#unlike at the end of the movie when they're all by his side

[onionninjasstuff]

something something future leo dies early and mikey takes on the role of cj's main mentor. something something mikey-centric movie. idk what his arc would be abt BUT I HAVE AN ITCH THAT NEEDS TO BE SCRATCHED

[bi-writes]

attached | ghost x f!reader

i have no idea what it is that binds us together. but it doesn't really matter.

type: one-shot (8.4k)

cw: zombie apocalypse au, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, dark!reader, reader described as curvy/plus-sized + has hair long enough to braid, graphic depictions of violence + murder + gore, depictions of suicidal thoughts + intentions (no actual action), mentions of depression + sadness + loneliness, depictions of assault + harassment (not by ghost), horror movie vibes, unprotected piv, allusions to baby trapping, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving), 18+

Death can be a curious thing. It used to be something definitive. Exact. It used to mean the end of something.

No, now it's a beginning. Not a sweet beginning, but a beginning nonetheless. It turns a new tide. Reactivates cells that were once dead. Sparks nerves that used to be dormant, that used to be dark. It makes muscles move even when they aren't supposed to. Brain-dead, but still hungry.

He hasn't been able to understand the phenomenon quite yet. He's tried. He's picked up a few books and tried to do his own research, but it's difficult when there is no way for him to view the cellular structure of it all on a micro-level. He cannot see the way it grows or how it takes over. He hasn't been able to figure out what techniques it uses to keep a body awake even when the central organs no longer function the way they're supposed to. What keeps it moving? What keeps the feet running and the stomach hungry and the saliva warm?

Why is it that when he plunges his blade through its heart, it still kicks? The brain is its engine, as with his own body, but this is different. The brain runs even when it has lost its necessary components. Blood circulation, oxygen, the things it needs to thrive; but this state of being is not like his own. It doesn't need the same things it used to need because its purpose is not to keep a body running. Its purpose is to eat. To infect. And that is all.

He likes to play games these days. He has a lucky silver euro, one he pried off the dead body of someone that he hated. He spit on that body before raiding his pockets. He hated that fucking brute; he disgraced the style of wearing a mask by using a fucking t-shirt instead. Perhaps Austria is a beautiful country, but it certainly produced one of the most unlikable of men. He thinks even if the world was still right-side up, he would've killed him anyway. The only thing useful about him was that he was carrying a few extra magazines and this coin in his front pocket.

Every morning, when he wakes up, he makes whatever will happen that day a game. If the coin lands on heads, he gets to kill himself today. If it lands on tails, he has to endure 24 more hours before he can play again. The rules are simple. The game is easy. Everyone knows how to play it, but not everyone will like to win it.

Today, he decides to do something different. Today, he decides if he wins, he will wait another day. He has never won this game; he decides if he can't win it, he'll manipulate it until he gets what he wants.

It hits the table with a light clink. It rattles around in a few circles before settling, and when he leans back in his chair, he sighs. He knows what it will be even without looking, but he looks anyway. When he sees the carved outline of its face-side up, his eyes flash. He won.

He never wins.

Something is keeping him here. He chooses not to ask questions. There isn't anyone to ask anyways. No one answers when he speaks. He doesn't think there is anyone left to listen.

If someone would ask him why he doesn't just put the muzzle to his temple and pull the trigger, he would just say that it was because that was how the game is played. Those are the rules. He can't try unless that's what it tells him to do. There is no fun in cheating the game; it wouldn't be proper, it wouldn't be correct. It would be grounds for disqualification, and that just wouldn't do, not for him.

He has to do things the right way. Always. It's how you keep order in a world that has none left. It's how you maintain structure even without the lines drawn in the sand. This is the way things are done; God is not waiting at the end of a very long staircase, He is rattling that coin on the table and waiting for Ghost to take a peek.

He thinks it keeps landing on tails because perhaps God is tired of playing this game with him; Ghost has never been surprised. He will always be ready for disappointment. Giving a gift is no fun when the recipient simply receives it.

It landed on heads today. He won the game. He tried to play it differently, but someone won't let him.

There's snow on the ground this morning. It snowed all night, coating the ground in a few inches of powdery ice. He looks away from the window and back towards the mirror, continue to run the razor over his head. His blonde hair falls in clumps in the sink. He keeps it neat and short, close to the head, and then he does the same with his face. He cuts the stubble close, keeping his face clean, but it doesn't wipe away the rest of his face, the things he can't just cut away. The scars, the ridges, the skin that closed over wounds angry and white and uneven. He can see his teeth through the broken skin above his lip, the yellowing of them now that he only brushes them a few times a week with his lack of proper toothpaste, and he grimaces when he sees the new red spots of raised skin left behind from the dirty mask he wears now. He dips his toothbrush into his bottle of water before brushing, careful to scrub his gums properly before spitting into the sink.

When he finishes, he makes his way back into the bedroom to get dressed. He did the washing yesterday; he found a creek only half frozen over, and he made use of the bar soap he keeps and managed to clean off most of his clothes. He feels a little better slipping into his cargos now that they aren't drenched in sweat or dirt. He tucks a long-sleeve into his pants before putting a thick windbreaker on over it, but he finally feels complete once he slips his mask on over his face. In the mirror, he adjusts it, making the skull straight, and he blinks back at himself. The mask does more than just hide him from the dead.

It keeps the living walking a careful circle around him, and he wants to keep it that way. He hasn't spoken to a single person since it began. He stopped counting the days once his boots ran out of space for notches. Anyone he sees now, he scares them off with one look, or he puts them down before they can take a step closer to finding out if he's real or not.

He doesn't take chances. He has always had a special skill, being able to sniff out the bullshit before it begins. He leans into it now, and it isn't a bullet wasted if it stops the chaos before it can wind up.

He still wears his tactical gear. He can't part with it. His holsters have not failed him, still buckled around his thighs. His vest is still strapped on, and without it, he feels naked. He has long since discarded of the Union Jack patch on his chest; there is no king nor country anymore. They are colors in different shapes, and they mean nothing now; they were buried a long time ago.

His backpack feels light. He's running out of bullets, and he doesn't like how it feels. Nowadays, he has to go further and further to get what he needs, and recently, he's taken to picking up everything and simply moving to make the trips all the easier with no home to go back to.

It's not all that different to the life he had before. He never stayed in one place too long then either. He signed the shortest leases, and he would move once it was up, never lingering and never buying more things than he could carry in the back of his truck. His memories are in his head and nowhere else. He keeps no trinkets. He saves no pictures. There is nothing from the old life that needs to be brought into the new. He shifts between both lives, one foot in the past and one in the future, and he thinks that's what really makes him live up to his name.

He's a Ghost. A drifter. Standing between two places at the same time, not knowing which to stay in and which to leave. It would hurt, if he was really human inside, if he could feel anything at all.

But he's not. His insides are nothing but organic matter. His head is a clock, ticking, counting down, but he's not aware of when it runs out.

He digs the heel of his boot into the snow to gauge the depth. It barely comes up over his toes. He huffs a little before taking a peek at the map tucked into his vest. He had circled a place just north, a main street he is hoping will have a stash of things he will need.

Ammunition. Weapons. Food. Water. A new book, for fuck's sake, maybe a Sudoku puzzle that isn't already scribbled into.

The forest gives him cover, so he sticks to it. Out in the open, he would stick out, dressed in all black. He keeps to the trees, ducking under the leaves and trying not to leave too much of a track behind. He doesn't plan on staying in that cabin again, but if he must, he doesn't want anyone seeing a way to come back to it.

The one thing he does appreciate about this new place is the quiet. It lingers, and it's calm, and when he breathes, the world breathes back. He feels like he had always been telling everyone to shut up, but now, his voice hasn't been used in months. Even when he passes other people, he doesn't speak to them. If they don't spot him, he keeps to the shadows, and if they do, they don't see him for long enough to know what hit them.

It's a good stash. The store had been rifled through by now, but in the office, there had been a nice drawer filled with supplies. A few boxes of ammunition, a revolver, and a new blade to stick in one of his boots. He picks up some other odds and ends. Batteries. A roll of yarn. A small sewing kit. A few pens. His backpack feels a little heavier, and it's a weight he appreciates when he makes his way back outside.

He sticks to the alleyways as he searches for the roof over his head for the night. He decides the cabin he slept in last night was too close to the road; if anyone was driving or following it, they could find that place too easily, and he wouldn't be able to sleep another night comfortably there knowing this truth.

He finds himself veering off road just enough. It's fucking cold, freezing, and he's grateful to the mask for helping him keep it together as he ducks under the wind and keeps an eye out for any nearby landmarks. Sometimes, on slow days like this, he would sit on a ridge and kill infected for sport. Practice focusing his sight, calculating the wind, keep his mind in check by hitting his targets and ridding the world of another one of those things.

There are different kinds of hunters out today.

He hears them before he sees them. He knows what kind they are when he hears their laughter. Low and untamed, sloppy and fucking messy. They always are. These kind spoil their treasures. They eat their food until it makes them sick, and then they do it all over again. They never learn their lesson.

When he settles his rifle down along a fallen tree, he eyes them through his scope. There are two of them. Both are fattened, with dark hair and lazy eyes, and they look greasy. Their clothes are in ruins, and their packs are light, and Ghost figures that they look enough alike to be perhaps brothers, or maybe cousins. Their smiles are equally as sadistic. The taller one tugs something along, and when Ghost aims the scope down a little, he sees her.

Her.

He's dragging her by her legs. She's kicking, but it's hard for her to do much when her arms and legs are bound by mismatched bits of fabric and rope. She's crying, that much is clear, squirming as she spits and gargles around the gag in her mouth as she tries to break free. She has heart, but she isn’t a fighter. If she was, she would’ve realized her teeth could snap that fabric of her gag, and she would know that the knot they’ve tied succumbs easily to upwards pressure.

He follows them. They keep going, dragging you and laughing as they make it to a makeshift camp hidden amongst a clearing. There's a few tents set up, a small dip in the earth to hold a campfire, and when they settle on tree trunks to sit, the smaller one takes a blade and cuts your gag off, leaning over you with a low chuckle. They mean to maim and to take and then to kill, and you know this when you look into his eyes.

"Hello, darling."

"Bite me."

He laughs again, dropping onto his knees over you, but when he gets close enough, you sit up with what little strength you have and bite him along his ear. The cartilage rips, and you tear half his ear off, and then he's scrambling off of you, screaming, holding the side of his head as he rolls around in circles in the snow. He colors it red, and you snarl with satisfaction. Ghost takes a deep breath in and lets it out shakily. The look in your eyes–he can taste that, roll it around on his tongue. You did not clock the poorly-tied knots, but you do see opportunity, and you are the kind to take it.

"You bitch!"

Just as the taller one is about to get on top of you, Ghost decides he's seen enough. He closes one eye, lines up the sight, and he lets out a cool breath as he drops the both of them within a second of each other. They fall easy; a bullet clean through the back of their heads, and now they're finally quiet again. They will not get up, either.

Your lip trembles as you look towards the trees. You watch as the leaves rustle, and when you see a man emerge from the thick of them, you start to cry. You think maybe you're seeing things; you must be so dehydrated, so hungry, that a reaper has come for you, and you are much deader than you thought.

The reaper stares down at you curiously. He swings his rifle over his shoulder, tilting his head to the side as he bends, getting a blade out of his boot before he cuts the restraints that bind you. He doesn’t hesitate when he does this; he does not deem you enough of a threat to keep you bound.

You sit up slowly, wiping your face, and when you meet his eyes, you're surprised to see how human they are. They're dark, but alive, and he has blonde lashes and pale skin underneath. He covers himself, but you can still see him. There's a man under there, not a reaper.

Just a man.

I hate men.

You shake off the rest of the restraints, turning your wrists and ankles and flexing your muscles for good measure. When you realize you are nothing but a little shaken up, you look back up. He's still staring at you, hard eyes lowered in a glare as he looks you over. He's sizing you up, maybe, deciding what to do with you. You meet his eyes one more time before gathering the saliva into your mouth and spitting onto the floor. It's a garbled mess of blood, from the flesh you had severed from that man.

He blinks slowly at that, makes some decision that he doesn’t voice out loud, and then he starts to walk away.

You stand on shaky legs, taking it as your cue. You watch as he rips open the flimsy tents that those men had left behind, and he's already grabbing backpacks and rifling through them for goods. He already starts filling his own vest and backpack with the things he finds; some flashlights, fishing line, more food and ammunition. You follow him, moving to the other tent beside it and starting to grab their things and toss them outside. You get to your knees and open the packs, laying out what you find carefully. They have interesting materials in here, ones you associate with explosives. C4. Lighters. Batteries. Wiring. You clench your jaw when you pull out the last box in the bag.

Condoms.

Bunch of pricks.

He finds your discoveries useful. He opens up an empty pack he found and fills it to the brim with supplies. When he zips it up, your stomach drops when you think he might toss it over his shoulder and leave. It only sinks for a moment before he turns the backpack around, holding it up for you.

You pause for a little and think. It only takes a few seconds for you to decide to stand up and slip your arms through the straps.

When he walks again, you follow.

The sun is setting by the time you find somewhere to sleep, but it looks like luxury to you. A quaint little brick house tucked between the hills, a ways from the road and positively hidden. He spotted it through his scope a few hours ago, and he made a beeline for it. It's difficult to keep up with him; he has incredible stamina and the longest legs. He moves like a ghost, too quiet for his own good. You would never know from looking at him how stealthy he could be. For such a huge man, you would never notice him before he could get the drop on you. It makes you conscious of your own steps and how loud they are, and you try to mimic the way he moves as you keep walking.

You don't know why, but you think he must be very pleased with how quiet you've gotten. You don't know why that fact pleases you, too.

He makes you stay outside when you arrive. He pulls a small handgun out of his backpack, and he checks the chamber before handing it to you. He clicks his tongue, forcing your eyes on his, and he puts a finger to his mask-covered lips, telling you to keep quiet. You take the gun from him, pointing it at the ground and holding it at your side, and he touches a knuckle under your chin before he twists a silencer onto his own gun.

You watch with rapt attention as he clears the house. His movements are quick and calculated, and he keeps low to the ground. It's mesmerizing. Big and capable, one with the shadows. The only thing you see in the dark is the white of the skull over his face, and if you didn't know it was him, you would think that you have just seen God.

But God isn't real. Apparently ghosts are.

He is back outside in less than ten minutes, nodding his head at you. You take it as your cue to come towards him, and you hand him the gun back when you pass him. You go into the house and immediately start to light some of the candles scattered around. You set your backpack down, rubbing your shoulders out, and you take a seat on the couch.

It hits you then, the gravity of it all. Men are your captors, and then they are your savior. They'll never leave you alone. They'll never let you go. You were ruled by their iron fist in a previous life, and you will endure their wrath in this new one.

You start to cry. It's the first sound you've made since screaming. You cover your face with your hands, and you don't know why you feel safe enough to cry, but you do, and it comes out of you fast.

He tilts his head to the side as he watches you. It's a strange thing to see something so...alive. He's used to only seeing things moving that can't speak back to him. If he does see things alive, he puts them down as if they are rabid dogs.

He can't find it in himself to kill you. Something is so odd about it. About you.

Everything about today seems more than coincidence. He won the game today. And then he found you.

When he tries the sink in the bathroom, he's surprised to find it working. He grabs a bowl and fills it with water, and when he comes back into the living room, you are staring at one of the flickering candles blankly, shivering. You have stopped crying, but your face is still wet with fat, lingering tears.

It looks like you've been hit by a brick wall. Your hair is matted in places, in tangles. It’s in desperate need of a cut. It's stuck to your face around the perimeter, caked by sweat and mud and dried blood. Your clothes are in ruins; you wear a ripped jumper, thin jeans, and the soles of your boots are starting to fray and come off, and he can see where you've tried to mend them unsuccessfully with duct tape. You wear no jewelry, and your fingernails need to be cut. Those men have left marks on you, but those will fade.

He kneels in front of where you sit on the couch. Using a threadbare cloth, he dips it into the water and raises it to your face. You show no resistance. You let him wipe your face off, the tears, the dirt, the blood. It stains the cloth ugly, but you can't look at anything else except for his eyes.

They're so dark. Brown, like bark, like honey. You haven't spoken a word to him yet, but the silence is sort of bliss. All you can hear is the drip of the water when he rings out the cloth.

He helped you. He didn't have to. He could've kept walking, but he stayed with you. He didn't leave you. He could've walked away again, but he let you follow.

He isn't a good man. You know that. Anyone who has lasted this long isn't a good person. You've done the same. You've let it take you, once or twice, let the snarl in the back of your throat guide your hand. You've let the voices fester, let them eat at the acid in your stomach until they begged for more, and you won't admit it, but it felt good. Felt good to protect yourself. To rid the earth of something terrible. To say no.

He must understand that. He's decorated in its essence, the one of understanding, the one that says I know what it's like to take matters into your own hands, and he did it with you, too.

He's doing it now, cleaning you up, and you don't know him, or his face, or his name, but you'll try hard to give it back. To give him something. To tell him you are worthy and not useless. It doesn't show today, how far you've come, but you'll try.

"Thank you," you finally whisper. He's dragging the cloth over your bottom lip, and he blinks rapidly, as if a bit startled by hearing your voice. When you speak again, it's to tell him your name, and he thinks for a few moments before continuing, wiping under your jaw.

He doesn't sleep that night. He stares out the window, like a guard dog, and he lets the soft breaths of your sleep keep him awake.

The gas lighter on the stove still works. It takes a match to light it properly, but when the fire starts, you take some of the soup cans from your pack and make breakfast.

Your smile when he comes into the kitchen nearly blinds him. You look more rested than yesterday, and you ladle some soup into a bowl for him, setting it down at the table. He notices the two bowls, his and yours, and he notices that his bowl has more food.

It is then that he decides to keep you.

What he doesn't know is that you've decided the same. The world has thrown you the way out. A man, built like a bear, happy finger on the trigger and capable of getting you out of harm's way. You need to convince him that you are worthy. You need to convince him that you are valuable. A keepsake.

Men are what start wars, not what end them. Men are the cause of chaos and destruction, it is prevalent throughout history, and it is why you are here now, in a place that doesn’t exist, where people don’t breathe the same air anymore. A man thought himself correct, but he was wrong, and he didn’t listen when someone told him otherwise. They are the ones that take advantage of your vulnerability, and instead of trying to understand it, they use it to get what they want.

You can do the same.

You start by mending his clothes. He's laid some out to dry after washing, and you notice the tears in his shirts. When he comes back a little while later, with dinner hanging off his shoulder, you are seated on the couch, feet tucked under you, with a needle in your hand as you sew up one of his shirts.

You've bathed, found new clothes, warmer ones, and your hair is braided and off your face. He hates to say he prefers you a little dirty, but he likes this, too. A natural beauty. A soft face.

You make a real dinner that night. There's canned vegetables that you try to spruce up with the spices you find in the cupboards, but the real meal is the venison you're served. He butchers it outside like a professional, and he sears it on the stove with a perfect touch. When he feeds you that first bite, your mouth explodes with flavor. Your belly is full that evening, and when he blows out the candles for bed, he eats you out in the dark of the corner bedroom.

He's not sloppy like you thought he might be. Not overeager. He's easy with it, casual. Big hunk of a man smothered between your thighs, and he laves his tongue through your folds like his very own personal dessert. He drinks straight from the source, holy water spilling sweet between his teeth, and when he gets his tongue inside of you and holds it there, you nearly leave earth for somewhere else. You come like that, too, his filthy mouth sucking on your clit before he's slipping that tongue in you again, and you mewl against the bed as he tucks his hand under your ass and spreads you wider.

He tells you his name a few nights later. He doesn't speak, not ever, but when you're crying around his thick fingers, he whispers it against your ear.

"'s Simon," he growls, and you know what he means by that. He wants you to say it while you bounce on his fingers, when you rut against his thigh. He wants you to say his name when you're coming undone riding his face, when you're wetting his mask with your pussy and making him choke on your cum. Such a wet, sweet girl you are, and sometimes he skips wash day for his mask so he can shove it into his mouth and pant around it and taste you while he fucks his own fist.

It's insanity, he thinks, as he's cleaning his rifle. The idea of traditional. But it's what befallen him, what he sees all around him, and he tucks his index finger into a hole too small to pinch himself just to make sure he isn't living a dream. You're in the kitchen, mending more clothes, something warm boiling on the stove. There were seeds in the greenhouse, and you're saving them to plant in the spring, so for now, you make do with canned goods and whatever Simon hunts for during the day. You found books in the attic, and you read them at night, head in Simon's lap as he plays with your hair or rubs your sore ankles or cuts your nails. You're the only one that ever speaks; he hasn't said a word to you except for telling you his name, and you're content to be the only one that uses their voice.

He always listens. You told him one time that you loved the shade of green that the trees wore, and he came back one day with a sweatshirt of the same color for you. He noticed you trying to mend those terrible boots, and he found a new pair for you, your size this time, barely worn and fit for winter. He brings lots of things for you; books, clothes, even rocks sometimes, when he just thinks he found one that you might like.

You do like them. You have started filling a small bowl with the ones he brings, and he notices you rifling through it sometimes, just looking at them, and it makes his chest swell with pride.

Like giving a treat to a dog. Like giving him a fucking bone.

He teaches you how to shoot. You know how to pull a trigger, but that’s the extent of your expertise. He teaches you how to stand, how to turn the safety on and off, how to hold the gun between two hands so not even his own can take it away from you. He makes sounds when you please him. Hums low, lets out a soft breath, sucks in the air through his teeth. You can’t see his face, but the way he looks at you when you fire a bullet and knock bottles off their ledges, it warms you, all the way down your spine, reaching your toes. You want him to keep looking at you this way, so you try hard, and he notices.

You’ll never be what he is, but the small victories are what have him chubbing up in his cargos and falling asleep between your thighs. You give, and he takes, and he keeps coming back for more.

He teaches you that distance is your strength. You aren’t like him; you aren’t built like a brick house, you won’t be bigger than a lot of your opponents. You need to keep them away from you, however you can. He makes you good with that gun because it’s your best chance, but in the even that you lose it or you run out of bullets, he shows you how to aim a hatchet so that the blade always lines up between someone’s shoulders.

The way you listen makes him salivate. The way you blink up at him and say yes, Simon and take his orders, it makes it difficult to keep away from you. 

Today marks two months in the house tucked on the hill. Simon hunts, and you cook, and you live in some sick, twisted housewife fantasy at the end of the fucking world. Simon provides, and you keep, and when the box of condoms falls out of your backpack one day, you glance at Simon for just a moment before he's on you.

It's animal, that first time. He tackles you practically onto the carpet of the living room, and he props you up onto your elbows and only pulls down your jeans enough that he can fit his cock between your thighs. You hear the tear of the condom wrapping, and then he's laying over your back, sinking to the base, cock nestled inside of you as he grips your throat gently and fucks you into the carpet. Poor beast, he's definitely going to need his knees massaged after this, but you can't think about that much when you're taking the fattest cock of your entire life and trying to survive underneath him. It's that fine line between pleasure and pain that you're desperate for, and you pull threads out of the carpet as you try to hang on and take it like a good girl.

You can hear his voice. It's low, and subtle, but he grunts with each agonizing thrust, hips snapping against your ass as he fucks you back onto him over and over and over again.

It's primal. Nasty. You wish he wasn't wearing a condom, you want him to be in your skin, you want him to fill you until you're full, let it spill over, and then do it all over again. You want him to bite into your throat and tear, and you want him to eat you and then put you back together, and then do it again and again and again.

"So big," you gasp, and he falters at that. You recognize it, the need for praise, and you latch onto it with claws and stay there. I need him to stay here with me. "So good...so good t-to me, Simon–"

He groans. It's music.

Keep me. Keep me. Keep me.

"Simon, please–" You scratch at his arm, not satisfied until you feel blood. When you break the skin, he laughs, a breathless laugh that has your eyes rolling back in your head as he shoves your face into the carpet and mounts you like a fucking horse. The deep slap, slap, slap of skin is enough to send you away, send you home, your mind foggy as your pussy squeezes him for all he's worth. The slick of the condom is pleasant, but you want it raw. You want every part of him carved into you, and you arch your back, suck him in, whine and cry and beg for him to just, "please, Simon, I need it, I need it."

"Need wot?"

The sound of his voice is whiplash. He hisses when he sinks deep, staying there, holding you at a sharp angle so he can knead your ass and watch it bounce back on him. He sucks on his teeth, and there's drool slipping out of your mouth. That accent, his voice, like velvet, from deep within his chest. You want to hear more of it.

"Be a man," you gasp. "Be a man, and fuck me."

He doesn't see the desperate look on your face when he slips out of you. He doesn't see the relief that washes over you when you hear the condom come off, latex crumbling as he tosses it, but he feels the warmth of your pretty pussy when he sinks back in, skin to skin, and feels you clench for dear fucking life.

"Fuckin' Christ," Simon groans, and you reach back for him, gripping his arms, forcing him to fall over on top of you. He settles with his elbows on either side of your head, and you bow your back and grip the carpet again as he fucks into you nice and slow, deep, fat head leaking precum and making you cry because finally, yes, please, this is it, what I want, I'll have you forever.

You're so pretty. Even in his past life, Simon never got to have anything pretty. He was too ugly, too big, too awkward. Any woman of good faith stayed 100 yards away, as if his mere presence was a warning alarm, some invisible radius that kept them away from him. He always thought it was for the better. He always thought good riddance, they shouldn't have me, I shouldn't have anyone. Not when only days before, he had tortured a Russian militant until he had no teeth and hung his severed fingers on twine around his own neck.

But you won't run away. He's given you opportunity. He's left the cottage and staked out the outside just to watch you, and all he sees is you moving between windows, shaking out the dust from old blankets and washing the dishes. All he sees is you sewing his clothes and cooking his food, and when he comes back inside, all he sees is your smile and your face and your pretty mouth that falls open when he makes you come all over his hand.

Now it's the end of the world, and he lets a coin flip decide whether or not he lives or dies. And even when he flips it now, it never agrees. When he asks to die, the coin tells him no. When he asks to live, it’s always interrupted by you.

Yes, it tells him. Yes, yes, yes, because it's been keeping him here, because it knows, because it saw, because he couldn't see both sides of the coin, but he can see it now, plain as day, and she's underneath him now, letting him inside, and she's begging him to come and to fill her up, and she's crying because he's such a big man, and she wants him everywhere and always and all at once, and Simon is nothing if he isn't an insatiable bastard that can finally be fucking selfish.

The way you say his name could make him move mountains. That soft breath you take. The falter of your voice. The whine. The world has gone quiet, but he'll make a new one, and he will leave it at your feet for you to step on or pick up.

Whichever you choose. You can do no wrong.

When he comes, he moans. Into your ear, he lets you hear him, lets you bask in his pleasure as he spurts hot inside of you, hauling you a little higher on your knees so he can make sure you come, too. He gives you the palm of his hand to grind on, fucking into you at the same time, humming deep when he feels you squeeze around him and shatter like glass.

He takes his mask off for the first time that night. You see his face, all of it, not just glimpses when he lifts it to eat or to drink, you see the whole thing. He has a terrible looking face. Something only a mother could love. Too old of scars to be from this new life. They slash across his brow, across his cheeks. He has a jagged nose, and the skin around his lips had been reconstructed poorly from however they had been slit.

He's a terrifying piece of flesh. He is surprised when you lean in and kiss him. He's even more surprised when you kick off your jeans, turn over, and fuck him again.

The mantra that sounds like mine repeats in his head over and over. He feels it, deep, warm and beating under his ribs alongside his heart that hasn't moved in a long while.

He found you in those woods, kicking amongst predators, and he took you home with him. Picked you up like a stray, fed you, clothed you, and now you've stayed. For a moment, he thought it wasn't real. Thought your full belly is what kept you here, the warm house. He didn't mind pretending, but he figured it wouldn't last.

He doesn't think that anymore. Not with the way you kiss his severed face. You nuzzle into it, cup his cheeks, and he finds it agony when you pull away.

He hovers now. In whatever room you are in, Simon must also be in it. If he leaves, he makes you board the doors, and you are only allowed to open them if he knocks in his special way. He tested you once, came back earlier than expected, and he was so pleased you did not open the door to his casual knock and only the special one that he made you come one, two, three times with your thighs locked around his face.

A terrible thing happens.

Not to you.

You're searching the greenhouse. Hoping to find some flower pots for the herb seeds you found, you're rummaging through the cabinets beside it. Your gun is sitting away from you, and although Simon would chastise you for this, you feel safe here, and it doesn't bother you.

It flings itself at you. It cries, what used to be a teenage girl, reaching for you because it wants a chunk of your softness, of the life you pump into the muscles that keep you running. You're protected by all the clothes you wear for the weather, and it is slow because of the cold freezing their rigid, dead bones, but it does not lessen the hunger, the fight, the determination to eat and spread.

Before it can bite, the back of its head explodes. You close your mouth and shut your eyes as rancid brain matter splatters the white snow and you, and it is wrenched off of you immediately. Simon stands there, his pistol in hand, and you have never seen him quite so angry as he is right now.

His eyes are wild. He heaves under that tact vest, breathing hard, and his grip on the handgun shakes, so much that he has to shove it back into the holster at his thigh and lean over to pick you up off the ground.

He jostles you. Growls. Is nearly an animal himself as he shoves you up against the glass of the greenhouse and snarls.

"Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?!" Simon snaps. "Is y'r fuckin' head on?!"

It's so quiet in your head even as he yells. Your eyes tear, but not because you're upset. You reach out and cup his face gently, and he stops. Stops talking, just watches, just looks at you as he bends and leans his forehead against yours and squeezes you to his chest.

What is this thing you have? What have you become? What innate thing has festered between you? He’s gripping the edge of the glass so hard, you hear it crack under his hand. There is some kind of sick sense of devotion among you. Some kind of responsibility. He’s angry because something under his tongue tasted bitter when he saw you struggling. It won’t be this easy. He won’t make it this easy. If he doesn’t get to die, then neither do you, and he will make sure of that, because that is the only way this game can remain fair.

You never wander to the greenhouse again. He makes you promise (lest he wastes his cum between your thighs instead of inside you, that's it, promise me).

Another terrible thing happens.

Not to you.

They're wanderers. When they knock at the door, they don't use Simon's special knock, so you don't open it. Instead, you blow out the candles and hide, peeking at them from the fogged window in the attic.

They are men (you aren't surprised, they seem to be the only thing that survives nature's heavy hand). Cold. Shivering. One of them is bleeding, you can see it from the blood trail he leaves in the snow that seeps from somewhere under the hem of his jeans. The one uninjured tries to force his way through the door, but Simon added more deadbolts to it, and it doesn't give under his weak attempts. You trade your handgun for the rifle, aiming it at them. If they get through the door, maybe you can draw them back out, keep them away from the house.

You try to stay quiet, but the healthier one uses his body and a log of wood to get through. They're desperate, desperate enough to not care that breaking through the door cuts him severely, splits through his jacket. The second man limps behind him, getting inside, and you decide to put the rifle back.

You will stay quiet until Simon gets back. Your strength is not being a bulldozer, so you'll hide until he can be that for you. You steady your breathing; even if they make it to the attic, you won't go quietly. You tried that last time, and if it wasn't for Simon, you'd surely be naked and dead in that clearing that you were dragged to.

This time, if you go, you will take someone with you at least. Severed ears are not enough. You will not make them artists, you will make them forgettable and unrecognizable, and you will give back what they give you tenfold. Even if it kills you.

It takes them all night before they finally make it to the attic. They eat your food and take showers in your bathroom and stink up the living room, you can hear them. And when their bellies are full and their minds wander, you dread the pull of the attic door as he wrenches it open and the ladder falls.

You manage to kill one as he drags you out from the corner. He latches onto your ankle, and as he pulls, you put your finger on the trigger of your handgun, and you put one right between his eyes. The other takes advantage of your moment of pause, turning you over onto your stomach so hard the gun flies across the attic from your hand. He tosses you down from the attic, and you land on your side in the hallway, and you cry as you get to your elbows and crawl, trying to get to your feet, but he's larger than you.

He catches you in the kitchen. Slams you over the kitchen counter, using his weight to pin you down, but Simon taught you better than that. He taught you not to give in. He taught you not to give up. You think about him when your fingers find the discarded fork on the counter and you drive it right through his fucking eye.

You don't stop. You don't let his cries keep you from bringing your arm down again. And again. And again. You make his face your blank canvas, and you paint it with your anger. For every man that ever touched you. For every man that ever thought himself worthy to have you. For every man that tried to make your body his prize, you poke a thousand holes in him, and you scream with him as you do it until he can't scream anymore.

You're holding the fork and standing over him when Simon comes home. His handgun drawn, silent as he makes his way in, his body visibly relaxing when he sees you. He glances at the man at your feet, still alive, gurgling there, choking on his own blood as he tries to breathe through the holes that are scattered across his face and neck. You meet his eyes, and you smile. It's uncanny to do it now, but you are happy to see him.

"There's..." You sniffle, wiping your face with your sleeve. "There's another i-in the attic."

You don’t get to see him smile under the mask. You don’t hear the near purr that leaves him as he climbs the ladder and sees the perfect place you’ve left your mark. He’d frame it if it wouldn’t rot.

You twirl the fork in your hand before going to the sink, dropping it in there, and you close your eyes as you listen to Simon's footsteps as he goes into the attic. It takes him a little less than an hour to get the bodies out the back door, and when he comes back inside, you're already wiping up the floor in the kitchen.

There's nothing to talk about. This is normal. This is just another day. Tomorrow, you might have to do it again, and you'll still cook dinner after sunset and clean the kitchen like you're doing now and sit Simon on the edge of the bathtub and cut his hair.

Simon found chocolate on his trip today, and you make cake with it. You sit in his lap under the candlelight, and you feed each other, bite by bite, and you giggle when Simon gets it all over his lips.

You kiss him to clean it off, and then you reach for another bite of cake. There's some measure of satisfaction you feel when your tongue finds the dent in the fork prongs from when you used it earlier. The chocolate tastes better somehow. Sweeter.

You catch him in the morning, limbs tangled with yours under the sheets, flipping a coin. You smooth a hand over his thick chest, along his pudgy stomach, and you watch with him as the coin lands on the bedside table, falling flat.

It comes up tails.

He decides then that he doesn't have to flip it anymore. It's pointless. He asked for answers, and he got one.

You were not luck. You were fate. And because of it, the coin will always land the same way.

His thoughts are interrupted when you reach for the coin. You twirl it between your fingers, thinking. He doesn't see what you see, but that's okay. Maybe he'll let you play now. Some other game, a better one.

Heads or tails, win or lose, alive or dead. Either way, you are attached. Woven together, thread by thread. There are no vows to say in this new place, but you aren't tested by the same kinds of things. There is no law to keep two people together, no governing power of men that say if left is truly left and that right is really right.

You are drawn together by shared experiences. The same trauma. You won't leave each other not because you said you wouldn't leave, but because there is no one else in the world that has seen the same things you have seen and has done the same things you have done. There is no one else in the world that will forgive you for what you had to do to survive. That will love you not just in spite of it, but because of it, because you did what was necessary, and you are here now to learn a lesson and not suffer its consequences.

It's just a game. If you win, he wins. If you lose, he loses. If you're alive, he's alive.

And if you're dead, then he must be, too.

[eldritch-spouse]

I slam the door with frustration, spooking the angel patiently waiting by the door. I haphazardly throw my coat on the floor before grabbing the celestial’s hand and stomping into the living room. Forcing him to sit on the couch, I turn on the tv for noise and hastily unbutton his suit. “I need you now. Had a bad day and you will help me relieve stress.”

In different years, Belo would find this way of life to be slightly insulting.

He's a warrior after all, a power. His kind belongs outside, patrolling, securing the well-being of lessers, fighting for the honor of their Highers and holding the safety of Eden on their shoulders.

Ah, but those days are gone. Long gone. His vision glazes sometimes, wet and torpid eyes lamenting the fate of many of his brethren. They, unlike him, didn't have the fortitude to handle their own abandonment, the newfound fruitlessness of their very existence.

It's one thing to never know what the meaning of your existence is. It's another thing to have that meaning embedded in your very core and never be able to fulfill it again. Sometimes Belo envies that freedom, that ambivalence of simply existing because you can, because you were made.

Also unlike him, his kin did not have the miraculous luck to find someone like his Lady. His Lady-Worship, his beam of light in a universe ready to swallow him in its poisonous darkness. The guiding hand in a world so new and so different, so degenerate. So horrid! As amazing and radiant as you are, Belo shudders when he thinks about how you made it this far intact without a celestial by your side.

With new meaning come new duties, understandably.

As Belo still needs to learn quite a lot to understand the symbolism of this new age, he worries himself with protecting your sanctum, making it the best version of itself, and keeping it painfully, effectively warded against all threats- Especially that fiendish "neighbor" you have, what disgusting absolutely abhorrent lifeform it is! Noxious creature!

But alas, your benevolence knows no bounds. Not only have you welcomed him into your life, you refuse to let that wretched pest meet its end. Truly, you are too good for this lost planet.

Now.

Back to his current task.

The sanctum is spotless, but alas, Belo was never taught how to prepare meals for lessers. It was not the type of discipline delivered to his cast. A guardian would know this, even a principality! But not him, not a power. Unfortunate and unacceptable- He must show adaptation and flexibility unlike ever before!

Which is why that uhm... Digital movie playing contraption you have comes in so very handy.

He never thought he'd be learning to cook from lessers, but here Belo is, hoping against all odds that he doesn't ruin the eggs this time. It's not that he can't handle objects in a gentle manner, it's that he's never had to taste things. Therefore, he doesn't know how to create the correct flavor.

And Lords forbid he ever present his Lady with something foul-tasting!

The power is sure he's got it down correctly this time however. Belo has just finished putting the eggs on the plate he intends to present you with, when he stills.

An acute sense of alertness and hearing means a lifeform like him is always aware of the movement around your apartment complex. He knows when your neighbors leave and arrive, which parts of their homes they're in... This also means that he knows when you're nearby, having memorized the noise of your vehicle -Such a shame that he can't accompany you to some locations- And the jingle of your mildly irritating keychain.

The angel scrambles to put everything together, wanting to be at the door with his offering in full display, so eager to see you-

The door rips open.

Only a nick of time allows Belo to secure his painfully crafted work of mediocre culinary, lest it be swatted to the ground. Sharpened eyes spare you great concern.

His Lady exudes frustration. Although his rank is not the most emotionally attuned, Belo senses a cloud of negativity choking you, your glorious features drained and tense. He's overcome with emotion.

" My- My Lady! Whatever happened today? Did you get hurt? Who d- "

The force with which you grip his hand is surprising for a human, dragging the angel only because he always allows you to. The food lies forgotten on the nearest surface. It's by his ever subservient attitude that you can toss Belo to the couch too, his silent confusion following when you activate the bigger display box.

" I need you now. " You begin, patience depleted. " Had a long day and you will help me relieve stress. "

He squawks the same way he does whenever his Worship starts these encounters without proper warning, wings fluttering and fur fluffing in a mixture of shock and anticipation. He fears that a part of him may enjoy getting pleasurably surprised more than any self-respecting angel should.

" But... " He knows it's not a good idea to challenge you, trembling as the last of his covering is undone. " You should eat b-before I service you, my Lady, many hours have passed- "

" I'll eat when I can't feel my legs. " The snarl you give Belo sends shudders down his spine, and he bashfully, albeit inwardly happily, readjusts to spread his legs for you.

" Excuse me but that hardly sounds healthy... "

His cock pokes out a furred slit, beading and twitching to interest. Although Belo becomes uncomfortably erect the moment you recklessly undress before him. It was not, as a filthy demon would put it, a slutty display. It was raw need, irritation and pure dominance. It was a side of his Worship he had yet to witness.

Belo refuses to ever admit it aloud, he cannot, he will not! But... But oh, the sins of the flesh. No, when provided by the superiors, they are not sins, they are gifts. They cannot be wrong. It's not wrong for Belo to enjoy your physical rewards for his work, but it is perhaps sinful of him to lust for more, to so eagerly hope that you'll allow him such pleasures when he performs certain tasks.

He does not touch his aching length because he's not allowed to. His pleasure is for you to decide upon, of course.

The angel prepares to slide down on his knees when you shove him back on the cushions by the shoulder.

Three eyes blink at you. " Am... Am I not to service you, my Goddess? "

You usually enjoy the touch of his fingers upon your most intimate zones, for training him is easy, and Belo adored the sounds of your approval. You did also curiously enjoy grinding over his face, a sensation that often left him pointlessly thrusting against nothing.

None of that today, it seems.

" Shut up. "

He was about to reply with a reflexive 'Yes, my Lady' before catching himself.

When you straddle him, the celestial only tilts his head, figure heated, but never expecting you to simply line him up with your entrance and slam yourself down.

Had he not been in the midst of breathlessly throwing his head back, Belo would have died from worry. As holy as you are, you share the stature of humanity, and Belo knows -F-From common sense, of course!- That his organ is not the same size of a human's at all.

He tries to articulate his concern, but the squeeze of your core around him is hypnotic and sickeningly euphoric. Belo can only hold onto full hips and cry his delight while you mercilessly hammer down on his cock, milking all the pleasure you can from him.

His melodious whines and resounding moans -Something he ought to control- rise in intensity as Belo loses himself and begins rutting senselessly, the tip of his dick nuzzling spots that make the two of you go stupid.

" Don't you dare cum yet! "

He wails, physically wails, body trembling so hard it almost spasms in his effort to reign his movements. " N- Never, never my Lady! I'm good, I'll relieve you- I'm good! "

And as if to confirm it, your serious complexion finally morphs into a self-satisfied grin, all lidded eyes and gentle, mocking affection.

He's the one that's not getting any relief soon.

[faulty-writes]

Maybe some headcanons where Bakugou, Tamaki, and Mirio are hit by a quirk that makes them behave mostly the opposite of themselves for a few days to a week.

Bakugou is kind and gentle towards the reader and so visibly in love. He's become quite the gentleman!

Tamaki is super energetic, extremely romantic, and declares his affections in front of at least his entire class.

And Mirio is so very, very gloomy but he's practically attached to the reader and says they're, "One of the precious few rays of light left in this gray, gray world."

[ I really like this request. Hah, personality changes are the best! ]

Katsuki's behavior shocked everyone, including you. Being his usual hot-headed self, he ended up in a quirk accident that changed his personality. When Mr. Aizawa assured you, the effects would be only temporary, you were grateful because Katsuki acting so…sweet, and gentle was just as frightful as when he was his usual self.

Normally, he would be protective of you, but now it's different. "Here, I don't want you to get wet," he said, holding the umbrella over you while he got soaked. "Nothing will happen to me, but someone like you shouldn't be caught out in the rain," he smiled sweetly at you while you trembled in response.

If someone talked to you in the wrong way, he'd pull you close and say, "Please don't speak that way to Y/n, they mean a lot to me, yeah?" Despite this, his loving gaze resembled his angry one and you tried to believe that the real Katsuki Bakugou was still somewhere inside him.

"Let's cuddle!" he would announce bluntly, no matter who was around. If you didn't respond fast enough, he'd pull you into his lap by force. He'd have his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

There was more thought put into your dates and he showed a greater interest in your hobbies. He would take you to your favorite restaurant or spend the evening in the dorm reading or watching a movie. He didn't get angry when others commented on how romantic or sappy he was, unlike before.

He could only react in anger when the effects of the quirk wore off and everyone shared the stories of what he did. "What the hell do you mean I did all that!?" He demanded, explosions sounding from his hands. It was only natural for you to smile because you missed the hotheaded Katsuki.

"Stay close to me, I love you so much…you're so kind and sweet and I can't bear to be apart from you!" To say Tamaki's reaction was surprising would be an understatement. It was like his hero persona times a thousand when he talked so bluntly about his affection for you. But his sudden personality change was credited to a quirk incident.

"I got these for you! They're so gorgeous, just like you. I…I just wanted to thank you for being my biggest fan and….love. I love you so much! I don't care who knows it!" He said after marching over to your desk in the morning and presenting you with the largest bouquet of flowers you had ever seen.

"Wow, another love letter for you! Guess this quirk accident brought out the more loving side of Amajiki, huh?" Nejire teased. It was clear she meant no harm, but Tamaki's love letters were beginning to get out of control. Since the incident, you must have found one to two in your locker every day.

During training exercises, it was normal for friends to cheer for you, but Tamaki took that to another level. The fact that he shouted your name enthusiastically and formed letters with his tentacles was endearing, but it was also distracting.

"Don't rub it off this time, okay!" He said, pressing a small kiss against your cheek. "I just want to kiss you forever!" he exclaimed trailing kisses across your reddened face. You hoped you wouldn't have to adjust to his lack of shame when it came to public affection.

"T-that's horrifying! W-why would I d-do all that!?" He squeaked out, hiding his face behind his hands as he appeared to be close to a panic attack. While part of you missed the proud and outspoken Tamaki, this version was the one you loved.

A quirk incident transformed Mirio into an emotional rollercoaster in a whole new way, and all the good parts of his personality vanished, leaving only doom and gloom behind.

As a result, he lost all his confidence and motivation, not to mention he questioned his purpose as a hero. "Don't get me wrong…having a quirk is great…but…my quirk is just so lame compared to others and if I don't have a cool, flashy quirk..then what's the point?" You wondered whether those were his real thoughts or if his mind was also thrown back to middle school.

"You're truly my only source of sunshine…the rest of this world is…dull and gray to me…" Mirio sought your company whenever and wherever he could, he didn't care if others were watching when he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, almost as if he was trying to hide from the gray world he described.

As his self-confidence dwindled, he refused to attend class and skipped hero training. To your surprise, he began discussing new dreams unrelated to his previous lifelong dream of becoming a hero. These included exploring new interests and hobbies and you could only remain supportive.

"I can't stand this gloomy world without you. If you left…I don't know what I'd do…I'd just wither away," you assumed this was his way of expressing his gratitude that you hadn't abandoned him during the long week following the quirk accident.

"Hah! Wow, really? I can't believe that quirk accident made me think so negatively about becoming a hero and yes, my quirk may not be flashy but I can still save the world," he said after all the quirk effects wore off. Then he poked your nose and with a cheesy grin said, "Thanks for putting up with me! I totally owe you one!"

[tossawary]

There are some fanfiction AUs where Sidious is revealed as a Sith earlier in the timeline and Anakin refuses to believe the evidence until Palpatine is dead on the floor, sometimes to the point of physically attacking the accusers to defend Palpatine's innocence. Which depending on the exact circumstances, in my opinion, sometimes stands as an interpretation in direct contradiction to Anakin canonically turning against Palpatine in "Revenge of the Sith", before ultimately changing his mind.

Anakin is reckless and arrogant and ultimately selfish, I won't deny any of that, he's a flawed character, but... he's not attached to Palpatine as his friend above everything else. When he finds out the Palpatine is a Sith, he goes straight to Mace Windu, someone he dislikes, and gives Palpatine up to the Jedi immediately. If Anakin hadn't come back during the Windu-Sidious fight, if he'd held out for another five minutes, then Windu probably would have won. Sidious came very, VERY close to getting his ass killed at the last minute and losing everything, because Anakin was still on the fence. It seems unlikely that getting cooked by Sith Lightning was part of Palpatine's plan.

Tragedy is a matter of timing, as much as it is about specific people and places. The "when" of it matters. Anakin's fall to the Dark Side is initially all about FEAR, though it soon gets twisted into anger and hatred. He's been dreaming about losing Padmé (and their child) like he lost his mother, and he's convinced that Sidious can save her. If there's no lethal threat to Padmé, then Anakin has less reason to turn on the Jedi and jump ship.

They're about to end the war, which has made Anakin a very important and powerful figure, and Anakin is even more at odds with the Council than before. Everything feels unbalanced and the future is uncertain. He's been forced onto the Council by Palpatine and the Council is essentially asking him to ruin his friendship with Palpatine, whom he likes in spite of and because he's a dictator, and who is also likely about to lose a lot of emergency powers. Anakin may feel like the "jealous" Jedi Council intend to take their dislike out on him as soon as the war is over and he's no longer so useful to them. They will almost certainly boot him off the Council ASAP, because he is absolutely not ready to be a Master or a Councillor, despite what respect he personally feels owed due to his powers.

By a quick line of dialogue in this movie, it's also revealed that Anakin at some point TOLD Palpatine about the Tusken massacre. Anakin is presumably afraid that the Jedi would react with rightful horror to what he did and punish him; he may resent them because he knows they "wouldn't understand" his anger. If Palpatine wasn't a Sith Lord and just got arrested, Anakin could still lose everything if Palpatine decided to retaliate by talking about Anakin's secrets.

When Anakin interferes with Windu killing Sidious and Windu dies, it's because Anakin is desperate to at least spare Palpatine's life to save Padmé, but now he's FUCKED. He already wanted to be both a Jedi Knight and married to Padmé at the same time, and he thought that the Jedi Council would try to take one or both of those things away from him if they knew. But now he's helped to murder the Master of the Order, which I don't think he necessarily wanted to do, and there's no coming back from that. The "they'll take everything from me" fear has skyrocketed. He probably thinks they'll try to take revenge (justice) at all costs. He chooses himself (and Padmé, initially, before he ends up killing her too) over the entire Jedi Order and the entire Republic to escape the consequences.

After this point, Anakin's fall is less a slippery slope and more like a straight shot downwards, because it goes right into the Jedi Temple massacre. Personally, I think this jump is a little far, as it's executed in the films. I might have preferred a scene where Anakin takes the troopers and asks that the Jedi Order surrender to the Supreme Chancellor first, maybe? Before it descends into chaos? So that Anakin can angrily argue that they left him no choice? I don't know. Anakin lets all of his past resentments go wild, just throws himself into his anger, and is having some full-on mental breakdown here, which combined with some bonus Dark Side nonsense from Sidious is not necessarily unrealistic, but does feel a little rushed and uniform for my tastes in the trilogy by itself.

With Anakin and the Jedi Order's fall happening pretty much overnight like that, it gives Anakin even less time to be pulled off this path by Padmé or Obi-Wan. If Obi-Wan had been there to de-escalate the situation before Windu's death, if he had found out about Padmé's pregnancy as Anakin breaks down, he might have been able to promise that he would care for Anakin regardless and point out that Palpatine might be the true threat to her life. And Anakin might have listened to that much-needed reassurance and management of his extreme emotions. He loves (is attached to) Padmé and Obi-Wan, supposedly, and he's listened to them about various important things before. But Obi-Wan wasn't there this time.

In an AU scenario, it's not unrealistic that Anakin might not want to believe that Palpatine is the Sith Lord. If the accusation comes from someone Anakin dislikes, I do think Anakin would be even less inclined to believe it. He's stubborn. He does consider Palpatine a friend. Palpatine compliments him and strokes his ego, where Obi-Wan can be critical and distant. Anakin might be the first one to suggest that someone could be framing the Chancellor.

But for all that Anakin is reckless and self-centered and has a spectacularly violent emotional breakdown in "Revenge of the Sith", he DOES turn Palpatine in first. He knows that the Jedi Council will try to investigate, then perhaps arrest the Chancellor, rather than go to murder as their first option. When Mace Windu tells Anakin to stay behind in the Jedi Temple, Anakin listens at first. He ALMOST left Palpatine to be handled by the Jedi Council without him. Anakin's last minute choice, initially made for Padmé's sake before going into a wild spiral of bad shit, is what tips the final balance towards Palpatine's victory.

In the original trilogy, Darth Vader is game to overthrow the Emperor for Luke, so they can rule the galaxy as father and son. He DOES choose Luke in the end. Admittedly, this is after 20+ years of pain and misery and violence that has brought him no happiness, which has probably contributed to Anakin's hatred of Palpatine. But it suggests to me that hot-headed Anakin could be easily persuaded to view Palpatine's reveal as a Sith Lord as a personal betrayal, especially if it happens earlier. Palpatine is behind the whole war? Then Palpatine is responsible for Padmé and Obi-Wan nearly dying too many times to count. Anakin might be angrier and more eager than anyone else to get rid of Palpatine, for lying to him this whole time, once he gets over the surprise.

Anakin is a somewhat unstable character, but he has reasons behind his behavior. He's unstable BECAUSE he's strongly guided by his fears and his anger and his attachments to his loved ones. I think it's reasonable not to like him, but sometimes I'm reading certain interpretations of him, and it's like, "That's not why he sucks, though."

Like, Anakin is motivated by fear of loss, yes, and losing Padmé is his number one trigger point. But he is ALSO motivated at times by fear of losing his position in the Jedi Order, because he likes some of the other Jedi, and he likes being a hero and helping people to some degree (also he may have some deep-seated childhood fear about having nowhere else to go but back to Tatooine). That's why he married Padmé secretly. And I personally think he values his position as a Jedi and his home there more than he does Palpatine's friendship, especially when he's younger.

If Anakin is not losing his mind on a cocktail of Padmé death nightmares, Jedi Council politics, the end of the war, war trauma, Palpatine's potential blackmail, and so on, then taking Palpatine's side too strongly stands to lose him his position as a Jedi, all that stability and compassion, all that privilege and recognition. Yeah, Anakin can be reckless and impulsive and relies too much on being bailed out by other people, but he's not entirely without a sense of self-preservation. It's definitely not impossible that Anakin would attack and even kill someone to defend Palpatine, that he would choose Palpatine over the Jedi, you can use Ep3 as very hard proof of that, but there are plenty of circumstances where I think it's more likely that Anakin would feel betrayed and turn on Palpatine for being Sith.

Because in both "Revenge of the Sith" and "Return of the Jedi", Anakin DOES turn on Palpatine. Sidious relying too much on his manipulation of Anakin gets him cooked by Sith Lightning in Ep3 and it finally gets him killed in Ep6. Seriously, Palpatine nearly dies in "Revenge of the Sith". It's so close. Anakin can and WILL murderously turn on this guy pretty quickly if the circumstances and consequences don't line up just right.

[yanderes-galore]

Mind if I ask for a romantic concept of Harry Warden from My Bloody Valentine, please??? He  needs more content and I'm desperate lmao

I did one for Axel Palmer from the older movie... So I'll do one for the 2009 version now.

Yandere! Tom Hanniger/Harry Warden Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Murder, Violence, Blood, Gore, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Split personality, Disturbing descriptions, Death, Forced "relationship".

I feel like, similar to Axel from the older film, Tom would be the type to kill his obsession to keep them to himself.

I say this in the film as it looks like he still tries to kill Sarah.

Although, one thing to note is in this movie... Harry Warden is a split personality created from Tom's trauma.

He is not aware of what he does as Harry.

So he could be obsessive as one or both personas.

Imagine if Tom wanted to protect you from Harry... Not realizing he's trying to protect you from himself.

Imagine if, instead of Sarah, you and Tom used to date before he left town and was institutionalized.

Now he's back, only to learn you moved on... unlike him.

As I said before, Tom doesn't seem aware of being Harry Warden.

It seems like he just swaps over.

There's a couple ways I can tackle this.

Both personas are obsessed with you, easy enough.

Harry is, Tom isn't. This would lead to Tom trying to protect you and win you back, meanwhile Harry is trying to kidnap you... or kill you to keep you to himself.

Imagine if you survived the first Harry Warden attack with Axel, Tom, and the others.

You and Tom used to be close friends until that attack in the mines.

Afterwards, Tom ends up leaving town, leaving you and the others to recover alone.

Fast forward to years later, Tom comes back to town to supposedly sell the mines after his father died.

In reality, he missed you.

You two were so close... When he and Sarah broke up, you were there for him.

He's sorry he couldn't be there for you... but he just needed to leave.

He wanted to forget about Harry.

Unfortunately... He isn't forgetting him any time soon.

I imagine the dynamic is this...

You and Tom are catching up... all while "Harry" starts picking people off around town.

In a similar fashion to him picking off people close to Axel and Sarah, maybe Harry starts killing those close to you.

Friends, past lovers, your current partner...

Subconsciously, they're being picked off because Tom knows they're close to you.

All the while he's convinced you and himself that Harry is here to finish the job.

In reality, Harry is simply committing the acts Tom wishes he could.

So while Tom is left to stir in his jealousy quietly...

Harry's cleaning up.

One thing I'd change from how Harry Warden's persona acts is this... Maybe he doesn't harm his obsession.

Maybe both sides care for you and simply... remove everyone else.

You keep trying to tell Tom when he comes back that you two aren't teenagers anymore.

You can't be as close as you two once were.

If he had feelings, he certainly can't confess now.

Not when you already have a life of your own.

This upsets Tom, a lot... but he tries to be respectful.

As much as he loves you, he understands.

He may try to make you fall for him... but you're loyal.

Harry isn't as understanding.

No, Harry hunts people down.

Harry stalks them like a hunter.

Harry rips out the hearts of those who have scorned him with a sickening wet tear as they bleed...

Harry presents his rival's hearts to you as valentines in an attempt to make you all his.

Meanwhile, when Tom's around, he's saying he's protecting you.

He's mostly oblivious to the fact he's caused all your fear and pain.

He just sees you being tormented, alone, surrounded by bloody scenes.

How could he not hold you close?

How could he not vow to protect you from Harry?

He loves you... more than that, actually...

He's infatuated.

He knows he should be upset when your lover is killed.

He knows he shouldn't get ideas when it comes to you....

He can't help it.

Tom loves you like a lovestruck teenage boy, the very same one you saw in high school.

Harry loves you like a feral animal, slaughtering many and gifting you their hearts like a cat would a bird.

One wants to be a good friend and possible boyfriend to you.

The other wants to possess you, lock you away and keep you isolated.

Who knows how long it is when Tom snaps and shows Harry?

Maybe it takes place in the mines like it did with Sarah and Axel?

Except this time, Sarah and Axel don't live.

Maybe those two were the last victims Tom/Harry wanted dead.

You're left to run deep in the mines, away from the one person you thought you could trust.

You don't care if he doesn't know what's happening or not.

Tom... Harry... He's a monster.

You'd quickly be chased and cornered, a pickaxe pinning you to the ground by your shirt.

You thought he missed... but it looks like he did it on purpose.

If you surrender and go with him... if you listen... maybe Harry will let you go.

Although... If someone tried to take you from him... If they tried to save you from him...

Your fate may be sealed.

Willingly listening to him gets you carried away and isolated somewhere only he can find you.

Maybe you're taken to a house or apartment, one Tom tries to take care of you at.

Tom tries to play the 'caring boyfriend' role to you... Even when you know he's harboring a beast.

Although, you have to be careful you don't upset Tom at times...

You would rather not deal with Harry.

Speaking of which, if someone tried to take you away from him...

Tom/Harry will take drastic measures.

It'll be quick, hopefully painless, when that pickaxe swings into your skull.

He never wanted to hurt you.

However... He refuses to lose you again, not when he was so close.

Afterwards... Harry will steal your heart... literally.

Tom has mixed feelings, as to him he just saw Harry murder the love of his life.

In reality, Harry was just making sure you were his forever...

No one can take you from him if you're dead, right?

[everythingharrypotterblog]

charmed [18]: 'the finale: part 2' (remus lupin x reader)

series masterlist here

join taglist here

a/n: here it is ;'). the culmination of 3 years. before i say too much, there will be an epilogue so that is some consolation to me. because im in complete denial that its ending. i've never completed a piece of work of this magnitude before, and its completely thanks to the amazing love and feedback you have shown me that has kept me going. stay alert for the epilogue:) but without more waiting, here is the final part of charmed.

a/n: oh also, because i try to keep it as canon and tight as possible: unlike in the movie, remus doesnt transform OUT of his clothes. if not, he'd wake up naked lol. also, the book says hogsmeade station is not next to the village. i used the video game version where they're side-by-side for plot convenience.

18.

After hours of darkness, dawn’s first light etched its way through the thick trees of the Forest. Wolf shrunk back down into man, and heavy with exhaustion, he passed out onto the soft mossy floor.

A few trees away, high up in the branches, laid a watchful dove, who had fallen fast asleep with her head under her wing.

Moments passed, and the sky began to lighten with coats of yellow painting over the dark hues of black. They both awoke. Y/N floated down to where Remus was and transformed back.

“You okay?” She croaked, grabbing onto his robes that had brand new tears in it from last night.

Remus nodded. “And you?” He cradled her head in his two hands gently and looked down at her stomach.

She nodded back. They pulled each other into a silent hug, their heads pounding and their hearts tight with fear. They were both terrified of what had happened last night, but they didn’t speak on it. They needed the last of their energy to make it back to the Castle, where hopefully, everyone from last night laid safe and would be able to retell everything.

Finally, they reached the Whomping Willow. After grabbing Harry’s cloak and the map they had left there last night, they made their way into the castle. Fawkes was there to greet them, perched upon the railing of the staircase. Y/N and Remus took this as a sign, and followed the bird through the quiet, dim castle into Dumbledore’s office.

“Thank you Fawkes,” Dumbledore said softly as they entered his study, petting him on the head as it returned to its stand. “Professors, you have had a long night.” He gestured to his large divan, on top of which Y/N and Remus gladly crashed. 

“Headmaster—“ Remus cried out softly, the word shakily exiting his mouth in desperation and weariness.

“Do not fret, I will explain everything.” Dumbledore waved his hand, and two steaming cups of tea appeared in front of them, as well as a plate of small cookies. “Please.”

Y/N and Remus gratefully brought the warm liquid to their mouths, and squeezed each other’s hand as Dumbledore began explaining everything. He told them that Ron, Harry and Hermione were currently safe and sleeping in the Hospital Wing. He is unsure of the details on what went down after them two had gone into the forest, but the three children were brought into the castle by Snape, passed out on stretchers. 

Dumbledore proceeded to explain that Hermione had been in possession of a Time-Turner all year long to attend extra lessons. 

“All it took was a word of them freaking out over Sirius and Peter for me to understand everything. But of course, no one would believe the word of three 13-year-old’s and even less mine who had witnessed nothing. I had to maintain neutrality in front of Fudge. That is when I proposed Miss Granger the plan to turn back time. You might forget that one more innocent life was falsely accused last night. And thank goodness, Hermione and Harry succeeded. They snuck back into a presumedly locked Hospital Wing and Sirius took off on Buckbeak right before midnight, with Fudge, Macnair and Snape completely in the dark.”

Remus and Y/N finally exhaled the breath they had been holding in for hours. 

“Thank God.”

“So he’s free?” Remus asked. “Sirius?”

“Yes he is, Remus.” Albus responded.

Remus leaned back into his seat, pressing his fingers against pursed lips. The back of his eyes burned. He nodded. He shut his eyelids for a second. His friend was alive. He was out there.

“God, this is such a mess.” Y/N shook her head, burying her head in her hands. “Pettigrew got away.” She looked up at Dumbledore with worry in her eyes. “What will this mean..?”

Dumbledore shook his head wistfully. “There is no way to know.” He paused in deep reflection for a second. “There is no way to tell right now.”

The three sat together in silence for some time. There was gravity in the air as to what a now free Pettigrew might imply.

“Professors.” Albus smiled warmly. “You have done greatly. I suggest you two get some rest. Before the whole school wakes up. I need to finish writing this letter to the Minister.”

They nodded and left after thanking him for everything.

Remus and Y/N walked slowly, hand in hand.

“At least he’s alive.” Y/N managed to smile, looking up at Remus.

He returned the smile. “He is. He’s out there.” He said, bringing Y/N’s knuckles to his lips.

“Now, come on, into bed.” Remus said almost sternly once they entered their room. He sat Y/N on the edge of the bed and bent down on one knee, insisting on untying her shoes for her. “This much stress can not be good for the baby.”

Y/N laughed incredulously, watching as he proceeded to remove her socks for her, then massaging her feet gently. She knew that whatever fatigue she was feeling, Remus had it 100 times worse, but she saw him push through it in attempt to make her more comfortable.

“Remus?” She said softly.

“Yeah my love?” He said, lifting her arms to pull off her shirt.

“I love you.”

Remus paused with her shirt halfway off. “I love you too.”

Y/N giggled, as her head was stuck in the fabric, but Remus didn’t care and leaned down to kiss her.

Finally completely undressed, Y/N flopped onto her pillow. She ran her hands across her pelvis lovingly. “Our little cub.”

She was so tired that she drifted immediately off to sleep, not noticing how Remus had frozen on the spot. “Cub” set off an alarm in him, a panic that he couldn’t quite shake. He closed his eyes, clutching his blanket tightly to his chest.

+

Y/N felt Remus toss and turn in the bed beside her. She ignored it the first few times, until the last one finally brought her back to full consciousness.

“Are you awake?” She grumbled.

“… No.” He whispered back.

Y/N opened an eye to peek at him.

Remus took a deep sigh and sat up.

“What’s up?” Y/N joined him.

“This… might sound stupid,” Remus began, “but I don’t know, you said something earlier that just really triggered me.”

“Oh?”

“You referred to our baby-“ Remus smiled slightly at the word and the thought, “as a ‘cub’”. He grimaced.

“Oh…”

“It just sent me in a panic and I haven’t been able to quite shake it— and the thoughts, they’re paralyzing me.”

Y/N listened carefully as he continued.

“I just think about me potentially passing down my condition to an innocent child- our child- and having it have to suffer so much, all because of me.”

“Hmm.” Y/N said. “Can I speak— is that all you wanted to share?”

Remus nodded.

“Would you still love my child even if it had the same mental health issues as me?”

“Of course, that’s not even a question.” Remus said.

“So what’s the fundamental difference between that and lycanthropy?”

“Well, you cannot compare the two, they are simply not— being a werewolf is dangerous to others.“

Y/N shrugged, “I could argue that a bunch of conditions can make someone dangerous to others. But yeah, I understand. Fundamentally though, this is our child. Ours, Remus. You and me. I’m going to love this baby so much, because it will be part you. Not in spite of that. And it may inherit some of your worse traits, but it will also inherit the things that make you-” Y/N cupped his face. “the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. If it inherits lycanthropy, it will just be one gene out of 5 million other ones. It won’t change a thing in how much I will fucking love them.”

Remus remained silent.

“Yes, it’ll come with its own challenges. But having a kid was never gonna be easy right? And it’s nothing we can’t prepare for? It’s not like tracking the moon and handling transformations is completely new to us. We would just have two little furry friends every month instead of just the one. And they can come to Hogwarts, just like you have. And they’ll experience all the joys and laughs and cries at this castle as we have. Plus, they will get to grow up in a time where Wolfsbane is more accessible.”

Remus looked half-convinced.

“Plus, the baby will be half me. Will you not love something that is half me?” Y/N pouted.

Remus chuckled, finally breaking, throwing his head to the side. “Of course, I’ll love it. I love things that are 1% you, I love things that aren’t even you but remind me of you.”

Y/N cooed.

Remus put his arm around Y/N’s shoulder and brought her head to his lips. “I love you more than anything there is, and the only thing I would more is I fear, our baby.”

Y/N felt a tear creep up to her eyes. “Me too. So we’ll be okay, okay?”

Remus took a deep breath, feeling the air transition in and out of his body. “Okay”.

The fear wasn’t as strong. He kept holding onto Y/N, until the fear almost went away completely. And they fell back asleep.

+

Their time of respite was cut short by a knock on the door. Y/N stirred, rubbing her eyes. What time even was it? She turned to see Remus still deep in slumber. She smiled, and got up.

“Professor McGonagall!” She said in slight surprise to find her at their door. 

“I’ve come to bring you breakfast,” Professor McGonagall said, carrying a tray with two plates on it.

“Oh, thank you! Come in, come in.” She ushered her in, letting her set the tray on the table. 

“There is… something else I need to discuss.”

“Oh?” Y/N folder her arms across her chest.

Professor McGonagall sat down and ushered Y/N to take the chair next to her. 

“Professor Snape, this morning… at breakfast… well— He told everyone about Lupin’s condition.”

Y/N swallowed. She took a deep breath. Then she began nodding slowly. “Everyone?”

“Well, he mostly said to the Slytherins, but you know the school: if one student knows, every one will know.”

Y/N nodded again, pursing her lips.

“I am really sorry, Y/N.” Professor McGonagall said regretfully. “He… he does not deserve this.”

Y/N merely continued to nod. “Thanks for coming to tell me this, Minerva.”

McGonagall stood, and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“And thank you for the food.”

Y/N watched the older witch leave and looked back at the bedroom door. She tapped her foot nervously. She checked the clock. Breakfast was still being served. She got up. 

Most of the students were enjoying their meal quietly as the Great Hall was filled with a low buzz of morning chatter, cornflakes being poured into bowls and envelopes of morning mail being ripped open to read. Suddenly, the doors burst open, and Y/N came storming in.

“SNAPE!”

A hush fell over among the students, as they were slightly distraught to see their Charms teacher like this. 

She spotted Snape at the teacher’s table, who had awkwardly set his goblet down. “SNAPE!” Her angry footsteps echoed off the walls of the Hall.

“WHERE do YOU get off, telling people about MY HUSBAND’s business?!!” She yelled.

There was a huge, collective gasp from the students.

“Are you this PATHETIC that you feel the need to stoop THIS LOW, and ruin Remus’ ENTIRE reputation? Based on WHAT? HUH? WHAT— are you mad that things, WHERE YOU HAD NO PLACE TO BE TO BEGIN WITH, didn’t go YOUR WAY? SOMETHING YOU WERE COMPLETELY WRONG ABOUT BY THE WAY— you didn’t even TRY to hear us out, but that’s just how you are, isn’t it? SO STUBBORN, I don’t know if you know this, SEVERUS, but we are ADULTS NOW. I COULD PULL THE SAME SHIT AS YOU AND EXPOSE SO MUCH OF WHAT YOU WERE— NO, ARE— but I won’t, I don’t want to waste my BREATH.”

Multiple professors had run down at this point to hold Y/N back, and were busy rushing her to the side and out of the room.

“I’d start with how you got that BUMP on your head, but that doesn’t even matter—“ Y/N fought, “and DON’T EVEN THINK of raising your wand at me, I am PREGNANT—“

The entire student population let out another gasp in unison.

“But again, it wouldn’t be unlike you to want to hurt A CHI-I-I-LD”.

The last word echoed through the doors as Y/N was pulled away by a swarm of teachers.

The Great Hall burst out into a swarm of loud, buzzing chatter as Snape quickly turned away and vanished from his seat.

“OH MY GOD?”

“WHAT JUST HAPPENED—“

“HER HUSBAND?!”

“AND SHE’S PREGNANT—“

“DID SHE REALLY MEAN TO LET SLIP THAT LUPIN IS HER HUSBAND OR—“

“I fucking KNEW IT! FINALLY!”

“BLOODY HELL, WE GOT A CONFIRMATION FOR REAL NOW THAT—“

“PROFESSOR Y/L/N AND LUPIN, I mean, it’s always been—“

“We BEEN knew—“

“HUSBAND?!!!!!!!!!”

Fred and George had risen to their feet on top of their seats with a large roll of parchment and began crying out: “Alright, listen up! Those who bet AGAINST Professors Y/L/N and Lupin, come pay up OR double or nothing— GENDER OF THE BABY! COME PLACE YOUR BETS, WILL IT BE A BOY OR GIRL, BOY. OR. GIRL?!”

It took Professor McGonagall 30 minutes to break up the hullabaloo of gossip-wired teens and dispatch the students into their respective common rooms where they could get ready for the Hosmeade visit scheduled that day.

+

Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the hospital wing at noon, and it was to find an almost deserted castle (courtesy of Professor McGonagall’s incredible crowd-herding skills). The students were all ushered out to the village and she hoped they would burn enough energy shopping and exploring.

Neither Ron nor Hermione felt like going, however, so they and Harry wandered onto the grounds, still talking about the extraordinary events of the previous night and wondering where Sirius and Buckbeak were now. Sitting near the lake, watching the giant squid waving its tentacles lazily above the water, Harry lost the thread of the conversation as he looked across to the opposite bank. The stag had galloped toward him from there just last night.... 

A shadow fell across them and they looked up to see a very bleary-eyed Hagrid, mopping his sweaty face with one of his tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs and beaming down at them. 

"Know I shouldn' feel happy, after wha' happened las' night," he said. "I mean, Black escapin' again, an, everythin' -- but guess what?" 

"What?" they said, pretending to look curious.

"Beaky! He escaped! He's free! Bin celebratin' all night!" 

"That's wonderful!" said Hermione, giving Ron a reproving look because he looked as though he was close to laughing. 

"Yeah... can't've tied him up properly," said Hagrid, gazing happily out over the grounds. "I was worried this mornin', mind... thought he mighta met Professor Lupin on the grounds, but Lupin says he never ate anythin' las' night...." 

"What?" said Harry quickly. 

"Blimey, haven' yeh heard?" said Hagrid, his smile fading a little. He lowered his voice, even though there was nobody in sight. "Er -- Snape told all the Slytherins this mornin'.... Thought everyone'd know by now... Professor Lupin's a werewolf, see. An' he was loose on the grounds las' night.... An’ then Professor Y/L/N came rushing in, cussing Snape out and all that, cause he’s her husband you see. Don’t know where she’s at but he’s packin' now, o' course.”

"He's packing?" said Harry, alarmed. "Why?" 

"Leavin', isn' he?" said Hagrid, looking surprised that Harry had to ask. "Resigned firs' thing this mornin'. Says he can't risk it happenin again.”

Harry scrambled to his feet.

"I'm going to see him," he said to Ron and Hermione.

"But if he's resigned —" 

“— doesn't sound like there's anything we can do —" 

"I don't care. I still want to see him. I'll meet you back here." 

Lupin's office door was open. He had already packed most of his things. The grindylow's empty tank stood next to his battered old suitcase, which was open and nearly full. Lupin was bending over something on his desk and looked up only when Harry knocked on the door. 

"I saw you coming," said Lupin, smiling. He pointed to the parchment he had been poring over. It was the Marauder's Map. 

"I just saw Hagrid," said Harry. "And he said you'd resigned. It's not true, is it?" 

"I'm afraid it is," said Lupin. He started opening his desk drawers and taking out the contents. 

"Why?" said Harry. "The Ministry of Magic don't think you were helping Sirius, do they?" 

Lupin crossed to the door and closed it behind Harry. 

"No. Professor Dumbledore managed to convince Fudge that I was trying to save your lives." He sighed. "That was the final straw for Severus. I think the loss of the Order of Merlin hit him hard. So he -- er -- accidentally let slip that I am a werewolf this morning at breakfast." 

"You're not leaving just because of that!" said Harry. 

Lupin smiled wryly. 

"This time tomorrow, the owls will start arriving from parents.... They will not want a werewolf teaching their children, Harry. And after last night, I see their point. I could have bitten any of you.... That must never happen again." 

"You're the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had!" said Harry. "Don't go!" 

Lupin shook his head and didn't speak. He carried on emptying his drawers. Then, while Harry was trying to think of a good argument to make him stay, Lupin said, "From what the headmaster told me this morning, you saved a lot of lives last night, Harry. if I'm proud of anything I've done this year, it's how much you've learned.... Tell me about your Patronus." 

"How d'you know about that?" said Harry, distracted. 

"What else could have driven the dementors back?" 

Harry told Lupin what had happened. When he'd finished, Lupin was smiling again. 

"Yes, your father was always a stag when he transformed," he said. "You guessed right... that's why we called him Prongs." 

Lupin threw his last few books into his case, closed the desk drawers, and turned to look at Harry. 

"Here -- I brought this from the Shrieking Shack last night," he said, handing Harry back the Invisibility Cloak. "And..." He hesitated, then held out the Marauder's Map too. "I am no longer your teacher, so I don't feel guilty about giving you back this as well. It's no use to me, and I daresay you, Ron, and Hermione will find uses for it." 

Harry took the map and grinned. 

"You told me Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs would've wanted to lure me out of school... you said they'd have thought it was funny." 

"And so we would have," said Lupin, now reaching down to close his case. 

"I have no hesitation in saying that James would have been highly disappointed if his son had never found any of the secret passages out of the castle." 

There was a knock on the door. Harry hastily stuffed the Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket. 

It was Professor Dumbledore. He didn't look surprised to see Harry there. 

"Your carriage is at the gates, Remus," he said.

"Thank You, Headmaster.”

Lupin picked up his old suitcase and the empty grindylow tank. 

"Well — good-bye, Harry," he said, smiling. "It has been a real pleasure teaching you. I feel sure we'll meet again sometime. Headmaster, there is no need to see me to the gates, I can manage...." 

Harry had the impression that Lupin wanted to leave as quickly as possible. 

"Good-bye, then, Remus," said Dumbledore soberly. Lupin shifted the grindylow tank slightly so that he and Dumbledore could shake hands. Then, with a final nod to Harry and a swift smile, Lupin left the office. 

+

“After you, darling.” Remus said, holding the carriage door open.

“Thank you.” She hummed, taking Remus’ outstretched hand and climbing into the carriage.

They settled into their seats and the Thestrals began to move. They looked out the window, watching the Castle grow smaller and smaller. Tears rolled down Y/N’s cheeks.

She turned to face forward, slumping into the back of her seat and sighed. She glanced at Remus, who was staring back at her. She pouted.

“You don’t have to come with me, you know.” He began.

She shook her head.

“You can finish the term properly, hand out grades, enjoy the end-of-year feast…”

“We’ve talked about this, Rem.” She cut him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I wanna be with you. Don’t want you to be alone right now. Plus, if you think I didn’t ask the house-elves to cook up something for me…us…”

Remus laughed incredulously as Y/N showed him the contents of her bag, which included a few wrapped sandwiches, several pastries, a banana and an apple, and homemade candied almonds. 

The two wistfully looked out the window. 

“I want to tell you, Y/N, that—“ Remus looked down at his hands. “This year might have been the best year of my life. Of course there were other happy years in my life, like some at Hogwarts as a child, or when I met you, but…”

He pursed his lips together and looked back at the Castle. “There’s something about being back here… with you this time… Hogwarts was the first place I had ever found joy. And friendship. And being able to revisit it so many years down the line as a man, and experience it doing something I love with whom I love, also doing what she loves…” 

His voice broke as he covered his eyes.

“Oh, Remus.” Y/N grabbed his hand. “I feel the same way. I didn’t really know you when we were first here. But being able to experience Hogwarts with you, it’s been… well, magical.”

Y/N looked at him intensely through glassy eyes. “Oh, and I hate that it has to end like this, I do, no I do—“ She reiterated as he began shaking his head. “Because, you don’t tell yourself this enough, but you have so much to be proud of this year. I’m so proud of you. You’ve accomplished something so special here, you might not see it but I do, I’ve been seeing it all year. You were so important to those students. I literally heard it everyday- in the hallways, in the classrooms, in the library- how much they loved you.”

Remus was full on crying now.

“You.” Y/N said, jamming a finger into his chest. “I have loved this year because of how much it has brought me back to, but it’s been everything to watch you shine. Because of simply who you are. You’ve gotten too used to hiding in the shadows. And I felt like falling in love with you all over again.”

They engulfed each other in a hug as they both cried into each other.

Finally, the carriage came to a halt. The two came apart, sniffling, wiping their wet faces on the sleeves of their robes.

“God, we’re such saps, aren’t we?” Remus let out a wet chortle.

Y/N did the same back.

They both stepped out, with their bags onto Hogsmeade Station. The train had just arrived for them, blowing steam in a loud whistle.

Remus took the bags and began climbing on with them.

Out of the corner of Y/N’s eye, she saw dozens of students on Hogsmeade’s main street, in the middle of their weekend visit. A few of them seemed to be looking back. Recognizing who they were, she gave a big wave with her entire arm. They all waved back. And suddenly, they began growing larger. They were running towards the train platform.

“Oh my God, they’re coming…” Y/N muttered as the mob of students trampled into the station.

A dozen “Professor Y/L/N!”s broke out in different voices.

“Where are you going?”

“We heard you’re pregnant!”

“Is it true?!”

“Will you be back to teach next year?”

Y/N beamed at them as she looked in each of their faces. There was a mix of all her students, from all years and all houses. She felt a pinch of sadness to see that Harry, Ron and Hermione were not present.

“You guys…” Y/N took a deep breath. She put her hand on the shoulders of the two students nearest her. “Yes, I am pregnant.”

There was a collective whoop.

“So, I don’t see myself coming back next year as I would be on maternity leave.”

There was a collective “aw” of disappointment. 

“What about Professor Lupin?” said a timid 1st-year.

Y/N smiled sadly. “I… don’t know, sweetheart.”

A shared expression of sadness fell upon the group.

“You know, we’ve been really depressed after hearing about Professor Lupin.” Seamus said, kicking his feet. “He was the best Defence teacher we’ve ever had!”

Remus had his ear pressed against the train door. He felt his heart clench. Y/N looked back at him and cocked her head slightly. He stepped down onto the platform.

The group of students erupted in cheers. “Professor Lupin!” They broke out in a cacophony of praise and sadness about his departure.

Remus bowed his head down in humility. He was at a loss of what to say. “I… thank you everyone. I am most glad that you have learned this much with me.”

A first-year stepped forward hesitantly, then lunged to hug Remus. Taken aback for a second, Remus then chuckled kindly and returned the hug.

“WE’RE GONNA MISS BOTH OF YOU SO MUCH!”

They then divided into two groups, one to group-hug Remus and the other, to Y/N. The two couldn’t stop laughing of glee, watching the scene unfold. 

“Can we write letters to you when you’re gone?!”

“Of course you can.”

Finally, the train whistled and it was time for Y/N and Remus to board officially.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us all year you two were married, by the way.” A student finally said.

Y/N laughed. “Yeah…” She took Remus’ hand. “But I hear you guys were quite keen on figuring it out.”

With one last goodbye, Y/N and Remus climbed up onto the train. They took their seats and waved back at the students through the window. The train tugged forward, and several of the students sprinted and ran across the train, tapping on the window.

Y/N and Remus laughed with tears in their eyes, watching them slow down and stop as finally the train turned out of the station and away from the platform. From afar, they could see a small McGonagall-shaped figure whisk all the students away and back into the village. The figure stopped for a moment and looked at the train. She nodded and waved.

The train picked up speed and within seconds, Hogsmeade was replaced with tall sets of trees on both sides. 

Y/N looked at Remus. He smiled. Taking a deep breath, Y/N closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder.

Remus sat there wide awake. He watched etches of forest zoom past them in the window. The train turned a corner and the trees dissipated, freeing the view upon the other side of the lake. The sky was impossibly clear, as tones of light blue filled his vision. Sun glistened atop the water’s reflection. He watched the scenery and thought back to his year, with a bright golden ball of light glowing in his chest. He knew it was going to be difficult to predict when he’d see Hogwarts again. But once again, it had changed him for good. And his future shined impossibly bright ahead.

With this feeling of warmth and hope, he closed his eyes and joined Y/N in her slumber.

[summeroumbis-if]

[ demo ] [ Q＆A ]

ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴꜱɴᴀʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍöʙɪᴜꜱ ꜱᴛʀɪᴘ ᴏꜰ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅʏɪɴɢ, ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇɴᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ.

Sunlight dappled through the leaves, casting fragmented patterns on the car window. A dry heat wave hung heavy in the air.

The car engine hummed low and steady as the tires crunched along the dusty country road. Cornfields stretched endlessly on either side, their swaying stalks resembling a vast ocean of green.

You leaned back against the seat, your arm draped languidly over the window sill, fingers tapping idly against the glass. Luggage piled high beside you, crowding the backseat. Your mother drove in the front, occasionally making small talk. But your gaze remained fixed on the landscape outside, watching the occasional wooden fences and weathered farmhouses flicker by. A subtle stillness pervaded the air, as if the usual summer cacophony of cicadas and chatter had been muted, tucked away in some inaccessible corner beyond your reach.

ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪʙʙᴏɴ ɪꜱ ʀᴇᴊᴏɪɴᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴅᴇᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴇᴅ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ɪꜱ ʀᴇᴛʀᴀᴄᴇᴅ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ.

The story begins in a fictional town in the year 2005.

As a high school senior about to embark on your final summer break, you've been shipped off by your mother to stay with your uncle in a different town. All thanks to a nature observation summer camp specifically organized by your school.

For a restless, newly-turned-adult like you, this kind of activity is a bit too mundane and boring. So much so that you often "accidentally" stray from the group, venturing deeper into the woods in search of excitement. Up until now, you sound exactly like the stereotypical, death-seeking silly in horror movies, even though you always manage to return home safe and sound, with all your limbs intact.

When the two-month summer break comes to an end, you open the door to your uncle's house and find yourself back in the evening of June 30th.

The crimson hidden in a peaceful corner begins to spread, seeping through the branches and infiltrating the reality you held as truth.

Realizing that all this is not an illusion, what should you do to escape this summer? Or perhaps, sever the summer?

Customize your MC. Play as male, female, or non-binary. This will not affect the Love Interests. (Their sexual orientation is mc)

The prey being hunted, or the hunter who sets the trap? Which role do you prefer?

Use your hunting skills to eliminate threats around you! You know, the choices you have to make to survive.

Escape from the clutches of supernatural monsters and break the loop? It's like movie!

Love Interests with customizable genders too. As your eyes meet, what does the other hand conceal? A knife, a bouquet?

:O | Fugaien [M-19] Your classmate. After arriving at your uncle's house, you discover that the work-study student who your uncle mentioned would be helping out on the farm is actually your classmate. According to your uncle, he's saving up for college. So when he found out that his boss is your uncle, he started wondering whether he should call you "boss" too. You stumbled upon the scene of his 'resurrection.'

Even when vital parts of the human body are severed, they can regenerate. What would you name such a thing?

:O | Ayunis [M/F-19] Your classmate, a popular jerk among the students. They possess an almost unnervingly keen intuition and react to danger with incredible speed. Despite their laundry list of flaws, they're not entirely without merit… maybe. They always seem lucky enough to guess what you’re going to do one step ahead of you.

It’s easy to perform such simple tricks without opening my eyes, for the eyes in the dark have already done the work for me.

:O | Memorin [M/F-26]

The second doctor in town. Cheerful and perhaps a touch scatterbrained, they radiate professionalism only when wielding a scalpel. They're lending their medical expertise to the summer camp. When you fainted and were sent to the infirmary, they had you try some sweets they made to help you regain strength; it was a flavor unlike anything you'd ever encountered. You have a distinct impression that they're proficient with a shotgun, though you've never actually witnessed it. Why is that?

My love, don’t panic, don’t fret. Just sit at the dining table, ring the bell, and the most delicious desserts will be served to you.

:O | Ozaeus [M/F-34]

The town's tavern owner. They possess a fiery temper and little patience for troublemakers, yet they harbor a soft spot for young people. You can work at their tavern in exchange for money, though they suspect it might be akin to child labor or that you might be a runaway fleeing abuse, so they always insist on paying you double. They hate the forest and advise you not to go there often.

My excitement was so intense that it nearly stole my breath away. The only sound I could perceive was the frantic pounding of my heart. I must look utterly disheveled, like a rabid dog.

[More LIs to be unlocked]

Disclaimer: Summer ōumbis is rated 18+ for the following mature and potentially disturbing content: depictions of character injury or death, blood, violence, toxic relationships, non-consensual acts, and optional sexual content. All characters depicted in the game are assumed to be of legal age.

Thank you for reading! English is not my first language, and I'm navigating Tumblr like someone encountering a computer for the first time, so the text formatting might be a bit lackluster. The demo is still a work in progress, and the initial release will cover the storyline up to the end of the two months mentioned in the synopsis. It's a big project, and I hope to make it something readable. Thank you again.

[97keanu]

Keanu characters + couples Halloween costumes:

John Wick:

John wants to say he doesn't do costumes. He complains, gently, saying he's too old to dress up anyways, but he can't say no to you in the end. He thinks you're funny when you suggest being a nurse since you're always patching him up all the time, but he also can't deny the image of you being a sexy nurse either. You also joke about him being a literal baba yaga and he finds that less funny. In the end, you two go as something that's actually as far from his work as possible, something simple and cute that ends up leaving John feeling happy he can have a moment of fun. Even if that is just staying in, watching cheesy horror movies, and giving out candy with you.

Kevin Lomax:

Unlike John, Kevin would totally go for the obvious with an angel/demon couples costume. He might even ask to be the angel just to throw people off, not to mention seeing you in a sexy devil's costume (especially if you're typically an innocent!reader) would really turn him on. He also likes to keep the costumes a bit higher class, so what you're wearing is not coming from the corner store or the mall. No, Kevin is buying you louboutin red bottoms to match a skin tight Alexander McQueen red dress. And, well, maybe the devil horns and tail do actually come from the mall...

Neo:

Neo doesn't want to admit how badly he loves dressing up. He likes being able to be someone else from time to time, just to get away from his typically boring on the surface life. He likely is asking you to be in 90s nerdy pop culture cosplay for Halloween, maybe even leaning onto the more goth side of media. He would take inspo from movies like: The Crow, Blade, Underworld, and maybe even end up asking you to be the Sally to his Jack.

Ted Logan:

Ted would love any outfit that he could easily pull off being stoned in. Think Shaggy and Velma (bill might even tag in as Scooby). Another great one you two cook up is Garfield and Hello Kitty, but Ted also adds that, Garfield is also, of course, stoned. There's also a possibility for you two to get into a lot of silly innuendos costumes as well, but with Ted's mind they would likely not make much sense. Possibility for you to convince Ted on a historic costume and getting him to take you back in time for period accurate clothing. Also, don't be surprised if it turns into a thrupple costume with Bill.

Evil!Ted Logan:

He would think couples costumes are stupid at first, and maybe even berate you about it (crybaby!reader watch out!). His mind would change when he sees there's slasher Halloween costumes at the mall, and he decides he and evil!bill can probably get away with more mischief if they're masked. He would probably try to talk you into being either the final girl from a slasher to reenact some fantasies, or ask you to be a sexy ver. of Ghostface or Freddy.

Constantine:

Constantine doesn't do costumes. He will likely not even end up breaking like Wick, and instead is a meanie about the whole thing. He shows up in that damned suit he always wears while you're out here in your cutest sexy girl outfit (think angel, playboy bunny, cat woman) and only ends up feeling bad about the whole thing after you storm off and cry. He apologizes the best he can, and ends up trying to make it up to you by being more social at the party, and telling your friends that he's dressed as "Vincent from Pulp Fiction" or some other character that comes to mind that wears a suit. Next year, you make him promise to actually dress up, and when you two do it's totally cheesy ones he hates but allows for you, such as Joker and Harley Quinn-esque.

Jonathan Harker:

This ones fun because you two are going to a masquerade! You get the most gorgeous gown with all the frills you please, with a gothic touch of course. Jonathan isn't usually one who dresses overboard, but tonight he has dressed to the nines for you! He looks sleek and dark, stunning in an illusive mask that for some reason has you feeling more of his dom side. Jonathan actually ends up really getting into it, and he charms you all night long as if he's almost another man entirely. The beauty of the masqurade conceals and invites freedom to be someone you're typically not, and by the end of it, you can't wait to take him home. He can keep the mask on tonight.

♰ Please send any costumes you think would work for keanuverse characters, I'd love to hear them! Especially anyone I missed ʚ♥︎ɞ

[rey-jake-therapist]

I have talked a couple of times about the huge parallels that exist between Hannigram (Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham, from the NBC show not the movie) and Haladriel (Galadriel and Sauron, The Rings of Power), and for me there are still the fictional relationships that are the closest in terms of narrative, despite the first being m/m and the second m/f. I have been told : Penny Dreadful, Vanessa and Dracula, but to be honest I found this relationship way too rushed, and totally ruined by the shitty ending of the show.

Besides, Dracula lied so much to Vanessa it was actually hard to say if his feelings for her were genuine or not. He had a nice speech though. Maybe on a second rewatch I'd have a different opinion, but it didn't really work for me. I didn't give a damn about this Dracula guy, while I do feel a lot for Hannibal and Sauron despite their undeniable evilness.

No, it's still Hannigram and Haladriel to me. The ships's names even both start with a H, isn't it a sign lol

Hannibal, Will, Galadriel, and Sauron are all very complex characters. Anyone who attempts to put these characters in a box and just see them as "entirely good" and "entirely evil" are, sorry, wrong.

Hannibal and Sauron get nowhere near to be redeemed in their story because they always commit to evil and feel unapologetic about it (Hannibal especially, while Sauron has a short "repentance phase". But since it's more motivated by the fear of the Valar's judgements than by a real, genuine desire to atone, he's easily drawn back to his old evil ways). They're both considered to be personifications of evil, for that matter.

Hannibal and Sauron are both capable of seeming extremely charming and deceive everybody who meets them into believing that they're "normal". I would say that Hannibal's an even better deceiver than Sauron is. They're also both control freaks who play 5D chess in real time. The rare times they lose control, it's almost always related to Will/Galadriel.

Hannibal and Sauron don't care about anybody and have no issues killing anyone who's in their way, except for Will/Galadriel.

Will and Galadriel are supposedly on "the good side", but in Hannibal and Sauron, respectively, they find the reflection of their own inner darkness.

Will and Galadriel are different from everybody else. They're respected in their respective field, but their differences make them loners, and seen as potentially dangerous by their peers.

Season 1 of both shows starts with exactly the same concept : Hannibal murders people and eats them, but for the world, including Will, he's just a respected psychiatrist. He befriends Will because he feels what Will would have probably always denied if he hadn't met him : that Will likes to kill, because it makes him feel powerful. Unlike Hannibal, he needs to feel that his victim "deserved" it, he won't just kill indifferently. Sauron pretends to be Halbrand, a regular mortal man, befriends Galadriel, and is drawn to her light but also to the darkness he can feel in her.

Hannibal is supposed to help Will find a murderer who's no other than himself. Halbrand is supposed to help Galadriel find Sauron, who's also no other than himself.

Both Hannigram and Haladriel have a clear push and pull dynamics through the seasons.

Will ends up realizing that Hannibal is the Chesapeake ripper, the murderer he was chasing, just like Galadriel finds out that Halbrand is Sauron at the end of season 1.

Will and Galadriel have an intense desire to kill Hannibal/Sauron, while being irresistibly drawn to him.

When he realizes that Will's close to find who he really is, Hannibal gets Will thrown in jail for the crimes he himself committed thanks to planted evidence and manipulation. Sauron somehow manages to instill the doubt in Elrond's head that Galadriel is not free of his influence, while manipulating Celebrimbor into believing that he was cast aside by her (and Gil-Galad) once they didn't need him anymore.

Hannibal acts all innocent when Will openly accuses him of being the Chesapeake ripper, just like Sauron plays innocent when referring to the fact that Galadriel cast him out once she found out who he was (the main difference is that Galadriel never accused Halbrand of being Sauron in front of Celebrimbor).

Talking of Elrond, I can see a parallel between him telling Galadriel "he (Sauron) never left" when she tells him she can't let him in again, and Bedelia du Maurier telling Will "Can't live with him, can't live without him, is that what this is?"

At the end of season 2, Hannibal stabs Will when he realizes he conspired with Jack Crawford to have him arrested (= he realizes he can't have Will even if Will is tempted). What do we get at the end of TROP S2 ? same thing, basically : Galadriel keeps on resisting him, so Sauron stabs her, literally leaving his mark (the wound) on her. In both cases, there's a clear erotic subtext.

In season 3, Hannibal tries to start a new life with a new partner, Bedelia du Maurier, but it doesn't work. He's visibly miserable and thinks about Will all the time. Sauron in season 2 does the same with Celebrimbor and a bit with Mirdania, who's basically a Galadriel stand-in. The partnership with Celebrimbor doesn't work as well as it did with Galadriel, and he's dead-eyed, most of the time.

Hannibal finally gets himself arrested so Will always knows where he is (in reaction to Will's claim that he never wants to think of him again, and doesn't want to know where he is). The parallel to that could be the bond that Sauron may have created between him and Galadriel, when he stabbed her with Morgoth's crown. Hannibal and Sauron both want to make sure that Will/Galadriel will never get rid of them.

Will finds himself a nice albeit quite bland wife, who's got a kid that Will treats as his own. I can't *not* see Molly as Will's Celeborn ;)

While being supposedly "happy" with his new quiet life, Will can't resist the temptation to leave this life to organize Hannibal's escape from jail, arguing that he can help him find another killer, the Red Dragon. It's quite obvious that at this point, Will just wants an excuse to spend time with Hannibal, as he has now fully embraced his "dark side". Season 3 ends with Will jumping off a cliff and dragging Hannibal with him in a desperate attempt to have them both killed.

I wouldn't be very surprised if we got a similar scenario in season 3 of TROP, especially if the theory that Galadriel and Sauron are now bound is revealed accurate... Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but it doesn't seem that far-fetched to me that Galadriel would still be attracted to Sauron in season 3.

[restinslices]

Ngl now I wanna read MK1 LKBS reacting to Twilight in headcanon bullet point format 😭

Pretend I put a joke here

Bi-Han

Bi-Han probably hates a lot of things 

Twilight is quickly added to his list 

You know how you can hate a movie, show, book, whatever but have a favorite character? That doesn't happen with Bi-Han

Fuck Bella, fuck Edward, fuck Jacob, fuck EVERYBODY 

The fact that he managed to finish the first movie is a miracle. He for damn sure ain't watching the rest and/or reading the books. You gon have to stab him 

“I'll divorce you if you don't” “I'll get the paperwork for you”

I don't think he'd like any parts of it. There's not a single redeemable thing in that movie 

The type to get mad at Bella and pause the movie to do a lap so he won't destroy the TV 

His main question is “why are y'all doing all this for a girl you hardly know?”

I legit don't think he'd enjoy any parts of it. MAYBE the soundtrack, and that's a big MAYBE 

So many things would bother him. Why is stalking romantic? Why are you risking your family's life for a girl you hardly know? Why is Edward not considered a pedo? How has he not met someone yet? Why is Jacob stuck on her?

There is nothing redeemable about Twilight to him. I think every minute for him is agony 

I don't think any of them like Twilight but I feel like he hates it the most 

In turmoil

Kuai Liang

He doesn't like it either but he tries to be nice and hide it 

He hides it poorly 

A very pained smile whenever you look over at him 

“You like it?” “Yes… 🙂” “Great! Let's watch New Moon!” “There's more?😧”

Does he watch the others? Possibly 

Will he read the books? No

I don't think he'd be fond of any of the main characters either

He’s not a fan of love triangles and he also just doesn’t like the characters

Favorite character? Maybe Angela 

She gets hardly any screentime so she can't do any wrong 

That soundtrack is nice tho-

I don't think he's in as much agony as Bi-Han, but I don't see him liking Twilight 

I'm not even sure he's even into romantic movies 

Do I think he's against romantic movies? No. Do I think it's his favorite genre? No. It could be like, top 5 or something 

This isn't me jumping on the Twilight hate train because I like Twilight in a sense, but I just don't see any of them genuinely enjoying it and being apart of the Team Jacob vs Team Edward debate 

He for sure ain't rewatching the movies 

His niceness is only going so far. At some point he gotta deliver the news to you 

Bella's lullaby is his shit now tho 

Tomas 

Supermassive Black Hole is a nice song 

So… he doesn't entirely hate it 

Like it though? Um… he likes that you like it

Unlike the other two, he'll read the books but he's only reading them because he's like “these movies gotta be popular for a reason. Maybe the books are better”

Does he finish? Probably not 

The love triangle ain't even balanced fr, so he's not really intrigued by that part

I can see him being into the supernatural stuff but I mean, it's not like it's super expounded on 

Is he Team Edward or Team Jacob? Neither 

Bi-Han hates everyone, Kuai Liang doesn't like love triangles, Tomas doesn't like Bella 

Playing both sides when it's convenient for you is something he's not fond of. Pick one and stay on that one 

Who’s his favorite character? He jumps from side characters 

The main characters are probably never his favorite. They're always doing something that makes him raise a brow 

I can possibly see this becoming a series he hates so much, he feels the need to rewatch it 

He spots plot holes and now he can no longer unsee them

He really does try to pick a team if you want him to but it's like “I know who she ends up with so what's the point?”

The point is to be part of the community Tomas 

“I thought you didn't like Twilight” “I need background noise” “...” “I need to feel something” “I get it”

Love hate relationship 

He just like me fr 

[bo0tleg]

Despite being head over heels in love with Ice and Mav's dynamic in the original Top Gun, the same dynamic in Top Gun Maverick with Rooster and Hangman never worked for me. This is my attempt at voicing why:

DISCLAIMER: This was not created with the intention to offend anybody who ships Hangster/Sereshaw. It is simply my understanding of their relationship, and why it doesn't appeal to me. Opinions are like the butthole, everybody has their own. By all means, continue shipping them if you want to, this is only for fun.

Hangman and Rooster's entire relationship is based on resentment.

Unlike Mav and Ice, they have history. There's something from the past that lingers in all of their interactions, poisoning all of their words and actions.

Hangman is frustrated with Rooster, all the time. Of course, he banters with everyone, Phoenix about her gender, Bob about his callsign, but those are more 5th Grader Playground insults than anything. It's different with Rooster, and not in a good way.

When it comes to Rooster, Hangman goes straight to insult his character. He doubts his judgement, insults his way of being and flying, prods about how he needs to change if he wants to fly the mission.

With Ice, he was criticizing Maverick, not insulting him. Hangman is both criticizing AND insulting Rooster because he perceives him in a less that ideal light.

Hangman doesn't understand why Rooster flies the way that he does, and doesn't try to either. He just sees it as wrong and doesn't think twice about it. He goes straight to insulting him because he thinks that it's wrong, and that it's something about Rooster that needs to be fixed.

And Rooster is constantly exasperated because of it. Hangman prods, and jabs, and insults Rooster, but it never works. The more Hangman pokes, the more Rooster closes up, frustrated. He gets angry, pissed and becomes much LESS inclined to listen to anything Hangman is saying.

Rooster doesn't work well under pressure. And that's the only way Hangman operates.

Throughout the movie, Rooster doesn't listen to Hangman once. He might've been right about Rooster being too slow, but it only fell on deaf ears (not to say that he was right to bring up Goose's death, he was defo wrong about that one). All it causes is strife, to the point where Rooster almost punches Hangman because of how infuriating he was to him.

The entire movie, Hangman provoked Rooster to get him to stop being the way he is, because he sees it as a flaw of character. And it doesn't work.

Rooster only drops his need for playing it safe when Maverick tells him to 'Not think, just do'. Because Mav only gave him a push in the right direction, not throw in his face all of his flaws.

(Side note: This is also the reason Rooster doesn't listen to Mav in their argument, because he thinks Maverick was insulting his way of being by saying he wasn't ready. On the mission, by selecting Rooster as his wingman, he recognizes that he is ready, and that he trusts him with his life. Making him more inclined to listen to Mav once in the canyon.)

A relationship where one person is constantly frustrated by the other and the other is constantly exasperated by the former doesn't work.

Because that's how they are, and that's how they function, and it isn't going to change.

Rooster isn't going to stop frustrating Hangman because that's how he works, and Hangman isn't going to stop making Rooster exasperated because he doesn't know how else to voice his feelings.

I can see where the ship comes from, because obviously. Their homoerotic tension could be seen from space. I totally believe that they might have had a fling in the past that ended badly, and that they possibly could have hooked up at some point in the movie in the 'Hate Sex' vein of things. I just don't think it'd be anything beyond that.

They wouldn't work in the long haul, is what I'm trying to say.

They're too similar, and too different at the same time.

They're both hothead stubborn motherfuckers that couldn't come to an agreement if they tried.

And you might show me the scene where Hangman is happy about Dagger 2 hitting the target, and him being absolutely devastated when the same hornet is shot down. I recognize it, it demonstrates care. Hangman cares.

Thing is, that doesn't change anything that I said prior to that.

It's possible to resent, despise, be bitter towards and irritated by someone and still care about them. It's possible to hate them and still care. Hate them, and feel like you don't hate them all the time. Human emotion is a funny thing like that, nothing is ever black and white, always varying shades of gray.

Just because they hate each other (and yes, that is the reading I have on them, doesn't stop them from being horny fuckers about each other tho) doesn't mean they want the other dead.

I believe it's similar to the sentiment of "I hope you get everything you ever wished for, and that I never hear a word about it". Similar, but not the same, in a way I do not know how to describe. Thus, I used that to give the same vibe.

I can't see any future for them, in any shape or form. They hold too many grudges against each other, and both of them have a tendency of holding on to old (bad) feelings far too strongly. Even if they work through whatever problems they have now, new ones would emerge and they would go through the same process again and again and again.

That isn't healthy nor stable. It's not what either of them should strive for in a relationship. With that, I'd probably say that both of them need stable people that hold logic to high regard, and that are easy going (I say that in general terms, with no one specific in mind for either of them).

All that being said, this is my opinion. This is how I view them, and understand their relationship. They don't work for me because I see no logical way they could.

If they work for you, that's great! Enjoy the air gays 2.0 to your hearts contentment, I'm happy for you.

This was just a fun analysis of my vision, with no intention to diminish anyone who might enjoy them.

[bi-bi-bi-bakugo]

I think I could talk about BakuDeku for hours.

Like, genuinely

I understand their past. All that's happened.

But when you see past that. See Katsuki's actions for what they were supposed to be. Acknowledge of course what he's done but also acknowledge he is changing and atoning.

These two have always been special to me but now that I'm older I'm (somewhat) smart enough to understand and adore their relationship on a greater scale.

And also, looking at them from a literary standpoint. The parallel of Izuku's body running before he had a chance to think to save Katsuki from the sludge villain.

And Katsuki doing the same thing for Izuku with Shigaraki, ending up getting impaled?

The soft looks you catch when you're paying extra close attention to Katsuki.

The familiarity and comfort the two find in each other.

These two mean the world to me. And I know not everyone sees their relationship like that. But they're special to me. And I love them.

I can only hope for them to get the happy ending they deserve. Maybe even together? But I know how unlikely that is.

He's looking at Izuku here. Seeing him train when he should be sleeping after a long day of hero work.

The soft smile he has as he watches Izuku win. Seeing him be victorious in battle. (At least until Shoto catches him!!)

And that's just two examples from the movies not even talking about the canon stuff!

Their story is tragic, something that breaks my heart the longer I think about it. But they're healing.

I know some people can't forgive Katsuki for what he has done, the important part is Izuku has. And Katsuki is growing. He's becoming better.

Class 1.A vs Deku is proof. This kid is desperate to have Izuku back. So he does something that who knows if he was planning on doing them or if it was on a whim.

He apologized. And he's putting in effort to call him Izuku. Even when Izuku says he doesn't have to.

And then there's the recent episode.

(spoiler below break)

Say all that you want about Katsuki. But his "7 minutes" when he died? Were Izuku. In his final moments, Izuku was not only on his mind but gave him strength to keep going. To push past what I can only assume would be the worse amount of pain imaginable.

He still had that card on him. That special All Might card that matches with Izuku's.

Whether you see their relationship as platonic or romantic, I do truly think they're soulmates.

Not in the traditional sense, but I do believe their souls are meant for one another. They complete eachother. Where one falls flat the other excels in. They push eachother to be the best version of themselves they can be. And I think that has to count for something.

Izuku and Katsuki were made for eachother. That is something I can say without a shadow of a doubt.

Two sides of the same coin.

Soulmates.

[ladyantiheroine]

Rewatching Batman and Batman Returns back-to-back and it's just reminding me why I like Selina as a love interest better than Vicki.

I mean, anyone who follows me already knows I'm a batcat fan, and I don't find Vicki that compelling outside of the TellTale Games version of her. But even beyond my own preferences, Selina is just a better match for Bruce in the Burtonverse overall.

The problem with Vicki is that she's so distant from Bruce's world. Just as Bruce explains in Batman Returns, she couldn't reconcile the two parts of him; Bruce Wayne and Batman. She had "difficulty with his duality," to paraphrase Selina. Part of it is Bruce's unwillingness to open up to another person, but I never got the vibe that Vicki liked Bruce being Batman. When she discovers his identity, she says to him, "I've loved you since I met you, but I don't know what to think of all this." It seemed like she wanted him to just be a normal guy, which of course, he can't be. Even at the end of the movie, she seems to accept Bruce as Batman begrudgingly, as something to tolerate rather than understand.

(At the end of the movie, Alfred tells her that Bruce will be "a little bit late" and she responds with "I'm not a bit surprised." It's meant to be a cute jab, but to me it just seems like she's passively accepted that Bruce's alter ego will always take precedent over her, and that's not very romantic to me)

On top of that, their date scenes are kind of bland, they don't really get to know each other that well, and they don't seem to have much in common. Overall, Vicki is written like a stock love interest, a damsel in distress to scream until Batman saves her. There's not much glue keeping them together.

But Selina on the other hand? She knows what it's like to have a darker alter ago. She knows what it's like to be traumatized and hurt by the criminals of Gotham (Max Shrek and Penguin). She knows what it's like to be a freak. Bruce himself says so in their movie: they're the same, "split down the center." When she finds out Bruce is Batman, she's upset not because she can't reconcile the two halves of him (like Vicki) but because it puts them on opposite sides of the law ("Does this mean we have to start fighting?"). They are perfectly matched but kept apart by outside forces and conflicting priorities, rather than other than lack of communication and compatibility.

On top of that, Bruce and Selina have way more chemistry (bolstered by Keaton and Pfeiffer's performances). On their date, they talk deeply to each other, about their pasts and their desires. They seem to innately connect in a way I never felt with Vicki, who seems to beg Bruce to be normal while he seems borderline bored with her half the time. With Vicki, it's like he's acting out a script. With Selina, it's an organic spark.

Of course, Selina does end up leaving at the end of their story, because she's been pinned down by men for too long and needs to go off on her own. Unlike Vicki, she's not built for the normal "fairy tale castle" life. And because he loves her, Bruce follows the old truth that if you love someone, set them free.

But despite this ending, I buy the tragic love story of Bruce and Selina more than the straightforward Hollywood ending of Bruce and Vicki. The former felt like soulmates torn apart by circumstances, the latter felt like two people who were never going to work in the first place because they weren't compatible.

If you ask me, Vicki was just a stepping stone for Bruce on his way to Selina. She taught him a lesson: He needs someone who will understand him fully and join him in the night, not simply wait for him to return and act "normal" again.

The big difference is this: When the bat signal hits the sky, Vicki is going to stand back and worry.

But Selina Kyle? She's going to grab her whip and join Batman on the battle field by his side.

And at the end of the day, I'd much rather see a badass power couple working together as a team rather than a worried wife sitting at home while her husband goes off and saves the day.

[fractualized]

So I saw Joker: Folie à Deux, and I thought it was… fine. Enjoyed myself at parts, felt disappointed at others, which was better than my complicated feelings about Joker. (My reaction was much the same as Jenny Nicholson's.)

Gonna ramble a bit with, like, all the spoilers.

Obviously, since Joker wasn't really a Joker movie, that aspect was highly unlikely to change in the sequel. Perhaps some elements could've moved more in alignment with the General Comics Joker vibe, but that doesn't happen. Funnily enough, in it's own way, this movie is about how it's not a Joker movie!

And then there's Harley. They nixed her accent and bubbliness, of course, 'cause that's not gritty enough. They also called her Lee, while mentioning that her legal name is Harley Quinzel, not Harleen, because the movie industry loves the IP but gets too in their heads about names seeming "grounded" or whatever. Anyway, there's a bit of a fakeout at first where she indicates she's in Arkham because she's a pyromaniac, but we learn midway that she actually went to school for psychiatry and lives with her wealthy parents, and she checked herself into Arkham because she wanted to get closer to Arthur after seeing him murder Murray Franklin. Lying is her way of getting closer to him, and Arthur doesn't mind as much as he should, because she makes him finally feel less alone.

So she is an obsessive Harley, but it's not the typical jarley story, is it? As a Telltale fan, I can't be too spicy about that, though I was wondering if Arthur would try to manipulate her back. He is manipulative, after all. He develops an OK rapport with the Arkham guards, and when his lawyer's psychiatrist asks him leading questions that assume he has DID and Joker is one of his alters, Arthur goes along with that defense, repeating elements of her questions like they're facts. Arthur wants to trust Harley so badly, though, that he doesn't try to deceive her; when they first meet, he even confesses that his mother is among his victims.

It's sad, but it does take it too far from what I want to see in jarley, personally. Even John Doe lied to his Harley!

The end of Harley's story is a let-down. Near the end, Arthur confesses that "Joker" is not an alter; Arthur killed those people and his mother. He says that ultimately there is no Joker, and Harley is disillusioned with this man who inspired her with his audacious violence and leaves the courtroom along with other supporters. Later, when the guilty verdict is read, the proceedings are interrupted by the side of the court room fucking exploding, which was an exciting twist— at least when I assumed it was Harley. I thought she'd had her own break and had decided to take on a chaotic Joker persona of her own. But no. It seems a car bomb was planted by some other random supporter. Harley and Arthur have a final meeting, and she just reiterates her disappointment that he's disowned Joker, and she leaves. Eh.

That actually leads me something that did make me think of Comics Joker, specifically Amnesia Joker from Batman (2011) #48. There've been some recent posts about him, but the poor bastard is often on my mind regardless. The nameless butcher quite obviously wants to stay in his quiet life; even if he doesn't remember explicitly who he used to be, he certainly knows he doesn't want to go back. So when Arthur ends up trying to escape the Joker persona that he embraced by the end of the 2019 film and for much of Folie à Deux, it does align with Joker feeling no fulfillment from his chaos.

Throughout the movie, he seeks that fulfillment in his sudden connection with Lee, which is obviously doomed because of said suddenness. But that's where the music comes in! There's been a lot of "is this a freaking musical or not??" and it is very much a musical using old standards. Both Gaga and Phoenix sing, and for the most part I enjoyed it. I will say, though, that I wish they leaned harder into the musical aspect, with more numbers spinning into fantasy sequences with setpieces, and that they had original songs. But anyway, the point of the songs is to highlight how Arthur finally feels like he's connected with somebody.

But there's no real foundation to the love. Arthur ends up alone back in Arkham, and I don't think we learn if he got an official death sentence before he's horribly stabbed to death by another inmate, who wants to tell him a "joke" with the same punchline delivered to Murray Franklin.

Whereas at the end of the first movie Arthur felt like he got society to finally see him by committing murder and igniting chaos, this movie follows through on how that was just a kind of malicious high. Nobody cares about Arthur; both his supporters and the justice system are responding only to his worst acts, not the whole of his person. Only the lawyer he ends up firing is focused on getting him into a real hospital. When Arthur tries leaning into the power of the Joker persona, it leads to unspecified but brutal abuse by the Arkham guards he once charmed, followed by a horrible scene in solitary. Another inmate sings in solidarity with Arthur, and then Arthur listens to a guard murder him. Arthur's moment of power was fleeting, and in actuality he's still under the thumb of the system (and doesn't live in a franchise where Arkham has a revolving door). He dies in that system.

I'd say it's worth watching if you're prepared for another dose of bleakness, though this time with singing and a little dancing! Often I thought during this movie (and during my rewatch of the first one last night) that there were many elements I wish I could see in an actual Joker movie. Unfortunately since it's "already been done," that chance is probably even lower than it already is. But hey, if we got three different Spider-men in a twenty-year period, maybe I'll see a full Broadway-style, for-reals-supervillain, Batman-loving Joker before I die!

(Oh, I guess I should mention that. The Waynes and their murder don't come up at all, and thank god, because I remain hostilely uninterested in Joker possibly being Thomas's son.)

[tossawary]

I'm rewatching "The Phantom Menace" for the first time in years and ??? It really seems like Qui-Gon Jinn could have bargained for both Shmi and Anakin's freedom from the beginning of his wager with Watto???

Qui-Gon later DOES try to bargain for BOTH Shmi and Anakin's freedom, by putting "his" pod up in a second, separate wager. (And I do love that they're lying about where the secret pod came from. Anakin built it, so legally, it's probably actually Watto's. Qui-Gon is being a little crafty!) But Watto insists that no pod is worth TWO slaves and rolls a dice to pick which one (which Qui-Gon manipulates with the Force so that he'll get Anakin over Shmi).

But it doesn't explain why Qui-Gon didn't bargain for their freedom with the initial wager! The Skywalkers are providing the secretly built pod to Qui-Gon and it was Anakin's idea for Qui-Gon to approach Watto about borrowing him as a pilot for the Boonta Eve Classic. This is apparently THE big race on Tatooine and the prize money is worth a LOT (unnamed amount). Watto suggests that they split the prize money 50/50, but Qui-Gon immediately forfeits that, promising that Watto can take ALL OF IT in exchange for the ship parts Qui-Gon needs and if Watto will pay the entrance fee up-front, AND Qui-Gon agrees to give up his own ship if Anakin loses.

This seems... unbalanced? It really feels like Qui-Gon could have leveraged that prize money plus his ship for both Shmi and Anakin. Watto is angry after the race because he bet on Sebulba and "lost everything", but what about the prize money that Qui-Gon forfeited almost entirely to Watto??? And then they sell "Qui-Gon"'s pod (a race-winning pod!) for more money! (And Padmé even says after the race, "We owe you everything, Ani.")

And narratively, I'm not sure what would be greatly harmed by Shmi being free? She's free anyway in the next movie, living on the Lars farm, from what I remember, and the story-important pain for Anakin resolves around her violent death more than her now past enslavement. The movie could have slipped in a brief appearance by the moisture farmer who wants to marry Shmi, but can't because she's not free and he can't afford her freedom, so Shmi once freed stays on Tatooine to get happily married. And Anakin would still be (sadly by Shmi) sent off with the Jedi for a better life than poor moisture farmers on an Outer Rim planet run by gangsters can offer!!! You could still make their separation really sad with some good writing!

I wish the movie had either freed Shmi or been more convincing about why she has to stay in slavery. It really does end up making Qui-Gon Jinn look unlikably careless. Which is, you know, a character flaw and character flaws are fine! But he does other careless things in this movie anyway!

And this also ends up making the Jedi Council look like ASSHOLES when they (a strange group of adults) pressure a 9yo about his fear for his mother's safety and Yoda, instead of offering any guidance on dealing with fear productively, essentially says that fear (perfectly reasonable fear over his future and his mother's future!) is a path to the Dark Side in some weird slippery slope proverb. HIS MOTHER HAS BEEN LEFT IN SLAVERY!!! If Shmi had been left to a happy marriage as a free woman, then MAYBE you would be better able to frame Anakin's attachment as more of a problem, but so much about this scene makes the Jedi Council look utterly unreasonable. And again, it's fine if they're flawed! They can be flawed with their other objections!

But just... LITTLE edits here and there would make a lot about this movie stronger or at least less grating.