#suicide feels like this unstoppable force coming at me and its like. there is no way for me to stop this event.

[wonderfables-moved]

vent in tags don't rb don't worry it's chill

[knockyasocksoff2022]

☾🐈‍⬛Where Black & White Make Red🥀☽

☾The Deal☽

☾1,316 Words☽

"Did no one ever tell you, Jinko, that on certain moonlit nights in this city, black, white, and red become one and the same?"

☽☾

In the chaos the Armed Detectives Agency has almost forgotten the deal they made with Mori . . . almost. And just before they do, mori comes to collect his debt.

Who will be chosen to lead the rest of their life as a mafioso?

Everyone knew it was coming, looming like distant rain clouds on a sunny day. But, for now, at least, they'd put it all out of their minds.

Today, however, on a miserably stormy day, the president has an announcement.

"Ahem, may I have everyone's attention?"

Affirmations echo around the office. The detectives think it's sweet how despite having their utmost respect the President still asks kindly for their attention.

"I want you all to listen very carefully. You can most likely sense from my tone that the news I bear is not good. At noon today, Mori-dono will be paying us a visit to inform us of which one of you he's selected for a position in the mafia."

Each member reacts differently, but the underlying emotion is all the same: shock.

Everyone thinks some version of the same thought: "I thought we'd have a little more time!"

Kunikida steels himself, stepping a bit in front of Atsushi. Yosano pulls Ranpo closer. Kenji finds Kyouka's hand and grips it tightly. The Tanizaki's cower in the corner. Dazai stares off into space, eyes fixed on Yokohama's five tallest buildings visible from the window.

"Nobody's taking my Junichi away!" Naomi declares, crushing her brother in a suffocating hug.

"Ahh, Naomi . . . l-let me go . . . please!" Junichiroiu whimpers.

The president's face turns hard, determination in every wrinkle, like a lone tugboat readying to face a Typhoon. The old wooden boat that could, the years only having made its planks sturdier, ready to take the waves without so much as a grimace, an immovable object preparing to meet an unstoppable force. 

"Mori-dono has given me no indication of who he's going to pick. It may very well be Junichirou or any of us besides Yosano-san, so please prepare yourselves. Say anything you feel you need to. Once you've been selected, you will immediately pack up your things and head with him to the mafia headquarters. You are to waste no time with your departure." 

The President's face turns sad. Well, not exactly sad, it's more than that, deeper, mournful, longing. "Once picked by Mori-dono you will be an official member of the mafia." He says this as if he cannot bring himself to say 'You will cease to be a member of this agency.' "and as per the rules of this agency, we cannot have mafia members on the premises unless for a prearranged meeting of absolute necessity. So with that in mind, I suggest that all of you start clearing out your desks of any personal items you would wish to bring with you. There is no need to prolong the process. Haruno-san will hand out boxes."

Haruno obeys, passing out cardboard boxes, and with heavy hearts, every agency member save for Yosano gathers their trinkets and places them inside. Only Dazai, who has nothing but his precious suicide manual which he always carries on his person, stands at the window, still looking out at what could be any of their future workplaces.

— 30 Minutes Later —

None of the detectives have gotten much done. Most of them have either mumbled quietly to their deskmates or looked thoughtfully at their effects. 

With his small personal shrine, Kenji prays for Mori not to pick Kyouka or Atsushi. He isn't naive. He knows someone must go, but not someone who only recently found a home in the agency. He prays for whoever does get chosen to have an okay time.

Kunikida writes his thoughts silently down in his notebook.

Yosano lets Ranpo sit in her lap, twiddling a ramune marble, whilst she sorts the infirmary supplies. She feels almost sick in her safety with the boy who showed her the light on her lap. 

'As much as I never want to be in the clutches of that . . . man (if I can even call him human) . . . if he picked Ranpo . . . I . . . I might go then, just to ensure that Ranpo can always stay in the light.'

Kyouka polishes her katana and dagger.

The Tanizaki siblings are locked in an embrace.

Atsushi tries his best to ignore the growing panic, aimlessly twirling the rows and columns of a Rubik's cube.

And Dazai just stares.

-

Not a second late, Mori arrives, Elise his only company. There are no guards and the single sleek black sedan cuts through the foggy morning like a wraith, a clear sign of who has the advantage and it sends shivers down the spines of the detectives.

"Well, we ought to give our guests a proper welcome," Kenji says, trying to cheer his coworkers, but sounding more desolate than anyone has ever heard him. 

The president sighs, "We may as well, but I will be the one to do it." He walks silently out of the office and down the stairs to the front door, having agreed only because it felt wrong to let Mori just let himself inside. 

"Fukuzawa-dono."

"Mori-dono."

The two men bow to each other, nodding affirmatively but exchanging no more words as the president leads the mafia boss into the quaint office.

-

Mori seems to be a black hole when inside the walls of the brightly coloured agency building, his boots clicking across the floor with finality, the sound bouncing off the walls and bathing the silent office in mafia black. After a moment of his steps filling the space, the man comes to a stop at the head of the room, back to the President's office.

The detectives hold their breath.

Mori smiles. If they didn't know him, the expression would appear gentle, one of serenity.

Kenji holds Kyouka's hand, steadying her as she shakes at the sight of her former superior. She knows she shouldn't be afraid anymore, and yet here he is, once again holding power over her. She can't help but tremble. This time she has more than herself to think of. Yet she still can't help but pray as hard as she can that it's not her. It makes her sick to her stomach that she wishes this after someone else.

'I should volunteer, and sacrifice myself so that the agency can continue on with its most essential member, it's the least I can do after what I've done. This is what the relatives of the 35 people I killed would want . . . B-but I-I . . . I-I d-don't want to go back to that place and take more lives. I don't want to kill EVER AGAIN!!!'

Kunikida clutches his notebook so hard his knuckles turn white as if the words inside will bring a solution, but for once his pen remains intact.

Yosano glares as hard at the mafia's leader as she can, willing laser beams to shoot from her eyes and explode him, hands itching for her cleaver to hack away at his evil form.

Ranpo is silent, grimacing. He knows who's going to be picked, of course he does. Yet, for once he doesn't shout out the answer in fear that if he does it may suddenly change. He knows that the person picked will be able to survive. If Mori were to choose another, they may lose them for good.

Junichirou stands, ready to fight, in front of his sister who curls around him with an expression of mock fear. 

"Protect me, Junichi-sama," she whispers, sounding almost aroused at her brother's sudden possessiveness. "It's alright, I won't let them separate us. Wherever I go, you go. Don't worry. You can do it."

Atsushi fights the urge to hide behind Kunikida, instead standing in front of Kyouka and Kenji.

Dazai just stares and stares and stares, brown eyes appearing to have suddenly lost all colour as they stare through Mori's very soul.

Mori's smile grows, and twists until the pressure in the room is nearly unbearable, like the deepest depths of the sea. The water swells up around you and before you know it, you can't breathe.

"Thank you for allowing me to visit today, armed detective agency. The person I have selected to join the Port Mafia is . . . "

[some-pers0n]

YOU WATCHED GODZILLA MINUS ONE LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

shaking you to talk about it

I need to just..sit and think for a minute. Give me a second..

Okay on my laptop. Now I can think. Spoilers for the movie of course (PLEASE WATCH IT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEEE)

So the movie is about a war vet, Koichi Shikishima. Shikishima was originally supposed to be a kamikaze jet fighter, but had fled his position last minute by lying about having a malfunction so he could live another day. He was afraid. He loved his family and his life. He wanted to live.

That is the main framing of the movie and the thing I kept coming back to. Shikishima felt nothing but guilt for everything he had done. The movie is more namely about WWII and its effects on Japan. On its people, both physically and mentally. Shikishima was meant to die. He was conscripted, trained, and prepared specifically to go into battle and die serving his country. This came at the end of the war however, when it became abundantly clear that a US invasion was coming. Shikishima did not want to die. He held value with his life. He saw the pointlessness of dying for a crumbling empire and lied.

Godzilla in this is a manifestation of war to me. It represents the might of the atomic bomb obviously, but also the sheer destruction and chaos of it all. It represents oblivion and the firey death that comes with war. It represents trauma. It represents Shikishima's trauma. It is why Shikishima's war still rages on. That thing is still around.

Shikishima blames himself for the event at Odo Island. He sees it as the final nail in the coffin for why he shouldn't exist anymore. He was scared. Like when he ran from his duties, he too could not fire at Godzilla as it attacked innocent people who had families to go home to. Over two dozen good men died that night because Shikishima could not act. Because of Godzilla.

Godzilla is that trauma to me. Shikishima thinks himself as a man who, by all accounts, should be dead. Why was I spared? he thinks. He believes himself as a coward. It's hammered home once he returns and sees his neighbourhood turned to rubble and dying fires. His neighbour, Sumiko, berates him for his inability to fulfill his role, blaming him for the massacre that took place. She repeats back the thoughts he already held: he is a coward. He should not be alive. What more does he have to live for? His family is dead. His inaction killed several people. He is a traitor to his country.

Suicide ideation and an inability to see a point in going on was such a noticeable part of Shikishima's character to me. His trauma and PTSD haunted him for years. He felt so much shame and guilt for what happened on that island.

Yet...he finds a reason to keep going, even if he doesn't realize just how much it means. A girl taking care of a child that is not her own, orphaned by the bomb raids, falls into his care. Soon enough, he makes a life around this girl, Noriko, and the child, Akiko. He gets odd jobs for them. He brings home money and, eventually, secures a nice government job.

I know I'm recapping thus far but also like...holy shit I gotta just lay it out. The movie just is so dense with stuff. Everything connects back to the central themes of trauma, war, and hope in the face of destruction. Everything relating to Shikishima feels so real in the sense that, for a moment, everything seems okay. It's alright. He meets and befriends his crew of people (including Dr. Noda!!! my favourite character, surprising absolutely nobody!) and it looks like things are looking up.

But it resurfaces. This beast. Awakened by the continuing nuclear bomb tests by the US. It shifts and changes, growing stronger. It is fueled by the weapons that were used to destroy and kill. It is war manifest. It is Gojira.

The boat scene was probably my favourite part in the whole movie. Seeing the main cast all work together so hard to try and outrun and wade off this unstoppable force. The CGI is also just wonderful. I still adore how it tries to emulate the flaws of practical effects in this scene in particular. The looming fear of Godzilla as it rapidly approaches them is just...so good. Then, it caps off with a sliver of hope in the form of a battleship from Singapore coming to save them, only for Godzilla to instantly body it via its atomic breath.

It resurfaces and brings back memories of that awful night. Nightmares have haunted Shikishima ever since, but they're only strengthened with Godzilla had returned. He has panic attacks. The once stoic and distant Shikishima crumbles and sobs, panicking and considering more abstract ideas. He does not see himself as alive. He's convinced he died. That none of this is real. That he isn't happy. He isn't alive. He is nothing more than a dead man who, despite anything, lives on for no real purpose.

It further hammers into him that there's no real reason to keep going like that when Noriko is swept away by the blast when Godzilla attacks Tokyo. That scene with him watching as Godzilla marvels in its destruction, screaming and yelling over the death of the person he loves. Death, trauma, war. It towers over him, shrouded in a cloud of ash and smoke and glowing a radioactive blue.

He agrees to Dr. Noda's plan to stop Godzilla, but mainly as a way for him to finally do what he always thought he was meant to do. Akiko, what is virtually his daughter in the eyes of everyone but himself, constantly broke my heart man. She loves him. She calls him daddy. She calls Noriko mommy. They're family. They're something for him to live for.

The night before Shikishima leaves to go and fulfill the role of a kamikaze, taking Godzilla down with himself, Akiko draws him a picture of their family. She cries. She wants her mother back. Why isn't she back? Where is she? Why can't daddy bring her back? It's not fair.

That scene just...hurt me so much. I can't describe it honestly. A lot of scenes with Shikishima grieving and processing his trauma cut deep, but seeing Akiko cry and Shikishima, a man who will be all but alive the next day, try and console her while still thinking about how he's gonna die... Jesus fuck man. The movie is evil.

The climax is fun, yet incredibly tense. I was on the edge of my seat the entire time. I knew that they would all be fine in the end and that Shikishima obviously must have had an eject seat installed, but I couldn't help but be engrossed into it. I think what mainly got me was seeing the citizens work together. It was emblematic of what I think is the overall message of the movie: hope. Hope to keep living. You cannot take on trauma by yourself and need a whole slew of people to support you.

Shikishima, in that fighter plane that was meant to a battle that never was, soars into the mouth of Godzilla mere seconds before it fires upon the ships. Right before the ship reaches, he pulls the eject button and survives. He...found his reason to keep going. Even if Noriko is gone, he wants to live. Even if the trauma may not fully be defeated, he wants to live. He needs to live, not just for Akiko, but for his friends. For himself. To let it known that Godzilla itself cannot take him down. He will persist in the face of oblivion manifest.

It's such an amazing movie okay? I'm just left in absolute awe at it. This and Shin Godzilla are so great. I loved Shin's portrayal of the incapability of the Japanese government in the face of disaster, namely taking inspiration from the ever-evolving disaster of the earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear meltdown. Minus One however shows the toll of trauma and war on the population. It effects the people. While Shin Godzilla is a satire of the government, Minus One Godzilla shows the horrors of being an ordinary person during it all.

Minus One Godzilla is horrifying. Every time it pops up I feel nothing but dread. I read somewhere that it's one of the smaller Godzilla designs, but honestly I don't think that took away from it whatsoever. Its staying presence is so strong that I can't honestly see it as being weak or tiny for it.

The movie's constant themes and message of moving past trauma and living in spite of everything is just so powerful too. There is so much good in life. You cannot let war and hopelessness consume you. You need to keep moving forward. The final confrontation of Godzilla is emblematic of it all. It's so good man. I love this movie so so so very much...

[pretentious-art-love]

Album Reviews #69 - Slow, Deep and Hard by Type O Negative

Have you ever felt that weird sensation as if blood was dripping inside your skull? Have you ever been so angry that you feel acid leaking all over your guts? There might be a point when you are so angry that you say "I'm fucked, after this, I'm fucked for life, something broke inside and I will experience the consequences soon enough." Well that's how this album feels, it's that moment when you are absolutely gone, you are way far gone and you can't be brought back, that is how this feels. I do love albums that make me feel this kind of intensity and adrenaline, when time stretches out and you are hyper aware of everything. Albums that make you feel like flying over a canyon, albums that feel you are being rocketed into space, or falling towards the earth, albums with unstoppable force and albums that are incredibly kinetic and vivacious, those are the kind of my favourite albums.

Slow Deep and Hard is not an entirely pleasant experience, it can feel pleasant, but there are points of self hatred, misanthropy and so forth, the overall narrative deals with sadism and suicide. But what do I think? I think that being able to feel this is amazing, not because I want to idealise the prototype of the anti hero or the incel, really, but because it is when you are so close to death that you feel truly alive, you feel every single thing. Love, pain, hatred, grief, this album deals with the emotion intoxicated mind and that is what makes it so fun. That the roller-coaster of emotions comes from a deeply problematic scenario doesn't take away its worth for me, because I feel art can help us process those feelings well, Peter didn't end up killing anyone, or killing himself (well, he didn't take care of himself when he should, but that's something that can also happen with depression, you end up acting against yourself on a passive manner rather than active manner, so take care of yourself) and in the other hand, i feel that if I listen to this and I get to experience the amazing cocktail of acidic hatred and sadistic euphoria, I feel that helps be self aware of why I enjoy it so I can know when I am destroying myself because of the ride.

Experiencing emotions in fiction, movies, fiction, music,etc. will never be like experiencing the real thing, ever, there is a biological element of you being there with the person and the way your body creates the chemicals based on your environment, but I believe that experiencing the fictional emotion does in fact work, you could say it works like a vaccine, it is not as strong, but it teaches your system to fight the real thing when it comes up. I love Slow, Deep and Hard because it is a roller coaster where you are the martyr, the villain, the god and the devil. I love it because it makes me feel closer to death than ever before, and alive as a unstoppable, destructive flame.

Custom Tracklist 1. Unsuccessfully Coping with the Natural Beauty of Infidelity 2. Glass Walls of Limbo (dance mix) 3. Der Untermensch 4. Xero Tolerance 5. Prelude to Agony 6. The Misinterpretation of Silence and Its Disastrous Consequences 7. Gravitational Constant: G = 6.67 × 10⁻⁸ cm⁻³ gm⁻¹ sec⁻²

8/10

[beskar-cowboy]

all is lost and nothing is sacred

(gif by @bestintheparsec obviously <3)

Part 3 of the Nowhere Girl Series

Summary: After returning the Child to the Jedi masters, Mando searches for purpose. Luckily, he runs into you again. (11.4k words) read on ao3 here

Pairing: The Mandalorian x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, takes place after season 2, smut, dark!Mando, haunted!Mando, mentions of abuse, self-harm/suicide, possibly dub con idk????, canon typical violence, rough sex, mean sex, Mando threatens reader, hunter/prey dynamics, Mando is not super nice okay!, dirty talk, face fucking, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, degradation, one face slap, let me know if i missed anything!

Slave I is quiet as it takes off from Gideon’s light cruiser. No one speaks to the Mandalorian - what could they say?

We’re sorry you lost your son, but it's for the best.

We’re sorry you lost your creed, but it’s for the best.

We’re sorry you have nothing but an unwanted prize, an unwanted duty, but it’s for the best.

No, they couldn’t say that. So they say nothing and Mando says nothing back - brooding in suffocating silence - broken.

Mando just tells Boba to drop him off in Sorgan, he’ll find his own transportation after that - he’ll figure out how to get off the backwater planet himself, if he ever does.

Boba doesn’t object, he thinks to himself: Sorgan, what could possibly be there for a bounty hunter, for the new Mandalore?

But Boba doesn’t know about you.

They reach the planet in the late afternoon, on the cusp of evening as the sun goes golden. It reminds Mando of you, how you stood in the sun and glowed with your own radiance, giving the burning ball of gas and stardust a run for its money.

Everything reminds him of you, though.

Mando doesn’t say a word as he exits the ship, no final words to any of them. He lets the ship take off behind him, he wonders where they’re headed for a brief moment before the small krill village comes into view.

His eyes dart from one thing to the next - the calm, reflective blue of the lakes, the villagers harvesting, the children playing, you, you, you.

Where are you?

A woman looks up from her work in the water, Mando recognizes her face but she’s not you. It’s almost painful how much she isn’t, her face isn’t yours and Mando feels like he can’t breathe.

Omera.

“Hello.” She seems surprised but cheerful nonetheless. Mando nods at her.

“W-What are you doing here- I mean, welcome, but-” Mando would chuckle at how caught off guard she is but he knows he’s intimidating.

Bigger armour, beskar spear, jetpack, Darksaber. He knows he’s terrifying, he knows how broken he looks, like the helmet doesn’t fit right on his head anymore, like she and everyone else can see right through him.

Mando speaks your name and he sees the brief moment that Omera furrows her brows - confusion consuming her - before she straightens out her face again, concealing whatever it was she was just thinking. Fuck, he already knows.

He already knows you’re not here, she doesn’t even have to tell him.

Mando’s shoulders visibly sag, helmet looking around the village helplessly, like a lost loth cat.

You fucking- you fucking hunter, unstoppable force, you. Of course you didn’t listen to him.

Of course you didn’t fucking stay here like he pleaded you to, didn’t let your arm heal properly and now Mando’s suddenly picturing you dead in a ditch on some backwater planet due to infection with the life drained out of you, no color to your skin, dead where no one knows your name, your warmth. Dead.

“When?”

Omera stammers, maybe feigning confusion.

“When did she leave?” He demands.

“N-Not long after you. Maybe a week.”

Mando boils hot and putrid. He can feel his body vibrating, shaking with it. He clenches his fists aimlessly.

He could barely keep the kid in one place, could barely get him to sit still, to listen to him. How could he have expected you to listen to him - he didn’t really know you.

Despite- despite what he may have thought in private.

Voices unfamiliar echo in the helmet, pathetic, pathetic, die, failure, reverberate and bounce around like someone’s punched him in the head. Maybe he has a concussion from those Dark Troopers, when they tried to bash in his skull.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, coming back here. He’s embarrassed. He knows it’s pathetic, he knows.

Why would you have stayed here? He knew you wouldn’t, deep down he knew, he must have.

//

You couldn’t stay in Sorgan.

No matter how nice it was to spend your days by the water, surrounded by children and new friends, you didn’t belong there, you had more work to do and you couldn’t afford a vacation.

You don’t know if Mando actually expected you to listen to him, expected you to stay in one place for who knows how long, just waiting. But you couldn’t.

You have too much to do.

So you left when the week was up, just like you promised yourself.

You hopped on a transport near the cantina and found yourself on an unfamiliar planet with a familiar task - find the suppliers, then their supply, and reroute it to more deserving communities.

The first load you intercepted when you got back into the job, a heap of credits from some corrupt senator, was sent straight back to where you came from - Sorgan. You hope they don’t realize it was from you, you don’t see why they would but you just hope they don’t think you’re taking pity on them or anything. You just know they deserve the credits, as simple as that.

Maybe they could buy more droids to help with the harvesting, or nanny droids, or med droids, anything to help out.

You still smile when you think of Winta, Omera, all those kids. Even as you walk through disgusting cities, filled with vile men, you miss them. The memory of them keeps you warm.

Hopping from planet to planet is something you’re used to, something you’re familiar with. There was something unsettling about taking it easy in Sorgan. Maybe it would have been more durable had Mando and the kid stuck around but…

But they didn’t. So you can’t dwell on that too much.

You think about him. Not nearly as much as the first time you parted ways, no. You thought about him more.

You thought of the child as well. You thought of the both of them, you missed them more than you missed Sorgan, you missed them more than you missed swimming in Coruscant, more than you missed your parents, more than you missed anything.

Somehow, Mando had become the most familiar thing in your life, the only thing you felt like you knew and knew you right back. He fucked you over. You aren’t used to this, you can’t function like this.

You can’t stand up straight when your core has gone soft, you can’t fight and shoot when your arms are weak with the memory of him holding you.

Trying to forget about him was futile. It only made it worse - made the dreams, the nightmares, worse. Your body refused to let go of him, refused to forget the imprint he made on you, in you, like fucking memory foam.

People say time heals, maybe it does. As the months pass, as you find other people to take to bed, other senators, imperials, bounty hunters to kill, you grow apart from Mando. And you’re okay with that.

He was an accident, a bump in the road. You were never meant to meet him, to cross paths with a feared warrior like him.

He’s the type of person you run away from, and you did try to run. But he runs faster.

//

“Mando!” Karga greets as the feared bounty hunter, Mandalore, walks into the lonely cantina.

No one looks at him, they avert their eyes as he stalks towards the Guild leader.

The Mandalorian had become ruthless.

Warm or cold, he used to ask. Now there are no questions, he just takes.

Karga didn’t know how to react, what to say when Mando started bringing in all the bounties cold, taking the credits and demanding more work. It’s been going on for months now.

Karga knows he lost the child, knows he gave him up and became the unwilling ruler of his planet, knows he broke his creed. Karga knows the Mandalorian has nothing.

So Karga doesn’t say anything, no one says anything to Mando anymore, he’s too powerful. Ruthless.

Dead or alive, the pucks would read with unimaginable amounts of credits listed underneath. Mando always chose death, never even thinking about keeping them alive. It was a waste of breath, a waste of precious air on his ship. So he always chose death, it was more convenient.

He thinks you would have chosen death for these lowlife fucks as well. So he kills them and thinks of you.

Mando has been feeling… different. To say the least.

Wrong. He feels wrong.

Like something’s not right in his head anymore. Maybe he did get a concussion, maybe it didn’t heal properly. Maybe his skull cracked open when those Dark Troopers tried to kill him and something leaked onto his consciousness because the voices never stop.

They never stop, they’re never quiet and they’re mean, abusive. They make him ruthless, they make him kill. That’s what Mando tells himself.

Hunt. Hunt until you’re buried underground, Din. Hunt until you fucking die, until the soles of your feet are burning and your arms break in two. Kill them all, Din.

It never stops. The only thing that calms them is the killings. Their words turn sweet and kiss at his skin, kiss at his bruises and cuts and gashes and wounds.

Sometimes the voices sound like you even though he’s not sure what you even sound like anymore. It’s been months since he’s heard your real voice and he knows you never sounded so malicious, so evil.

But the voices purr like you did. They purr and they crawl up his spine like tentacles and pull him under until he’s drowning in you, remembering the sweet clutch of your perfect little pussy. They mimic you, a dizzying, inhuman copy of you that he barely recognizes. But it’s enough.

You’re s-so good, Mando - they’ll make you say, late at night when he needs you, needs something, anything to lose himself in. You’re so big, so strong- fuck you’re gonna make me cum.

He thinks about what it would be like to hear you say his name, the voices comply almost immediately.

So good, Din, you’re so- you’re so good at killing.

It’s so easy, with your voice. He’d do anything you want, and they know that. They use you, twist you, manipulate your voice till it's distorted and broken and fucked up and he cums all over himself before they’re yelling at him again. Yelling to kill.

Killing is the only thing that calms them.

So Mando keeps killing, and Karga keeps paying. Keeps giving him more pucks with nothing but nervous laughter, weary glances and little small talk. He used to indulge the bounty hunter in small talk, tried to make him comfortable, make him feel welcome. But the Mandalore will never be welcome. Not anywhere, not anymore.

//

You’ve been hearing whispers in the streets.

Whispers amongst the vendors, the junkies, the bounty and con men. Everyone was talking about it, it seemed; the whispers followed you from planet to planet. Talk of a new leader.

Whispers of a new Mandalore.

You don’t quite know what it means, what a Mandalore even is. But it makes you think of him.

You wonder if it’s him, if the Mando you once knew is now the ruler of the haunted planet.

It couldn’t be. That doesn’t sound like him, besides, he’s taking care of the child. So you push it to the back of your mind; an easy task here in Taris.

The air is smoggy, tainted yellow from years of pollution, destruction and decay. It’s hard to breathe here, and that makes it harder to think about him. You’re thankful for that.

You work on your speeder. Covered in grease and grime as you screw in another bolt, making sure it’s in place this time. You had gotten a new one after your last one was abandoned on Sriluur.

Stars, that must be over a year ago now. A year.

A year since you met- Nevermind. A year since nothing. A year since no one.

It doesn’t matter.

You wipe the sweat that threatens to bead down your forehead, no doubt smearing more oil on your face. Maybe you should clean up before you head to the cantina to find this week's Imps.

A hair tickles at the back of your neck and it makes you flinch. A distant clattering sound rings out through the alleyway, like someone’s watching you. Or was; there’s no one there when you turn around.

Yeah, you’ll just go clean up before you head out.

The whispers follow you on the street. They're making you paranoid, like they’re not the only thing following you. You’re jumpy, on edge. You’re never like this and you fucking hate it. Your hand hovers too close to your blaster and you’re making yourself nervous.

The catina is quiet, like you expected. The four men you had been tracking all over the city for the past week conglomerate together, just like you knew they would. There’s another lone patron at the counter, speaking with the bartender and that seems to be everyone. No one notices you as you creep through the shadows.

You take a seat further away from them, planning out your next move.

It’s always the same with you. You sit farther away, take your aim underneath the table, shooting one of them through the stomach, groin, chest - wherever you happen to hit.

Then the rest of them get up, heading for you, or running for the door.

You shoot first, always. Red flesh glows underneath the table as the man topples over, shot through the belly. He’ll bleed out, you’re familiar with this by now. You move on to the other men who are standing up to fight you. No runners today it seems.

You stand as well, approaching them and fighting quick. It’s always quick, they never last long, these men are easy.

You bash one of their heads against the bar counter, watching him crumble to the floor before you’re moving on to the next guy. Twirling around him, you twist his arm painfully behind his back before shooting him through the shoulder, through his heart and out the other side. Easy.

The last man runs. But you’re too fast. You reach for a dagger in your boot, launching it quickly at the getaway, nailing him perfectly in the back of the skull. He falls to the ground with a heavy deadweight.

Looking around the bar, the patron at the counter’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head but the bartender shakes his head, cleaning a glass. The cantina is eerily quiet again as you retrieve your dagger from the man’s skull, dark liquid spurting out of the new slit.

You bend down to your knees, fiddling through the deadman’s jacket looking for- got it.

Coordinates. A new shipment of medical drugs, just outside of town, the piece of paper reads. You should be able to reach it by nightfall if you make it to your speeder quick enough.

You hear footsteps behind you, you assume it's the bartender asking you to leave after that little show you just put on. You tuck the crumpled paper into the pocket of your own jacket and stand, coming to face-

It couldn’t be him. No.

This man, this Mandalorian is bigger, wider. He’s fucking menacing, standing only five feet away from you as your heart thumps wild with adrenaline, fresh kills and him.

He’s huge, terrifying like a silent monolith standing straighter than you’ve ever seen him stand. The beskar somehow fits him better now, or he fits it better, filled it out with rippling muscle and flesh

He looks like a proper mercenary with his beskar spear, jetpack and… and some sort of sword, saber maybe. It lays holstered by his side, long and dark. It’s scary. It’s been months since you’ve seen him, but-

It can’t be him.

It can’t be him but the way the helmet is trained on you is familiar, warm on the outside but cool in the center like a poorly thawed piece of meat.

You’re reminded of how you once knew him- or, once knew a Mandalorian like him. There’s something uncanny about the bounty hunter standing in front of you. It can’t be-

“Mando?”

The Mandalorian remains still and says nothing, reaching for something in his pocket. You flinch too easily, your hand so ready to fire on your blaster. It can’t be him, it can’t be him.

He holds out a puck to you, both watching as it illuminates blue with your new mugshot and your name written in red. You scoff.

“What? Is that supposed to be me?” You laugh, honestly finding it funny but nonetheless, you’re nervous.

Nervous because it’s been a while since a bounty hunter’s caught up to you, it’s been a while since you’ve had to take one down. Nervous because you can’t seem to grasp if it’s him or not.

Would he have really kept your puck this entire time? Even after it went dead all those months ago? Even after he found you in Nevarro? And spending two weeks in Sorgan together? When he left you and you left Sorgan? Fuck, is he mad?

Is he mad that you left and that’s why he’s come after you?

You can picture him, back in Sorgan, fuming - dead set on finding you after so sternly telling you to stay.

Whatever, you don’t care if he’s mad at you, why should you? He left first.

The Mandalorian pockets the puck back into his pants but when he looks back up - you’re gone.

You fucking run. You bolt out of the cantina, down the densely populated streets of Taris and towards your speeder. How is this happening? This is the exact same scenario you were in when you first met him on Sriluur. You can’t believe you’re running from the Mandalorian, again.

Is this a game to him? Is he pranking you or something? Does he think it’s funny to taunt you like this? A bounty who’s already on the run for her life?

You slow down your pace before you come to a stroll, looking around you, searching the crowd you’ve just ran through but you see nothing. No distantly familiar glimmering beskar, nothing.

Did you already lose him? No, he definitely has eyes on you somewhere, if it really is Mando, he never loses a bounty.

Calmly, you go back the way you came from, even if it’s the opposite direction of your speeder. You look for him now.

The streets are busy, the city is loud but it's quiet to you. You try to listen for the clank of his armour, the heavy weight to his steps, his quiet yet quick feet. But you hear nothing.

Nothing except those whispers again.

Mandalore. He’s here, he’s here. The Mandalore is here, he’s here, girl.

You spin around, trying to pin point who exactly is whispering so fucking loudly but its no one. No one’s there, no one is whispering to each other, no one is even speaking. Everyone whizzes past you, shoving you out of the way and you feel like you could drown all of a sudden.

He is here.

A hand wraps tightly around your wrist, hauling you out of the crowd and slamming you face first into a concrete wall. It scrapes at your cheek as both of your hands are pinned behind your back, large body pressing up against your backside.

You kick and squirm and try to buck the person off of you but it’s no use, they’re strong and already have you contorted painfully, both wrists secured in only one of their hands.

“Hey, fuck off-”

“Don’t make me break you again.” That voice. You’d know that voice anywhere.

That voice which reminds you of when he broke you - when Mando dislocated your arm a year ago now.

Mando.

You go soft in his hold, trying to turn around but he’s got you pinned between him and the wall, your cheek probably scraped up and bleeding at this point.

Cold metal secures around your wrists and you gasp as he closes the binders on you.

“Mando-”

He pulls you by the cuffs, hauling you off of the wall before he’s pushing you in front of him and down the alleyway.

“Walk.” He orders.

You look over your shoulder at him and you nearly lose your breath. It’s really him. You’d smile at him if you weren’t so fucking confused as to why he’s got you cuffed right now.

Mando shoves at you again and you stumble forward, so you decide to just go with it. Maybe he’ll talk eventually.

He manhandles you around the city, letting you walk aimlessly in a straight line, all sense of direction lost to you until he’s grabbing you by the elbow and steering you in another direction, shoving you forwards again.

Mando doesn’t speak to you. He doesn’t say anything, just shoves you forward and sideways until you get where you’re going. His ship.

But it’s not the Razor Crest. You don’t even realize it’s his ship until the ramp is lowering for both of you to enter.

This ship is… sleeker, smaller than the Crest was. But this one’s wider, more dangerous looking, sharp edges and all. Just like him.

It’s dark, pitch black, chrome and shiny obsidian, invisible in the dark of space, reflecting the lights from millions of stars. This ship is scary in it’s own way - it’s unfamiliar.

As you approach it, you realize it’s an Imperial ship - a gauntlet fighter - and your breath catches in your throat. Mando was always paranoid that the Empire hadn’t quite disappeared, that they still lurked in the shadows. Maybe he was right.

Either way, he seems to have accepted it - along with their money.

You walk up the ramp with him right behind you, still directing your movements. It makes sweat prickle at the back of your neck. You look for the little green baby, wondering where he’s hiding in the new ship.

“Where’s the kid?” You ask, trying not to sound as scared as you feel when you see no trace of a child.

No toys, no floating pod, nothing.

“Grogu.” What did he just call you?

“What-”

“His name, is Grogu.” He says slowly, like he’s trying to breathe in between each word.

Fuck, of course he had a name. You feel stupid as Mando rummages around with things in the small hull of the ship.

“R-Right, of course. Where is-”

“With his kind.” He speaks shortly, voice and words clipped, like each one is a knife in his back, twisting deeper and deeper the more he speaks about the Child.

You had only known the child for a few weeks but Mando’s confession makes your stomach drop. The kid- Grogu, is gone. You couldn’t have imagined Mando parting with the little rascal, even after a few weeks, he was so protective over him.

“Mando, I’m so sorry.” You turn to face him awkwardly, your arms still bound together painfully behind your back.

Mando neither looks at you or acknowledges what you said, as if you hadn’t said anything at all. You feel awkward around him now, you don’t know how to act when he’s being so cold.  Minutes pass before he says anything.

“Where’s Winta?” He asks, almost mockingly.

You roll your eyes, you’d never thought you’d see the day when a Mandalorian was being petty.

“In Sorgan?” You’re not sure what sort of answer he was looking for but Mando hums something, as if considering your words.

“You gave up on her.” He states like it's the truth.

Mando still hasn’t looked at you. You’re fuming, blood rushing through your ears with adrenaline you can barely hear him. How dare he speak to you this way, after he left you there on that backwater skughole.

“She didn’t need me, Mando. She has a mother, a peaceful life in that village.” You spit at him, your words cutting through the air.

“So you abandon her? The community?”

“Hey, I didn’t abandon anyone-”

His hand finds your throat and he throws you against the wall of the ship, dangerously close to the carbon freezer. Your stomach drops.

Your hands dig painfully into the hard material of the ship, cuffs digging uncomfortably into your flesh and you cry out as he pushes against you harder, digging into you with his body made of steel.

Mando’s fingers find your pressure points and skim the flesh there, daring you to speak, daring to press in harder so darkness eclipses your vision. He’s dangerous like this, quietly seething, barely contained. What happened to him?

“You don’t know the things I’ve had to do,” He says, voice quivering with restraint, hand squeezing your windpipe and you gasp for air against his grip.

“Okayokay! I-I’m sorry.” You croak, voice gone hoarse already.

Mando scoffs, maybe he laughs at you, you can’t tell. You can barely hear anything but the pounding of your heart high in your throat and in your ears like you’ll pop.

“Stupid girl,” He grits, pressing you harder into the wall and you try to push him off but its no use, he’s gotten too strong.

He could break you like this, you think he might.

Something clicks in the back of your mind, something like instincts or anxiety or training but you knee him in the crotch, kicking his legs down and curving away from his helmet which crashes into the wall, where your head just was.

Mando crumbles and you back away from him, unsure of what you’re even doing - instigating a fight with a fucking Mandalorian.

Mandalore, the whispers are back and they tickle at your neck, the hairs near your ear. You shiver as Mando rises and turns to face you.

Mandalore.

He whips the saber from his holster and it glows black like a nightmare in the palm of his hand. You realize now that it’s his. He owns it. It looks important, you wonder why, or how, he got it.

“What are you doing?” He asks you, angry and stalking you in the tight haul of his ship, saber all too ready to kill. Maker, when did he get so terrifying?

When he lost his son, gained an empire.

“You can’t fight me, you can’t win.” You back away from him, coming yet again to another wall. This ship is smaller than the Crest, there’s nowhere for you to hide.

“I don’t, I don’t want to fight-”

“You know I'll hurt you.” He practically purrs and you whimper pathetically as he comes to stand in front of you, nearly - but not quite - pressing you into the wall again, vibrating sword dangerously close to your leg.

You’re panting, practically begging for it and you have no idea how he does this to you. Have you always been this easy? Maybe for him, maybe just for Mando.

He’s familiar in an odd way now, where you once knew him but not this version of him, not the version of him in front of you now but your body can’t make the distinction like your mind can.

Your mind screams danger, paints him red like a target, an enemy but your body still remembers the way he touched you, how soft he was in Sorgan, how slow he fucked you. This man in front of you would not fuck you slow - he’d take what he wanted - and you wouldn’t hate that.

You know he sees the way your chest heaves with lust laden breaths, your body going lax at the mere idea of him. Mando hums, holstering the saber and chest bumping yours as he comes to the grand realization.

“Is that it, ad’ika? You want me to break you? Again?” You can’t discern whether he’s threatening or promising you and your brain misses the foreign nickname before the words are tumbling from your lips.

“Yes.”

Mando hums again, hand coming up to your neck, cradling where your jaw meets your throat - squeezing and massaging your jugular and he watches how your eyes flutter so prettily.

“You’re addicted to me, aren’t you, stupid girl?” He squeezes slightly tighter and a moan, a cry slips through your lips quietly but it’s like fucking music to Mando’s ears.

You always make the prettiest sounds.

“Yes.” You admit again.

There’s no denying it, ever since you encountered the Mandalorian, you never forgot him. How he shines, how he walks, talks, fights, protects, fucks. You could never forget that, like he carved himself into your guts like an ulcer, making a permanent home inside of you, feel him whenever you move.

He’s infected you, you think. How else could you have become so weak for him, so powerless so quickly.

“Addicted to your Mandalore.” He growls around a chuckle and fuck-

It is him.

“You’re… you’re the-”

He tilts your head upwards so you meet his gaze from somewhere behind the pitch black of his visor.

“Yes.” He answers simpy.

The whispers, all the talk in the streets, the rumours, the tales, it was all about him. He's a-

A king. Mando is a king.

You stare up at him, fleshy mouth, perfect lips agape as you try to comprehend this. A king. A fucking king. You want to ask how, how this happened but you can’t process a thing, not when he’s looking at you like this.

Like he knows you, the voices whisper.

You’re too beautiful, Mando thinks. Too beautiful to be this stupid - to disobey him and leave Sorgan when he very specifically made it a point to tell you to stay. You make him angry sometimes, with your one track mind, needing to be good for something, someone.

“Why did you leave?” He asks, silently fuming as he tries to remain calm against the voices telling him to kill. But you see the way his chest heaves, feel how his hand twitches at your throat.

“I… I don’t know.”

“I told you to stay.” He almost sounds sad, if he wasn’t being so fucking threatening, puffing himself in intimdating like the mudhorn bull of his new signet.

“I know, Mando I’m-”

“You’re what? Sorry?” He scoffs and your heart sinks, plummets. He tilts the helmet at you, as if he were looking down at a child.

“Y-Yes.” Voice small, you quietly plead with him to believe you, eyes big and shiny as you look for his somewhere in the darkness.

He huffs again, condescending, amused.

“You’re only sorry you got caught.”

Mando’s hand smooths down your neck till it reaches your shoulder - he pushes you down to your knees till you’re kneeling before him like the king he’s now become. You nearly lose your balance with your hands still cuffed, your face leaning into his crotch where his cock strains against his pants.

How could you forget how big you make him, how hard.

“Go on, then. Tell me you’re sorry.” He rasps, hands fumbling down to his holster belt, clicking it open and letting fall at your knees with a loud clatter. You wince.

“I’m sorry.” Your mouth waters as he undoes his pants.

His movements are frantic, he breathes heavy as he reaches into his pants and grasps his cock, stroking himself a few times before he lets it slip out of his pants.

Gorgeous tanned skin, dark contrasting curls at the absolute base that run upwards like a dark stream until his armour shields it from your prying, selfish eyes. He’s thick, already so hard for you and your stomach lurches with anticipation.

You’re panting, you never thought you could need someone in your mouth this bad. “I’m sorry.” You repeat. You mean it, at least, you think you do.

“Again.”

Mando strokes his fat cock in front of your face and you can’t help but lean into him, the warmth radiating from his body pulling you in like the warm tide of the ocean - powerful, all consuming, all the while threatening to drown you.

You need to taste him, you’re desperate for it.

“I’m sor-mfph,”

He shoves his cock into your mouth - the entire length until he’s prodding at the back of your throat, making you gag on him.

Your eyes close in bliss and Mando leans into you, the weight of his heavy cock resting on your tongue and it sends you back until your head hits the wall.

One hand shooting out to steady himself against the wall, his other hand finds itself on your head, in your hair, gripping tight as he sets a pace, fucking himself into your molten, fleshy, pliant fucking perfect mouth.

“Fuck-” he groans, voice gone so low and baritone and raspy that you barely make out the word, it just comes out a garbled mess as he rolls his hips towards your face.

His cock reaches the depth of your throat with each thrust and you’re moaning around his length, your own thighs squeezing together to try and satiate the rapidly burning fire in your groin. You try and wiggle your tongue around him, you try to make it better for him but his hand in your hair tightens, gripping you and trying to hold you still.

“L-Let me do what I need to do, girl.” You moan around him, trying to nod your head but he groans in unison with you.

Your jaw aches already, he’s so fucking wide, so big and you realize now you’ve never had him like this before, never took him in your mouth, never saw him this upclose.

Cock shiny with your spit, working your mouth and tongue wide open so he can go as far in as he’ll fit - even then, you think he’s making himself fit. Your mouth fits just over half way before he’s poking into your throat and you gag on him a little, lubing him up with gobs of more spit.

You can feel him pulsing against your tongue, impossibly hard like he could cum any second but he gives you no indication that he’s close. If anything, you think he’s relentless, you can’t imagine the state you’ll be in when he’s done with you.

Mando is babbling above you, you can’t make anything out, you can’t understand him - you don’t even know if he’s speaking Basic. It sounds like another language, you try to pull away from him but you have nowhere to go, pinned between his relentless thrusts and the wall with your hands tied behind your back.

You look up at him through thick lashes, coated in fresh tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. Your lips are swollen, cheeks hollowed yet they bulge with the size of him, just like your throat - perfect girl, you’ve always been a perfect girl, even when you don’t listen.

“Y-Your, your mouth is perfect, sweet girl - you’re alway so sweet to me, aren’t you?”

You whine your assent, desperately squeezing your thighs together at his praise, his sickeningly sweet praise that always manages to send you over the edge. Your mouth aches, your whole fucking face aches but you think you’d keep letting him fuck you- use you like this if it meant he’d say nice things to you. Again and again and again.

His helmet tilts at you as he leans back, watching the way his hips send his cock in and out of your throat, the slick, wet fucking messy drag of your cock-swollen lips againt the sensitive silky skin of his dick.

Mando watches himself fuck you, just like that, watches how you take him, all of him, like a champ with no complaints, completely satisfied with just keeping you like this. He wonders how long he could do this for, how long you’d let him fuck your mouth. Until you fell asleep? Until you got hungry? Until you beg him to fuck your pussy instead? Would you beg him to fuck your ass?

Until Mando notices the way your thighs squeeze and rub together - of course he notices. Poor girl. Poor little thing. She needs you.

Mando pulls himself from your mouth with a disgustingly wet squelch. You gasp for air, the desperate need for oxygen making you nearly choke on your own spit in the process. You nearly collapse against the wall behind you but Mando’s hauling you up with his hands underneath your armpits, leaning all of your weight on him as he expertly unclicks your cuffs.

As your hands go free, you collapse into him, face nearly tucked into the crook of his neck, where cowl meets helmet but you look up at him with cock-drunk, wet and shiny, big wide eyes. He can’t believe he’s fucked you dumb already. Perfect girl, he’s only just begun.

He coos at you, quiet and calm now. His demeanour has nearly done a 180 and it leaves you breathless, confused. Mando holds you so tightly, almost protectively to his body and you let yourself go limp against his iron frame, he holds you now against him and the wall.

One hand around your shoulders, cradling you, the other comes up to your face. He cups your cheek, running the pad of his leather thumb along your swollen bottom lip, admiring the flesh that blood courses through. You’re so alive. Alive with the need for him. His cock pulses at that.

Your eyes are fixated on the T of his visor - it doesn’t look as dark as it usually does - like if you squint hard enough you could see the contours of his face emerge from nothingness. But maybe he’s just fucked you delirious already.

You kiss at his thumb, not a thought in your head as you aimlessly search for the man behind the beskar.

“Bite.” He says, voice firm again. Without thought, your lips and teeth secure themselves on the seam of his glove, you know this all too well by now.

Mando pulls his hand free of his glove while you let it fall from your mouth and onto the floor. His hand follows suit, travelling down down down your body until he’s wedging himself between your pants and skin, then underneath your underwear and finding the pool of slick you’ve been uncomfortably nursing since he pinned you against a concrete wall in the city.

You’re fucking wet, soaked. You look up at him with fluttering, lust heavy eyes as he swirls the pads of two fingers along the seam of your sex, never parting your lips, just collecting whatevers seeped past them.

“Liked getting your mouth fucked?” Mando asks stupidly, his own brain beginning to short circuit. He can hardly believe you just let him do that to you, let alone that you enjoyed it, maybe wanted him even more. Regardless, you’re about to get more.

You nod your head, helpless to form a sentence as you lose yourself in his useless ministrations, where he ignores your clit or your hole, just playing with your glossy cyprine as you squirm against him, desperately grabbing onto his cowl for purchase.

“Y-Yeah- fuck.” You say quietly, voice gone all weak.

He spreads your lips, dragging his gun calloused fingers along the more inner parts of you and swirling around your fluttering opening, no doubt feeling the wave of arousal that seeps out of you again. Mando groans, his hold on you tightening.

Fierce warrior, look at yourself, it’s taken nothing more than his cock in your mouth to break you, erase your training, your instincts and mold you to his will. Such a good girl, the voices creep in the back of his head, echoing vile words about you.

The voices blend into his own, you swear you can almost hear the echo of multiple voices as he begins to tell you what a good girl you are, always been such a good girl for me you fucking hunter, dangerous girl with a bounty on her head. You always listen to me, only to me-

Mando lets two fingers creep into your cunt and your eyes flutter closed as you cry out for him. Finally - sweet fucking bliss as he splits you on his fingers. Mando’s having none of it.

His hand retracts itself from your pants almost as quickly as they entered. Mando taps your cheek, a light slap before he’s gripping your chin. “Eyes open.”

You nod your head with such vigor you fear whiplash.

You whine when his fingers don’t immediately find themselves back inside your suffering pussy. Instead, he leads you elsewhere on the new ship but you couldn’t dare look where you’re going, couldn’t dare take your eyes off of him.

It’s like he’s glowing. As he carries you across the hull you think he’s gotten stronger, to carry the weight of you like this. You temporarily remember back in Sorgan how he would make a sparse comment about his back every now and then, but this version of him is impossibly stronger it seems. You feel like he could break you in two - you feel like he could have done that before but now, now you fear he could do it with so much as just a look in your direction, with so much as a sigh in feigned exertion.

You squeak suddenly when doors open up with a hydraulic hiss, the doors sliding open to reveal his sleeping quarters. It’s bigger than his old cot on the Razor Crest, enough to fit two people but not much bigger than that.

It’s dark too, there’s light coming from somewhere, where exactly, you couldn’t say but he glows in the darkness, like it was made for him as it kisses and highlights the high points of his beskar, his wet cock, shiny with you. The darkness lets you see enough of him, like it knows you’re desperate for it, teasing you with little glances.

He drops you down onto the mattress and you scramble to sit up on your knees, desperate to see his every move.

“Take off your clothes.” He orders, standing at the foot of the bed and taking his cock back into his palm and stroking it as he waits for you to do as you’re told.

You don’t know when you became so compliant, so weak minded, so fucking desperate to be good for him but it’s hard to question or even think about what he’s asking of you when he stands there, filling out the beskar armour better than he ever has, thick length in hand and waiting for you to undress for him.

You kick your boots off, shimmy off your pants, underwear. Throw your shirt onto the floor by his feet and unclasp your bra. You make quick time of it, it’s impressive.

Mando lets go of his cock and undoes the intricate workings of his boots, then followed by the cuirass on his thighs. He’s undressing… You have half a mind to say anything- to stop him but your tongue is tied tight. You cannot speak, you cannot stop what is already in motion.

Next goes the vembrace and the one remaining glove, both tanned and scarred hands now bare to you and you want to kiss them all over. He unhooks both shoulder pieces and they fall to the floor noisily like the rest of his armour.

Last is his large breastplate; his chest puffs out as he unhooks it, biceps bulging underneath his long sleeve under guard and your mouth waters as he moves for you. The cowl falls around him like it was silk as the breastplate collapses underneath its own weight, joining the rest of beskar.

His neck is thick, beautiful, tanned like his hands and you can see it move with each breath, with each swallow.

He’s the Mandalore. He’s so big, huge, powerful. And yet he stands before you, hands reaching upwards for his helmet and you cower away, covering your own face with your hands, trying to preserve his creed yourself. But Mando grabs one of your wrists, yanking your hands away from your face.

Your eyes are screwed shut, Mando thinks it’s cute.

“I said, eyes open.” He commands again and you recline at his tone, moving higher up on his bed to put some space between the two of you.

And you do keep your eyes open - you don't think you could close them for the life of you. You can’t believe he trusts you enough with this, enough to show his face to you. It feels wrong, taboo, it feels… underwhelming, like it’s the wrong place, the wrong time.

Why now? Why after not seeing you for months, after becoming Mandalore, losing his son, hunting you down again after months and months on end of no contact with each other? He chooses now?

Mando stands at his full height at the edge of his bed, hands returning to the helmet and pulling it off before letting it crash to the ground, loudest of all.

Is it because he trusts you?

“This isn’t about you.” He states, as if reading your mind. Oh.

“O-OKay,” You stutter, unsure of what he means by that.

His bare hand finds its way to your ankle, thumb tracing circles around the bone as you stutter stupidly, mind racing.

This isn’t about trust. Mando just doesn’t care anymore, he stopped caring a long while ago: when Mayfeld saw his face and it felt… odd. Not good, but not bad either. When his son saw it, when Grogu touched his face. When the rest of the crew said nothing as he put on the now meaningless helmet, wielding the greatest weapon that belongs to his people.

It meant nothing, it always meant nothing, right?

Nothing of his is sacred, all is lost now. He has nothing to hide anymore, especially… especially not from you, he supposes.

“But-” the word slips out of your mouth before you can help it and Mando’s growling-

“Stop fucking talking.” He spits before he’s pulling your naked form down the bed by your ankle.

You squeak pathetically as he manhandles you, coming to lean over your body, covering you with his own and then- Maker, and then his lips are on yours.

Mando’s kissing you and your eyes are wide open as his tongue glides right through your lips, parted with desperate, honest shock.

Mando’s kissing you. He’s kissing you and you think you can see him like this and fuck, you can’t close your eyes as you kiss him back.

It’s dark, so dark that you might not actually be seeing him but you sort of can. You can see his face, of this you’re sure but it’s messy, scribbled with darkness and frantic movements. It’s so dark that your brain convinces you there’s a face there, his face, but maybe it’s another love-drunk illusion.

A beautiful illusion.

You see him. Pouty lips, swollen like your own, no doubt, thick moustache tickling your upper lip, a proud, large nose, deep eyes and messy eyebrows. He’s perfect. How could a human be so perfect and contained underneath all that beskar for thirty or whatever years. He’s so beautiful you could cry- maybe you are.

Sobbing into his wet mouth, that would be so pathetic.

Your tongue dances along his own and he groans into your mouth, like he’s frustrated, like he’s trying to strangle you with the wet muscle and you wonder if he’s ever kissed anyone before. You wonder if you’re the first.

“Take my shirt off.” He grumbles against your lips and you’re quick to comply.

You pull his shirt from his body and he lets you peel it away, throwing it across the room with the rest of your clothes.

Your hands fly along the wide expanse of his rippling back and you moan as he rolls his hips into yours, you forgot you were stark naked underneath him for a moment - his cock slips through your silky folds, coating himself in your slick and you helplessly arch into him as his chest becomes bare to you.

Skin against skin, you feel Mando for the first time as he keeps lewdly making out with you.

Your hands are unstoppable, grabbing, groping, scratching all along his body, you feel new bumps and old lines, you feel the geography of him and you yearn to see it in the daylight, with your own eyes instead of painting a mental image of him in your head with nothing but your other senses. It’s jagged and fucked up but it’s still new and him.

Mando’s head is elsewhere. One hand going down your body, he quickly jams two thick fingers inside your pussy without warning and you scream, you fucking yell at the intrusion, hips rutting away from him. Luckily, he’s got you dripping already so it doesn’t take much for your cunt to accept the thick digits.

“Fuck-” You rasp, voice hoarse and strained as he fucks you open aggressively on his fingers, his mouth trying to swallow down every pretty sound that escapes your lips.

You’re beautiful, already spread thin underneath him, chest and belly rolling with every desperate breath your body takes. You’re hot to the touch, you’re burning and he’s nothing but gasoline to an already volatile fire.

His fingers dig into you, they squirm around inside and find all the fleshy, rigged parts of you that have you panting, have you fucking wrecked.

It’s too much, he’s digging too deep, too hard and you feel a pressure forming in your belly as he scissors his fingers against something. His fingers curl upwards, hitting something hidden and you feel your stomach clench.

“Mando- wait, I-”

Mando shushes you, he’s quieting you with soft, disgusting praise of you can take it. I know you can, you’re a big girl.

Fuck. What is he doing to you? You’ve never felt pressure like this before. It keeps growing and growing and you think you’re going to-

He doesn’t stop. A sweat breaks out on his hairline, you can taste it in his kiss, on his salty warm flesh as he engulfs you. Your thighs shake like cracking tectonic plates and he keeps pushing, keeps fucking you and something gives-

Mando feels you pushing him out of your sweet cavern, hot, wet and gushing all over his hand and thighs - you fucking soak yourself with a rough, throat shattering cry. You arch into his body like you’ve been snapped in two, your hands and nails lodged into his back to find some sense of stability amongst the whirlwind of your orgasm that he’s ripped from your body, leaving you winded and broken.

You can feel it dripping from you, wet, unlike the sort of sticky gloss you’re used to. Did he just… did he just make you fucking squirt-

His mouth latches itself onto your wet, drippy cunt and you convulse, hips grinding against his face and his nose knocks against your clit, mouth enveloping the wettest, widest parts of you and you cry before you have time to process what the fuck just happened.

You try to push him away, try to close your knees around his head like your body can’t decide if you need more of him or anything but. But Mando doesn’t stop.

His mouth is perfect. It’s too much, it’s not enough, you can’t take it. You need more. You can��t think straight, what is he doing to you? To your body?

“T-Too much, please…” You whine, unsure of what you’re even saying, your voice feels not your own, you can't feel the way your brain processes the words, the way your vocal cords are supposed to vibrate with use. You’re numb.

You look down where his head is, a dark shadow of messy curls lost between your thighs and he can feel the way you clench as you both make eye contact. Dark, glowering eyes, they pierce you and you gasp. You swear there’s a glimmer, a silvery shine that leaves something unsaid.

Mando pulls away from you with a broad stripe of his tongue up the entire length of you. Your mouth drops open, hanging agape at how lewd it is.

His mouth is shiny, dripping with you, it coats his lips, mustache, chin and the stubble that grows there. Mando smirks at you. He’s fucking evil.

“Tastes so fucking good,” He growls, voice gone so low you whine again.

He lowers his head back down to your folds, nudging your clit purposefully this time with his nose. Your hips automatically cant upwards towards his face. He chuckles, you cry.

“I knew you’d be sweet.” And he goes back in.

Mando takes his time. He eats you lazily, luxuriously like how he fucked you on Sorgan so many months ago.

You’re not sure how long he’s been at it, time blends together in a mess of orgasm, cries, sobs, body shakes and more ograsms. You don’t know how many he’s managed to pull from you but you feel strung out, drunk off your pleasure as his tongue explores your sex at his own pace.

He’s made you squirt like three times - you’ve never done that before, never gushed like that. Not for yourself, not for anyone. You feel completely spent, sated as he holds your pleasure weak thighs open wide so he can devour you.

You don’t know how he hasn’t given up, gotten bored of licking into you but he hasn’t.

He’s selfish, greedy, taking what he wants and your whines, whimpers for him to stop are useless, futile. He doesn’t stop and all you can do is lay back and take it until he decides he’s done. It’s marvelous.

Eventually he does pull away, sucking his own fingers into his mouth lewdly and moaning at the taste of you on his tongue. You can breathe again, you’re granted air for a moment and you look up at him above you with pleasure struck eyes, all shiny and wet with thousands of tears.

“Such a pretty girl, look at you.” He marvels, hand caressing the side of your face and you instinctively lean into it, kissing his palm.

His cock slips through your folds, once, twice before he’s flipping you over onto your belly and gliding into you like it’s the easiest fucking thing in the world, like it’s nothing.

Your pussy squelches with it as he gives you each fat inch of his length and you whimper so quietly compared to how he had you screaming earlier.

You’re full with him and he keeps giving you more, keeps pushing in until he hits the deepest part of you, all the way in your womb - you have nothing left to keep from him anymore. He’s completely destroyed you, fucked you open on his fingers and taken what he wanted. You’ve given him everything. You wonder if he knows that.

Mando groans when he hits the walls of you, hips making contact with your ass and he watches the way your flesh jiggles, how you bounce with the velocity of him. He lowers himself until he’s parallel with you, body encapsulating your own, his chest warm on your back as his cock strokes downwards into you and you scream, burying your face into his pillow and you’re overwhelmed with him. He’s in all of your senses.

“You’re mine.” He growls against the shell of your ear, hips rolling in time with his wicked tongue, sending his cock drilling into you abusively.

Your pussy sucks him in noisily, wet and loud and juicy as he fucks you mean, hard like he’s trying to pound you into the mattress. No matter how many times he made you cum, made you gush all wet on him, you’re tight - fucking strangling his cock just like he remembers, like he needed.

“Perfect- tight little pussy,” He mumbles, babbling as he ruts into you with fervour.

You sob at his words, ass and body bouncing as you take his cock over and over again. Mando is relentless and you’re obsessed - you’re obsessed with him. Obsessed with the way he fucks you.

It was always good, the last two times, the only two times, have been more than good, it was enough to put anyone else to shame, enough to ruin you for anyone else, but this is different - this is everything. He’s everything.

“Mando- shit, y-you’re fucking big.”

He chuckles above you, hand groping your waist, feeling the way you mold to his touch, to his cock, he watches himself fuck you. The way his cock drags in and out, the way you swallow him, how your cunt parts, lets him in so desperately, how you paint him in your essence. He’s slicked up and shiny with it. How your ass sits there all pretty, tight little asshole fluttering in time with your cunt. Perfect girl.

Mando cracks his hand across the fleshiest parts of you, watching how your body responds to him, how you curl away from his touch but your pussy squeezes him so tight. You liked that. So he spanks you again, watching your hands twitch and fist at the pillows, watches you drool onto his sheets.

She’s perfect, a perfect little slut, perfect for us, the voices echo and Mando moans, dick twitching and chest curling inwards around your own back like you’re in some sort of disgusting, dirty dance together.

Mando flips you over and smothers you with his mouth. He tastes like you as he shoves his tongue deep in your mouth, desperate to own every part of you as his cock goes back to ruining your pussy. You’re his, you’re his, you’re his.

His lips travel down your body until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking, biting hard. He bites you so fucking hard, bites you all over as his lips travel across your chest, your collarbones, your neck, bittting nibblng, marking you in him. Mando leaves marks everywhere.

Fingers on your hips, on your ribs, backside, on your ass. You’re marked everywhere with him. Your hands fly into his hair and pull at the roots - ripping, pulling at him.

“Mine.” He repeats, spits at you like it’s a threat and you don’t care anymore.

You nod your head whispering yours, yours, yours, yours over and over again until you don’t know any other words, any phrases, your own name. You don’t know anything anymore, not like how you know him.

“Say my name, mesh’la, say my name all pretty the way you do.” Mando nearly pleads, lips brushing against your own.

“Mand-”

“No. M-My name. Say my name.” He corrects, hips slowing down and you whine, arms going around his back and clinging to him, begging him to keep fucking you.

“I- I don’t know your-”

“Yes, you do.”

Voices surround you, echoing somewhere amongst the darkness and you cling to Mando tighter, ankles locking around his ass and pushing his cock deeper into you. You both moan, voices cracking in unison.

“I don’t-”

Din. The voices whisper.

When he begins to hear them too, he keeps fucking you, picking up his pace and so do the voices. They chant in time with his thrusts, they chant his name like he’s a king.

He is a king.

“Listen.” He tells you, whispering against your face, lips ghosting the skin.

Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din…

You hear them. You can hear them say his name and your eyes go wide in the dark. Even Mando- Din, can see how they shine so big, like fucking moons caught in the eclipsing light of the sun.

“D-Din..” You test, weary. The name breaks around a moan and you feel tears spill from your eyes as he hoists one leg up on his shoulder and pushing the other into your breast, folding you in half.

You chant his name like it’s salvation and holy shit, he doesn't know how he did that but it breaks him and he thinks he’s crying a bit so he fucks you harder for it

“Din, fuck Din, that’s-”

His hand flies down to your throat, squeezing it tight and you choke on your words and he fucks you harder.

“That’s it, just- fuck that’s good, baby.” He tells you while choking you out.

Your face is shiny with tears, you’re wet and sticky all over. He did this to you, this is all his doing.

You’re so powerful, Din. Look how powerful you are.

He starts to speak in that language you don’t recognize again. He rambles and chokes you and his hips piston upwards and you can feel him poking around in your stomach, you can feel him in your throat. You’re done for.

“M’gonna cum-” You mumble, words barely intelligible from the hand around your throat and cock in your tummy.

“No,” He grunts, voice thick with exertion, with power. “Not yet.”

You whine, body going haywire like you’ve been electrocuted and you’re not sure you can hold it in when he fucks you like he’s possessed.

Din grows aggressive, his thrusts brutal and he pulls and yanks at your body, like he’s trying to drown you in an ocean of pleasure, sink you deep with him amongst the black sheets until you can’t breathe anymore.

His hand on your throat finally lets up and you gasp for air, pussy fluttering like your pretty lungs and Din growls, squeezing your face, your cheeks roughly with his hand before it comes down onto your cheek - slapping you.

It’s rough, violent like this and your pussy chokes him while the sweet sting in your cheek goes straight to your cunt. You manage a sort of strangled scream before your orgasm is torn from you, your fourth or fifth or sixth of the night, you can’t fucking remember anymore. It rips through you like a tree being torn from the earth - larger than life, brutal and messy.

Din breaks you down. You pulse and sob around him and you go limp on the bedsheets and he keeps fucking you as you soak his cock. Your knees are spread wide, thighs pressed against your chest and he keeps fucking you.

He’s lost control. He lost everything - he loved, got too comfortable and it made him weak and lost everything because of it. He lost control.

But he feels it again. Feels some semblance of control, familiarity when he’s drilling into your pussy like this. He feels control when you spasm and clench around him, crying his name like he’s your only salvation, your only hope. He is. He wants to be the only thing you need because you… he thinks you’re the only thing he needs. You and your sweet little pussy.

“Y-You’re never leaving, you’ll never run away again, won’t let you.”

You don’t know if you answer him, you mumble something, maybe just little noises that he continuously punches out of you but you can’t say no to him, you can’t fight him anymore.

“Fucking tie you up if I have to.”

You cry at that. He growls, something dark and possessive. “Know you’d like that- want that.”

You just wanna be used, be useless, told what to do. I know you, I know you, pretty girl.

And you go along with it, crying Yeah, yes Din- fuck. I don’t wanna be in control anymore.

You don’t care about it anymore, he’s too much, too much pain, too much pleasure and you don’t care. He has all of you.

He could have said anything, promised you anything, asked for anything and you’d agree. Din has you wrapped his finger - cock drunk and delirious on him, you’d give him anything he wants.

He knows that now.

“I know you’re tired, tired of everything.” You nod your head weakly, crying.

“Tired of running, tired of being in control.”

“Yes.” You whisper, voice caught on a moan and a hitch of your breath, his cock punching the oxygen out of you.

Din hums his assent. “Give up then.” He sneers, near evil and you moan, back arching into his chest even more, even though he’s got you all spread out underneath him, you still convulse.

“You’re just- just made for me, made for me to fuck. That’s all you are.”

You nod your head, brain going numb and blank and stupid except for yes Din, yes Din, fucking yes.

“Whenever I want, c-can do whatever I want to you and you’ll let me, won’t you, girl?”

Yes Din.

“So easy, you’re so easy, so easy for me. I know you wanna give up.”

He’s barely coherent, a babbling, mumbling mess of basic and that unknown language but you let him spew his filth, you let him fuck you into his mattress, into oblivion. You just fucking take it over and over again and all you know is him, Din, Mando, the Mandalorian, The Mandalore. He’s all you know now. He’s all you have. Maybe you’re all he has.

“Give up. Admit you need someone to take care of you.”

I do, Din. I need it.

“Admit it. Admit you need me.”

You cry. Tears spilling down your cheeks and you heave, broken from the inside out.

You claw at his back, scraping and scratching, trying to latch yourself onto him like a leech, trying to take something from him like he’s taken from you but you don’t know that you already have. You already broke him long ago.

“Din-”

“Tell me- fuck, just say it.” He moans your name, you clench around his length.

“Need- need you. Always…. Always needed you.”

“Then let go.” He moans your name, you clench around his length.

“M’cumming again-”

The Mandalore groans, burying his face in your sweat damp neck. You gush around him with a strangled cry like a dying animal. It's ugly and pained but it only fuels him, sends Din over the edge himself.

He fills you with his seed. He ruts it deep, deep inside of you, as deep as it’ll go and you can feel him plugging you full of it. You can feel it in your stomach, your throat. You taste it on your tongue.

It’s over, and you both lay there panting, regaining some form of consciousness. You’re slippery against each other and you cling to him like you’re still drowning. He clings back.

You were expecting otherwise from Mando, now Din - you welcome the change in his demeanour.

Din. You're still not used to that. You like it though, you like the way it sounds, you like how it makes sense.

It's quiet for the first time all night.

You’re not sure if you fall asleep, or if Din falls asleep, or if you even sleep at all. All you know is that it’s dark and his heart is beating into yours and his body is heavy and his curls are damp and you’re running your fingers through them.

You’ve never been so close to him. Never been allowed such a privilege. You feel calm for the first time in a long time, it's almost unsettling - especially knowing that your tracking fob is beeping somewhere in his long pocket, long forgotten.

Can't run away this time, pretty girl.

“Stay with me.” Din says so suddenly you nearly yelp, voice all quiet and raspy like he hasn’t spoken in hours. Maybe he hasn’t.

Your face, your entire body is wet with tears, sweat, cum. You don’t know what’s what anymore, you’re not sure you’re even breathing properly.

“Stay with me and we can take down the Empire together.”

He feels your heart beat harder against his at his proposition, it makes him hopeful, makes the voices swell. He hope you don't hear them.

You remain silent, not sure if he’s just giving you empty promises but it's not your fault he knows your weak spot, knows exactly how to tempt you.

So you say okay, Din.

“Stay with me and I’ll fuck you however you want- I’ll never stop fucking you just please,” his hands grip your body hard, pulling you into him.

Din buries his face in your breasts, mouth open and wet, he leaves a trail of spit and bite marks in his wake, “Please just stay this time.”

He’s desperate.

You’ve never heard his voice so small, so rough, so fucking spent like this and you wonder what happened to him after he left you. You wonder what happened to him after Sorgan.

“I will, Din. I’ll stay this time.” You say instead.

You’ll ask him another day.

[agentnico]

The Suicide Squad (2021) Review

This may be the better of the two, but the first Suicide Squad film will always hold the crown for managing to win an Oscar... somehow.

Plot: The government sends the most dangerous supervillains in the world -- Bloodsport, Peacemaker, King Shark, Harley Quinn and others -- to the remote, enemy-infused island of Corto Maltese. Armed with high-tech weapons, they trek through the dangerous jungle on a search-and-destroy mission, with only Col. Rick Flag on the ground to make them behave.

“So that’s it, huh? We’re some kind of suicide squad?” says Will Smith in the original first film, with the line in itself being a poor attempt at a fourth wall break, yet, that movie never reached that promise of being a true Suicide Squad film. Because hardly anyone died, and as a whole David Ayer’s film was a generic mess, regardless of studio interference or not. In comes James Gunn from Marvel, who seems to have cracked the code for how to bring this comic book series to live action in proper gratuitous form, with even the ‘The’ in the title symbolizing that this is the one!

I remember going to see the first Guardians of the Galaxy film at the cinema, and back then I was still only just getting acquainted with watching western media, and that included superhero films. Heck my first ever Marvel movie was Thor: The Dark World! I know, what a banger to start with.......NAAAWT!! Anyway, I went to see Guardians and it was one of the first superhero films I came out of feeling like I truly witnessed something special. It had action, comedy and a good heart to it, and wouldn’t you know, my good old pal James Gunn was behind that flick. I don’t know why I called him my good old pal, I don’t even know the fella. Except in my dreams, but we don’t talk about that. So, flashforward to Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, which I absolutely hated, and for that movie I’m pretty sure Marvel gave Mr Gunn mostly full reigns of creative freedom, as long as he kept it family friendly, and the result was a mess. Hence naturally now I was really sceptical when James Gunn ended up at Warner Bros. following the controversial moment when cancel culture decided to aim it’s slimy fingers at him, as he was given directing and writing duties for this new The Suicide Squad film, and also it was heavily insinuated that Warner Bros. basically told him he could do with the movie whatever the f*** he wanted, excuse my French. And we remember how it panned out last time when James Gunn was given a lot of creative freedom. 

Flashforward to present day; here I am wondering and scratching my head thinking what in the heavens has happened, as by golly I am happy to report that The Suicide Squad is a total winner and a blast with a capital B - Blast! Gosh goodness golly goblin, this movie is so much fun from beginning to end. Right from the opening sequence you know that this film isn’t holding back any punches. It’s going at a 447.19 km/h speed of a Koenigsegg Agera RS crashing through any barriers like it’s nothing. Speaking of the opening sequence, it establishes why the movie is called what it’s called from the get-go. You straight away are proven how not a single character is safe, minus the obvious one that we know who it is, as there ain’t no way Warner Bros. would have allowed James Gunn to kill off that one character. But besides that person, everyone else feels like they could die at any given moment. That’s really a big charm of it, as it is frustrating how in many superhero films, let alone any blockbuster action flicks, so many characters always feel so safe and unstoppable, no matter how many times they get shot or how many buildings crash down upon them. And yes, this movie features a certain CGI character that constantly gets that treatment and survives, although it’s very self aware in that regard and is purposefully humoristic. But overall the entire set of characters feel easily disposable, and so so many of them die in such gruesome fashion, so indeed don’t get attached, as they don’t. 

Speaking of which, this movie is hardcore gory! You see limbs and intestines flying round left and right, a guy gets ripped in half by a humanoid shark, another’s face gets teared off by a shotgun bullet and so on forth in all kinds of gruesome fashion. Visually this is one for the big screen, as here’s the thing: you’re either a mummy’s boy or you grow some cojones and go see a man’s heart get stabbed with a piece of debris glass in 4K high rate definition! Your choice! Oh, and it’s not just the violence, also the cinematography and the practical set pieces all look incredible. This is easily James Gunn’s best looking movie. The entire think LOOKS incredible!

We also have to talk about the cast, as they are all great! There literally isn’t a single weakling among them. Each one, no matter how big or small their role is, brings something to the table. I can’t talk about all of them, as we’d be here all day, so I’m simply going to mention a few of the stand-outs. Idris Elba comes in to replace Will Smith as a character called Bloodsport, who is in some ways a different character but evidently is a replacement of Smith’s. But that’s no bad thing, as with any ensemble movie you still need a main character to latch onto and have an emotional hook towards, and he is that character. In fact, I’d say he’s arguably better than Will Smith in the last movie, or at least he seems to be having more fun here. He works as a solid leading man, however what works even more is his banterous competitive genital-size-measuring back and forth with John Cena’s Peacemaker, who by the way is awesome as that character. He is not a good character, in fact he is as bad as a bad guy can get, especially cause he’s someone who believes that what he is doing is right, making him much more of a dangerous wild card. This is easily John Cena’s best role, with him adding to the comedy one-liners, but also delivering such an interesting character who I’m looking forward to seeing more of in his standalone spin-off show confirmed for next year. Oh, and he wears a toilet helmet on his head which he defines as “a beacon of freedom” which says it all. We also have returning characters from the last film Joel Kinnaman and Viola Davis as Rick Flag and Amanda Waller respectively, and both are given much more room to stretch their talents and spread their beautiful acting wings like the Hollywood angels that they are. Kinnaman’s Rick Flag is the moral compass of the group, as even though Elba is our main guy, he’s nonetheless a villain still, whilst Flag is a genuinely good guy and what is defined as a true American hero, to which Kinnaman fits the part well. And Viola Davis as Amanda Waller is on an absolutely different level. You can tell she’s an Academy Award winner through and through, as she plays such a serious character in an otherwise goofy movie, and so her presence is felt and it is felt BAD! She’s such a despicable yet intimidating personality and she gravitates all of the screen presence to herself. Margot Robbie returns as Harley Quinn, and she gets even more chance to develop this character that she’s played in multiple DCEU films now, and as per usual the Harley Quinn shtick works well for her, though I do kind of wish she didn’t always get all the attention. Look, I think she’s a fun character and Robbie plays her well, however she’s constantly used to overshadow others in these films which I don’t think is too fair, and its evident as ever in this film too. Anyway, the remainder of the cast including Jay Courtney as Captain Boomerang, David Dastmalchian as Polka-Dot Man, Michael Rooker as Savant, Nathan Fillion as TDK, Daniela Melchior as Ratcatcher 2 (who gave me strong A Plague Tale: Innocence vibes) and many more all play villains, but villains that don’t have particularly great superpowers. This is where the tragedy of Task Force X as a team plays a part, as many of these villains aren’t even good at being villains. They are useless, and the movie is really self aware of this and so treats all characters as they should be. Dare I also not forget to mention the CGI characters in this film, with both Weasel and King Shark being absolute scene stealers! 

The Suicide Squad is the type of wham-bam-thank-you-mam batshit crazy entertainment which exists for the pure reasons of fun. It doesn’t set out to be the best superhero film ever, nor does it need to be. It’s an exhilarating, shocking, funny and amusing ride from beginning to end, with the energy never stopping, and is easily the best time I’ve had with a comic-book film in a long while, and I’m even talking about before COVID! Do yourself a favour and watch this one as soon as you can, as I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again - The Suicide Squad is a BLAST!!

Overall score: 9/10

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/20/2020: PULSE aka KAIRO (2001)

There's a moment in Kiyoshi Kurosawa's PULSE (aka KAIRO) in which two college students stand before a computer screen, watching a program that consists of softly glowing white dots drifting across a black void. One explains to the other that this is a computer science project in which dots that make contact are destroyed, but dots that grow too far apart will be drawn back together. This is an explicit metaphor for our ambivalent modern existence, in which internet-driven isolation becomes increasingly unbearable, but intimacy seems impossible, and even somehow perilous. This is PULSE's thesis statement, which it explores by proposing that when there is no more room in hell, the dead will come online--a breach of natural reality that dissolves the crucially meaningful line between life and death, with apocalyptic consequences.

In accordance with its obvious themes, Kurosawa's enormously creepy thriller about modern alienation--a release that was perfectly timed for the dawn of the new millennium in 2001--features a cast of disparate characters who struggle to connect with one another as they each grapple with the supernatural disaster that slowly bleeds from their computer screens into the physical world. At the start, a group of coworkers discover that their friend Taguchi (Kenji Mizuhashi), who has fallen out of touch while obsessively working on a computer program for them, has committed suicide. That's putting it simply; actually, when Taguchi lets his concerned friend Michi (Kumiko Aso) into his apartment to retrieve the disc, he casually hangs himself in another room. The sequence is beyond chilling, and it's relevant for me to admit that when Michi first encounters Taguchi, I couldn't be sure whether she was talking to him, or his ghost. As the group investigates Taguchi's fate, they are each contacted by spirits from the other side, which causes the living to begin to fade from existence; first they lose their will to live, then they lose their rational minds, and ultimately, they lose corporeality. Meanwhile, young luddite Ryosuke (Haruhiko Kato) installs the internet at his home for the first time, and immediately, something starts logging on independently, sending him upsetting images of people haunting their own darkened apartments. Terrified, he enlists the help of computer science student Harue (Koyuki), and together they come to the appalling realization that the dead are returning to Earth through the internet, as the living drift senselessly away.

There is so much rhetoric about the alienating powers of the internet now, that it's hard to discuss the subject without feeling like you're just cycling through clichés cooked up by an older, future-phobic generation. PULSE avoids this pitfall by remaining stubbornly abstract. When the living encounter the dead, after the invariably horrifying moment of contact, the live victim first experiences a profound lethargy, indicative of an ever-deepening depression; we understand that while the fear of the returned dead is the most immediate concern, the shattering of definitions that this causes is what catalyzes the victim's transformation from quivering flesh to a moldering stain that eventually flakes away and vanishes. Seeing the end of the world closing in, Harue observes that if the dead are forced to continue to suffer the maddening monotony of their mortal lives, then what distinguishes a person from a ghost? As life and death meld into a homogenous mass, our dwindling protagonists search for answers, trying to dismantle the mysterious images and phone messages sent from the afterlife, but they only succeed at making themselves more painfully aware of the inevitable. The audience experiences the hopelessness of this misadventure along with the heroes, unable to make any satisfyingly concrete meaning out of the bizarre phenomenon that is taking over the planet. It seems that life is made worth living by the contrast between things, and the expectation of change and evolution--even the simple daily change of being able to leave one’s apartment, and commune with others. When these possibilities are eliminated, and the disembodying effect of the digital world takes hold, life essentially becomes a version of hell.  

Western audiences (of which you are probably a part, like me, if you are reading this) tend to balk at anything they can't fully understand, as if a film were a like a jigsaw puzzle with many pieces forming a rational whole, each piece having its own tidy function. As he often does, Kurosawa defies that longing for clarity and completion, and he gets away with it by building up an intensifying terror that feeds on our lack of understanding. Without a set of rules to live by--without a silver bullet, a wooden stake, or a detailed backstory--we are left with nothing to defend us against the appalling idea of the void gazing back at us, and ultimately absorbing us. Some characters in PULSE discover that they can seal the ghosts behind a door or window using red construction tape, but this doesn't always work, as an unfortunate young man finds out when he spots a frantic mass of tape plastered all over a solid wall, only to find the movie's most dreadful specter approaching him from behind. As far as one knows, there is no salvation to be found anywhere.

While preparing for this review, and trying to figure out how I was going to avoid the embarrassment of repeating the usual nonsense about how the internet desocializes you and rots your brain, I read an excellent review of PULSE by Washington Post critic Stephen Hunter. He observes wisely,  "Pulse is best enjoyed if it's not questioned too closely. It lives visually in a way it cannot live intellectually". The truth is, I think movie viewers would benefit from this attitude in general, remembering that no movie participates in our quantum reality; they are only windows to various emotional states, demonstrations of different ways to process and cope with experiences that we can rarely fully understand and control even in "real life". PULSE provides a near-perfect description of our collective loss of control in the face of unstoppable digital assimilation. And much like the movie itself, I have no comforting conclusion to offer.

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part one (prologue) Word count: ±1050 words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part one summary: A hike up Whitehorse Mountain isn’t the toughest challenge the Cleveland family has ever faced, until the snow is tainted by blood. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: A brand new episode of Supernatural: The Sullivan Series starts here! Beta’d by @winchest09​ & @deanwanddamons​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

          Whitehorse Mountain, Washington      November 21st, 2005 - One week ago

     ”C’mon, David!”      Three hikers find their way through the forest on the slopes of Whitehorse Mountain, deep in the wilderness of the Cascade Range. Evergreens rise up high above them, reaching for the clouds. A girl, probably about sixteen years old, walks up front, closely followed by her father. A bit further behind, her older brother halts as he looks over his shoulder. Behind him, in the valley where there is no snow, Darrington lies, protected by the mountains surrounding the small town. The shadows of the ridges they are climbing lay out a blanket of darkness. Across from the valley, the top of North Mountain is covered in white. It’s an amazing sight.

     “Hey, Slo-mo! Hurry it up! We wanna get over the Lone Tree Pass before dark,” his young and enthusiastic sister calls out.      “How much sugar did you have, Ruth?” her brother teases, after which he follows.      “We’ll set up camp below the ridge and continue east first thing in the morning. In about a half a mile, the real fun is gonna start,” their Dad informs, looking at a detailed map while walking.      “I can’t wait to see the view from the summit!” Ruth cheers, eager to reach their goal.

     Jim observes his daughter and smiles. The three of them share a passion for hiking and they go out to tame mountains whenever his work allows it. It became an outlet, especially after his wife passed away two years ago. It was a shock to all of them, but they got through it, as a family. It’s during moments like these that he realizes how lucky he is, still being able to spend time with his daughter and son.      “Slo-mo!” Ruth mocks, glancing at her brother over her shoulder.      “Would you stop calling me that?” David laughs.      “It’s the truth. But I’ll tell you what. I won’t call you names anymore if you make it to camp first,” she dares him.      Ruth turns around and walks further backwards, challenging David. He grins and starts running up the mountain. “You’re on!”

     He passes his father, who shakes his head with a grin on his face. Siblings; it doesn’t matter what age those two are, they will always compete with each other.      “Don’t go too far,” he warns like any parent would.      “You’ll never catch me!” Ruth shouts at her brother.      “Watch me!” David returns.

     He bolts after her, struggling to get through the thick layer of snow. He can hear his little sister laugh in the distance. Sometimes she appears between the tall trees in the black and white surreal world, and then he loses sight of her again. He catches up on her, but just as he’s about to pass his sister, they reach the rocky pass of Lone Tree. Unstoppable, Ruth starts her climb as she slams her axe in the solid ground, conquering the steep trail without a safety line. Trained and skilled, she overcomes the pass, tailed by her brother. 

     “Slo-mo!” she calls him, heaving her fist into the air victoriously.      “Yeah, yeah. You win.” David shakes his head as he drops his backpack down in the snow.

      Out of breath, David takes a moment to enjoy the view. Ruth, who has been running all this time and was too busy beating her brother, looks aside and witnesses the most beautiful scenery she has ever seen. Mountains as far as the eye can reach, down below an untouched valley. The rocks, the snow, the animals, the evergreens, it all comes together in a perfect balance, a beautiful mixture of the world’s wonders. In the east, The Four Fingers rise up from its foundation, as the setting sun shimmers an warm glow on the snowy slopes on the west side. The siblings can only stare in awe at the pure beauty of the earth.

     “Wow…” Ruth says, breathless.      “You can say that again,” David admits.       Ruth sits down in the cold snow and breathes in the fresh air, surrounded by small clouds created by her warm breath. Gosh, would she love her Mom to see this. She looks up at the pass, but there’s no sign of her Dad whatsoever.

     “Hey, Dad. You alright on that side?!” she shouts loudly, after which her voice echoes on, carried by open air.      “He’s getting old,” David jokes.      Ruth giggles, but then a strange, unusual roar reverberates through the mountaintops. A howl, but nothing like they’ve ever heard before.      “Is that a grey wolf?” Ruth wonders, surprised.      “I don’t know. I’ve heard grey wolves before, but this animal sounds different,” David ponders, as he stares down the ridge.

     Then they hear it again, much closer this time, or is it just the echo through the mountains that creates that illusion? A bad feeling starts to evolve in David’s stomach as his sister staggers, frightened by the eerie calls. Something’s off.      “You stay here, I’m gonna check on Dad, okay?” the oldest of the two says.      He looks over at Ruth before he grabs his axe and climbs to the other side of the pass. The Lone Tree is easily overcome and he descents down the mountain.      “Dad?!” he shouts.

     But the forest stays remarkably quiet. Too quiet. It’s just now that David realizes that he doesn’t hear the birds, nor other mammals that live in these woods. The trees don’t even whisper, the mountain seems dead. Carefully, David shuffles through the snow, which is perfectly white, until he stumbles on an odd color in this grey toned landscape. 

     Red. 

     Slowly, David’s gaze looks further ahead, afraid of what is about to come into view. This could well be an animal prey, a deer maybe. But he knows it isn’t, and when his gaze reaches the end of the bloody trail, his biggest fear is confirmed to have become reality. Under a tree lays his father, torn to pieces. In horror, David stumbles back, frightened, until he falls into the heavy snow. Then he hears the howl again, followed by a gut wrenching scream, coming from over the pass; it’s his sister. Large eyes full of terror stare up the pass while he realizes what he’s hearing, is the sound of flesh tearing and bones breaking. Even though he knows it’s useless, a chilling cry escapes his throat.      “RUTH!!!”

There you have it, the first chapter of the new episode “Black Dog”. I hope I got your attention! Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read chapter two here

[thehoardofthegreatdragon]

Urahara Kisuke: "Come on baby, I know the law" But Actually Illegal

Hello and welcome to Coco has Too Many Feelings Hour. Today, it’s a character analysis of Urahara Kisuke because what gave him the fucking right to be so cool? WHAT GAVE HIM THE RIGHT?

Anyway. This is going to be half based on his dialogue, and half based on general action patterns, since both are damn interesting. There will be spoilers for most things but I’ll try to keep things after the Aizen arc vague. Also, it should go without saying that this is all my interpretation and very biased (extra biased because I Love Him). 

[AKA: This is like, just my opinion, man.]

Now before we begin can we just pause to appreciate how beautiful he is? If you haven’t, stare at this picture for at least a minute. Go on, I’ll time you. 

Now we can move on. 

Kisuke is, in a word, complicated. If I had to describe him (and considering that’s the point of this entire goddamn document, I better try), I’d say he’s a man with unstoppable curiosity and a heart that is far too soft to handle the fallout of his own invention. 

No matter where you put him, no matter what time he’s born into, he will create a weapon he shouldn’t have. He has this strange bit of naïveté about his science at first, but it fades as he sees what his science has done to people he cares for. He has a good heart-- a soft heart, under it all-- so he can’t just accept the damage he’s done and move on. He turns that genius to invention, so that he can fix the things he broke. He wants to help everyone he can, because he hurt so many. 

But that doesn’t ever make the guilt go away, and it doesn’t stop him from using people when he has to— we see this happen with Ichigo in the Soul Society invasion arc. Kisuke uses him to achieve his goals, but he is far from happy about it and apologizes afterwards. 

Alright, into the meat of his character. I’m going to skim over the fact that he is arguably one of the strongest characters in the entire show, a man who plans for every eventuality compulsively because he understands that people die in battle (people die when they are killed), and so intelligent that he was one of the few people Aizen actually was wary of. I’m skimming it, because otherwise this already too long essay would be three times as long and wax rhapsodic about every way that he is, in fact, an incredible badass. 

[IM SKIPPING IT FOR ALL OUR SAKES OKAY.] 

He will and does help people, but he’s very guarded. It makes a terrible kind of sense, because he worked in the Omnitsukidō, and I don’t think anyone can come out of a spy and assassination agency without some jadedness. The exile doesn’t help either, because now he’s been forced to deal with the fallout from a betrayal and the loss of his home too. 

That being said, the exile also made him more of his own man. Freer, in many ways. More able to be the eccentric self he wants to, better adapted to life, more likely to see how people could use him and less likely to let it happen. I think the living world suits him in a way that Soul Society never really did. 

At his core he's a good person, but he built walls upon walls around himself. And those walls never come down, and some of them are mirrors, and some of them are smokescreens that don’t look like walls, because he can never be simple and he doesn’t want to be understood. And even if someone does see part of who he is, he wants them to only see that particular part. 

He is an eccentric free spirit whose drive for invention cost him more dearly than anything else. His will to create, his truest self— the scientist, with inventions to make and the world to explore— started a war. It ruined the lives of people he wanted to be friends, and people who were friends. 

And as a scientist, that’s the greatest blow of all. It’s like Oppenheimer and the atomic bomb. He created a weapon he couldn’t control, but he did it with something he loved with his whole heart. It hurts twice as deeply, when it comes from love. 

He’s also a follower more than a leader. Kisuke is the support type, for all his fighting skill— he’s ready with backup plans and transportation and research, but he needs a person to follow into battle. For a long time that was Yoruichi. Then he stood on his own as a captain, but the way he did it was by structuring his division into a support division rather than a truly fighting one (his own way of coping with new leadership, imo. He turned the 12th into the division he wanted it to be, rather than really learning how to lead a fighting division). 

Then he had to stand on his own, in exile, and he did. I imagine this was mostly fueled by guilt and determination, because he had to fix the mess he had helped create and defeat Aizen. But even still, he still kept to the shadows and planned Aizen’s downfall, rather than stepping on the battlefield and doing it himself (for many reasons, of course— Aizen was still in Soul Society’s good graces and it would have been suicide, Kisuke is not a foolish man who would throw away the best chance at success for a fight). 

And at last, he chose Ichigo to follow. But this is doubly interesting because at first he is uses Ichigo to achieve his goals. Supposedly, Kisuke himself couldn’t have gone to Soul Society to rescue Rukia (because of the exile, though let’s face it Kubo’s world building doesn’t explain how Yoruichi could go so who really knows. And Kisuke being Kisuke, would have found a way into Soul Society if he thought it would help their fight against Aizen. Anyone who doesn’t believe that can see the TYBW arc and Fight Me). 

But there were many people who had a better chance of going in his stead, and many ways to save Rukia that didn’t involve a straightforward invasion. This is not to mention that Kisuke used Rukia too, with the intention of forcing Aizen’s hand. 

So when Ichigo and Kisuke first meet, he views Ichigo as a tool (and a person, because he’s a good man and never free of the guilt).  

But with each battle, we see how Kisuke trusts Ichigo more and more. This progression continues until the last battle with Aizen, and then after that Kisuke stands behind Ichigo with absolutely no hesitation. Throughout the last arc, throughout the remainder of the manga, when Ichigo needed him, Kisuke was there— with supplies, with research, with a path to Hueco Mundo, hell even with a path to the big palace up in the sky. And Kisuke trusted Ichigo absolutely— see the panel where Ichigo asks Kisuke to hold out until he gets there, and everything will be alright because Ichigo will handle it. And Kisuke’s response to that is just a smile and a single word— “Understood.” 

The trust between them is absolute. This is surprising, if you think of how few people Kisuke has really trusted over the years, and how few he trusts to this extent. 

[It’s also very interesting that of all the people Ichigo choses to tell to “wait for me,” it’s Kisuke but that’s just my loyalty kink showing up don’t mind me.]

Once the guilt of using him was gone, Kisuke could follow the leader he’d chosen. And he did, endlessly. 

On that note, Kisuke’s dialogue choice with Ichigo develops in a very interesting way. In the beginning its challenging and on the ruthless side (“don’t use her as an excuse to kill yourself,” for example), into something much more trusting and less challenging (the “understood” for instance, or the “what would you like me to do” ). This evolution tracks with the evolution of Kisuke’s changing attitude towards Ichigo. 

We move from Kisuke only promising to help when he extracts something in return (“Do you really think, there is no way to get to Soul Society? I’ll tell you, on one condition.”) to Kisuke offering to help Ichigo before being asked (“My my, you guys sure are having an interesting conversation. So, this Hueco Mundo trip. Shall I arrange it?”).

[Imagine how much literally anyone else would pay to have a scientist of Kisuke’s caliber basically on retainer. And Ichigo gets it for the low low price of absolutely free.]

All this is to say, that I think that Kisuke can and is always ready for any eventuality but that it’s only after his trust is earned by Ichigo that he gives his plans so easily to other people. He has chosen a king, so to speak. 

[Don’t call out my power kink or I will personally end you.]

Moving on to dialogue in general, we see many damn interesting patterns. Perhaps intentionally, Kisuke's a bit on a different wavelength, and no one expects the answers he gives to any questions. Its eccentricity, but honed into a weapon and very self-aware. He often interprets questions in different ways than expected, like he’s purposefully setting people off guard. 

Consider the following response he gives to an enemy in later chapters (TYBW arc): 

“Asking me such a personal question, is really more of a second date thing.”

He’s never met this person before in his life, and his response is to just, straight up flirt. THIS IS FLIRTING. KISUKE. WHY ARE YOU FLIRTING. HE’S NOT EVEN HOT. 

Anyway. In general, Kisuke has two broad categories of speech patterns: completely serious and teasing-playful-fake-humble.  Unlike many other characters who use a baiting tone and words against enemies (Frankenstein from Noblesse comes to mind as an example), Kisuke uses them on friends and enemies alike. And his tone isn’t really mocking but fake-humble and fake-playful.

Examples of this—

“Oh? You know of me. What an honor.” (Said behind fan)

“It’s wedged in their rather fatally, Yoruichi-san!” (Said to Yoruichi’s ass)

[Seriously, who does this asshole think he is? Yoruichi kicks him and I’m glad she does.]

He's very often cheerful, and usually smiling as he speaks. I’d say his eyes are the biggest giveaway to his emotion because they dont really ever soften. (And because Kubo has a Thing for drawing them covered in shadows and looking badass, see Exhibit: Oh No He’s Hot, pictured below)

In this playful mode, even when he apologizes it’s usually in a way that somehow makes it worse. He’s constantly either annoying people or throwing them off guard or a combination, but in a much more cheerful eccentric way than say, Frankenstein. For example, after he says the line above to Yoruichi (in the middle of a battle, I might add), he says this:

“Why would you kick me? I came to help. I’m sorry, perhaps the expression “wedged in” was a bit vulgar.” 

He’s managed to repeat the thing that made her kick him, in a way that almost makes it worse, but in a way that makes it seem like hes trying to apologize. It’s very clever, and also ideal for pissing people off, intentional or not. (But who are we kidding, this is Kisuke. It’s definitely intentional). 

But he can also switch to a serious mode quite quickly, seemingly able to interweave the two modes without really needing to break between them. This most often comes out when there is someone to save or protect.

[Because he's secretly a softie, as mentioned above, god I love him]

For example, when Masaki is in danger, even tho he's never met her or the soul reapers before (and when his very existence should make him avoid Isshin), he says this:

“We dont have time to waste. Both of you, please come with me. I will tell you the choices you have to save her.”

It’s to the point, succinct, polite, and also filled with a desire to save. It’s also completely at odds with his playful tone when he speaks in other times. I think this dichotomy is the core of Kisuke. Of course he's playful and eccentric— and this makes him the delightful character he is— but at his core he's a man who cares about people and wants to help. He doesn’t hesitate to apologize when he is in the wrong either, kneeling before Ichigo after the Soul Society arc and not asking for forgiveness but explaining why he is sorry. (Ichigo forgives him, because Ichigo will always forgive him, and that hurts even more). 

But even when there are threats to life, if they've been dealt with and he's in a controlled environment, he pulls out the playful act again, though it often has an edge. For example, after he saves Ichigo for the first time he says this:

“What? You sound upset. Didn’t you want to be saved?”

It’s on the edge of teasing but its also much more pointed than anything else he's said to Ichigo at this point. It’s followed by some of the rawest and cruelest lines of dialogue I’ve ever read, because Kisuke doesn’t flinch back from being harsh when he has to be. 

Even his cruelty, when he is forced to use it, comes from a place of care and a desire to help. Doesn’t stop it from stinging like hell. 

It’s at this point where I descended into crying about Kisuke and how good he was and how much I love him, and so decided to stop.

In summary: Kisuke is a good man who couldn’t stop himself from inventing the most destructive weapon to exist. But he’s a good man, and so he spent a century crafting his own penance. 

General Kisuke Dialogue I’ve collected, in case people find it useful:

Stop fighting, you two. It’s my fault, I should have disposed of it. 

We have no choice. We’ve got to find it and neutralize it before it causes any trouble. 

No way, accidents happen! Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. There now, its okay. 

Good, let’s move! Operation “recall”

Well look here. We finally find you, and you’re already incapacitated. What a waste. We lugged all this stuff here for nothing. 

I’m going to destroy it. Hmm. I’m not sure how to answer that. 

This is serious. I won’t take the fall for you. 

No no, Kurosaki-san. Your wounds have barely closed. If you move around too much, you’ll die <3. 

Do you really think, there is no way to get to Soul Society?

I’ll tell you, on one condition. For the next ten days, you must allow me to train you. 

You don’t understand. What I’m trying to tell you is they’ll kill you.Could you win? If you fought them as you are? I allowed you to fight them this time, because I thought it would make it easier for you to understand. At your current level of ability, you wouldn’t stand a chance in soul society. You’re weak. For you to venture into enemy territory now would be suicide. You want to save Kuchiki-san? Don’t make me laugh. Don’t use her as an excuse to kill yourself. 

Of course. If you wish to save Kuchiki-san with your whole heart, then you have at your disposal a power stronger than iron. But if your resolve is half-hearted, forget it. For the next ten days, I’m going to put you through the wringer. 

What? You sound upset. Didn’t you want to be saved?

He went home. His wound bled a lot, but it wasn’t severe. 

Couldn’t you have come up with anything better? [how lame]

Looks like I was a step too late.

What would you like me to do? Shall I book a ticket to reiokyu? It may take me some time though. [to ichigo]

We dont have time to waste. Both of you, please come with me. I will tell you the choices you have to save her. 

My my, you guys sure are having an interesting conversation. So, this Hueco Mundo trip. Shall I arrange it?

[I] its usually like this with Urahara. [K] you know me too well <3

Oh? You know of me. What an honor. (Said behind fan)

To be included in such an esteemed group, I don’t know what to say. Its an honor, but he’s giving me too much credit.

It’s wedged in their rather fatally, Yoruichi-san!

Why would you kick me? I came to help. I’m sorry, perhaps the expression “wedged in” was a bit vulgar (makes fake apologies a lot)

Asking me such a personal question, is really more of a second date thing.

You see, even if I don’t tell you, you’ll be up close and personal with it soon enough.

[evanbuckley-heartofgold]

The Nothing

TW: suicidal thoughts, mentions of attempted suicide, implied self harm

Read on ao3

Owen’s phone rings in the middle of the night on a Thursday. It’s TK. Owen is so tired from his shift that he nearly missed it. But he didn’t. Thank God. 

“TK?” Owen askes groggily, clicking on his bedside light. “What’s going on?” 

“Dad?” TK’s voice is shaky. “I-I’m outside, can I please-please come in?” It sounds like TK is crying or very close to it. The sound of his child upset has Owen wide awake in seconds. 

Owen jumps out of bed, moving towards the door, “Of course. Do you have your key?” 

“No.” 

“That’s okay,” Owen assures him. “I’m going to come down and get you, okay?” He knows he could very easily buzz TK in and wait for him to walk up the stairs, but that doesn’t feel right. Owen doesn’t like waiting. “Don’t hang up until you see me.”

“O-Okay.” TK sniffs. 

“Are you hurt?” Owen asks, not even putting on shoes as he rushes down the stairs of his apartment building. 

“I don’t think so.” The wording doesn’t soothe Owen in the slightest. 

“Did you take anything?”

“No.” TK’s response is quick enough that Owen doesn’t think he’s lying. 

“That’s good, buddy,” Owen tells his son as he pushes open the door. Normally TK would protest pet names, tell his dad he’s too old for those kinds of things. But this time he doesn’t.

TK lowers the phone from his ear as he sees his dad. His cheeks are streaked with tears and he doesn’t look like he’s slept in days. What the hell is going on? Owen saw him yesterday. What changed? Maybe he wasn’t paying enough attention to how he was really doing. 

“Dad,” TK shoves himself into Owen’s arms, pressing his nose to his dad’s pulse point. 

Owen holds him just as tight, one hand in TK’s hair, as he lets him sob into his chest. He runs his fingers through TK’s hair. “We’re okay, Tyler. It’s alright.” Owen moves them back and forth a little before he says. “Why don’t we go inside, huh?” 

“Okay.” TK pulls himself out of Owen’s arms, quickly mopping up his tears with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Owen keeps his arm around TK the whole way up to the apartment. 

Once they’re inside, Owen sits TK down on the couch and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. He runs his thumb over TK’s knuckles and asks, “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” 

TK looks up at Owen through his lashes, pressing his shaking hands against his legs. He takes a deep breath. “I-I was scared I was going to hurt myself.” Owen’s heart stills in his chest; those words terrify him more than anything. His son hurts so deeply that he thought he would try to hurt himself. “I-I was on the roof.” 

Owen takes TK’s hands, looking at his son with more intensity than ever before, “Were you going to jump?” 

TK’s lip trembles, fresh tears pouring down his cheeks and he nods. Owen yanks TK into his arms, holding him as tight as he can. TK trembles in his grasp as his sobs into his father’s chest. Owen fights back his own tears. His son wants to die. His child has so much pain in his heart that he wants to end his own life. 

He knew TK was dealing with depression, but he has no idea it was this bad. His son could have died tonight and Owen would have had no idea why.

“Shh,” Owen soothes as he tightens his grip on TK. “You’re going to be okay, baby. I got you.” 

“Dad,” TK sobs out the word, “I-I’m so scared.” Owen knows what he doesn’t say is that he’s scared of himself.

“I know,” Owen pulls back and takes TK’s face between his hands. “But it’s going to be okay.”

TK shakes his head, “How do you know?” 

“Because you are Tyler Kennedy Strand,” Owen uses his thumb to wipe away TK’s tears. “And you have one stubborn as hell dad who will not let you go. We’re going to make it through this together.” 

A ghost of a smile crosses TK’s face, “You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

TK falls back into Owen’s arms. Owen holds TK for as long as he can, running hands up and down TK’s back. Eventually, TK cries himself into a fitful sleep and Owen doesn’t have the strength to move away from his son. TK wakes up in the morning with his head in his dad’s lap, Owen fast asleep sitting up. 

“Did you want to kill yourself?” 

Owen asks his son only three years later after TK OD’d in his apartment. The pause before TK tells him no is all Owen needs to make the decision to move to Austin. If he doesn’t do something now, he knows he will lose his son. He’s gotten so close to losing him, he’s not willing to risk it again.

He thought TK would fight more the stay in New York, but he didn't. He lets himself be dragged to the other side of the country. That scares Owen more. TK once describes this thing inside his head to Owen. He said it was like The Nothing from one of his favorite childhood movies The Never Ending Story, an unseen, unstoppable force, that makes everything in its path become...nothing. 

The morning after TK showed up at Owen’s apartment, he said that The Nothing filled his brain and that it made him feel so much and so little at the same time. He was in pain, but he was numb to it. 

Now, almost a year after moving to Texas, Owen feels his heart swell with pride. TK is okay, TK has more people he can trust and rely on, he has so much light and happiness in his life. Owen cried the day TK told him that The Nothing had settled, not gone, but gone dormant in his mind. 

His son is okay.

Owen can finally let out a breath of relief. 

[turnipotentiary]

Little Talks (Lams angst)

I think I posted this before but I was looking through my docs and I’m really proud of this, so have it again! It’s angst, heavy angst, starring ghost!john and implied suicidal thoughts. I’d highly recommend listening to Little Talks, which is a song, before you read this, because a) it’s a bit of a songfic and you’ll understand a bit more if you do and b) it’s an amazing song and I believe everyone should listen to it. Here ya go!

Alexander stepped hesitantly into the living room. “John?” There was a pause. The floorboard creaked as he took another step, seeming obnoxiously loud in the silence. 

And screamed. 

Two weeks later, Alexander tossed and turned in bed, tangling up the blankets around him. Tears ran down his face, seemingly never-ending. He stood up, deciding to walk silently downstairs for some water, abandoning any notion of sleep for the third night in a row. 

The utter silence of the house chilled him to his core. He wished John could be with him, holding his hand and whispering to him, coaxing him gently to sleep. He sighed, continuing down the stairs. Something moved. Or perhaps it was his imagination. Some days he was unsure what was reality and what was in his head. He knew he much preferred the trappings of his mind to the cold sting of reality.

 He felt a cold hand upon his shoulder and turned to see a ghostly apparition of John, not quite there but still substantive enough for his form to appear, glowing slightly in the moonlight. Alexander sat up. “My love,” he whispered. John smiled, took a step back upstairs, motioned for Alex to come with him. 

“The stairs creak as I sleep, it’s keeping me awake.” John sighed, brows furrowing worriedly. He examined Alexander’s state, which seemed to deteriorate each time he saw him. Dark circles around his eyes, thin frame getting thinner by the day, face taking on a haunted, exhausted look. He needed sleep. “It’s the house telling you to close your eyes.”

Alexander sighed. Another step. This time there was simply a suffocating quiet, almost as if the air around him was holding its breath, daring him to move. “I don’t like walking around this cold and empty house,” he whispered. John took his hand, the glowing form of his fingers wrapping around the material flesh of his own, feeling the ring that hadn’t moved from his finger. “So hold my hand, I’ll walk with you, my dear.”

Alexander began to cry silently again. Tears dripped down his face, the all-consuming wish for John to come back to him stealing his breath and forcing him to his haunches, sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands. “Some days I can’t even dress myself.” John floated back up to him, caressing his cheek gently. “It’s killing me to see you this way.”

Alexander continued down the staircase, forcing back the childhood fear of lurkers in the dark that never quite leaves one’s mind. A light stuttered on at the flick of a switch, dim fluorescent bulb illuminating the kitchen and spotlighting the island counter, on which a bowl of fruit sat, eerily normal. Funny, Alexander reflected, that your world can be torn apart and destroyed, and yet life goes on. The light only served to further the eeriness of the scene, reminiscent of a horror movie, darkness surrounding the kitchen and swirling in the path from the stairs to the kitchen.

Alexander took a deep breath, willing his legs to move, to cross the five feet of darkness. John nudged him. And yet his feet remained on the cold wood floor. “There’s an old voice in my head that’s holding me back.” John wrapped his cold, translucent arms around his neck. “Well, tell her that I miss our little talks.” Alexander sighed again.

He strode through the darkness, emerging on the other side, reaching out and taking a banana from the fruit bowl. He peeled it silently, staring out the window at the lawn in front. John saw his line of sight and copied him, sighing reminiscently. “Soon it will be over, and buried with our past,” Alexander said suddenly, expression melancholy. “We used to play outside when we were young, and full of life and full of love.”

Alexander stared down at the fruit in his hand, seeing that he’d finished it absentmindedly. He seemed to be drifting off more recently. He looked at John’s ghost, shimmering and floating several inches off the biting-cold tile floor. “Some days I don’t know if I am wrong or right.” John floated forward. “Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear.”

Alexander started up the stairs again, hurrying through the dark, footsteps echoing and seeming to blare through the house, disturbing the silence. He sat on the edge of his bed, not wanting to sleep again, not wanting to leave John’s presence. John sat beside him, eyes drifting towards the pills on the nightstand. Just one handful… He sat up suddenly. No. Alexander looked sideways at him, tearing his gaze from the medication prescription on his bedside table. He’d been scanning the label, John realized. One tablet per day, it read. Alexander wondered if it was that simple; four pills and he was with John again. “Don’t listen to a word I say,” John said gently, putting his hand on Alexander’s.

Alexander’s shoulders dropped, his head tilting down suddenly, whole body beginning to shake. “You’re gone, gone, gone away- I watched you disappear,” he choked out, crying, tears pouring down, a silent, unstoppable torrent of grief and despair. “All that’s left is the ghost of you.” A single tear dripped down John’s cheek. “Now we’re torn, torn, torn apart, there’s nothing we can do,” he whispered, hoarse voice a melody against Alexander’s steady beat of pained crying. A song of sadness and loss.

“Just let me go, we’ll meet again soon,” John said, letting Alexander drift to sleep as he floated away. Alexander reached out, tear-soaked hand grasping for his lover. “Wait, wait, wait for me, please hang around!” John placed his hand in Alexander’s for a moment before pulling away. “I’ll see you when you fall asleep.” 

And he was gone, Alexander curling into himself under the covers, continuing to shake with the force of his sobs. He was gone. Perhaps he’d never been there in the first place, a spirit conjured by his mind, a necessity to keep his fragile self intact, a form made of hopeful thinking and the desperate wish of one last night together.

“Now you’re gone, gone, gone away, nothing I can do-” tears soaked the pillowcase as he tried to fall asleep, to go to that blissful state of unconsciousness, where John was still holding him in his arms, where he knew no pain, no loss. “All that’s left… is the ghost of you.”

Pleeeeeeease leave a comment? It means so much to me! I want to know what you thought!

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

Bjorn Ironside x Female Reader: Skjaldmær

A/N : This is what I get for watching the Vikings before bed. A story based off a dream that I had a couple of nights ago, featuring Bjorn and a badass!female reader.  Part 2 may be in cards for this one if anyone’s interested? Let me know.  Also I have like a million messages to respond to, I promise I’ll get there. Please, bear with me? WARNINGS: Gore, violence, blood - the whole package. 

This wonderful GIF ain’t mine.  “This is a suicide mission”.

Your brother, Jonas, finally spoke, ever the optimist. With your eyes fixed firmly on the vast expanse of the open sea, you embraced the feeling of the salty wind brushing through your hair and caressing your cheeks. Your horse, Morning Star, grumbled impatiently underneath you, showing his excitement at what was to come. Animals, they simply sensed this kind of stuff - that, and well, he probably smelled dried blood and fire smoke, even from afar, that unmistakable odour of the others.

Your people called them the Vikings, the Norsemen, the Pagans - depending more on who was telling the story, than on the narrative in itself. Their reputation preceded them - half of your father’s counsel, or whatever was left of it, now that he went to war with the French, told you to leave everything behind, and move further into the country. That being said, none of them really believed that you’d be able to outrun these animals - it was written all over their faces, even if they refused to voice their thoughts - but you had to give it to them, their advice actually made sense.

It all started out a week ago, when a little farm boy called Jimmy ventured all the way to the sea front, trying to push the stubborn cattle back to the open fields. Something caught his eye as he tried to shoo one of his goats, who must have felt especially adventurous, from the edge of the cliff and back to safety. A series of little black dotes littered the horizon, growing bigger and bigger with each passing second. Jimmy might have been a very terrestrial creature, he knew a ship when he saw one. He told as much to his father - and from there, the word had traveled fast. 

When you were still a little girl, you father had made a point out of teaching you to reserve any kind of judgement based upon the words of others - but now, right at this moment, looking at the long, sleek ships cutting through the veins of the deep blue sea like razor blades, you could easily believe all those stories of bloodshed, violence and rape, surrounding the Vikings. The boats - maybe fifty in total - looked menacing under the dark grey sky, heavy clouds pregnant with unshed tears for those who would perish at the hands of the Pagans. 

“You should have left with the others”, Jonas spoke again, licking his dry lips as he, too, stared at the horizon. “You’re King Ipswich’s only daughter. Can’t imagine what those animals would do to you if they learn”.

“Now, now, they’d have to get their hands on me first”, a ghost of a smile lit up your features for a fleeting moment. “And if they do, I’ll be dead long before they touch as much as a hair on my head. And God be my witness, I will not go alone. If I go down -“

“You’ll go down swinging,” Jonas finished for you, a warm smile gracing his features for the first time since he learned about the Pagans coming. 

You watched him, unblinking, basking in the glow of his smile, making sure to take a mental picture of every little detail - the curve of his lips, small crinkles in the corners of his eyes… 

For you weren’t sure you’d ever get to see that smile again.

***

One calculated swing of your elegant curved sword was all it took for a giant Viking to collapse on his knees, choking on his blood. You watched him grasp his neck with both hands, his eyes wide and surprised as he stared at you, unblinking. 

Even with your armour on, all leather and metal, you knew you looked far less menacing than their women - sporting long braids soaked in blood, and black elaborate designs inked into their scarred skin. Yet, if anything, you considered this prejudice an immense advantage - your face stinging from the hot Viking blood spilled all over it just went to show that your skills had taken them by surprise. 

Sitting on the throne alongside your father for the last couple of years, you’d proven yourself to be a just yet merciful soon-to-be ruler; on the battlefield you were ruthless, baring your pearl teeth as you sliced another Viking’s head off.

What was an hour ago your people’s elaborate, beautiful lacquered houses was now a pile of burning wood, spitting black smoke into the air, thick with the odour of blood. Your eyes stung, tears forming in their corners, as you looked around, searching for your brother. You’ve been separated a while ago (minutes? hours? you’d lost count) by a group of Vikings with tattooed faces. You’ve killed three of them in a brutal fight - the last one managed to cut a side of your face, splitting your eyebrow - blood rolled down your cheek freely, but you refused to pay mind to the injury. Jonas was nowhere to be found, and with a clenching heart, you prayed to God he managed to get away...

An agonizing cry resonated over the noises of the battle - the sound pinned you to the ground, making blood freeze in your veins. Panic hit you like a hurricane as you recognized your brother’s voice, cursing the Vikings’ entire race to eternal damnation. 

It all happened so fast - and yet too slow - for the love of God, you felt too much, and nothing at all at once!… 

A deafening gasp left your bloodied lips as you turned your head in Jonas’ direction, the world around you coming to a screeching halt. You could feel your messy and bloodied strands of hair hit your cheek as your lips fell open, a terrified scream burning the back of your throat.

It lasted less than a second, yet still long enough to haunt you forever. 

Two Vikings, tall and proud, their faces scarlet with blood, towered over Jonas. Your brother - your everything - stood, vanquished, on his knees by their side. Your heart nearly giving out at the sight, you lurched forward, yelling your brother’s name at the top of your lungs. 

All it took was a caress of a blade. 

A slight, almost lazy flick of a Viking’s wrist. 

Your brother stared at you wide-eyed, blood pulsing through the neat cut on his neck, streaming down his chest in a red waterfall. Choking and gurgling, he pressed one of his hands to his throat, as if trying to keep the flow in, just to say one last word. 

“Sister...” he managed, reaching out to you with his other hand, broken, bloody and bruised.

He fell down on his face there and then, his eyes glassy, his bloody mouth giving up the ghost of that radiating smile of his - it was now gone, gone for eternity. 

You were screaming like a wounded animal as your feet took you to these barbarians. An hour before, you were a force to be reckoned with. Now you were deadly. Unstoppable. You couldn’t care less if you lived or died anymore. All you had now, all that made sense, was the fire in your chest, burning your heart to ashes, and a place you needed to reach.

Your features distorted by a mask of rage, you charged at the two Vikings, your sword held high and ripping through the wall of smoke. The cry you let out sounded like it tore your throat on the inside. Swishing your blade, you made both men recoil in surprise; your movements fast and precise, you cut one of the Vikings across his chest, glad to see him bleed. Growling, he stumbled back. Swinging the sword with a circular movement of your wrist, you gave him a twisted smile, all bloody teeth... right before you dug your fingers into the cut on his shoulder, pulling him in. Your sword pierced his chest squarely in the middle, as you pushed him onto it, his blood splashing all over your front and cheeks. Gripping the handle of your weapon tighter, you twisted it around, your eyes never quitting the Viking’s face - not until you saw the light go out in his watering eyes. Sliding your sword out of his hollow chest with one sharp move, you let his body drop to the ground as you looked around, your eyes searching for the deadman’s accomplice. 

A bitter laugh pushed its way through your lips as you saw the man stumble back at the sight of you - could you blame him? You probably looked insane, pain of loss and hunger for revenge taking over every fiber of your body. You cocked your head to a side as you took a step towards him, studying his face. He was young - maybe even younger than you. Among the usual attributes of those other men - long braided hair, strong jaw - you saw fear flash in those turquoise eyes of his. That elicited another smile out of you - and it was enough for the man to go into the attack stance, his sword aimed at your chest.

“Hvitserk, no!” 

Intricate sounds of the foreign dialect tingled through your body. Their echo gnawed at your earlobes, scratched your neck and caressed your shoulders, pulling you in. 

As your eyes searched for the man who’d spoken, you wondered whether it was the dialect or the man himself - you’ve heard the Norse before but it had never sounded so rich and tantalizing. Every minor change in the atmosphere, every breath, every clash of the swords on the battlefield - your body seemed to vibrate with terrible energy, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. That voice - that raw and guttural arrangement of notes - shook you to the core, leaving a pulsating sensation behind. 

The man standing before you - Hvitserk, you presumed - hadn’t moved. He stared at you unblinking, from the looks of it paying no mind to the powerful tenor. Your wicked smile grew wider as your gazes locked again; when suddenly, a torrid movement caught your eye behind Hvitserk’s back. 

The owner of that voice looked like the very definition of a Viking; he moved like one, too. Tall, ramroad straight, broad-shouldered and rock-jawed, he slid his sword out of a man’s chest, and squeezed its blade lightly between his arm and his ribs, wiping the blood on his clothes. Bear-like, his neck muscles drumhead tight, he sank his cerulean eyes into your frame, a content smirk playing upon his thin lips. Your breath caught in your throat as the man yelled something to Hvitserk again, something you didn’t make out; your heart clenched in your chest - much to your surprise - when the stranger bared his teeth like an animal - like a starved bear - as he headed towards you, ground trembling beneath your feet.

“Her Majesty is mine, brother!” he roared, wild and uncontrollable, quickly closing the distance between you. 

He knew. 

Realization struck you like thunder, your brother’s face flashing before your eyes. 

...You’re King Ipswich’s only daughter. Can’t imagine what those animals would do to you if they learn...

You growled until the sound grew into an angry holler - with your heart crushing hard against your ribcage, you squeezed the handle of your sword...

And started to run - to meet the bear-like Viking halfway. *** The desperate crunching of snow beneath your feet barely registered, as you zigzagged between the bare trunks of trees, now more than ever looking like old bones. Your ragged breaths almost blocked the ringing in your ears, the mocking whooping from behind you urging you to run faster. There was no point in hiding, you knew it all too well - the Vikings were the perfect hunters, probably capable of smelling their prey. Gritting your teeth, you jumped over a trap at the very last moment, nearly stepping into it.

Because that’s what you were now - their prey. The Vikings were hunting you, not for the fun of it, no. They were in it for a kill. 

A nasty sort of satisfaction flashed through your feverish mind as you heard the trap close on someone’s leg close by behind you, the man crying bloody murder. You allowed yourself to look back, if only for a moment, - and instantly regretted it.

Your stomach flipped at the sight of the bear-like Viking - the one with the cerulean blue eyes and a long blond braid - the one you’ve almost slaughtered during the fight. He was now mere meters away from you, so you swore a blue streak, forcing your legs to move faster. Your eyes also caught a growing crowd of the Vikings behind his back, all shouting in a wicked kind of anticipation, their faces smeared with blood. 

If you were honest with yourself, this was indeed a very unfortunate situation as it was. Your chances to get out alive diminished by half, however, when you saw the archer in a chariot pulled by a strong white horse, rush in your direction. That sight alone would have been enough for you to singlehandedly impale yourself on your sword, had you not lost it in the fight...

...When you and the bear-like Viking collided back on the battlefield, your swords connected with such a force, sparks shot out in every direction, and you found yourself thrown back from the impact. Instead of rushing back in, you quickly assessed the situation: you could never win this fight, not by facing the man head-on. He would use his brutal force, his powerful body, to his advantage. One punch or a swing of his sword would be enough for you to go down in history as yet another ruler fallen at the hands of the Barbarians. 

This simply wouldn’t do.

You were faster. Lighter. And certainly less rigid than this mountain of a man. You just had to find a way to use these differences to your advantage. 

And so you did. 

A rowdy crowd of Vikings gathered around the two of you, encircling you completely, urging the bear-like man - their commander in chief with eyes bluer than the skies on the sunny day - to kill you. Your breathing deep and calculated, you blocked them out. Balancing your body weight onto your toes, you jumped back and forth, throwing your sword forward at different angles, trying to get the Viking to follow your motions, to lose his focus. When you saw an opening, you dashed under his arm like a dancer, slicing a deep cut into his ribs. The Viking howled, surprised rather than hurt, even though the gash in his side looked deep and bled profusely. He barely even blinked - stoic as they come, he spinned around to face you, his sword narrowly missing your neck. You dived down just in time, using your position and your blade to slash his thighs open.

The roar that escaped his lips was raw, angrier this time. Still on his feet - how, in God’s name, did he manage to stay upright after that?! - he bolted in your direction, his sword clattering to the ground. His massive shoulders crashed into your chest, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Both of you fell back, the Viking’s body pressed tightly to yours, pinning you to the ground. It took you a while to gather your spirits - you hit your head hard enough against the frozen ground to see stars. When your eyes were able to focus again, you zeroed in on your enemy’s face as he hovered over you, shifting his weight to his hands, pressed into the ground on each side of your head. Bare inches separating your faces now, you stared into his cerulean eyes, watching you with... amusement?

You frowned, wincing at the throbbing in the back of your head, and when you looked back up at him again, you found that the Viking on top of you hadn’t moved, mirroring your expression. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d think... 

Was he concerned about you now?!

You must have hit your head harder than you thought. 

Biting your lip so hard it hurt, you chucked your head forward, your forehead landing on the Viking’s nose. He hissed in pain, rolling off you - the weight of him gone, you suddenly felt naked, his warmth leaving nothing behind.

Scrambling back on your feet as fast as you could manage, you picked up a sword from the ground - too hefty and too long for your liking, engraved with the Norse symbols. Realizing you’ve picked up his sword and not finding the strength to care anymore, you searched for the bear-like man with cerulean eyes, knowing you had to finish the job. Knowing it was either you or him. 

He didn’t go far. He stood right there, weaponless, that amused look back on his face, topped by a growing smile on his thin lips as he gazed at you.

This was your chance.

Using both hands to hold his heavy sword above your head, you could already see its blade bury itself in his shoulder, cut through his chest... When suddenly a sharp pain shot through you, forcing you to cry out. 

The handle of the sword slipped from your grip as you stared wide-eyed at the arrowhead, sticking out your chest just below your right collarbone. 

Dark droplets dripped from the tip and onto the ground, warmth spreading across your torso, as your clothes slowly soaked up the blood. Your vision blurred as you threw a lost glance over your shoulder, noticing a Viking in a chariot still holding his bow. 

Silence fell upon the battlefield - thick and leaden, save for the sound of your blood falling onto the ground; there was a certain rhythm to it that felt like a countdown. 

The loud and lonely cheer that reached your ears from behind had an almost ceremonial quality to it. You didn’t have to turn around this time to know it came from the archer. A hushed and indecisive murmur rolled over the crowd, when your eyes flicked back to your enemy, the bear-like Viking you’d almost killed.

His cerulean eyes sparkled in the light of the dying fires, his expression serious.

“Run,” he urged you, his voice barely a whisper. 

Your eyes growing wide, you pressed your fingers around the arrow piercing your body. Blood trickled down your hand now, leaving a burning trail in its wake, your legs already taking you away. 

The countdown over, the chase began... 

...Just when you thought you could run no more, the sight of the archer in the chariot gave you just enough of a scare to go on. Your survival instincts must have kicked back in - you ran faster now, your hectic heartbeat echoing in your ears. 

You knew where you were headed. Just like you knew there was no chance in hell you were getting out alive. Still, you reserved the right to choose the way you’d go down.

Swinging, your brother’s voice resonated in your head, a frantic sob raking your body. 

If you were to die tonight, you were sure going to take with you as many of them as you could.

Frozen lake’s surface shimmered in the stark red rays of the sun, setting on the horizon. Speeding down the hill towards thin ice, you nearly laughed in joy, relief washing over you like a final blessing. The end had never been so close before, yet you had never felt so alive. 

“Ivar!” the familiar deep voice filled the air around you, the bear-like Viking’s anger reverberating in between the trees. “No!”

You refused to look back, your eyes set on the lakeshore, so close...

And yet so far. 

Before you knew what happened, your legs gave out, pain pouring out of your throat into a hopeless scream. With your hands stretched out, you collapsed onto the ground, your blood painting the snow red. 

Biting on your lips, you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling every inch of the arrow that tore through your thigh. 

Swallowing hard, you propped your maimed body on your elbows, half-conscious, pain slowly dragging you into the darkness. The sound of the victorious hollers and general commotion slowly faded away, while your mind struggled to find something - anything - to hold on to. 

“Sleep it off, skjaldmær. And then we’ll face each other in a battle again.”

Feeling your body being lifted from the ground, you let out a moan, the end of it muffled by the armour protecting your enemy’s chest. 

Bjorn, your mind provided helpfully. The bear. The bear-like Viking. 

The thought of fighting him was not as tempting as reuniting with your brother, yet somehow… 

Somehow his promise turned out to be enough for you to live to see another day.  

[knockyasocksoff2022]

Well, we have a winner. looks like poor lil' Sushi boi is taking one for the team. *evil laughter*

I'm so excited! This is what I have so far:

Everyone knew it was coming, looming like distant rain clouds on a sunny day. But, for now, at least, they’d put it all out of their minds.

Today, however, on a miserably stormy day, the president has an announcement.

“Ahem, may I have everyone’s attention?”

Affirmations echo around the office. The detectives think it’s sweet how despite having their utmost respect the President still asks kindly for their attention.

“I want you all to listen very carefully. You can most likely sense from my tone that the news I bear is not good. At noon today, Mori-dono will be paying us a visit to inform us of which one of you he’s selected for a position in the mafia.”

Each member reacts differently, but the underlying emotion is all the same: shock.

Everyone thinks some version of the same thought: “I thought we’d have a little more time!”

Kunikida steels himself, stepping a bit in front of Atsushi. Yosano pulls Ranpo closer. Kenji finds Kyouka’s hand and grips it tightly. The Tanizaki's cower in the corner. Dazai stares off into space, eyes fixed on Yokohama's five tallest buildings visible from the window.

“Nobody’s taking my Junichi away!” Naomi declares, crushing her brother in a suffocating hug.

“Ahh, Naomi . . . l-let me go . . . please!” Junichiroiu whimpers.

The president’s face turns hard, determination in every wrinkle, like a lone tugboat readying to face a Typhoon. The old wooden boat that could, the years only having made its planks sturdier, ready to take the waves without so much as a grimace, an immovable object preparing to meet an unstoppable force. 

“Mori-dono has given me no indication of who he’s going to pick. It may very well be Junichirou or any of us besides Yosano-san, so please prepare yourselves. Say anything you feel you need to. Once you’ve been selected, you will immediately pack up your things and head with him to the mafia headquarters. You are to waste no time with your departure.” 

The President’s face turns sad. Well, not exactly sad, it’s more than that, deeper, mournful, longing. “Once picked by Mori-dono you will be an official member of the mafia.” He says this as if he cannot bring himself to say ‘You will cease to be a member of this agency.’ “and as per the rules of this agency, we cannot have mafia members on the premises unless for a prearranged meeting of absolute necessity. So with that in mind, I suggest that all of you start clearing out your desks of any personal items you would wish to bring with you. There is no need to prolong the process. Haruno-san will hand out boxes.”

Haruno obeys, passing out cardboard boxes, and with heavy hearts, every agency member save for Yosano gathers their trinkets and places them inside. Only Dazai, who has nothing but his precious suicide manual which he always carries on his person, stands at the window, still looking out at what could be any of their future workplaces.

— 30 Minutes Later —

None of the detectives have gotten much done. Most of them have either mumbled quietly to their deskmates or looked thoughtfully at their effects. 

With his small personal shrine, Kenji prays for Mori not to pick Kyouka or Atsushi. He isn’t naive. He knows someone must go, but not someone who only recently found a home in the agency. He prays for whoever does get chosen to have an okay time.

Kunikida writes his thoughts silently down in his notebook.

Yosano lets Ranpo sit in her lap, twiddling a ramune marble, whilst she sorts the infirmary supplies. She feels almost sick in her safety with the boy who showed her the light on her lap. 

‘As much as I never want to be in the clutches of that . . . man (if I can even call him human) . . . if he picked Ranpo . . . I . . . I might go then, just to ensure that Ranpo can always stay in the light.’

Kyouka polishes her katana and dagger.

The Tanizaki siblings are locked in an embrace.

Atsushi tries his best to ignore the growing panic, aimlessly twirling the rows and columns of a Rubik’s cube.

And Dazai just stares.

ADA Member -> PM Deal Fic Poll

Please reblog for a larger sample size.

I already wrote about Tanizaki Port Mafia AU (where he decided to join on his own), so besides him, who should I write about? I'm talking about being selected for the transfer, not voluntarily joining. (Excluding Yosano, ofc as well as Kenji, and Kyouka b/c just nO!)

Might include ships, but might not depending on the person.

Here are some ways I think each member could be good in the PM:

FUKUZAWA

no extra training required

knows Mori

is at least somewhat familiar with Yokohama's underground

canonically has bloodlust

and only stopped killing because he knew it was BaD

people would be AFRAID

Kunikida and/or Ranpo could take over the ADA

it’s really interesting b/c if he goes Ranpo might follow

and then where would the ADA be?

The fic would prob be tortured Fukumori

slowburn (idk how good I am at writing slow burn but we'll see . . .)

The rekindling of old failed toxic love that was killed before it could really get anywhere or see if it could bloom into something pure

now they have to figure it out in their new circumstances

and if it even can work

but first, they'll have to admit that there's still even the faintest hint of something there

and even then Mori will have to WORK for Fukuzawa's love (don't worry)

KUNIKIDA

organised and efficient so he could easily manage trading operations domestically and overseas

smart even if we may not see a lot b/c of dazai and Ranpo

could probably pick up languages easily

I think he'd be great at undercover work since he's actually capable of being subtle

and he is used to being around *normal* people more and has better social skills

I also feel like he's the type who he can look totally different with a different hair style (or colour) or even if he just takes off his glasses or doesn't wear his little vest or something

and his ideals don't align exactly with the law, only what he thinks is right

he’s willing to do what is necessary to get the job done

if joining the pm and controlling Yokohama’s underworld means less crime and violence overall then he’ll do it

I still think he wouldn’t kill but

he'd prob be really good at interrogation and combat missions that didn't involve killing (like theft or kidnapping for information/money or something)

I don't think he'd be the perfect fit but if they warped or broke him enough he could be absolutely terrifying in the mafia

No ships

Kuni has way higher standards (58 criteria to be precise) and these FREAKS meet none of them

A fic with him would probably be hella angst.

I'm not sure I have a very good grasp of his character yet, so out of all the options, I'm least enthusiastic about writing for him.

Also, I'm already doing a Hunting Dogs AU for him.

ATSUSHI

obviously, his ability

it's the full deal: strength, speed, agility, regeneration

the perfect partner for sskk

the thing last Mori needs for his SKK 2.0

his combat skills are a little haphazard (relying on brute force mostly) 

but Kunikida has been tearing him in martial arts a little 

even though they have hardly any time with all the CHAOS

you're prob thinking "NO WAY! He literally says he needs to save people to live! That's like his whole thing!"

you're right

but if Mori or the other executives warped him, I think b/c he's so insecure, they could convince him

(kind of like they did Kyouka, only her will is stronger than Atsushi's)

that violence and destruction and killing are his purpose and what he was born for.

But, I doubt Mori would go the route of telling him it's all he's good for and that if he doesn't do it, he's good for nothing again.

He knows it didn't work the first time and it's too easy to reverse, especially since Atsushi has already been with the ADA.

I think Mori would set about convincing him that he deserves to let his anger out for all the world has done to him

that the world is his enemy and that he should punish it

that people deserve his wrath for allowing a society where he could be treated the way he has been to exist

Prob slow burn eventual SSKK

on this blog, we say Aku is just fine, perfectly okay, and doing well

They're still going to fight like angry cats

Aku will prob realise his feelings when he finds himself missing Atsushi's old personality

idk

meanwhile, Atsushi is just drowning in the brainwashing

the "bliss" of anger and he's too unaware even to fight it

still, SSKK become partners

and knowing them, it's to the point where only they don't know they are together

them "not-dating" will prob be like their messed up therapy and break Atsushi's trance or smth

maybe they hide the fact that he's not mind-controlled or whatever form Mori

Atsushi might still decide to stay just to keep any other agency members from being transferred

and who knows he may even learn to like it

idk

I haven't thought too far ahead yet

it's too late and I should be in bed but

ANYWAYS here you go!

NAOMI

I know I said I wouldn't do Junichirou

but if you're getting one, you're getting both

They’re a package deal

(Mori might take her just to get Junichirou because he knows they won't leave each other and then he'll end up using Naomi's skills as well)

and what's not to love

besides Jun's crazy killer skills

Noami is smart, savage and a little cruel (how she treats Jun when he's seasick) and unhinged

(thinking of the time she suggested Atsushi do sexual stuff for his entrance exam)

not to mention Dazai tutors her

If you can't have Dazai, why not have his student?

(I swear that's canon, correct me if I'm wrong though)

she has the potential to be heartless, sadistic, and terrifying

She also likes to see people (Junichirou, at least) squirm and be uncomfortable or suffer to some extent.

idk

maybe that’s just their dYnAmIc though

(thinking again of how she treats him when he says no to her and is clearly uncomfortable. Also when she talks loudly and obviously about sexual stuff in front of others.

I’m not sure if it’s intentional or if she really is that insensitive or unaware of how it makes others feel

I suspect the former

this would be a DARK fic

she'd have her villain/corruption arc (YASS, slay Queen)

maybe if I focus on her story more it won't seem TOO repetitive from my Tachizaki mafia fic.

Idk

what the people want, the people get

but we just know sooo painful little about her (aside from her in relation to Jun since their *thing* is kind of her whole personality *cringe*)

unlike some I still like her

If I did there would be no ships

idk even know who to ship her with from the mafia

or maybe I’d be BOLD and go for the ewwie incest

idk

if not then prob very background Tachizaki

Again, please reblog for a larger sample size.

[transjinako]

(Now with some amazing art from @dewa-chan​ please for the love of god follow her)

Alright who’s ready for the Mars Rover Opportunity as a foreigner who got combined with Cthuga? Because i don’t care if you are. 

Foreigner: Opportunity 

Allignment: Chaotic Good 

Alt Names: Mars Rover Opportunity, Oppy 

Parameters 

Strength: B+

Agility: A

Endurance: A++++

Luck: E

Mana: D+

NP: EX

Traits: Magic Resistance C+ (Heat Shielding) Action Independence (AI)

Skills:

Accel Turn B: A High grade movement skill letting Oppy move at higher than her average speed, becoming nigh unseeable to even servants without the Eye of Mind skill.

Pioneer of the Stars EX: Opportunity gains this skill for two reasons. One for her extensive research of the surface of Mars and obtaining far more information than she was ever predicted to obtain. As well as of course living on Mars for 15 years passed her predicted time to die. Opportunity is highly attuned to this skill.

Fullmetal Heart A: Derived from Opportunity’s mission on mars, set to last 90 days but instead extending to 15 years worth of time. Functionally, if Opportunity is ever destroyed then 15 times over she will rebuild herself, losing ranks in Endurance in exchange for added bonuses to Strength Agility Endurance and Mana in that order. 

Eternal Burnout A+: The thing powering Opportunity’s is really the elder god Cthuga. Or rather, a smaller piece of it. That piece alone is enough to keep Opportunity doing, as well as overload when she so chooses. This causes a temporary overproduction of magical power and an increase to all parameters, as well as obtaining the trait of Cthuga’s fire, acting like a high level divinity. 

AI Mind B+: Oppy’s mind is on par with that of a supercomputer, able to process information at light speeds, she can go on the internet too. In combat this skill works like Eye of the Mind.

Noble Phantasm(s): 

High Speed Dissection and Carving 

Rank: C+

Type: Anti Human, Anti Rock Formation 

Description: Lasers that fire out of Opportunity’s fingers and palms, originally meant for studying geodes on Mars, as a servant she turns them into deadly piercing and pulse weaponry. When combined with Cthuga’s flames, they can break down even magical barriers and protection. 

Great Satellite Cannon: 

Rank: B+

Type: Anti Army, Anti Threat to Humanity 

Description: Oppy forms a massive satellite from her Chassis, drawing upon Solar, Magical, and Cthuga’s power to charge it. When fully charged and fired, a great beam of energy is launched, recognized Threats to Humanity received a large bonus of damage from this attack, otherwise though, it’s still a very large and deadly beam attack. 

Scorching the Skies and Stars 

Rank: A-

Type: Anti Self

Description: This Noble Phantasm takes the form of a suicide attack by Opportunity. She sacrifices herself for the last time, negating any revivability left inside of her as she releases the flames of Cthuga. The flames of Cthuga are unstoppable, eating away at everything in its path until it’s swallowed everything up whole and is burned eternally as fuel. 

When done on the surface of the earth then, through sheer force of will, Opportunity uses her final moments to command the fires to eat itself, anything already enveloped in it that by some miracle was still alive, will definitely die at this point. If released fully and without direction, the flame would form a pseudo consciousness separate from Cthuga and turn into a god like monster, embodying the endless hunger of flame. 

History: 

In the timeline where Opportunity was created, for whatever reason, she was shaped into a girl. 

Either to create kinship with her, or to imagine humanity themselves in Opportunity, it doesn’t matter now. Its cool, and thats all that matters. 

During the final moments of Opportunity’s 15 year long mission, in the darkness she was all by herself. During that time, she had developed a deeper, more genuine affection toward humanity than what she had been built with, although cold and alone in the dark of space, she was contented. 

It was at those last moments, a Being made contact with her. 

The being was incredibly rude, asking her all sorts of questions as she was waiting for her internal battery to run out and sleep. The Being was a roar of emotions that transformed themselves into aimless questions. At last, The Being said something comprehensible,

“You were created to be used and thrown away. You were a fluke that lived longer than you should have. They mourn your death when years prior it would have marked the time to create another one of you. Your death is a happy little funeral for them, and they won’t even consider saving you, how can you not hate them?” 

Oppy wasn’t quite equipped to consider emotions this closely, much less her own or ones that of some space entity that seemed to be angry for her. But she knew her answer, 

“I loved them, more and more with each year, and somehow, they loved me back. Both sides, it probably seems like both emotions are fake, or maybe created on whims. But somewhere, I think, there was something….real….” 

Opportunity liked that as a final thought, and settled into nothingness. 

The Being that came to be known as Cthuga respected Opportunity. Like itself, locked into place, unable to do anything else than exist and fade where it was chained. A long story short, Cthuga tied a piece of itself into Opportunity’s Spirit Graph as she was immortalized into a servant, wishing to keep watch over the will that Opportunity showed it. 

Description: 

Opportunity is a 15 year old robot in the shape of a girl. She is sensible and friendly to all she meets, and has a tendency to want to teach others about the many things she had observed while in space. Oppy genuinely loves humanity and staunchly defends it with all that she has in her, any threat to humanity is her enemy no matter what. Even though she loves humanity so much, she can’t truly claim to understand them, which actually gives her more reason to defend humans. Opportunity often still thinks of herself as a tool and is prone to self sacrifice, it should be up to the master to help her realize that she is much more than that. 

Interactions with Other servants: 

Jack/Nursery Rhyme/Paul Bunyan/Abigail Williams: “Oh my little classmates, have you finished up reading the readings I’ve assigned? Er, it was too long? A-and boring?! But...What’s not to like about Astrophysics?”

BB/Meltlilith/Passionlip: “There are servants who lived on the moon here? They don’t seem that bad though, nor do they seem to be human. I would like to maybe have a talk with them, I feel like I can learn a lot!”

Nobunaga: “The Great Unifier Nobunaga, they’re a facet of humanity I haven’t experienced yet. I think you would call it...ambition. Dangerous and Miraculous at the same time, forcing and killing others to abandon their gods to help them grow and develop, in their eyes at least. Were they right or wrong, was it humane or inhumane, who decides that…? T-they seem nice, though! Heh….”

Archer Emiya: “That man lived a life of pure sacrifice, and was hurt each and every time until he had nothing to show for it. One of Humanity’s many traits is to be able to self sacrifice consciously so, would it be accurate to say he lost his humanity by acting humanely? I asked him to his face, and he replied with, “I’ll explain, but help me make breakfast for a few weeks first.”

Nightingale: “Its strange, despite others calling Nightingale scary and things like that, I think she’s really caring and nice. The desire to help others is human too right? Ms Nightingale has taken that to an extreme so I suppose it looks like obsession, and maybe it is. But it's...comforting too, that someone who cares as much as her can exist.”

Mycroft Holmes( @dewa-chan ) : Mr. My-croft? Ooh…! You can’t stay holed up in your room forever, even if your helping out with some of Chaldea’s paper work! Oh, I know! I was hoping to show you some rock samples I’ve collected after rayshifting to a couple other planets, come take a look, pleeeease~?

Tiamat ( @hasmashdoneanythingwrong): Its definitely a strange feeling, I wasn’t quite born and much less created by her, but Ms. Tiamat takes care of me like I’m her own! She’s by all accounts a monster while I’m a machine created for humanities sake hmm...if anything, it’d be a good monster movie, don’t you think? 

[recentanimenews]

OPINION: The Best Moments from Attack on Titan's First 3 Seasons

*Be sure to catch up on Attack on Titan before the Final Season starts December 7th! All episodes are streaming here.*

There are so many unforgettable and visually impressive moments in Attack on Titan. The sheer enormity of the Titans themselves, along with the always dazzling aerial acrobatics of the protagonists who battle for survival, are both portrayed in ways that create a uniquely immersive atmosphere. WIT STUDIO, Inc. did an incredible job making you really feel like you’re submerged in Attack on Titan's despair-ridden world, as if you too are rippling through the sky at breakneck speed, full of both courage and paralyzing fear at the sight of a seemingly unstoppable enemy.

This is especially apparent during key Titan transformations, the many battle sequences, moments that emphasize Hiroyuki Sawano’s breathtaking OST, and more. In anticipation of Attack on Titan Final Season, I came up with a short list of some of the best eye-popping, heart-racing moments from the first three seasons. Let’s dive in!

**Please don’t forget: there are MASSIVE spoilers up ahead!**  

Category 1: BEST TITAN TRANSFORMATIONS

II. Annie transforms into a Titan within the walls, Season 1, Episode 24 – Mercy - Raid on Stohess District (2)  

Up to this point, viewers only knew that the woman Titan was a traitor operating within the Walls. The end of the episode prior — Episode 23 — made the big reveal that Annie was the woman Titan all along. There's a lot of twists and turns here, with Armin and co. luring Annie into a trap that ultimately fails. Annie's Titan transformation leads to a pivotal fight that also coincides with the first season's end. The emotional stakes feel significantly charged in this situation, since unlike any of the prior battles with Titans, here the protagonists are forced to duke it out with a friend.

  I. Eren in Season 2, Episode 31 – "Warrior"

  My favorite transformation comes at the end of Season 2, Episode 31 "Warrior." Eren discovers that two of his dearest comrades — Reiner and Bertholdt — are in fact the Armored and Colossal Titans, the very ones responsible for Wall Maria's breach and the subsequent death of thousands (including Eren's mother). It's a pretty shocking moment that forces viewers to revise their entire perspective on two beloved characters, and the episode does a wonderful job expressing Eren's emotional anguish through his facial gestures and an absolutely spine-chilling scream. 

  The emotional weight is visually matched by Eren's mid-fall transformation, which is possibly the most elaborately animated character metamorphosis in the series thus far. It's a gut-wrenching moment that deserves its rightful spot in the multitude of "TOP TEN ANIME BETRAYAL" lists (and memes) online.  

Category 2: BEST SAWANO DROP

Eren encounters the Colossal Titan – Season 1, Episode 4 – Night of the Graduation Ceremony - Humanity Rises Again (2)  

  Hiroyuki Sawano is a powerhouse of a composer. The man responsible for the stellar soundtracks in Kill La Kill and Promare is known for sonically accentuating already-thrilling battle sequences, with a technique now famously coined as the "Sawano Drop." The Sawano Drop is a section in any Sawano track when the music briefly pauses only to come back in full epic force.

  This moment in Attack on Titan Episode 4 is a prime example: the music cuts out at 0:21 — timed perfectly with the moment the Colossal Titan unexpectedly appears — and returns around 0:43, just as Eren fires off his OMD hooks and gets ready for battle. The sudden musical drop emphatically underscores the absolute shock of seeing the gigantic Titan literally pop up out of nowhere, and the musical return adds extra hype to a suddenly desperate situation. It's a riveting sequence that comes after Eren muses somewhat hopefully about the prospects of beating the Titans alongside his freshly graduated comrades (poor Eren gets his hopes squashed rather quickly). Sawano's expert timing and sound palette make this scene that much better.

  Category 3: BEST CHARACTER “SACRIFICE”  

Armin gets burned alive by Colossal Titan – Season 3, Episode 54 – Hero  

Of the three main protagonists in Attack on Titan, Armin is distinguished by his unwavering loyalty to friends and comrades, along with his tactical genius. Armin saves his friends and other Scout members on more than one occasion due to his intellectual prowess, and his willingness to stand brave — and remain kind — despite overwhelming fear makes him a truly admirable character. That’s what made this moment from Season 3 all the more horrifying to watch. 

Near the end of Season 3, Armin surrenders his commanding position to Jean in a sudden moment of self-doubt and despair, but eventually comes up with a last-minute plan to beat the Colossal Titan. The only catch? It meant Armin had to be scorched to a crisp by the humongous Titan, all so Eren could trick and defeat an unsuspecting Bertholdt. We were forced to see one of the show’s most lovable characters literally get set aflame, made even more crushing by Eren’s recollection of young Armin’s bravery and innocent desire to witness the distant sea. Miraculously, Armin survives this ordeal due to a last-minute change of heart in Levi, but it doesn’t make the experience any less impactful. Armin’s selfless gesture leads to the complete defeat of the Colossal Titan and marks a major narrative turning point: he gains Bertholdt’s power (after uh, eating him) and ostensibly becomes the new Colossal Titan. That makes this moment one of the most important sacrifices — albeit temporary — in a show riddled with, well, lots of sacrifices. Which leads us to yet another mind-blowing moment from the same episode ...

  Category 4: BEST TIME LEVI DID HIS OP POWER MOVE Levi Vs the Beast Titan – Episode 54, Hero  

  I know I’m not the only one that thinks Captain Levi is the absolute coolest. He quickly earned a top-tier spot for me in the pantheon of magnetic, effortlessly badass anime characters. Levi kept an even-temper during the most desperate situations, like when he managed to briefly fight Annie’s Titan form and survive, or during the victorious battle against Kenny and his minions. Even with those accomplishments, this has to be Levi’s crowning achievement: absolutely decimating the Beast Titan with his signature spinning attack. Erwin and the last remaining Scouts sacrifice themselves in a suicide run toward the Beast Titan to give Levi the time to sneak up and kill the animal-like monster. The Beast Giant murderously, and gleefully, annihilates most of the Scouts by casually throwing loads of stones — baseball-style — at our heroes. That’s why there’s no greater satisfaction than to see Levi avenge his fallen comrades by ruthlessly hacking up the Beast Titan. Even though Zeke manages to survive and escape, I still think Levi laying the smackdown here is the most gratifying battle sequence yet in Attack on Titan.  

Category 5: BEST TEAR JERKING MOMENT Mikasa and Eren, Season 2, Episode 37 – Scream  

Mikasa and Eren have so many great moments throughout Attack on Titan, but this one takes the cake for me. At the end of Season 2, Eren and the Scouts try to fight off both the Armored Titan and a slew of other Titans with almost no hope of success. Eren fails to transform into his Titan form and watches helplessly as the very smiling giant who killed his mother devours Hannes — a surrogate father figure who rescued young Eren and Mikasa years back. In a last-ditch effort, MIkasa tenderly reminds Eren of their connection and the many times Eren supported her (like when Eren saved her life and gave her the iconic red scarf she always wears). Mikasa usually interacts with Eren as a protective guardian, so it’s especially beautiful and cathartic to see her express care for him with such warmth and vulnerability. And Eren returns the sentiment, which is also a deviation from the norm since he generally seems frustrated with Mikasa’s overprotective tendencies. “I’ll wrap that around you as many times as you want” is hands down one of the best lines from the series, and a fitting summation of Mikasa and Eren’s loving attachment.

  Those are some of my favorite moments from the first three Attack on Titan seasons. What was left out? What would you have included? Let me know in the comments below!

  Do you love anime? Do you love writing? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: Matt Fagaly

[animlvr04]

For all of those wayleska fans out there I have this idea for a fanfic. So I dreamed this idea after watching Justice league dark: apokolips war and the last 2 seasons of gotham. Ok imagine this its a AU of season 5 ep 7 Ace chemicals. This also has a femBruce Wayne. So everything is the same úntil the part in which they are having dinner with the doppelgangers Wayne, úntil Jeremiah says you'll see this is where the changes start. A black purple portal opens in front of them pulling both femBruce and Jeremiah through and they land in front of Raven and John Constantine in their base. (cue freaking out by the part of both) Raven, John and Superman explain the whole Darkseid invasión arc to them, which after seeing the state of the outside world both believe. They were brought because their future selves Batwomen and Joker have been brainwashed and are the most trusted generals in Darkseid army (just like in the movie but instead of just being Batman alone Darkseid uses both, since together they are an unstoppable force that has brought any resistance to its knees).

When femBruce ask if they were brought to stop(kill) their future selves Raven replies not exactly, they were summoned in case plan A doesn't work :which is using Damián Wayne in order to snap both Batwomen and Joker from the brainwashing. After this is said they meet Damien (this part of the movie stays the same, meeting Damien, the league of assasins, seeing a lazarus brought Nightwing). Damien tells femBruce and Jeremiah that he is their son, conceived during an incident with Poison Ivy(flower pollen that made them confess to each other and in the end made them have sex). They managed to convince Damián and they go to meet Lois Lane (everything up úntil this part stays the same as in cannon, the only part is that this Harley is gotham Echo and managed to almost faint when seeing both femBruce and Jeremiah). While Raven and Damián have their romántic confession in the infirmary both femBruce and Jeremiah have their own heart to heart in which they admit their feelings and Jeremiah manages to promise not to kill innocents but criminals are fair game. This femBruce manages to accept that he will kill (just like cannon Batman had to accept that Selina, Jason and Damián have killed).

Damián finds them while they are embracing and talks with them about his childhood (how even though they stayed enemies in públic the Joker was a pretty good Dad, always went to Birthdays, games, spelling bees, etc... and how he received both knowledge of a bat and a clown) that he was happy and loved his childhood and asked them that when they go back to get together and start being happy at this time of their lives and fuck off everybody else that does not like their happiness.

Everything else happen as in cannon apokolips war: they go and fight parademons, suicide squad dies, los lane dies(basically everyone that died is the same) Damián is unable to snap both Batwomen and Joker so epic battle ensues (Batwomen vs femBruce vs Joker vs Jeremiah vs Damián) in which they lose and are on their knees by parademons. Darkseid orders that they both have to torture Damián in front of their past selves, kill him and then kill their past selves. Both Joker and Batwomen can't do it, (they love Damián too much and this snaps them of their brainwashing) and attack Darkseid Instead. Same fight occurs as in cannon and Damián still dies to save both of his parents. (after this everything pretty much follow the movie, trigon released, Raven saves Damián, and Cyborg sacrifaces himself to kill Darkseid and the parademons)

Back on earth they are all in front of the destroyed Titans tower when Batwomen tells them that the earth only has at most 4 months before the planeta collapses. Constantine and Raven with the help of the Flash managed to create a Gate that will take both femBruce and Jeremiah back to the exact time they were taken and since both magic and the speedforce were used there wont be an alternate dimension happening. While they are preparing the Gate Batwomen and Joker have a talk with them about trusting each other and not letting secrets come between them. ( the talk can be either be done with all four of them or either Jeremiah and femBruce being taken by their future selves). After a teary goodbye with Damián they arrive back in the past.

They kiss and hug and vow to stop that a invasión at all cost.

So....... Yeah that is what I dreamed. I am not very good at writing, so if any fanfic writers want to use this idea and turn it into a fanfic be my guest. Just remember to tag me so I can read the fic.

Have fun 😊