"

"You say you're sorry to me one more time and I'll-"

"What the fuck she got to be sorry about?" Ben growled and Fish flipped.

"She fucked me and then dumped me." He snarled. taking everyone by surprise "I confessed how I felt about her and she took advantage of me."

"Frankie can we talk about this outside for a moment."

"I don't wanna hear it." He grumbled and you felt yourself growing more agitated.

"There's something I need to talk to you about."

"I doubt it."

"Please... I need to tell you something."

"Nothing they can't hear." He spat and you lost it.

"Fine!." You pulled out the item that had been burning a hole in your pocket all evening "I'm pregnant!.. and it's yours."

Frankie's expression changed from one of anger to complete shock. Finally for the first time this evening he looked at you and what he saw broke his heart.

"I'm going to keep it. I don't expect anything from you." You finished before grabbing your coat and your bag "I think I should leave."

"Titch." Ben grabbed your wrist but you pulled it from his grasp.

"Sorry to have ruined your night."

You left then. Disappearing from the bar and leaving the three men sat there in shocked silence. Frankie stared at the test in disbelief. He was going to be a dad? And with the woman who... despite everything that had happened... He was still very much in love with.

"Fish?" Will's voice pulled him from his thoughts "You okay?"

"Yeah... Um... Just, processing I guess."

"What you gonna do?" Asked Ben and Frankie shrugged.

"Do you want this?" Will asked and Frank sobbed, nodding as he looked over at Will and then a Ben.

"I really do."

"Then you best go tell her." Ben pushed as he gave his friend's arm a friendly squeeze "I know she hurt you and I pissed as shit at her about it but you guys are gonna have a baby so you got to move past that."

Frankie nodded at Benny before grabbing the test and looking at the message on the small screen.

Pregnant

He had to see you. To talk to you but he found himself glued to the spot. What was he supposed to say? He supposed he'd know the moment he saw you. So after staring at the test for a little while longer he said his goodbyes to the brothers and left, waving down a cab when he reached the street.

Meanwhile, you were sobbing quietly to yourself as you brewed your depressing mug of decaf coffee. That was not how you had wanted to tell him. You'd wanted to confess how sorry you were and how shitty you'd been before giving him the test and telling him that something wonderful had come out of it though. You had just sat down on the couch when a knock sounded at your door. You sighed as you placed your mug down on the coffee and made your way over. Not bothering to check who it was before you opened it.

There, standing on your porch was Frankie.

"Frankie, what are you-"

"I'm in." He stated plainly as he gave you a small nod "Let's have a baby!"

Next

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[drunkenlionwrites]

Hey!! ❤️❤️❤️

I was thinking about Syzoth's request, because I thought about something like the pregnant reader and Syzoth's fears of losing another family or replacing the one he lost.

Syzoth's frustration when he found out and how overprotective he would be.

I love reading your stories ☺️

Hi hi nonnie! Thank you for the idea. You've been first to ask, and I am happy to oblige. It was fun to write after not writing any drabbles for some time. 💖💖 Warnings: a bit of angst, diluted by fluff, fem-bodied but g/n reader, ptsd, mentions of Syzoth's deceased family.

You’ve been noticing the changes in Syzoth’s behavior for quite some time. Where he has been cautious – he became anxious. Where he has been protective – he became overbearing. Sometimes it ended in him viciously glaring at anyone who approached you or occupied your attention for a bit longer than needed in his opinion, which was the opposite of what you would’ve expected of him – a forever approachable friend of all. He shrugged off your concerns when you raised any, but you couldn’t stop observing how anxious he became with anything concerning you specifically as Syzoth’s never been as tense overprotective mere months ago. Even now, lying beside you in the safety of your shared bed his face is marred with a deep frown, his brows frequently twitching.

Rolling over, you press your index finger to his forehead in between the brows and gently stoke it up and down, trying to soothe your lover without waking him up. It seemed to work since the expression on his face softened at least to a degree.

What is going on in that worrisome head of yours, m? You murmured to yourself, continuing to look over your Zaterran as he was deep in a now peaceful sleep. Stopping your movements, you lay your head onto his chest and close your eyes, deciding to go back into slumber, listening to his slow and steady heartbeat. You feel the man shift and both of his arms are sliding up your body to press you even closer to him.

‘T's nice to feel you’re here with me’ he half whispers, making you raise your head to face him. ‘Bad dreams?’ you inquire carefully. It makes him stiffen a bit, but he sighs with a reply ‘Not that bad. Just…reminders for me to be more cautious’ You can’t stop yourself from huffing at this. ‘More cautious? You are practically a walking security camera lately. Syzoth, is…is something burdening you? You know I am here to share your burdens? You can tell me. Please…I’ve been worried about you’ Squeezing you gently, he presses his lips to the crown of your head, his hands roaming up and down your upper body to comfort both you and him, most likely.

‘Well…it would be silly of me to deny this forever, but to be honest, I am scared, my love.’ Clearing his throat, he continues: ‘Sometimes…I…do see the demise of my former spouse and child brought by Shang Tsung. And it was me who failed them. It was me, who underestimated the threat which Shang Tsung posed, it was me who failed to secure my family in the first hand and me again, who failed to save them in the end…’ You want to interrupt his self-loathsome speech, yet at the same time you stop yourself and silently listen out what makes your lover be so on edge.

‘This time I can’t let this happen. I’ll be stronger, I’ll be more vigilant. I’ll be vicious when needed…but you both…that is…I mean, us both. We will be safe. Even if it means skipping on some sleep or losing a few skittish friends. You are what is important.” His voice is quiet and raspier after being just awoken, but you clearly detect all the pain and fear he’s still carrying inside, even when he tries to hide the extent of it by speaking slowly and breathing steadily. You nuzzle into his neck, your own arms sneaking under to hug him closer to you and he eases into your touch.

‘You know it’s not your fault, Syzoth? I’ll tell you this again and again, even if you don’t really want to believe in it. And if something happens to me, it won’t be your fault either.

You’re not an all-powerful God to save people from the vile threats this world throws at us. You’re not to be blamed for what that shithead did to your family. You’re just as much of a victim as they were. ‘I won’t be anymore.’ He hisses and you shrug from the sudden loudness of his voice and the way his arms lock around you tighter, almost painful. ‘I won’t be. And no one will dare to even try to hurt you. And if they try, they will see and feel all the ways in which a furious Zaterran can tear their flesh apart.’

‘Hey…hey, can you look at me?’ You tilt your head upwards and a pair of swamp greens meet your gaze. Your palm cups his cheek as you say: ‘I am sure you’re more than capable of defending yourself and me from anyone. You are stronger now. You’ve lived through a lot since then. You’ve practiced a lot. And of course, we all are more cautious now after the invasion threat has been revealed. Please, love…can you promise me to stop being so hard on yourself? You deserve to feel safe and calm from time to time. You know, you actually hurt me by not thinking I am capable enough to protect myself and you, too.’ You pout playfully as you say that that to relieve the tension of the serious late-night confessions. ‘I’m not Ashra level of strong, but I am strong. I was selected to fight in a Tornament back then before we met.’ You flick his nose gently, which earns you a small chuckle. At last.

‘Oh, believe me, I do know just how vicious my little human can be. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop worrying for your safety. Especially, not now.’ He drops.

‘What do you mean? Not now?’ It earns you a grumble, and Syzoth inquisitively looks into your eyes as if waiting for an immediate response. Not getting any, besides the confused expression on your face, he continues to gently nug you: ‘I still cannot grasp the extent of human obliviousness sometimes. How has your species even survived for such a long time? Can’t you tell, my love? You are with our child. And has been for…mmm around half a moon. I was assuming you at least suspected it…’ Each word hits you like a truck till Syzoth stops his silly little speech about the depths of human intellect and all you can hit him back with is…’WAIT, WHAT?’

[godihatethiswebsite]

Desert Oasis

✽ Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x f!reader (The Mummy AU)

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part 10 - Intoxicating distractions

It's been a bad mixture of circumstances that made this take as long as it has. Normally it's just a matter of having to write between lengthy bouts of brain fog and fatigue, but unfortunately this summer hasn't been the best for me and I'm only now getting pseudo back in the swing of things.

I was planning on finishing up all of the Hamunaptra arc in this chapter, but I got tired of wanting perfection for the second half and the couple of you who stick around for this one deserved to not wait any longer.

So, here I am - breaking my own weird internal chapter flow rules. For the first time since May, have a healthy portion of 4.8k words~

Point of note - there's some Gaelic written in this chapter. Please don't google translate it as it gives you the wrong meaning. Just paste it into a search bar instead. It's from a very lovely song~

Shock, it seemed, was your body’s default response to trauma.

The aftermath of the chaos was a lead weight in your gut, sitting heavy and churning the already upset bile in your sensitive stomach. There wasn’t a direction you could turn that wasn’t the embodiment of wanton destruction and needless massacre. Trampled tents and belongings were either pulverized or in a state of disarray. Lifeless bodies like discarded toys amongst the rubble, flayed open and strewn across the wreckage as if tossed aside carelessly by their former masters. Charred remains smoldering in the sand, the smoke making your eyes sting almost as much as the odor, outer layer of crispy skin still bubbling long after the corpse was cooked. 

The cold distance of disassociation shifted into an unsettled queasiness at full force, giving you only moments to recognize the acidity racing up your throat before collapsing to your knees in the dirt, the bitter mess splattering between your hands unfortunately not out of place in this setting.

Maybe your reaction might have been different if you’d been forced to witness the fallout of that eerily similar night on the ferry. Maybe you wouldn’t be bent over hurling up rations behind a broken pillar that felt as collected as your emotions. But the souls of the deceased had been lost to the bottom of the Nile and you’d been spared the horrors up close. 

There was no such luck this time. 

Kyle must notice you first, calling out your name with rattled urgency as you rise on shaky legs from your hiding spot, grateful your clothes had at least been spared from your embarrassment. There was an instant relief at seeing your cousin standing before you, hands firmly grasping your shoulders keeping you at arms length while taking in your disheveled appearance for any sign of injury or impairment. At first glance, he didn’t seem any less worse for wear himself, something you were entirely grateful for.

“Jesus! You alright, dolly?” The hands on your shoulders slid to your upper arms, gentle stroking motions ironing out the lingering chill in your bones, concern evident in eyes that raked over your frame in detail.

You weren't confident with your nod, still processing the last few minutes of wanton bloodshed. Your cousin’s careful touch was a blessed balm for your struggling nerves, taking in a few deep breaths in time with his own as he worked to ground you. 

How someone could get used to this violent lifestyle you’d never know.

A startled gasp left your throat as you were promptly whirled around to face a fuming pair of cerulean orbs, blue waves turbulent as his emotions consumed him raw. You could almost be washed out to its churning Mediterranean Sea if not for the tight grip his fingers dug into your flesh, nostrils flaring, each word emphasized with a jarring shake. 

“Bloody fuckin– the hell ye doin’ out ‘ere, lass?! Huh?!”

The second time staring down the Scotsman’s wrath was no less intimidating than the first. Here you were smack dab in the middle of another hazardous situation - at first glance having apparently not learned your lesson from last time - surrounded by corpses that could’ve so easily been you. What savage fury had once been loosed upon the men responsible for this carnage was now pinpoint fixed on your trembling form. 

Lips parted like a gaping fish, opening and closing as you struggled to explain the circumstance that led you here under the riptide of his ire. He didn’t even allow you time to formulate a coherent response before he was promptly shoving your face in his chest, catching you off guard while bulky forearms wrapped around you to an almost crushing degree. Your hands braced on his sternum were the only things keeping your nose from getting smashed and giving you some minor space to breathe.

“Ye were supposed tae be safe, ya daft hen...” There was palpable anger in his tone, but also a weary frustration as he unconsciously squeezed you tighter. “Wha’ part of don’t move did ye not comprehend?”

“I’m sorry…” your voice soft, teetering on wobbly, “One of the camels–”

Johnny cut you off again with a growl. “Dunnae care about no damn beast, hen. Only you. Ah say stay, ye stay. Got it?”

There was nothing you could say to justify your actions to them. You hadn’t meant to end up in the thick of it, truly. Kyle might be your cousin, but there wasn’t an ounce of fighter in your side of the bloodline. If the adrenaline hadn’t kept you singularly focused on your goal of retrieving the runaway animal then maybe you’d have noticed its intended path earlier and could’ve turned tail, avoiding this whole fiasco.

Instead, you made yourself appear foolish, something that tugged on your chest with a bright blossom of shame.

Johnny realized himself at the sound of your unbidden quiet whimper, his stance relaxing marginally as he forced a steadying exhale from his lungs, tugging on his own reins. Hands turned from smothering to cradling, next words spoken tersely but with much more self-control.

“Ah cannae protect ye if I dunnae ken where ye are - neither of us can. Ah’m thinkin’ yer tucked away from danger when ye’ve really been right next tae me the whole time. Cannae so easily take the offensive when ah’m forced ta do the opposite. Make sense, lass?”

Humming your affirmation with another soft apology, you closed your eyes against the gruesome visions surrounding the three of you, his lessened grip allowing you to maneuver yourself more comfortably in his hold, arms reaching around his stocky build with fingers groping into the back of his shirt like a lifeline. Kyle’s tender touch joined his, knuckles stroking soothingly down the back of your arm as they each placed a chaste kiss to your crown.

His arms were still around you as the remaining members of the other expedition hesitantly approached, a pregnant pause as they shifted and looked between themselves awkwardly as if silently debating who amongst them would be the one to speak, eventually settling on Hutch.

“Whaddya fellas say to a small truce…?”

It was almost an insult when the offending camel came trotting back a short while later, as if it had merely gone for a casual midnight jaunt rather than almost costing you your life chasing after it in the first place.

What remaining tents could be salvaged were moved farther into the city towards your thankfully untouched encampment, the few remaining workers left behind to scavenge through the rubble and properly dispose of the bodies of their slain brethren. You held a slight disdain for the Americans sitting comfy on their cushions nearby, content to let the hired help do all the heavy lifting while they gloated in their sorting of their precious valuables, inspecting for any minor cracks and dents that could cost them even a fraction of a pound off their eventual asking price.

The majority of their group had just been killed in cold blood. The least they could’ve done was help pile the corpses, something even your boys had assisted with after seeing you back to your tent with pointed looks not to wander off this time. 

Besides their uncaring attitudes, it was less tense than you thought seated across the blazing fire from the others. Even Graves seemed to have been whipped into his best behavior after everything that went down, gracefully keeping his mouth shut and facial expression free of sneer. No one wanted to really converse, retreating to their own corners to try and forget the night's events.

“Bastards are like fucking cockroaches,” Roze spit out, violently ripping into a piece of jerky with her bared canines and more gusto than needed.

“Thought we taught them enough of a lesson last time,” chirped Oz with an air of self bloating. “Showed them they picked the wrong crowd to tango with.”

“They chased us off the boat, mate,” Kyle snarked as your pair returned from their labors, intent to settle down for the night. “Hate to break it to ya, but I don’t think we were the ones who made off with the upper hand there.”

Even the glowers directed towards him for contradicting their senseless beliefs didn’t stop your cousin from nicking a bottle of something strong from the Americans. 

“You mind?” Oz spoke up as Kyle brazenly yanked the dark glass from his hands, trotting over to plop down next to Johnny who’d taken up residence to your right.

“Call it a tithe for savin’ your arses and letting you stay the night over here with us.” The bottle uncorked with a coherent pop, a subtle fizz releasing into the dry air before Kyle gave it a quick swirl. Whatever contents he sniffed inside must’ve been good enough for his palate, tipping his head back to take the first swig with a satisfied groan, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

That reaction was good enough for you.

“For once, dear cousin, I find we are in agreement.” In lieu of a soothing cup of chamomile, if there was one thing you could use after the excitement of the day, it was a stiff drink to help clear out your ruminating mind. 

Leaning across the space with your arm outstretched for the bottle in question, he happily handed it over to you with an encouraging chuckle. “Good on ya, dolly.” 

Johnny merely raised an eyebrow at you in question, not having seen you as anything other than proper since your first introduction in the prison cell.

You ignored it as you inspected the label, squinting to read the smudged ink on crinkled paper, clearly water damaged from its previous dip in the river. Shiraz from a vineyard in Khollar; written out in simple scrawl. Peering inside you found a light pale liquid, a flavor profile comparable to that of an old sherry - dry and nutty. At first taste it parched your tongue, settling on the back of your soft palate, different from the sweeter aged varieties you preferred but not an unwelcome tang. 

If you could share a brandy with your cousin in your father’s old smoking room then you could certainly down a bottle of dry wine in an ancient forbidden city.

The evening progressed with not much shared conversation between the twelve or so of you still remaining, both sides opting to chatter amongst themselves despite the close proximity. It certainly wasn’t any skin off your back, losing yourself in the strong ABV as if it was a more succulent port, in a place far more rose tinted than here amongst the wafting smell of camels.

You rarely - if ever - allowed yourself to indulge, noting only a small handful of instances during the last decade you’d ventured past the point of tipsy over a game of cards with the other noble women of society. It was ‘unbecoming’ of a lady, a twilight activity best left to gentlemen's clubs where the rich white men of the ton congratulated themselves on being masters of the universe.

Whoever said men were the only ones permitted to have all the fun hadn’t been privy to the goings on behind closed parlour doors.

Still, you ended up just as sloshed as your cousin for a change, grateful for the way the warming alcohol buzzed in the back of your brain and loosened the tension from your shoulders. It was freeing having the ability to shut your brain off for a few scant hours, granting a short reprieve from the all too real worries the night sky had brought with it. You could forget all about the bloodstained granules you’d traipsed through on your way back to camp, trading coppery cabernet for nutty shiraz.

The pale waning moon hung bright in the dappled sky, nestled amongst a symphony of speckled jewel tones and painted galaxies that glistened like bioluminescent mermaid scales. A sight like no other; your wayward imagination was easily lost in the spiraling fractals of cosmology, floating above like kicked up stardust from the twirling of dancing deities. It was one of many things you’d come to appreciate outside the realm of the bright Egyptian cities. Too much of it was hidden by the industrial glow of a bustling population to be visible from the balcony of your estate. Out here with only flickering firelight to illuminate the space, the heavens were on naked display.

The rattled snoring from your cousin provided an added ambiance to an already jostled night, having curled up into a ball some minutes ago despite swearing to only resting his eyelids. Perhaps if he hadn’t needn’t to be saved only a few moments prior from a less-than-dignified face planting into the spitting firewood then you might’ve been more inclined to believe him, having yanked him backwards a hair’s breadth from the flames, his self imposed vertigo doing a better job impersonating a tilt-a-whirl than a man.

Johnny, meanwhile, hadn’t partaken despite the badgerings of your cousin. An oddity considering what you’d known of the man. Though, you supposed, someone needed to retain their sobriety should another event befall your troupe. 

Didn’t stop him from delighting in your own inebriated state, bullying your full attention now that the others had bid their goodnights.

“Yer oot yer face, lass,” he chuckled at your expense, his thumb wiping away a dribble of spilled wine from the corner of your mouth as you fought to keep in the intoxicating liquid from a previously made humorful comment. “Right mad with it, ye are.”

You watched in a hazy rapture as he brought the thick digit to his mouth, tongue swirling around the calloused pad, lips sucking off the taste with a bit more zeal than necessary and far too much eye contact for what was appropriate.

Swallowing the shiraz in your mouth, you wiped your chin with the back of your hand before addressing his remarks. “Apologies for breaking the illusion of primness and propriety.”

“It’s yer own stomach ye’ll be boakin’ up,” he shrugged with an air of teasing, still keeping an eye on you should the urge come to pass. “Haven’t ya hurled enough fer one night, lass?”

You glowered over the rim of the bottle, face struggling to remain flat and unamused despite the twitch in your lips stating the contrary. “Low blow, MacTavish…”

“Ah, so it’s MacTavish when yer cross with me, aye?” 

God, he was an insufferable bastard. Lounging there all smug with that mischievous twinkle and those prominent laugh lines. Why you just wanted to lean over and lick them clean off his stupid face–

No.

“You’ll hear me saying ‘Johnny’ again when you do something to earn the privilege back.”

“Oh, ah plan tae earn it alright.”

The subtle innuendo wasn’t at all subtle, but in your current state it was hard to distinguish between what was mere banter at this point and the fervid looks he’d been doling out since your second meeting.

You scrambled for a change of subject, hoping for a much needed distraction from the steady pulse between your thighs.

“You did something earlier that caught me by surprise. In the temple,” you prodded. “Curious for a catholic boy to worship at the altar of another god.” It was an honest question if not a bit ribbing, reflecting back to his quiet presence next to you in the inner sanctuary of Horus, head bowed in silent reverence towards a figure not affixed to a cross.

“Havnae been a good boy in a long time now, lass. War will do that ta ye.” The shrug he gave was nonchalant, as was his tone. But there was something strained to his words that spoke of deeper issues held towards his faith. “But ah see no harm in honorin’ a sacred space, ‘specially in such a desolate place like this. If the old gods wanna grant us safe passage fer a kindly visit then ah won't be sayin’ no tae a helpin’ hand.”

That hadn’t been the kind of diversion you’d been poking for, and you weren’t far gone enough in your cups to keep prying at an open wound. Somber didn’t suit him and you desired to have your playful companion back.

Instead, you set about grabbing at his weathered journal, snatching it up from its unattended spot near his bedroll in hopes to garner a more lighthearted reaction.

The leather binding was well worn, skin lightened where the natural oils of his hands rubbed off on the spots where he frequently cradled the book. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it - no engraving or even simple initials embedded on the spine marking it as his. But it was clear that it had gone with him to the edges of the world and back. Large water splotches warped the hide. Dark blood stains you couldn’t be sure were his. The curled edges of the pages crinkled and dirtied from muddy fingertips. You could even detect the faint smell of cigarette smoke and musky cologne, something similar to the fragrance currently attached to his skin.

“Gonna pry into mah deep dark secrets now, hen?” Johnny quirked a brow in intrigue, though he made no attempt to halt your endeavours.

“Well now it’s not nearly as much fun if you’re letting me do it,” you grumbled good naturedly, causing a light hearted chuckle from him before flipping to the first of many pages.

You expected to find clever writings and gossip upon turning the cover, illegible chicken scratch venting at the harshness of life abroad. Maybe a few rambles here and there at certain spectacles of particular enjoyment. What you hadn’t envisioned was a book filled with detailed illustrations and odd sketches that told the stories he'd witnessed without call for an alphabet; words made real taken shape on the page. Some were more juvenile in form - stick figures and rough outlines, half formed thoughts in a hurry - while others were artistic renderings he'd taken particular care with in their recreation. There was no need for written word when he so eloquently laid bare his inner thoughts with practiced technique of shading and highlighting.

“Not wha’ ya thought ye’d find, eh?”

The question itself was rhetorical. It was clear he’d known he would catch you off guard, possibly used to the same reaction garnered from others in the past. Could you blame them though? I mean, who would expect a stalwart soldier like him to possess such artistic skill?

But was that… that small shake in his voice when he cleared his throat… was he…?

Turning the pages, a London skyline greeted you, sketches of back home amongst civilian life, a cute critter peeking out near the bottom corner of the page you recognized as Julius from various trips to the picture palaces during sweltering English summers (you’d seen a handful of the Alice Comedies yourself, the mixture of live action and hand drawn animation enchantingly brought to life by a young artist named Walt).

There were a handful of times the journal was plucked from your fingers and turned from view, certain secrets best kept hidden as he searched for a more appropriate page to let you explore. Whether the contents were too personal for you to engage with or even something deemed too grotesque for your comparatively innocent gaze, you weren’t sure. But you didn’t push the subject when he handed the item back to you, accepting the bits of his private thoughts he offered up willingly and with a grateful smile.

The pair of you spent an unknown length of time combing through the catalogs of his adventures, continuing to sip at the dark glass bottle, though far more occupied with the details on the page to really maintain any sort of solid buzz. Some depictions required more elaboration, you pointing at different sketches with all the enthusiasm of a child being read aloud from a favored picture book, eyes bright and inviting of the stories he was all too happy to share.

The tranquility of a small farmhouse backdropped against a sea of rolling meadows particularly captured your attention. It reminded you far too much of your youth spent exploring the wilds beyond your cousin’s childhood abode. “And this one? Where was this sketched?”

Wistful pride lit him from within. “That there’s mah home, lass.”

You inspected the illustration a bit more thoroughly at the revelation, brushing careful fingertips over the smudged graphite, imagining the scene with brighter colors and a warm gentle breeze rustling the long wild grassland. A modest barn was implied towards the west end of the property, the shadows of a fence winding a perimeter. Flipping to the backside of the parchment revealed the scene in more detail, tools stacked neatly along the inside of an open swing door, highland cattle grazing amongst the feed troughs within the confines of their pen. 

A bust of the fluffy beast stared you head on with hairy concealed eyes on the accompanying page, bumpy wet nose glistening and mouth open mid chew of its sweet herby meal. You could imagine long hours spent caring for its herd, the scritches his bushy mane must’ve received.

“Grew up a country boy, huh?”

“Ah ken mah way ‘round a tractor,” came the boasted reply.

You snorted. “Well, aren't you just rich.”

Johnny patted the small leather pouch secured to his belt, bursting with coin from your early morning victory and kept safe on his person. “Ah’ve earned mah keep.”

Lingering over the page a bit longer, you unexpectedly changed course, flipping from the very back of the journal, curious to see his most recent works. “Let’s see what you’ve been making of our current adventure, shall we?”

Blank pages waiting to be filled gave way to remarkable hieroglyphics embedded in your retinas as clear as day on the page before you, given far more detail than you would have otherwise given him credit for. There was no need for going back to create charcoal rubbings of the reliefs when you had all you needed right here on the page. Skimming further uncovered lifelike renditions of various statues housed within. 

Giant obelisks outside the temple of Hathor. A bust of Amun-Ra. The remains of the boat docks. Tiny replicas of ivory treasures. Hatshepsut’s stone sarcophagus. Pharaonic headdresses. A small ceremonial altar.

When had he even had time to put pencil to paper?!

“Jesus Johnny–”

“There we go,” he interjected with a smirk at the return of his name, though you continued unimpeded.

“–do you have a photographic memory or something?! These carvings are immensely accurate for someone who can’t even read the language!”

“Not quite tha’ remarkable unfortunately,” he added. “Cannae seem tae recall the direction some of ‘em were facin’. Ah ken that’s important tae the syntax.”

“Damn near close enough…” you trailed off, muttering under your breath. It spoke volumes that you were having no trouble at all forming sentence structures from what little he had jotted down. The fact that he could remember the preserved paintings better than you… 

“All this from memory…”

“Gotta have a good eye fer detail if ye dunnae wanna get killed,” he explained. 

You hummed at his words. “Was wondering why a soldier like yourself had been taking such an interest.”

“Ah may be a brute, lass, but ah ken art when ah see it.”

You went unnaturally still halfway through flipping the page. Breath caught in your throat like a mouse in a cage, heart pounding in your ears drowning out the grumbled snorings of present company. You wondered at the drawing that took up the full span of parchment. Of all the things for him to–

A figure. 

You.

You’d seen others littered across his journal; learned their names and heard their stories. Comrades in arms, random strangers in pubs. An older woman who shared his same broad nose. 

But this was different. 

There was no mistaking the care and attention that went into creating the likeness of the moment. You recalled sitting by the fire the other night, the long winded conversation between you, sitting position reflected on the paper from his vantage point. At the time you’d assumed his pencil had been scrawling out notes - perhaps quiet confessions of the encounters that turned this expedition into something very different. Words that if spoken aloud and given life would reveal a man who regretted stepping foot outside his cell.

Who knew this admission would be the most damning of all.

“...you drew me?”

“Like ah said.” 

Ah ken art when ah see it.

Words escaped you at that. What were you supposed to say when faced with such a declaration? Thank you didn’t seem right, but making no comment at all felt even worse. 

It didn’t help that even in your inebriated condition the burn of his stare sent scorch marks flaring across your cheek like a flash grenade. Caught up in the well of emotions at the etherealness he used to portray you, you all at once became hyper aware of the scant few inches separating you and him, all but in his lap as he at some point scooted closer to peer over your shoulder.

Johnny smoothly pulled the remaining alcohol from your grasp, trading a heavy waterskin for your near-empty bottle of wine with only slight fuss from you at the loss. “C’mon, m’eudail. Let’s get ye soberin’ up so yer not dead on yer feet come mornin’.”

“That’s the third time you’ve called me that,” you remarked, handing the pouch back over after a few refreshing gulps. “May-doll. What’s it mean?”

“Means yer a right pain in the arse.”

You heavily considered calling his bluff, but on the off chance you were wrong you didn’t need to look any more stupid than the nickname implied. “To be expected from such a harsh dialect,” you countered instead.

There was that glimmer of trouble again. “Ye think mah native tongue barbaric, lass?”

“Well it’s certainly not a romance language,” you chuckled in response, rising to your feet and nearly tipping ass over tea kettle until his firm grip yanked and manhandled you right into his lap. It was on the tip of your tongue to break out in a fit of giggles at your clumsiness, but one look from him with those deep passionate eyes kept you spellbound and tongue tied in a chinese knot.

“Ye want a gent that’s soft and eloquent, or a man who kens how tae get the job done?”

The heated furnace in your belly blossomed at the suggestion in his words. While your maidenhead was still intact, by no means were you a stranger to the pleasures one could bring themselves in the secret of the night. Your fingers knew best the way your body curved and constricted around delicate digits. Those same feelings stirred like a famished beast, gulping down thick buckets of desire, your fervent gaze made bolder by shiraz darting briefly down to his lips in what you hoped was quick enough to sneak past his purview. 

The way his pupils dilated told you you'd failed. 

“How about a man who can do both? Does the art of courtship die with the fall of chivalry?”

A calloused hand stroked over your face, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over the sliver of skin beneath your bottom lip. He held your chin the way you held your breath as he leaned forward to softly graze his nose against yours. There was no way he didn’t hear your heart pounding out of your chest, the way your lungs rapidly gulped in shallow gasps of air. How you had to adjust your legs to take the edge off the burn.

His words were a mere whisper against your lips, tasting his breath as melodic phrases flowed from a silver dipped tongue. “Ged nach eil sinn fhathast pòsd’ tha mi'n dòchas gum bi. Fhad’ ’s a mhaireas mo dhà dhòrn cha bhith lòn oirnn a dhìth.”

Johnny must be one of the fae, you surmised, the way he ensnares you so easily like a siren’s call with foreign words only your heart gleans the meaning of. The vocalizations are rough - yet delicate and sensual in the enchanting lilt of his homeland. There’s witchcraft winding its way around your spirit, sent from heather covered mountains and babbling brooks; crafted by dwarves and perfected in sacred mushroom circles. It’s the only logical reason as to why eyes as soft as his have taken complete control over the lifeblood thrumming in your veins.

There’s a moment where you’re all but certain you’ll meet in the middle, where the dance the two of you have been skirting around will finally come to a head and you discover how much sweeter the shiraz is when tasted from his mouth. 

But when his lips settle on your brow, you fight not to let the disappointment show. 

“Off tae bed with ye, lass,” he murmurs softly, “dunnae want yer cousin tae skelp me fer keepin’ ye up too late.”

<< ✿ Previous ✿ <<

[raemoriendi]

I’m smack in the middle of a spontaneous rewatch, so do you wanna hear my batshit zombie land saga theory?

(yeah you do, here we go)

so, this guy —

is obviously not who he says he is. mysterious idol producer who spent enough time in hollywood learning makeup sfx skills that makes zombies regularly look like normal living teenage girls, who then despite his apparent egregious talent with a makeup brush, returns to his very small and little known hometown in japan? who happens to also figure out how to bring back girls that have been killed by the Saga curse?

yeah, we as the audience are set up to know there’s more to him that meets the eye. especially with the flashback to him as Sakura’s pre-death classmate, Inui, which I am mentally chewing on like a dog with a bone.

(like romero here.)

but!! while I don’t have a lot of proof, and I'm working from the anime alone (not the manga that came out after or Zombie Land Saga Gaiden), due to my own weird special interest in funerary practices, I have a theory about what he might actually be:

Kotaro either is or was at some point, a mortician, or a yukanshi/nōkanshi.

(putting this under a cut, because it gets long, and also for some s1 and s2 spoilers.)

this initially occurred to me in season one, episode two, when we first saw Kotaro putting makeup on Sakura before a show in the back of the van, specifically applying a flesh-colored putty with something that looked like an offhand spatula to the big scar in the middle of her forehead. You can see it at the timestamp 14:11.

this reminded me of something called Embalmer’s Putty, which is used in the embalming process (or a general process of touching up the decedent minus chemical preservation) to fill in wounds for a viewing, visiting hours, or any gathering where the deceased’s loved ones might want to see their body for a last time.

here are screengrabs from two different funerary equipment companies showing what embalmer’s putty looks like and what it can do:

embalming putty can be already flesh-toned so as to look like living skin, and thus blend in with the mortician’s final product: making the deceased look more lively and at rest, restoring their dignity and giving peace of mind to the bereaved who want to see them off.

this process is actually really well summarized here, in this article from Regal Casket company:

if Kotaro was trained as a mortician or funerary cosmetologist, he would be trained to do exactly what he does every time he helps the girls get ready: making them look alive, healthy, and most importantly, lacking any visible mortal wounds that could upset their living audience. The girls themselves remark on how he makes them not only look like their old selves, but at times even better than before. this is exactly the type of skill set he would need to cultivate if he was preparing bodies for a last moment together with the deceased's loved ones, so they don't remember the celebrant as they were when they died, but how they looked in life.

keep in mind also that if Kotaro really had learned his makeup skills in Hollywood, he would have learned how to apply wound makeup/sfx to in-tact, healthy, living skin to make it look dead or wounded, not the other way around. makeup artists, even special effects makeup artists, are not taught how to work with dead or decaying human skin.

on top of this, a regular special effects artist would not be trained to fill grave injuries or mortal wounds, because their canvases are all living, presumably healthy people with no major injuries, who are able to go on movie sets and act for hours and hours at a time.

Kotaro wouldn’t (or shouldn’t) even be using the same kind of makeup that would go on living people, because dead bodies, obviously, are often room temperature at most when they’re being prepared for viewing, if not colder due to being held temporarily in cooling storage to prevent decay. funerary cosmetics are specifically formulated to account for this lack of temperature in a dead person, because makeup spreads differently over cold skin as compared to the warm skin of someone alive. trying to put on regular makeup, even special effects makeup, would look more than off - something Franchouchou is definitely keen to avoid if they want to keep their cover. (Or wanted to, before the storm aftermath of s2.)

some other points of interest that (to me) can be read to support this theory:

Kotaro drives a black van. while not a hearse (or “funeral coach” as the industry sometimes calls them) it’s still the right color to blend in to a funeral procession if needed, and large enough to store necessary equipment for services, viewings, etc.

Kotaro is always in a suit except when he's bathing or sleeping - specifically, a dark-colored suit. Even when the man was in a full depressive episode by the beginning of s2, he still kept his suit pants and dress shirt. It serves the purpose of being seen as a (semi-)competent idol producer who’s always ready to make a deal for his band, sure! but if his day job when he don’t see him (going away “on business” like during the episode Sakura had amnesia) it also suits him working in the somber, subdued environment of a funeral home. (minus the shades, red vest, and dried squid in his pocket. those are likely just part of his persona for Franchouchou's sake.)

Kotaro had to become familiar with resurrection magic somehow. Who’s to say he couldn’t come into contact with it during his work at a funeral home or as a mortician, something that would keep him adjacent to death and its sacred rites and practices? possibly from a young age, considering many funeral workers can start an apprenticeship or internship in their late teens? Wouldn’t that make more sense contextually than him just stumbling across it in a library, or randomly in a magical encounter in a world where zombies exist?

Kotaro coughing up blood at the end of s2 might be the Curse, but it might also be the stress of managing Franchouchou on top of the stress of his day job. these positions can be highly taxing emotionally and physically, as one needs to be a steadying presence for people on some of the worst days of their lives, and while embalming isn't as much of a thing in Japan (to my knowledge), exposure to certain chemicals from the restoration process over time has proven to be hazardous to one's health.

“okay, rae, maybe,” you’re saying. “but some of these are still kind of a stretch.”

this is where I get a little more speculative, but bear with me:

from the brief glimpse we have of him as Inui, and based on the translation of “Inui” and “Tatsumi” being opposite directions (northwest and southeast, respectively), we know that Kotaro wasn’t always this brash, loud idiot producer we know today. there was apparently a point in high school where he was very shy, and was maybe friends with Sakura, or at least acquaintences.

what if Inui was so shy and soft-spoken because he had grown up in the world of funerary traditions? many funeral homes are often generational, handed down from parent to child as a family business. someone accustomed (or maybe just exposed) to death that early might have some reasons to be kind of quiet and withdrawn.

this might also account for how he knew about the other dead girls of Franchouchou before Sakura. if one of his parents or even his grandparents were handling Saga’s deceased, he would have had an opportunity to hear about the accidents that killed them before the news spread as widely, encounter them in the restoration stage as dead bodies (depending on when they happened and if he was alive yet), and even seen their makeup applied by his predecessors if he was allowed in the prep room, or at least hear their recollections of it after the fact.

we know that he’s descended from Kiichi, Yugiri's love interest from when she was alive, who was a young man dedicated to seeing Saga's return after it merged with another region and lost its name. we also know he's being mentored by the immortal bartender Jofuku, who's said to be Saga's living embodiment, and supposedly is or is based on a wizard from mythology who discovered the Elixir of Immortality. while Jofuku is a likely source for the magic of necromancy, and maybe even selected the girls he wanted resurrected, it would make sense that people involved with Saga's dead were in contact to some degree with the man who is Saga itself, especially since the ZSL fandom wiki has noted that Saga's Curse in current times has manifested as a low birth rate and aging population. if there are more dead and dying in Saga than there are living, a family funeral home would be kept quite busy, on top of all the random accidents that the Curse causes to cut down people who would bring Saga recognition or prosperity.

so let's try this on for size: Inui grows up in a family of yukanshi/nōkanshi, who prepare the decedents for customary otsuya -- a wake held the night before the funeral itself, meant to give the living bereaved a last night to spend with their late loved one. his family likely also participates to some degree in the funeral ceremony itself (osohiki) and the cremation (kasou) before the ashes are interred. (I got my info on Japanese funerals here, as imperfect as it may be.) Inui learns about the historical funerals of Saga's famous dead that he wasn't around for through his family's experiences or through their ties to Jofuku. He begins training to take over the family business maybe as a teenager, this peculiar adolescence maybe leaving him a little more reserved than his classmates.

it might also give him the chance to practice his proficiency with music composition and his instruments -- song selection is a not-small part of modern funerary practices. maybe his family encouraged him to learn to write songs and play so he could perform at funerals? his stage fright evidenced in other episodes would shut that down pretty quickly, of course, but maybe this interest in music is how he becomes friends with Sakura to begin with, as evidenced by the clip of the CD exchange.

but then Sakura is killed in a terrible accident and his world turns upside down. it's bad enough that he's grieving, but then her body might come to his family's funeral home to be prepared for her ceremony and interment. he sees this lively, determined girl he admired dead and cold on the prep room table, her beautiful face ruined, and it's just not fair. how can his heart not break?

maybe he goes to Jofuku and demands to know what the old man knows about bringing people back, and the Curse. maybe he's less direct, but seeks the knowledge of necromancy for himself, with his family so close to death for so many generations. he continues his training for ten years, learning all he can about how to make the dearly departed look like themselves again. look better than themselves, even.

when the Zombie Land Saga Project is in the planning stages, living in a funeral family might give him access to or secondhand knowledge of where all the girls' ashes are interred. eventually, his line of work gives him the opportunity to collect however much he needs from each for the magic to work.

he knows it can, because even though Jofuku himself has never died, Romero has, and has been successfully brought back at some point. he's a little weird and not the prettiest, but he's still very much a dog.

ten years later, when the spell takes hold and his undead Saga champions resurrect, he knows how to make each and every one of them look like their old selves again.

he does Sakura's makeup first, just to see his old friend again as he remembered her.

we know how the rest goes from there, but this is my overarching theory that explains Why Kotaro Tatsumi outside his relationship to Sakura, but also how he could come up with Zombie Land Saga outside of just being a citizen of Saga himself.

anyway!! apologies if this was scattered, I wrote it in dribs and drabs throughout the day, but it's been gnawing at me for a minute. if there's anything canon I don't know about that completely obliterates this theory, then just call it an AU, and if this has already been agreed on in other parts of fandom, just call me fashionably late.

if you've read this long, you're a sweetheart <3

[captain-mj]

I love the Superhero AU! After the first part you mentioned another part was on the way, so I didn't want to bother to ask you to continue when that was already the plan. Not a fan of making people feel rushed.

The "enemies to lovers" tending to their injuries and recovery. The "I didn't know where else to go." I AM INSTANTLY DECEASED. I NEED MORE! I need it to its conclusion! The pet shadows with the judgmental stare! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Delivered!! Im very glad you liked it!!

@joltom

Ghost was… well. Struggling. He was starving, having a hard time cooking for himself, and he was pretty sure any progress he made on his ribs had gotten fucked up when he had gotten tossed around like a ragdoll. His shadows did their best, but they could only do so much, especially when he didn’t have the strength to take control of them.

It took two days, and the realization that despite all of this trying he wasn’t healing yet, before Ghost shot Soap a text. “Come over.”

Soap got the text message during a meeting. Price had asked him a million questions when he finally showed up but he had simply explained that Ghost had “Contacted him for information and opened up about a possible future” which quickly made Price let that slide. How could he be mad at him for that? Their whole goal was to deal with Ghost by either getting him to stop or joining so that way he would have to follow the rules.

When Soap saw Ghost’s come over message, he didn’t even have to lie about who it was or what he asked. So Soap was over in a flash, desperate to find out what Ghost wanted.

To find him in a worse state than before was rather distressing after all of the excitement. Soap happily helped him out though and, despite how much Ghost hated it, they quickly formed a nice alliance.

Ghost, in a rather desperate need to be useful, gave Soap missions. Nothing that would require someone dying, of course. Just stopping specific times that would take place at certain times or checking on a situation for him.

Soap found himself more and more infatuated with him. The Shadows begrudgingly gave their approval of him after a while which was much appreciated, but there were more and more strands of darkness around Ghost. They were slow to appear and Ghost explained they’d been busy keeping some of his organs working.

“Not quite immortality but close, yeah? That’s the not sentient part of it. Even if the Shadows disappeared or I put them away for a bit, this stays.”

Soap felt a lot better when he thought about kissing Ghost later. The Shadows wouldn’t have to watch but he’d still be strong enough to properly kiss back. Excellent.

(Though Soap had to admit, in most of his fantasies, Ghost’s perceived weakness was a bonus. The idea of him easily pinning down the great Ghost, turning him from a powerful antihero to just the human underneath. Very exciting prospects.)

But he was careful to not think of any of that while he took care of Ghost. He stayed clinical. Just a sweet nurse to help him out.

Ghost was very happy the first day he didn’t really need Soap around. Soap was crushed. But… Ghost never really asked him to stop coming and Soap continued to arrive and they acted… normal.

They’d watch tv or Soap would cook while Ghost watched him and one day, instead of wearing his balaclava, he wore a black gaiter, letting Soap see the… the…

“You’re blond?” That was the first thing Soap said. Besides the fact his hair was a beautiful mess of bedhead curls that had Soap foaming at the mouth, it made the soft brown eyes seem so much darker by comparison.

“I bleach it.”

Soap could barely string his thoughts together afterwards. Ghost made food this time, watching him with slight amusement.

“My mum taught me how to cook.” Ghost said softly. He seemed a little vulnerable at this moment, the Shadows having disappeared. The sun on him. Soap shouldn’t be staring. He’s supposed to be a good person. A hero. The epitome of chivalry and bravery and all that.

So why did he feel like such a coward? He just kept staring at Ghost’s back. Underneath his band tee, there were tons of scars. Scars Soap had wanted to touch. His own skin couldn’t do it. No one he knew had such vulnerabilities and those that did most certainly didn’t put themselves in harm's way. He didn’t make friends with many regular people. Maybe that’s why Ghost felt so… refreshing. Tempting.

Soap wanted. He lusted. All while Ghost tentatively shared details about his life.

Soap had never felt like more of a bad person.

Ghost put the food in front of him and Soap ate every bite. It was so good and Ghost softened the more he ate.

Soap smiled at him a little and Ghost glanced away. They were dancing around each other and the music had started to crescendo. Eventually, they’d have to collide. To come to some conclusion.

“Why do you keep coming?” Ghost asked softly. “Are you waiting for me to change my mind? I’m not going to join your league. I can’t. How well do you think it’ll go if they find out I’m human?”

“I’m not here to make you join the league.”

Ghost stared at him, analyzing him. When he was satisfied with what he found, he asked. “Then what are you here for? Because you didn’t keep coming out of the kindness of your own heart. There’s other people. Other things you could be doing. I went back to going out and helping people and you didn’t stop me. So what do you want from me?”

“I want you.” Soap admitted softly. “I just… want you.”

“I’m not something worth wanting.” Ghost said softly.

Soap swallowed. “My name is Johnny. I’m 24. I hate dogs. I’ve dated a bunch of people but never anything serious. I knew i was going to be a hero by the time i was 8 and they told me i was made for it. I so rarely get to want things but i really, really want you.”

Ghost tilted his head, something amused there again. “I know what you’re thinking. You see my big brown eyes and you think I’m all pretty under here. Maybe the hair gets you all hot and bothered. I make jokes. I pretend. But I know once I lose the mask, it's gone. I’m not attractive under here. A fact I’m reminded of constantly. So let me go ahead and shatter the illusion.”

He took his mask off and dropped it on the table.

The scarring was not pretty. A sharply cut Glasgow smile. Burns. Acid burns. That’s what they were. Cutting streaks down from his lips and down his chin. They were faded and clearly a little old but still visible.

“You’re gorgeous.” Soap said softly, but just a little too fast to be a lie.

Ghost made a face as he stared at him, but it quickly started to crumble. “What?”

“You’re gorgeous.” Soap repeated and with little effort, he was in front of Ghost, hand on his shoulders. He was being greedy again. Drinking him in.

The kiss was fast. Desperate. Strangely human.