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mama-qwerty · 27 days ago

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Sonic 3 - Shadow

My hopes for Shadow’s portrayal in Sonic 3 were that they’d show him not as the ill-tempered edgelord, but as the grieving, hurt child he truly was. And I was not disappointed.

Sonic 3 spoilers ahead

The movie opens with Shadow in containment, suspended in a holding vat of fluid to keep him under control. He’d been in this suspended status for 50 years, and now he was waking up. As he awoke, his memories flashed of his time at the facility, where he met Maria and developed a close friendship with her.

He woke up and chose violence. All he remembered was losing Maria, and before him stood the same organization that took her from him. The same uniforms, the same aggressive stance. To him, that raid at the facility was still fresh. It happened very, very recently. We’re not privy to the timeline between when the raid happened and when he was put into stasis, but I don’t think it was longer than maybe an hour. If that.

So from his perspective, these could very well be the same people who had raided the facility and murdered his friend. Maybe he thought the raid was still going on. So he was thrust into a fight or flight situation, and did both—take down the enemy, and then retreat to regroup.

Except he found himself in a very different environment than he’d ever experienced. He’d only known the inside of a government facility. Tokyo was bright, and loud, and big, and there were so many people. But GUN wouldn’t leave him be, and he found himself fighting yet again.

And then these three other creatures showed up. Ones who were more like him than any he’d seen before. Especially the blue one, which was strange and confusing. He was the only alien on Earth, wasn’t he? He was different than anything else the scientists had ever seen. But there was another who looked like him? With two other equally strange creatures trying to stop him?

No matter. They were working with GUN, so they were the enemy.

And again, he took them down, and retreated.

Because ultimately, Shadow was dealing with anger, grief, confusion, and pain. He didn't know what to do with all that, because the person who helped him understand himself better was gone. Everything he knew was gone. The people he and Maria had trusted had turned on them, killed Maria, locked him away, and taken Gerald from him. He's lashing out because he doesn't know what else to do. All he's been faced with his entire life was pain and mistreatment, except for Maria, and they killed her.

Shadow has no idea who or what he is. He came from space, but he doesn’t remember anything before that. He’s on this planet with creatures who look nothing like him, being poked and prodded for who knows how long. Being studied and experimented on because he’s different, and has powers no one’s seen before. No one looked upon him with kindness, or reached for him with gentle hands.

Until Maria.

She looked at him and didn’t see an alien. A monster. A creature with unimaginable power.

She saw a lonely little boy. And she reached out to him.

Who knows how long it took him to trust her. When she first found him in his tube, he didn’t seem very interested. He’d likely had scientists of all kinds coming through to gawk at him, to stare at him and pluck his quills and shave some fur and take some blood, all the while never speaking to him. He was just a thing to be studied. An oddity to figure out.

But this girl was different. She would come and talk to him as he floated in his watery prison. Draw on the glass. Maybe she even taught him to speak, and read. And over time, maybe he looked forward to her visits. And she became more bold to sneak him out of the lab when the scientists ran their experiments.

We don’t know Gerald’s relationship with Shadow. The most we see is after Gerald had gone mad from his own grief from losing Maria. Maybe he thought Maria would tame this creature, and allow him to be more successfully controlled for whatever Gerald wanted. Maybe he actually did care about Shadow, at least somewhat, and the raid on the facility—he claimed they were actually after Shadow as he dragged them behind him in an attempt to escape—made him blame Shadow for Maria’s death.

We don’t know.

But when Shadow saw Gerald again at the abandoned facility, he was relieved. Finally a familiar face. Someone he could trust, and ask questions about what was going on, and what their next step should be. And when Gerald corralled Shadow into this quest for vengeance, Shadow went along with it because he trusted Gerald. And it felt right to want to hurt those who’d hurt Maria. It felt productive to turn that anger outward onto the people who deserved it.

Except . . . it didn’t.

Gerald said this was what Maria would have wanted. Shadow wasn’t so sure that was right. But he was still running on pain, and he looked to Gerald for guidance, just as he had looked to Maria for it.

So he did as he was told. Capturing the others when they’d found the facility. Initiating the black hole that swallowed the facility and destroyed all evidence of the torture, the pain, the love and acceptance he’d endured in his time on Earth. Taking every shred of evidence of Maria, and erasing it.

Did it feel good to him in that moment? Having all those reminders of her wiped away?

Or did it just make that ache in his heart worse? Because it was like losing her again. And now it was as if she’d never existed. No roller skates. No guitar. No little tent with the stars and lights casting a warm glow inside.

Just . . . gone.

Just like her.

Focus. He had to focus. Gerald had a plan. And if he said this is what people deserved, then Shadow would believe him.

So he stayed behind as Gerald and the other Robotnik infiltrated GUN. Tried to focus on the bigger picture.

But that nagging little thought remained.

When things went south at GUN, he stepped in, took the key from Walters. It had felt satisfying to deliver a blow to one of the men who’d been there that day, all those years ago.

Only it wasn’t Walters. It was . . . someone else. Someone that blue hedgehog cared about very much. And oh, that brought back painful memories. And that pain he’d felt that day—so long ago but so fresh to him—flared anew, and he’d felt so, so guilty for causing that pain to someone else.

No. That didn’t matter. Whoever this was had been in Shadow’s way. He had a mission to complete. He’d only done what he’d had to.

Aboard the ARK, he continued to question the validity of this plan. But Gerald assured him this was what Maria would have wanted. So he went along with it. Things were moving the way Gerald wanted.

But that ache in his chest refused to go away.

And then a golden something hit him, smashing him out of the ARK, and drawing him into a fight. It was the blue hedgehog, and whatever power flowed through him bled out and merged with the power inside Shadow himself, changing him as well.

And it had felt so good to fight. To unleash his strength upon someone who was hurting as much as he was. Someone who understood his pain, someone who wanted revenge as badly as he did. It was normal to want to hurt the person who’d hurt someone you loved.

Because Shadow was tired of living with the pain. He didn’t understand how he could want to hurt others, to get revenge, but at the same time felt wrong for doing so. But he’d hurt someone the blue hedgehog cared for, and if Shadow could have his revenge, then so could the other hedgehog.

But the blue hedgehog wasn’t fighting as fiercely as he should have been. So Shadow had taunted. He’d poked. He’d pushed and eventually gotten the other hedgehog so angry, Shadow had been taken by surprise.

But that was okay. That’s what he wanted. An eye for an eye. A pain for a pain.

He was tired. He was confused. He was hurt, and guilty, and just wanted to stop seeing her face every time he closed his eyes. Didn’t want to hear her voice in the quiet moments. Feel her hands as they gave a gentle tug on his quills, or massaged his ears after a bad batch of testing.

She had been his safe haven on this planet that seemed to want nothing more than to hurt him.

And now she was gone.

And he didn’t know who he was without her. Didn’t know what he was or where he belonged, if not with her.

So he ordered the other hedgehog to end him. Practically begged him.

But he hadn’t. He’d stopped, a look of almost horror on his face as he’d released Shadow.

And they’d talked. And Shadow had found someone else who understood his pain. Felt it, but didn’t let it consume him. Didn’t let it change him.

And this other hedgehog gave Shadow a chance to decide for himself what he would do. Decide what kind of person he wanted to be.

Because that’s what Maria wanted for Shadow. To discover who he was, and who he wanted to be. To find his own place in the world, to be happy.

And so Shadow chose.

He helped the blue hedgehog save the planet, and used the last of his strength to make sure the ARK was far enough away so the final explosion wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

And in those final moments, he thought of Maria, and kept her love for him in his heart.

He acted not out of pain, or out of revenge or anger.

He acted out of love.

~~~

Check out my other Sonic 3 analysis posts

#sonic 3 #sonic 3 spoilers #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 3 months ago

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Thousand Yard Stare — Kit Walker x reader

A battleweary soldier and a clairvoyant girl who is a little too curious.

warnings: piv, unprotected sex, sadism if you squint, war, psychopathy idk, ptsd

AU in which Kit Walker was sent to war and was traumatized, which is why more people don’t believe that he in fact wasn’t Bloody Face. Alma, nor the aliens, are mentioned, however this version of Kit is still not guilty, even as it is not clearly stated.

I do not specify said war below, but the timeline aligns with the Vietnam War. To clarify, this is entirely fictional and not indicative of my views on experiences of people who’ve served.

This AU takes place in the late 60s. Kit Walker is in his late 20s/early 30s, unspecified.

Deinstitutionalization (the closing of many psychiatric hospitals) began in the late 1960s in Europe then in the U.S.A. shortly thereafter. In this timeline, Kit is admitted after Briarcliff is sold to the state.

Take everything I write as pure work of fiction and not indicative of my beliefs on any life experience of real people. This is fantasy.

Dead dove do not eat.

Happy reading.

You’re the first truly beautiful woman he’s seen since being overseas.

Sure, he saw a few pretty girls out on the town before he was locked up in Briarcliff, but none so exquisite as you.

He couldn’t stop staring.

The way your body pressed against the gray romper you wore, which seemed as though it was a bit small for you. He deduced that a male staff had likely administered your clothing in the smallest sizes so they would fit the way they did.

He wondered if you felt uncomfortable in them, if you knew how easy it was to guess exactly what was underneath. That alone could get him off: watching you adjust yourself as you stood up, look down and pull on the fabric, hoping for it to offer you some privacy from the rest of the patients and staff— to no avail, of course.

He usually sat in corners, staring into the room or sometimes out the window. That was, until you showed up.

He wondered when you’d notice his constant gaze. You’d been here about a week, and not yet had you even made eye contact with him.

He sort of liked that, how unaware you were. Like easy prey.

Something has flipped in his brain, something sick and scarred.

All that emptiness, that endless void in the pit of his stomach was now filled— rather, overflowing— with lust, vengeful and unforgiving. Every minute he was out of bed he spent watching your every move. Perverse, twisted images of the violating things he would do to you were he ever to get his hands on you rushed his mind as he watched your often bare legs as you walked and the teasing silhouette of your waist and chest underneath your clothes. He wanted to make you feel dirty. He wanted you to be covered with his filth, just as he was.

He wasn’t always like this. Before the war, he was actually quite the gentlemen. Sure, he’d had quite a few girlfriends, but he was kind to all of them. He brought them flowers, bought their milkshakes, kissed their foreheads and gently whispered in their ears as he made love to them.

That version of him died right alongside the people he killed in the jungle— with guns, with his bare hands. That version of him died with his brothers in arms, of whom he helplessly watched bleed out just beside him on the battlefield. The light left his eyes just as it did in theirs.

The faces of those girls were simply shadows now; that version of himself the darkness.

He couldn’t remember if any of them were as beautiful as you. He doubted it.

You certainly weren't an alert person. You entered every room without scanning either direction, as if you'd never been in danger a day in your life. He admired that naivety— revered it, even. He could stare from the minute you entered the common area until you left without meeting your eyes once.

He stared at your hair often— the way you'd tuck it behind your ears as you scribbled in your notebook with your short pencil, which was cut to just about an inch long so you couldn’t hurt yourself or any of the other patients with it.

Most patients didn’t get the privilege of even regulation writing tools or reading books other than the Bible. He wondered what you had said– or done– to get such privilege, or if it was your pretty face that was just able to melt a man’s resolve enough to give you whatever you wanted. Other patients had rebuked you for your unfair advantage over them, but it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t help that everything about you made men curious about how your pussy felt.

He loved your legs, too. On days your legs were uncovered, he'd watch as your thighs rubbed together, your knees pressed to your chest. He stared as the fabric rode up your leg, teasing the soft skin of your perky ass. Your skin was smooth, your face soft and cherub-like. If he believed there was a God, he would believe that you were made to save him from his emptiness.

It wasn't until halfway through the second week that he finally got your attention.

You were in the common room, completing your daily mundane routine of reading and drawing. You had hardly introduced yourself to anyone, as you were trying to keep your head down and not become one with the wildness of Briarcliff. You thought, maybe, if you didn't interact with anyone, if you played the game right with the psychiatrists, if you reflected their language and healing back to them just right, maybe you had a shot at going home.

Today, though, you were desperate for some company. You craved conversation where you weren't screamed at or spoken to like a child or a criminal. Once you were finished sketching a vase of flowers– from memory, as you hadn't seen a flower since your admission to Briarcliff– you looked up from the page and glanced around the room. You began to fear that there was no one at Briarcliff who would at all understand you. No one seemed to be so lucid as you were, let alone able to hold a substantial conversation.

Just as you were about to return to your sketches, more frustrated with the state of things than before, your gaze instinctively flickered in the direction of a pair of brown eyes, watching you with a dead stare.

You recognized them– they were the eyes from a dream you'd had a few weeks prior. You hadn't slept for days after.

You couldn't see much through the smoke. It was enough to drown in. You felt your breathing get shallow and labored, but it didn't seem to be suffocating you. Your vision stayed steady.

After a few moments of directionless wandering through the endless gray swirling in the air, a shadow emerged from the distance with a heavy stride. You first identified it as a man. As he marched forward through the smoke, which was slowly dissipating, you saw the outline of heavy gear on his belt and a machine gun swung over his shoulder.

You went to move in the opposite direction of him, but you were froze in place.

Your heart pounded as he halted just a few feet from you. You eyes flickered to the all but fluorescent green forest behind him, realizing then that the smoke had cleared entirely.

You looked back at the man, scanning him from his dirt-covered boots, to his belt of bullets, heavy-duty camouflage jacket, black helmet, cloth that covered his face up to just above his nose, and, finally his eyes.

Deep brown, lacking definition, you watched as they traveled up from your hips, resting on your waist, then your chest, landing to gaze directly into yours. Your breath hitched.

There was an unmistakable blankness in them. They'd look exhausted, mournful, angry, maybe, if it wasn't for the endless black, that slack expression– emptiness.

You felt it to your core, like all the life had been sucked right from you, too. Suddenly, your limbs felt so heavy and your eyes were burning and the smoke was returning to the scene. The empty eyes ran up and down your figure once more, before the man turned his back to you.

You woke up in a cold sweat.

Those eyes, they were the same. Even from across the room, you could see how shallow they were—like all emotion, all humanity, had been ripped from behind them.

You could swear there was a smirk playing on the right corner of his mouth, but the shadows cast on his face from the window beside him made it hard to tell. Like a killer Mona Lisa.

He allowed his eyes to wander all across your body in the lewdest ways possible, full of lust that circled the air.

You felt it deep in your chest now. The emptiness was almost infectious, and it caused you to panic.

Just like the dream, you were frozen in place, watching those dead eyes.

You weren't sure what to do with yourself, so you offered him a small, twitching smile and a raised hand. Your chest, though, was heaving, and gave away your fear. Then, you were certain he was smirking.

When you finally pulled your eyes away from him, you gathered your things and rushed back to your room.

That night, his thoughts of you were so perverse they were violent. He was sick with his obsession with you.

He laid awake, facing the ceiling, fisting his cock, imaging you riding him, your hair a mess all around your bare shoulders, your hips rolling against him. As he got closer to release, his thoughts became more twisted. He imagined you beneath him, his hand wrapped around your throat as he forced himself into you, tears gathering in your round eyes as you stared into his. They'd be filled with fear, he was sure.

In the same hour, you dreamt of those eyes again, but this time, they were on top of you, and you could see a glimmering silver in the lower rim of your vision.

When you saw him in the kitchen the next day, you resolved to approach him, whether it was a good idea or not.

You walked up behind him, while he was facing the opposite direction, and tapped him on his shoulder. He turned around slowly, and when he met your eyes, that smirk returned to his face. His eyes were at half-mast again, and they scanned you shamelessly once more.

"Hi," he said, a toothpick in his mouth. His voice sounded far-off, like it a was ringing from a distant land– it was almost ghostly.

"Hi," you said, trying to shake that unsettling familiar feeling his eyes gave you. "I'm (Y/N)."

"I'm Kit. Kit Walker," he said, checking your hips once again.

"I know," you say, "Bloody Face."

"Nnn," he hummed, shaking his head, "I killed a lot of people," he said, "But those women back home? I didn't touch any of 'em."

"I know," you say, not breaking eye contact, as hard as it was. He could feel your discomfort. He reveled in it. "Thank you for your service."

That sent chills down his spine. The images flooded back for just a moment— the death, the carnage, the thrill. "You're welcome, sugar," he drawled. It felt oddly personal, like he really had been fighting for you.

You asked him a few questions about the war, to which he replied with short, vague answers. Your curiosity about the man whose eyes you had predicted only grew with his mystery.

Finally, after he’d grown tired of dodging your morbid intrigue, he settled on asking, “So how’d you end up here?”

You told him your sordid tale. How you had been able to predict future events all your life. You rarely told anyone about it.

You saw in a dream a vision of a girl, a girl you knew, being brutally murdered out on the edge of town. You wrestled with it for days, then finally resolved to telling her. She relayed your strange omen back to your family, who called you crazy for even suggesting such a thing could happen. So, when the girl in fact died, her family was quick to point fingers at you. As it was, her father was a prosecutor himself, and before you knew it, you were stuck in Briarcliff for a murder you hadn’t committed.

He simply nodded. He had no stake in the matter. He of all people knew that killing was situational— anyone could do it if they were given a good enough reason. Even pretty girls.

“So, how are you managing?” you ask, voice soaked in concern. You then push yourself onto the counter with your palms, straightening your arms and hoisting yourself up. You adjust yourself to sit on the edge of the counter. You don’t bother to pull the fabric of your dress down, which makes the full length of your thigh up to just about two inches below your hips visible to Kit.

He doesn’t bother answering your question, his gaze now flickering from your legs to your face rapidly.

There’s something penetrating that emptiness in his eyes, even stronger than the lust that’s been coming to a boil.

Hunger. Starvation.

You can feel it radiating off him— a need to fill that void now becoming a ravenous beast threatening to pounce.

Now you understood.

He could hardly breathe. So close to you, able to feel your body heat, able to reach out and touch your pussy, your ass, to see the outline of your nipples through the fabric covering your chest. They were hard, he could tell.

After the things he’s seen and done, after the places he’s been, offending you is the last of his worries. “I haven’t been this close to a beautiful woman since before I left the states.” He places a hand on your thigh.

“Oh,” you gasp instinctively.

“God, your skin is warm,” he practically groans, his head dropping to lean on your shoulder. Your muscles tense at the familiar action from the unfamiliar body. He runs his palm up and down your thigh, flat against your skin.

It’s like you already belong to him, he’s feeling around your thighs, pressing his face into your neck like he’s trying to milk every second of contact between your skin and his. He’s groaning into your neck, now placing each of his hands on the opposite sides of your thighs, feeling up to the soft skin of your ass and down to your knees.

He was worshipping you.

When you finally accepted him, you placed a hand on the back of his neck. In response, he press his hips against the counter and groaned into your collarbone as if you’d just put his whole dick in your mouth.

He was starved. Weary and uncaring, and you were feeding him and healing him with the warmth of your girlish fingertips and Playboy legs.

“I wanna touch your pussy so bad, sugar,” he mumbles into your neck.

What’s a girl to do? A handsome man who’s been overseas, who has been forced to do unimaginable things simply because his birthday was picked on the television, a man who bravely served his country and is now paying for it with his freedom, asking to touch you?

“Okay,” you hummed.

He pushed his hand into your cotton underwear, pressing his fingers to your wetness. He couldn’t resist then. He pushed his two fingers into you, earning a yelp, then, with his other hand, wrapped his fingers in your hair and pulled down— hard— causing you to whine again. He gripped harder, and your scalp burned.

“You like that?” he asked.

“No,” you mumbled.

“No?” he responded. Your neck was forced back as far as it could go, which added to the pain of his assault on your soft locks. It didn’t help, too, that he was pushing his fingers into you, and it was making you ache powerfully.

“Uh-uh,” you whined.

You heard a door close down the hall. You looked up at him in fear, and for a moment, you almost thought he was going to keep you in this compromising position, however, he pulled his fingers out of you slowly and stepped away from you just as the staff came to check the room. You jumped onto the floor, and you both put on your best business-as-usual act. Just as more patients entered the kitchen, he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I’ll come find you.”

I’ll come find you.

The words replayed in your mind over and over.

“I’ll come find you.” I know where you are. You can’t escape me. You’re in it now.

That evening, during dinner, he didn’t even bother to look up at you. He was going to have you.

That night, in the dark of your small, locked room, you waited. In just a cotton t-shirt and white panties, you waited, back against the wall behind your bed, knees pulled in. You fiddled with your fingertips, internally criticized your legs. You looked like you were expecting someone.

The light from the window poured into your room. Moonlight and street lamps made a twilight of your hour before midnight.

Was he coming? Were you disappointed? Was he caught on the way here? Is it normal to be so worried about him? Were you really crazy?

Then came the keys jingling. Then the door opening. Then, Kit.

He took a moment to take the vision of you in, leaning his head on the door. “I didn’t think you’d wait up for me.”

You only smiled in response, which you didn’t really understand. His knees got weak. He closed the door behind him.

He got a good sight of your body, barely clothed, your hair in a braid that had dozens of strands that had fallen out. He thought he could finish right then.

He wanted to hurt you, that he couldn’t deny. But he wanted to be able to have you again. So, he did what any gentleman does: he played you slow.

He climbed onto your bed, kicking his shoes to the floor. He put his hands on your knees, leaning over you, then muttered, “All this for me?”

You stared up at him, wide eyed, nervous. You bit your lip and nodded.

“Yeah. For me,” he cooed.

He went in, starting at your neck, kissing down to the collar of your shirt. His hand traveled to your chest. You weren’t wearing a bra.

He put his thumb against your nipple, rubbing it gently, determined to hear you squeal. He squeezed lightly and you did.

He continued at your neck until his hand reached the stitch of your shirt. He grumbled and pulled it over your head.

He could swear his heart stopped.

On the field, thinking of these moments kept him alive. Civility, femininity, the possibility that a woman might be naked in front of him again.

He went straight for your chest, his mouth attacking your cleavage, your nipples.

You were still leaned up against the wall, but your legs were now parted, knees bent, his body between your thighs.

As he sucked on your nipple, his hand traveling down to your underwear, his fingers flattening against the cloth.

You were wet. His head dropped to your chest. “Fuck,” he whispered. He rubbed over the cloth with the back of his knuckles.

Then, he pushed his hand down your underwear, his fingers running along your slick. “Fuckin’ holy shit.”

You look up at him, a deep blush hitting your face that doesn’t go unnoticed, even in the dark.

“You really want me, don’t you?” he taunts, half shocked, half disturbed by your lack of self preservation, or lack of basic common sense.

You nod. You bite your lip and you nod.

He stares at you, working you with his fingers underneath your underwear, until he, frustrated with the stunt they put on his skills, pulls them down to your knees.

“You don’t… You don’t have to… I wanna take care of you,” you mumble into his shoulder.

“Aw, sugar,” he whispers, biting your neck. You gasp. “Your pussy’s gonna take care of me just fine.”

You groan into his neck. He reaches up and wraps his fingers in your hair and pulls down hard. Your back arches and he latches his mouth onto your nipple. It’s overwhelming, the combination of sensations. That’s when he reaches his hand around and latches it onto your throat and presses onto either side.

When he brings his mouth back up to the crook of your neck, combined with his finger speeding up against you, it’s enough to push you over the edge. You wrap your arms around his neck, attempting to stifle the sounds squeaking from your throat.

After he has let go from your neck, you reach down to undo his belt.

“Eager little lady, huh?”

“Oh, Kit,” you mumbled against his mouth. You attempt to push him on his back, but he doesn’t budge. But when you flutter your eyelashes at him, though, he gives into you.

You swing your leg over him, straddling him. You lower yourself onto him— you couldn’t quite see in the dark, but you can feel that he’s very big.

When your pelvis hits his, he moans. It’s not soft, it isn’t breathy. You can hear his tone of voice, the dryness of his throat. You think maybe the other patients may have heard, too. He latches his hands onto your thighs, hard.

It hurts, bad, especially when he digs his nails in. It’s entirely possible he’s drawing blood, but you can’t see. You squeal, but it’s suppressed.

He doesn’t miss this. He was smart, and even in the dark he could read you like an open book. You were letting him hurt you.

He wasn’t sure if it was pity or a lack of self-protection. Either way, he decided to accept it, even though it actually made him want to be more gentle.

He always took pity on the people he killed who didn’t fight. You were like that. Like a deer who doesn’t know to be afraid.

He retracts his nails from your skin, resting them flat on your hips. He pushes you back and forth, very gentle.

He let out a string of, “Fuckyou’retight, fuckyou’rewet, fuck, I can hear it, Isthisallforme? You’redrippingalloverme,baby,” to which you replied with incoherent moans as your ability to stay upright become more and more difficult.

As he started to roll himself up into you, you were grabbing at his thighs trying to hold yourself up.

Out of pity, he propped himself up on his hands, wrapping his arm around your waist. The heat from his body drove you over the edge again. You moan into his neck, mumbling his name, and then somewhere in there, “I love you.”

He chuckles at this, but it catches between moans, and he breathes out something like, “You better.” You come again as he does, too. He pulls at the roots of your hair again, arm wrapped tight around your waist. It just then occurs to you that you weren’t using protection.

After you peel yourself off of him, sweat making your skins feel like one, he pulls you into his chest as he melts back into the bed.

“Baby, you are some homecoming,” he whispers, brushing your hair from your face.

“Anything for our bravest,” you smile into his chest.

He laughs like he just won the lottery.

#american horror story #evan peters #evan peters ahs #ahs #kit walker #ahs asylum #evan peters x reader #kit walker x reader #ahs kit walker #american horror story asylum #kai anderson ahs #tate langdon

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theocddiaries · 12 days ago

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Shadow: I've been like this for as long as I can remember. Therapist: Can you give me an example? Shadow: Well… I remember that sometimes the Professor would spend time with Maria and me, just the three of us, and we used to play educational games. It wasn’t part of the tests or trials they made me undergo to assess my performance and endurance. But I had to do it perfectly, too. I guess I realized that night when we played spelling words; I felt this huge weight on my shoulders, that I had to win. Therapist: And did you? Shadow: Yes. Know what the winning word was? Responsibility. Therapist: Is that what you feel? A responsibility to win all the time? To always be the best? Shadow: That's one way to put it. Therapist: And this responsibility, where does it come from? Shadow: I'm not sure. It's just… there. Therapist: So it's an internal pressure. Shadow: Kind of. I mean, people expect things from me. Therapist: Like what people? Shadow: The Professor, Maria, the scientists back in the day. Nowadays, too. GUN… It's not all internal. Don't get me wrong. I like the way I'm wired. It's what makes me who I am. Therapist: And how is that, being who you are? Shadow: I don't know. Mostly good. A little exhausting. Sometimes hard. I guess there's your answer. It's hard being me. Therapist: What about your friends? Would you tell me about them? Shadow: They're pretty normal, I guess. I'm not like any of them, but that doesn't really bother me. Therapist: Ever? Shadow: Only when they say things like, "don't freak out" or "go do something fun." Therapist: So, you feel like they don't experience the same pressures you do. Shadow: Not at the same level, I guess. Therapist: Hmm. Why do you think that is? Shadow: Why are we even talking about that? They don't have anything to do with this. They don't get me. Therapist: And how's that feel? Shadow: I don't know. Therapist: You're a smart guy. Try a little harder. Shadow: I said I don't know. Therapist [waits patiently] Shadow: …I feel… Kind of alone. [Meanwhile, at GUN HQ] Abraham: …And when you're done, secure the area and get testimony from the locals. Then, write it all down and give me an oral report-- Sonic: Sure thing. For when? Abraham: For today. Sonic: Today? Abraham: Shadow can handle it. Sonic: Oh, no no, I'm sure he can, but… I’ve got more things to do while I cover for him today, you know? I have to take Omega to the mechanic, go grocery shopping because Rouge is out, babysit Cream-- Abraham: What my agents do in their free time is their own business. If he’s managed to juggle his time and you all didn’t notice, then it can’t be that hard. Sonic: …I guess not… [A couple of hours later, Sonic is waiting for Shadow. Shadow gets out the building] Sonic: Hey! How did it go? Shadow: Good. I made another session for next week. How was your day? Sonic: Intense. I had no idea the kind of pressure you're under. Shads, I was just you for half a day and I could barely hold it together. I don't know how you don't have a meltdown every day. Shadow [lunges at him to hug him] Sonic: I--Oh… You okay? Did I say something? Shadow [sobbing]: Yes. Thank you. Sonic: …Okay. [reciprocates the hug slowly. Exhales and rubs his back]: Okay. It's okay.

#incorrect quotes #sth #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonadow #abraham towers #sonic #sonic fandom #source: modern family

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beetlesau · 15 days ago

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Its Light Still Shines

Chapter 2 - 1.2k

(Chapter 1 here)

haters will say Shadow wasn't even in this chapter. sorry

The grass beneath me is soft. I've never felt anything like it in all my memories. I smell the earth, fresh and beautiful.

I don't know where I teleported away to.

An old abandoned cabin sits before me, and a running stream-turned-river sits not far from it. I can hear its flowing water and the small fish that splash its surface now and then. Morning is breaking just over the horizon, and pink and orange paint the sky as I approach the worn building.

"Hello?" I call out, but no one has been here in a long, long time.

I knocked on the door before opening it in case someone or something was waiting inside. I didn't expect how sturdy and tough the door would be. The outside looked like old wooden logs but resonated like a metal crate. When my knuckles made contact, a small, pin-sized light met my gaze and scanned my retina.

"Welcome, Experiment L2S-03xx. to SafeZone 12." A static voice chimed in the door, which swung open automatically. Dust and dirt accumulated around the crevasses, which were knocked loose and found their way to my throat. I coughed, covering my face, and tried to disperse the debris with my free hand.

I entered, and to my surprise, I found it looked like a cozy cabin you'd book for a vacation. It was an open floor concept, with a bed on the far left wall, a bathroom ahead of me, a kitchen, and a small dinette to the right. The decor was simple and a bit antique. A frilly duvet on the bed caught my gaze. I rolled my eyes when I realized I could even recognize such small details about something I'd never seen in my real life before—sudden thoughts of watching interior decorating on TV flashed in my mind's eye.

I groaned. I had other problems besides the clashing curtains in the dinette not matching the plates stacked on the shelves above the sink. Namely what the AI system called me.

"L2S? What? What was it you called me?" I asked aloud.

"That is your experiment identification code," it stated as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Where am I?"

"This is isolated SafeZone 12 erected by Professor Robotnik, Gerald."

"When was this last time he was here?"

"57 years, 8 months, 21 days. Would you like the question answered to the nearest second?"

"No! No, thank you. Do I have a name?"

"You were not assigned a name, only your experiment identification code."

"What is Shadows experiment code or whatever, then?"

"S2L-02xy - or Project Shadow."

I removed my jacket, shuffled over to the bed, and plopped onto the surprisingly soft mattress, caressing little angels into the plush comforter. "Bummer. How come he got a name, and I didn't?" I was speaking to myself now, but the system took it upon itself to answer anyway.

"Records indicate you were an preliminary project that was not completed under the supervision of the Professor."

"Yeah, yeah. So what is my purpose?"

"Error. Purpose Obsolete."

"Ouch okay, what was my purpose?"

"You are a culmination of the residuals left over from Project Shadow, chaos emeralds, and the restructured DNA of the deceased Maria Robotnik. Your purpose was to serve as replacement parts for an incurable disease within Maria Robotnik. However, key parts of the experiment did not occur due to the ARK's destruction. Your consciousness was triggered and stages of your development were altered by the government organization known as GUN."

"You're kidding me."

"I do not understand; please rephrase."

I wept quietly to myself.

I was never meant to awaken. My purpose was never as divided from Maria as Shadow. If GUN hadn't intervened, there would be no me.

But then Maria may still be alive otherwise.

Did I even deserve to be alive instead?

I pulled one of the pillows close and buried my face into it.

All these memories of her kindness. Her beauty. I have them because she died.

It's too much for me.

I screw my eyes shut, hoping I can lock my tears away, but I can't. They come and soak through everything. The pounding in my head kicks up again. Before long, I cried myself to sleep at the thought of her and all she was. All that I can only hope to be for myself.

Being in stasis and actually sleeping are worlds apart. When I wake, my mind settles, and I better regulate my emotions. It's once again dark outside, and in the night, I see a flashing light coming from the dinette table. I pull myself up, groggy, and shuffle over to check it out.

"What is this?" I ask the system.

"There is an electronic pulse similar to that of the Professor's work in a quadrant of Japan that has recently appeared. Would you like to take a look?"

"Show me." Anything to do with the Professor now could only mean something involving Shadow.

The system flashes, and a small hologram feed floats just at eye level. It shows security footage of a pier in Japan, likely hacked into by Robotniks tech, which is still advanced all these years later. My skin prickles as I watch an immense mechanical crab surface from the water.

I've seen this before, but Shadow isn't there. Not yet. He's going to find the Professor, not the Doctor.

"Can you keep tabs on that crab from here?"

"I can mark it as an object of interest, of course. Would you like to be notified when it relocates?"

"Oh. Uh, I don't plan on staying here much longer, I'm leaving once I figure out where Shadow is."

"I have an electronic bracer in the refrigerator that can be used as a notification hub when you're away from SafeZone 12."

"The refrigerator?"

"It is the red box behind you and to your left, it typically holds items to keep them cool and fresher for longer than if they were left out at room tem--"

Okay! Thank you, that's not really what I meant when I-- you know what? Nevermind. Thank you. I'll be sure to grab that before I go."

"You are welcome, L2S-03xx."

"Could you call me something else?" I grumbled.

"I can reassign your name, yes. What would you prefer?"

I took a moment to think it over. I wasn't stuck to one thing. I could change my name as much as I wanted; it wasn't like I had one. And I wasn't really Maria; keeping hers didn't feel right. Though I could, as an homage. I didn't think this would be that hard, but a name might be a big deal.

"I don't actually know... I guess I should just shorten my experiment name for now. Call me L. I'm sure I can come up with something better later. Maybe." If I couldn't stop Shadow from what was to come, it wouldn't matter if I'd had a name.

I felt drained all over again. Although I've been alone all this time, I was never lonely—not when they occupied my mind. But now I felt the weight of things.

I'd never had Shadow. I was nothing to him, but I would fight for him.

I couldn't be his Maria; I must be something else. I would reach him.

"Its Light still shines."

#shadow the hedgehog x reader

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acuteobserv4tion · 14 days ago

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Idea for a future Shadow, Amy, and Rouge movie/mini series/ TV special that would take place after the 4th movie.

Spoilers: You know the drill

They combine the Team Dark plotline from Sonic Heroes with the Black Doom stuff from the Shadow the Hedgehog game.

I think we all know an amnesia plotline would be pointless in the movies. So instead, how about they finally introduce Rouge. We can't have her working for GUN in her debut since they just keep leaving a stink on the Sonic cinematic universe.

Amy finds Shadow, and she drags him around, kind of like she did to Silver. We dont know where Shadow landed. She reminds him of Maria, and he takes Sonic's advice about new love and finding family to heart. Just taking the natural route for their dynamic that Sega refused to expand on.

He follows her, mostly quiet, mostly observing. Amy engages with him. Just full of energy, being herself. Not a one to one of Maria, but more casual. Amy is just enjoying the world. A world Shadow never got to experience.

And Amy takes care of Shadow, holding his hand, answering his call. She doesn't even know she's doing it. That's just who she is. Shadow occasionally recoils from the light coming off her. Maria's light. The story would be about that connection and helping Shadow adjust.

Rouge gets introduced as someone drawn to the explosion of chaos energy in space like Knuckles and Tails were. My original thought was that she was searching for the Master Emerald, too. But that might have to change.

There was no Space Colony Ark. So, how would Gerald and Black Doom have communicated without a fuss? Maybe Black Doom had an envoy?

Perhaps Rouge's people could be servants traveling across the Galaxy under orders. Minor scouts. Expendable. Only given minimal information for their tasks. But Rouge is a sneaky creature, lasting this long due to cunning and gathering info.

When Gerald's Eclipse Cannon goes off, the Black Arms recognize the energy as their creation. They send Rouge to check it out. Rouge would be the B plot. Keeping track of her progress with Amy and Shadow in the background.

She arrives at the military base. Finds it empty. She doesn't pay mind to the wreckage like Sonic would. She goes through the tunnels.

Back to Amy and Shadow: Eventually, as they traveled the world together (with Shadows' underlying angst), Shadow tells Amy that he needs to get/do something. Something important. Something he didn't think he would need to before. (After all, the plan was for everyone to die, including him and Gerald)

Amy being Amy says she'll go with him. If he'll let her. She knows he's not telling her everything. But she's willing to wait.

When they get to the base, Amy sticks by his side, looking around, because this was his home. Shadow is still pained. Maybe he tells Amy that he had a friend here.

Rouge's presence is made known. This infuriates Shadow like it did when Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails intruded. Like a tormented ghost haunting a grave site. His energy starts bouncing off him, and Rouge recognizes it from what she saw when receiving her mission.

Rouge is caught. So, of course, Rouge blends in, like she always has. She engages with Shadow and Amy.

She plays herself off as a treasure hunter/explorer. Someone searching for rare artifacts and specimens, but was drawn in by the massive energy beam that came from this planet a while back. Saying she came to learn what it was.

Of course, Shadow is hesitant to say anything about that to either of the girls. Though Rouge already suspects that he's the result of Black Arms DNA.

They explore past the tunnels. I believe they would find a robot friend down there. A seemingly unfinished thing that reminds Amy of the metal hedgehogs she fought before. Only closer in design to the egg bots. Almost like a prototype, but not quite.

Shadow knows what it is. Another Gerald Robotnik discovery. (Opens up a future for Gamma and Omega after the Metal Sonic stuff. Personally, I think Gamma)

Maybe they come across the Biolizard down there. Dead or barely alive. Resting, possibly. Or Shadow simply has a flashback of the Biolizard hanging on to life, that he wasn't the only one confined to this place. Possible Shadow feelings on his predecessors?

Rouge is smoothly digging through old Project Shadow files the whole journey, but still being, well, Rouge.

Amy is unsure about the bat. Maybe even confronts Rouge at one point, saying that if this goes bad for him or Shadow is hurt in any way, she'll have to answer to Amy Rose. Protective of this quiet, overwhelmed boy that she found.

Of course, Rouge isn't nearly as repentant(yet) on the other side of Amy's little confrontation

We keep searching. Shadow learns about and recognizes the horrors of Gerald's experiments. What it may have taken to complete him. He doubts his own purpose. Emotional support hedgehog Amy Rose works to put a stop to that.

We only saw his eyes surrounded by rock, and he said he had no memories beyond earth.

We learn about the Black Arms. Why even the doctors looked at Shadow the way they did. Maybe Shadow wasn't fully formed when he crashed on earth. Why? Where did he come from? What did he come from?

Rouge is suave while she guides them in the direction of Shadow's past. Amy tells him he doesn't need to do this if he's not ready. Shadow has no idea where he came from, how he got here.

Well, now is his chance to know.

So, they go run across the world using Rouge's rings. The current GUN doesn't have the answers. They search through Walter's old stuff.

And that's how Shadow would learn about Black Doom. What deal was it that Gerald made.

Maria didn't seem to be sick in the movie, and there was no indication whatsoever that Shadow was ever going to be used for cures or medicine. The only thing we know is that they were obsessed with his energy.

What is Rouge's Endgame? Is she supposed to bring Shadow back with her? Is she meant to trigger something? Is there a beacon? Are the Black Arms coming here?

So yeah, that's my theory.

Hopefully, Shadow will be with his girls at some point, having an arc.

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shadamyheadcanons · 2 months ago

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I'm not sure if they ever gave an official explanation as to why Shadow joined GUN, but I've seen plenty of people say that it's strange he joined the organization that basically ruined his life, and yeah it is weird.

I have come up with a headcanon that explains it though. He joined them to make sure they never do something like they did on the ARK ever again. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer as they say. Not to mention the whole reason that all happened was because GUN wanted him as a weapon. I think he'd be concerned that they might go after his new friends if he doesn't give them the impression that he's under their command.

So he joined, hoping to gain their trust and keep an eye on their activities. Rouge is also in on it, and definitely has hacked into their database to view top secret documents. If they ever find out that GUN is planning another senseless massacre, then Team Dark plans to sabotage it from the inside out.

Not a ShadAmy headcanon specifically, but you could imagine that Shadow would be reluctant to share this information out of fear of being jeopardized. Perhaps it could be used for drama. Have fun writers~!

I really, really like this. It’s my new favorite explanation for something that’s always bothered me about this franchise. Thank you!

It doesn’t just make sense objectively, it matches Shadow’s experiences perfectly. I often say Shadow would cling to Amy because he knows how easy it is to lose someone, but I love the idea of him taking it in a darker direction, too, picking up on the possibility of another tragedy happening and preemptively taking steps to stop it. I think people see Shadow as rash because he’s so extreme in his actions, but that is careful for him. Those aren’t mutually exclusive:

[IDW issues 5 & 6]

Team Dark standing with him is always great, too.

Another thing I like is that it gives Shadow agency. Based on Commander Tower’s behavior at the end of ShTH and his actions in Shadow: Dark Beginnings, Sega seems to want us to believe the Commander is a nice guy who’s good buddies with Shadow:

“Shadow, do you read me? First, I...I want to...apologize, for the other day...actually, I just became a grandfather last week, and I was thinking of maybe having you over.”

Commander Tower, probably: “Sowwy I twied to shoot you, uwu. It’ll never happen again! 🥺”

And, uh...I don’t buy that, frankly...but it doesn’t seem to me that G.U.N.’s keeping him under their thumb, either. As interesting as that concept would have been, I don’t think it’s what Sega’s going for. It lines up better with canon if Shadow’s choosing to stick around for his own ulterior motives. I think having him actively decide to keep G.U.N. close for that reason strengthens his character.

Your headcanon is even stronger now in the wake of Takashi Iizuka’s pre-Shadow Generations interview (which happened after this ask was sent, btw), specifically the question at 3:20:

youtube

(Side note: I have so, so many issues with what he says here–no other motivation? None at all?! You’ve got to be kidding me! But that’s a rant for another day.)

This all but confirms that working with them is a choice for Shadow.

It also perfectly demonstrates something that really irks me about Sega: their lack of communication about basic aspects of the characters’ lives. Most fans speculated for what, almost two decades, about whether a main character is employed or not, and Sega just drops it in a random interview? Not even in a game? It’s such basic information, yet they didn’t tell us for 19 years. And gee, why would we get that impression?

[Archie Sonic Universe issue 1]

It’s like even the official writers at Archie thought he was a G.U.N. agent. Sega couldn’t be bothered to tell them, let alone us. We don’t even know where some of these characters live. It’s kind of silly once you think about it.

Yeah. “Silly.” Let’s call it that. 🤨

Thanks for the ask!

#not a headcanon #ask #meta analysis #wonderwitchch #shadow the hedgehog #commander tower #so. uh. guess who's been writing “commander towers” instead of “commander tower” for years?#surely not me. nope #this guy's name is mentioned so rarely that i got it wrong 🙃#it's bad enough that i've been writing for years now about how shadow definitely absolutely works for G.U.N.#i went back and changed all the misspellings of tower's name #but there's no way i'll fix the unemployment thing for every damn headcanon #i'd be editing this blog for years if i did that #sega pls

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storyscribeforthesentiment · 5 months ago

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the detective & the dark knight | chapter 2

Summary: Detective Marie Manning, investigating a series of brutal murders in Gotham, crosses paths with the mysterious Batman. As they work together, their mutual respect turns into a deep, passionate bond. Amidst danger and corruption, their unlikely partnership evolves into a profound love, forever changing their lives in Gotham’s dark corners.

Pairing: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f! main character

Author’s note: I hope you guys enjoy a cute, budding partnership between Marie and Batman!

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings/tags: mentions of murder (what can you expect in Gotham!!), gun violence, mentions of police bribes

The Gotham air was damp, clinging to Marie’s skin as she hurried into the precinct, her boots clicking sharply against the wet pavement. Her coat, still heavy with the cold mist of the early morning, hung limply from her shoulders as she pushed through the revolving door. The usual smell of stale coffee and cigarette smoke greeted her, but it did little to ground her racing mind.

Last night replayed in fragments—broken images of shadows moving with impossible speed, the distant echo of a deep, commanding voice, and the weight of knowing she had just met Gotham’s infamous vigilante.

Batman.

She hadn’t even had time to process it. Between the chaos at the docks, the desperate rush to get the victim to the hospital, and Gordon’s cryptic phone call, her brain felt like a crime board with too many loose threads.

How long had Gordon been working with him? Years, apparently—but how many? And how had no one caught on? Was Batman really the unhinged vigilante people made him out to be, tearing through Gotham’s underworld without a leash? Sure, a guy who dresses like a bat and spends his nights breaking bones probably isn’t the picture of stability. But at the docks, he hadn’t seemed reckless or out of control. Every move was sharp, deliberate—terrifyingly precise.

Marie adjusted the strap of her bag, gripping it tightly as she passed the bullpen. Officers were scattered at their desks, some half-asleep, others arguing over paperwork or laughing at a joke she couldn’t hear.

It all felt so normal, so detached from what she’d seen just hours ago.

And she couldn’t tell a soul.

Gordon had been adamant about that—no one could know about Batman’s involvement. The very thought made her stomach twist. Every instinct screamed to confide in someone, even if it was just to make sense of the surreal experience. But who? Bullock? He’d mock her for even suggesting Batman was real. Any of the rookies? They’d either think she was lying or report her for talking nonsense.

The weight of the secret felt heavier with every step.

She reached her desk, dropping her bag with a dull thud. The coffee she’d grabbed on the way in—lukewarm and already tasting burnt��sat untouched.

Instead, she found herself staring blankly at the files piled in front of her, their grim contents blurred by the noise in her head.

How did Gordon do it? Work with someone like Batman in the shadows for years and never let it show?

Marie shook her head and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples.

A restless energy had taken root in her, the kind that wouldn’t be satisfied until she had answers. But answers wouldn’t come by sitting here stewing in her thoughts.

“Hey, Manning.” Bullock’s gravelly voice broke through her daze. He loomed over her desk, holding a folder and chewing on the end of a toothpick. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck. You sleep at all last night?”

“Some,” she lied, straightening up. “What’s up?”

“Gordon wants you in his office.” He tossed the folder onto her desk with a shrug. “Said it’s important.”

Marie’s pulse quickened. So much for easing into it—she’d planned to wait for the right moment to ask Gordon about Batman, maybe casually drop it into conversation over coffee. But nope, subtlety was dead, and Gordon was going straight for the jugular.

“Got it,” she said, trying to sound casual.

As Bullock wandered off, muttering about something unrelated, Marie grabbed the folder and stood. Her legs felt heavier than they should have as she crossed the bullpen toward Gordon’s office. Every step seemed to echo louder than the last. She wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion or nerves—or maybe both.

At the door, she paused to collect herself. Her hand hovered over the handle for a moment before she finally pushed it open.

Gordon looked up from his desk, his glasses catching the pale light of his desk lamp. His expression was calm but firm, the kind of look that told her she was about to be pulled deeper into whatever this was.

“Close the door, Manning,” he said, gesturing to the seat in front of him.

Marie obeyed, the faint click of the door shutting behind her amplifying the tension in the room. She sat down, clutching the folder tightly in her lap.

“Sounds like you had a rough night last night.” Gordon said, leaning back in his chair.

“You could say that,” she replied, her voice steadier than she felt.

He nodded knowingly, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “I’m guessing you have a lot of questions after right now.”

Marie met his gaze, her own uncertainty mirrored in his eyes. “More than I know what to do with.”

“Good,” Gordon said. “Because you’re going to need some of those answers if we’re going to make this work.”

Marie leaned back in her chair, waiting for Gordon to start, her heart pounding. He lit a cigarette, the tip briefly casting a glow over his tired face. He didn’t speak right away, taking a long drag as if he were weighing every word.

“I’ve been working with him for about five years,” Gordon said finally, his voice low. “It started when I was still a lieutenant, during one of Gotham’s darkest stretches.” He paused, exhaling smoke in a slow stream. “Back then, the city was… rotten. Crooked cops on every floor, mobsters running the show. I saw men I respected take bribes without a second thought. I thought about quitting every day.”

Marie stayed quiet, watching him closely, her gaze drawn to the hard lines in his face.

“Then Commissioner Loeb was murdered,” Gordon continued, his voice tightening. “And somehow, they handed me the job of commissioner. I was drowning, Manning. Didn’t know where to start. And then we had this case—women and children disappearing. Bodies turning up mutilated. It was…” He stopped, shaking his head. “The worst thing I’d ever seen. And I couldn’t crack it. We couldn’t crack it.”

Marie shifted in her seat, the weight of his words settling over her.

“Then Batman stepped in,” Gordon said, his tone sharpening. “Out of nowhere. He caught the bastard—a serial killer we didn’t even have on our radar. Delivered him to us on a silver platter. The guy was sentenced to life in Blackgate, and for the first time since I had started at GCPD, I felt like justice had actually been served. Because of him.”

Marie blinked, caught off guard. “Seriously?”

Gordon nodded, taking another pull from his cigarette. “After that, I kept working with him. Quietly. Only on cases we couldn’t touch—things way above what we can handle here. And let me tell you, the guy has resources. Military-grade tech, surveillance, communication equipment I didn’t even know existed. I don’t know where he gets it, and I don’t ask.”

“But you don’t know who he is?” she asked, incredulous.

“Not a damn thing,” Gordon said flatly. “And that’s part of why I trust him. He can’t be bought. The mob doesn’t even know who to bribe. Everything he does is for the city. I’d trust him with my life.”

Marie stared at him, her mind reeling. “And no one else knows?”

“No one,” Gordon said firmly. “It has to stay that way. People wouldn’t understand, and it’d paint a target on him—and on us.”

She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the desk. “So, what now? You want me to… work with him?”

Gordon nodded, his expression unreadable. “I’ve set up a meeting for you two. Tonight at an old warehouse on the Southside. But I’ll warn you—his methods aren’t like ours. Be ready for that.”

Marie let out a shaky breath. “Okay. I’ll be ready.”

Gordon stubbed out his cigarette, his voice softening. “This doesn’t leave this room, Manning. Not a word. Not to anyone.”

She met his gaze and nodded, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. “Understood.”

They sat in silence for a beat, the enormity of what she’d just learned sinking in.

—-------------------------------

Marie parked her car on the cracked asphalt just outside the old clothing factory, the beams from her headlights bouncing off its crumbling facade. The warehouse stood like a forgotten relic, its windows long shattered, leaving gaping holes that let the damp night air swirl freely inside.

The exterior was tagged with graffiti, layers of faded paint overlapping like an accidental mural. A rusted metal door hung crookedly on its hinges, creaking softly as the wind pushed against it.

As she stepped out of the car, pulling her coat tighter against the rain, her boots splashed into the forming puddles. She glanced around, noticing no other vehicles in sight. Does he drive? she wondered, peering into the darkness. Or does he just swing in from the rooftops like he owns the place? Her lips twitched in a brief smile at the thought. The idea of Batman in a car felt almost absurd. But then again, nothing about tonight—or about working with him—was normal. The thought sent a flicker of nerves down her spine. She wasn’t sure if it was the ominous setting or the idea of meeting him again that made her pulse quicken.

Marie pushed the rusted door open, stepping into the darkness, her coat soaked through as water dripped from the edges. Her flashlight sliced through the shadows, illuminating old machinery, discarded pallets, and the damp haze that clung to the air. The smell of mildew and oil lingered, mixing with the scent of rain seeping in from the outside.

Her boots splashed against the puddles, and the sound of her footsteps echoed too loudly in the cavernous space. She was tense, nerves stretched tight as every creak of the building made her heart race.

Then, a voice—low, calm, and startlingly close—cut through the stillness.

“Detective Manning.”

Marie froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She spun toward the voice, flashlight jerking upward. The beam hit nothing but shadows for a split second, then the silhouette of Batman emerged from the darkness. His figure was an imposing mass, his armor gleaming faintly in the weak light, the rain dripping off the edges of his cape.

“Jesus!” she gasped, dropping the flashlight. It clattered against the floor, skittering across the concrete.

“Goddamnit,” she muttered under her breath as she crouched down to grab it, her hands trembling slightly as she picked it back up.

Batman said nothing as he waited, watching her with that cold, unreadable gaze.

“I saw you at the docks,” he said, his voice steady, but the weight of his observation lingered.

Marie blinked. “Yeah, that was me.”

He took a step forward, his movements almost soundless. “You took the victim to the hospital. Is he okay?”

Marie hesitated, surprised by the question. “He’s in stable condition. Still shaken up, but he’ll pull through.”

Batman nodded, though his gaze remained fixed on her, sharp and calculating.

“The case you’re working on—the Southside homicides. What do you know so far?” His voice was less a question and more an assessment, like he was testing her.

Marie stood up straighter, trying to mask the unease creeping up her spine. “The victims are killed in different ways—mutilation, drowning, blunt force trauma. All with the same red lotus symbol. It points to organized crime, but the leads are scattered. Nothing concrete.”

Batman moved closer, his footsteps soundless against the concrete. “It’s not organized crime,” he said, voice cutting through the rain. “Not in the way you think.”

Her brow furrowed. “Then what is it?”

He didn’t answer immediately, instead glancing around the warehouse, as if weighing the space, the distance between them.

“It’s someone trying to send a message,” he said finally, his voice low and deliberate.

“Who?” she asked, her impatience creeping in.

“Likely the mob,” he replied, voice harder now. “But not just any mob—this is bigger than that. They operate in the shadows—trafficking, extortion, murder. The killings aren’t random. The victims were chosen, not just for their value, but as an example.”

Marie tilted her head, trying to piece it all together. “Chosen for what?”

Batman turned to her then, his gaze locking with hers. “As a warning.”

Her pulse quickened, the air between them thick with the weight of his words. “A warning for who?”

“Gotham,” Batman said flatly. “Whoever’s behind this is staking their claim. They’re trying to take control, to make the city’s underworld their own. The murders are their way of saying, ‘Gotham belongs to us now.’”

A shiver ran through her, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the rain or the gravity of his words. “And you’re sure it’s not just some random psychopath with a fetish for killing?”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. “No,” he said, voice low and cutting through the sound of the rain. “This isn’t the work of a lone wolf. The mob’s too methodical, too ruthless. This isn’t some senseless murder spree—it’s a takeover. They’re using fear to get what they want.”

Marie’s breath hitched as the full scope of the situation began to settle in. “So, these murders aren’t just about power—they’re about sending a message to everyone.”

“Exactly.” Batman’s gaze hardened, if possible, even more. “And if we don’t stop them now, that message will spread until there’s no one left to stand in their way.”

Her heart raced, the stakes of the case suddenly becoming terrifyingly clear. She took a breath, the weight of it all sinking in. “So, what’s the next move?”

Batman stepped back, the rain glistening off his suit as he began to retreat into the shadows.

Batman’s gaze remained steady, unyielding. “Meet me here tomorrow. Midnight,” he said, his form shifting as he turned back into the darkness. “I’ll have more.”

“Wait—” Marie called out, her mind filled with questions about the case, but before she could finish, he was already gone, swallowed by the shadows as if he had never been there.

Marie stood alone in the echoing silence, her breath fogging in the cold air. The sound of the rain outside was deafening now, filling the space with its relentless assault. She tucked her flashlight back into her coat and made her way out of the warehouse.

The rain hit her like a wall when she stepped back into the storm. The city stretched out before her, dark and alive with possibilities. But for the first time, she felt like something was moving beneath the surface—something dangerous—and now, she was in the middle of it.

—-------------------------------

The rain hammered the roof of the warehouse, relentless and heavy as Marie stepped back inside. It was almost like last night hadn’t happened, yet everything felt different. The air was thick with the smell of damp metal and oil.

The faint sound of water dripping echoed through the cavernous space, filling the silence with an uneasy rhythm. Her boots slipped slightly on the slick concrete, but she kept moving toward the shadows, eyes searching for the familiar figure.

She spotted him before he spoke, a quick flicker of movement that made her smile despite herself.

“Early again, huh?” she muttered, stepping into the darkness beside him.

“Detective Manning.” Batman’s voice rumbled from the shadows, a cold, commanding presence.

Marie rolled her eyes. “If you’re gonna keep doing that whole ‘saying my name in the dark’ thing, at least say ‘hi’ first. That’s creepy as hell.” She pulled a fresh flashlight from her jacket pocket, holding it up. “By the way, you owe me a new flashlight. The one you scared the hell out of me with last night broke.” Her tone was lighthearted, though she could sense he wasn’t the type for jokes.

He didn’t even blink, still scanning the warehouse like it was the last place on earth.

Marie sighed, feeling the smile slip from her face. She wasn’t expecting anything more from him.

“I think Falcone’s behind the murders,” Batman said, his voice low and tight. “His men were at the docks during the last attempted murder, and he’s been trying to take Gotham for years. This is his move to solidify his grip on the city.”

Marie let the weight of his words settle in her chest, a sharp knot forming in her stomach. “Falcone… again. Jesus, how has he not been caught yet?”

“Connections. Influence. He knows how to keep the right people in his pocket,” Batman said, a flicker of frustration in his voice. “It won’t be easy, but this is the lead we’ve got.”

Marie’s eyes narrowed. “So what’s the plan?”

“Meet me at the shipping containers near the Narrows in an hour,” Batman said, his gaze sharp. “Falcone will be monitoring a shipment there tonight.”

Marie nodded. “I’ll be there.”

As they parted ways, she hesitated, her curiosity bubbling to the surface. “Wait. Before you go—can I ask you something?” She shifted on her feet, trying to shake off the tension. “Your name… what should I call you?”

Batman’s gaze was unreadable as it met hers. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, until finally he spoke.

“Names don’t matter.”

Marie felt a twinge of disappointment but nodded anyway. “Right.”

When they arrived at the shipping containers, the dim light barely cut through the haze of fog hanging in the air. They moved quietly, boots crunching gravel as they made their way deeper into the warehouse. The containers loomed above them like silent giants, casting long shadows over the cold concrete floor.

Marie swept her flashlight across the stacked metal, pausing when something caught her eye. The air smelled of rust and oil, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. She motioned for Batman to follow her as she moved closer.

“This could be where Falcone’s hiding something,” Marie said, her voice cutting through the quiet. “We need something—anything—that ties him to the murders.”

Batman’s presence beside her was almost like a shadow, silent and watchful. “Falcone’s empire is huge,” he murmured. “Anything we find here could be the key.”

Before Marie could respond, the silence of the warehouse shattered—gunfire erupted, the sharp cracks of the shots echoing in the vast, empty space. The sound slammed into her chest like a punch, her heart kicking into overdrive as she instinctively hit the ground. She scrambled behind a metal shipping container, breath catching in her throat.

Her eyes darted around, scanning for movement in the dark.

Batman was already moving, a shadow in the chaos. His silhouette darted between pillars and crates with the precision of a predator, taking down one of Falcone’s men in a blur of fists and speed. It was over in seconds—no hesitation, no mercy.

Marie's heart pounded in her ears, her body still pressed against the cold concrete as she watched the brutality unfold. The man went down hard, Batman’s gloved hand wrapping around his throat, lifting him off his feet before slamming him into the ground with bone-jarring force.

Marie’s eyes flicked to the remaining attackers. Her breath quickened, but her mind was clear—this was her moment. She was fast, moving with a fluidity that matched Batman’s, closing the gap between herself and one of the thugs. A quick sidestep, then her boot slammed into the man’s ribs, sending him crashing into a stack of crates. He hit the ground hard, gasping for air as she pinned him down, her knee in his back, her hand already grabbing for his cuffs.

But then, she heard it—a scuff of boots, the rustle of bodies shifting, and she froze, a cold chill running down her spine. More of Falcone’s men were closing in, their guns raised, their eyes cold and intent. But it wasn’t the thugs that made her blood run cold—it was the cop.

Standing just beyond the edge of the shadows, a low-ranking officer from her precinct was with them. The realization hit her like a gut punch, and she swore under her breath. How long had this been going on?

Her fists clenched. The anger, the betrayal—it all swelled inside her. Her eyes locked on the officer, but before she could move, a voice sliced through the tension like a blade.

“Detective Manning.”

The words were smooth, too polished—like a man who had lived in power long enough to know he had everyone exactly where he wanted them. Marie’s stomach turned as the figure stepped into the dim light. Carmine Falcone, his expression unreadable, his gaze cold and calculating.

“I didn’t realize you’d moved up from catching petty thieves to playing with the big dogs.” His smile was thin, his voice a velvet-coated threat. “You looking to make a deal?”

Marie’s jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around her gun. The disgust was palpable, but she didn’t flinch. “I’m not here to make deals with you, Falcone. I’m here to bring you down.”

Falcone chuckled, a sound that didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze flicked to his men, a subtle gesture that said Don’t move. “And what makes you think that’s going to happen, Detective?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Marie held his gaze, her fingers twitching near her holster, but her body was too exposed—no cover, no room to move. She needed him to make a move first.

“You’re a sharp one,” Falcone continued, his voice thick with menace. He took a step closer, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete. “I’ve been keeping tabs on all the detectives in this precinct. You think I wouldn’t notice the ones with potential? The ones with... drive?” He let the words hang in the air like smoke, then smirked. “I know all about you, Marie Manning. Know where you live. That shithole apartment near the Narrows—hell, I wouldn’t even let my men live there. But I could get you out. Get you into a penthouse. You wouldn’t have to deal with the roaches, the mold, or the constant sound of sirens. Just think about it. A beautiful woman like you deserves better than that.”

His words hit her like a slap to the face, but she didn’t let it show. Her fists clenched tighter, fighting back the urge to throw herself at him, to end this once and for all.

Falcone’s smile deepened, as if he could see the rage flickering in her eyes. “All it takes is a little... compromise. A little understanding of how things work around here.”

Marie didn’t move. She didn’t flinch. “I’m not here to make deals with you, Falcone. I’m here to take you down.”

Falcone’s chuckle was cold, humorless. His gaze shifted toward his men, and with a flick of his wrist, he signaled them to move. “You don’t have to make this difficult. My offer’s still on the table. Think about it.” His tone was silk, smooth and persuasive.

Marie’s voice didn’t waver. “You’ll be behind bars, Falcone. Sooner than you think.”

For a long beat, Falcone didn’t respond. He studied her, weighing her words. Then, with a dismissive flick of his wrist, he turned, his coat billowing out as he signaled for his men to follow.

“We’ll see about that, Detective.” His voice was soft, final. And then, just as quickly as they had come, they melted into the shadows, disappearing as effortlessly as smoke.

The noise of the retreating footsteps faded, but the tension in the air lingered like static. Batman stepped out from his cover, his gaze sharp as it scanned the room. He walked toward her, his movements purposeful, his presence a quiet force.

Batman emerged from his cover, his eyes scanning the room, assessing the damage, the threats that had been neutralized. Then, his gaze landed on her, something flickering in his dark eyes.

“You did well,” he said, his voice softer than usual, though the weight of his words held a quiet admiration. “Not many would turn down a bribe like that.”

Marie exhaled slowly, trying to steady her heartbeat. “It’s not about the money. This city’s fucked up, and I’m not letting it stay that way.” Her voice was dry, the humor forced. “Though, I wouldn’t mind getting paid to get out of my hellhole of an apartment.”

Batman’s eyes softened ever so slightly behind his cowl, something human there that wasn’t often visible. “You’re one of the few I trust in this city,” he said quietly. “That’s not something I say lightly.”

Marie didn’t know how to respond to that, so she just nodded, her breath still unsteady. She bent down, her hands on her knees, trying to regain control of herself. “Fuck those assholes,” she muttered, her voice low but resolute.

Batman caught the tail end of her words, and for a moment, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the familiar grim expression.

“We need to keep moving,” he said, his tone shifting back to business. “Falcone’s not done yet.”

Marie didn’t answer. She simply followed him, her footsteps heavy but steady, the weight of the city pressing down on her. As they stepped into the rain, the downpour relentless as always, it felt—somehow—not as suffocating as it had before.

—-------------------------------

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a cold, silver light over the abandoned building. The structure, once bustling with life, now stood in a state of decay, its windows shattered, the walls tagged with graffiti like some forgotten relic of Gotham’s dark side.

Marie and Batman stood at the entrance, their silhouettes framed by the broken structure. The wind howled, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city—a muffled cacophony of sirens and traffic. They had agreed to meet here, following whispers of the building being a hideout for one of Gotham’s elusive crime syndicates. But the truth remained shrouded in darkness, just like the city itself.

The quiet was almost eerie, the kind of silence that weighed heavily on the soul, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the leaky ceiling above. Marie and Batman moved through the rubble-strewn entrance with practiced caution, scanning for any signs of danger.

As Batman's eyes swept the darkened space, his posture rigid, Marie couldn't help but glance at him. The way he moved, the way he seemed to exist in a constant state of alertness—it was both fascinating and unnerving. She had worked with him for over a week now, and yet, there was always something new about him she hadn’t quite figured out.

The silence between them stretched, thick and oppressive, before Marie finally spoke, her voice cutting through the stillness. “Do you ever get tired of this?” she asked, her tone casual, but with an underlying sincerity. “I mean, Gotham’s corruption and crime—it’s like a never-ending battle. Does it ever wear you down?”

Batman didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the shadows that clung to the building’s dark corners, his mind focused entirely on the mission. But his voice, when it came, was rough, thoughtful. “It’s hard to avoid the fatigue,” he admitted, his words hanging in the air between them. “But knowing that every action, every investigation might lead to something—might lead to a breakthrough—that’s what keeps me going. Gotham’s problems aren’t solved overnight, but every small victory makes a difference.”

Marie nodded slowly, her hands tucked deep into the pockets of her blazer, her gaze momentarily drifting across the room. “I get that. I’m still new to the homicide division, but even in my short time, it feels like the deeper I dig, the more layers of filth I uncover. It’s fucked up.”

Batman’s jaw tightened slightly at her words, but his voice softened, an unexpected empathy in his tone. “I’ve been at this for years,” he said, almost to himself. “There are moments when it feels like nothing’s changing, like I’m just hitting brick walls. But... there are small victories. And they make it feel worth it. Even when it’s hard to see the bigger picture.”

Marie glanced over at him, her expression softening. She studied his profile, trying to understand him in a way she hadn’t before. There was something raw in his voice, something unguarded that wasn’t typical of the Batman she knew. And for a moment, she wondered how often he let anyone see that side of him. How often he let himself feel anything at all.

“What made you decide to become... well, Batman?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could second-guess herself.

There was a long pause. Batman didn’t respond right away. His gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, as if her question had caught him off guard. But then, after a beat, his voice came again, quieter this time, almost hesitant. “It started with a personal loss,” he said, his words low, distant. “People I love were murdered when I was young.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and raw, and for a moment, Marie wasn’t sure what to say. She wanted to offer something, anything, but she knew there was nothing she could say that would take away the weight of what he had endured.

Instead, she gave him the gift of silence, walking alongside him as they moved deeper into the abandoned building. The quiet was comfortable now—an understanding passing between them. She didn’t push him to say more. She didn’t have to. She could feel the weight of his pain without him speaking it again.

After a few minutes, Batman continued, his voice just a little softer than before. “I vowed to prevent others from experiencing that kind of pain,” he said, the words thick with something Marie couldn’t quite place. “It became more than just revenge. It’s about making sure that no one else suffers the same way I did. I can’t change what happened, but I can do everything in my power to stop it from happening to someone else.”

Marie’s heart ached as she listened to him. She had always known that the Batman was driven by something deep and personal, but hearing him speak about it—hearing the honesty in his voice—struck her in a way she wasn’t expecting.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her voice soft with empathy. “I can imagine how hard that must have been.”

He didn’t reply right away, but she could feel the weight of his gaze, even without looking at him. His silence spoke volumes. He was letting her in, even if just a little. And that surprised her—because she didn’t expect someone like him to ever allow anyone that close.

“My father was a cop,” Marie said, trying to break the tension, her voice more tentative now. “He always told me the best way to fight corruption was to stand up to it—no matter how daunting it seemed. I didn’t get it back then. But now... I’m starting to understand.”

Batman’s head turned, just slightly, his gaze meeting hers for the briefest of moments. There was something in his eyes—something almost vulnerable—that made her feel like she wasn’t the only one carrying the weight of this fight.

“You’re doing more than you realize,” he said, his voice low but genuine. “It takes courage to stand against the tide, especially here. Gotham’s a tough place to fight for, but you’re doing it.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Marie’s lips, a little surprised by his words. “Thanks,” she replied, a bit breathless. “I guess we both have our reasons for doing what we do. Sometimes... it’s nice to know someone else understands the weight of it all.”

Batman nodded, his expression unreadable again as he turned his attention back to the shadows, but there was something different in the way he did it—more relaxed, less guarded. “We might come from different worlds,” he said, his voice carrying a rare warmth, “but we share a common goal.”

Marie watched him for a moment, her thoughts racing. She had always known he was different from the other people in Gotham, but there was something about him now—a depth, a sense of connection—that she hadn’t expected.

She wasn’t sure what it meant yet, but it was there. A bond. Something that went beyond just the job. And for once, Gotham didn’t feel quite as lonely.

The night stretched on as they continued their investigation, but the silence between them was no longer uncomfortable. It felt... connected. Like two people who, despite their differences, were slowly finding something they could share. And for Batman—perhaps for the first time in a long while—he didn’t feel so alone in the fight.

As Marie watched him, her gaze drifted to the silhouette of his figure—tall and imposing against the shadows. The black cowl that wrapped around his head was familiar by now, but tonight, there was something different in the way the light caught its edges.

The dark fabric seemed to blend seamlessly with the night, leaving only the sharp lines of his face visible beneath it. His jaw was strong, angular, a faint outline of stubble tracing its edge—something she noticed more when he wasn’t speaking, when the mask didn't conceal the small details that gave him a sense of humanity.

She could tell, even through the layers of his disguise, that his face was handsome. The sharpness of his features, the curve of his lips that rarely curved into anything resembling a smile—it was a face that could be considered beautiful, if only anyone could see it fully.

He didn’t show much of it, and she suspected that was on purpose. He’d rather remain an enigma than be scrutinized like everyone else in Gotham.

His jaw clenched as he surveyed the building, the muscle working beneath the dark fabric of his suit. Marie could feel the intensity of his focus, the way his every move seemed calculated, deliberate. There was something vulnerable in the way his lips pressed together—something more human than the mask let on.

Even now, as she looked at him, trying to catch a glimpse of the man beneath, she knew he wasn’t someone who allowed people to get close enough to truly see him. Yet, for a moment, she felt like she was standing just a little closer than before, like she was on the verge of discovering something hidden under the shadows.

—-------------------------------

Weeks had passed, and here they were again, back in the warehouse where they had their first official meeting. The rundown building had somehow become a strange refuge amid the chaos of Gotham’s endless night.

They hadn’t made a breakthrough on the case yet—not since their run-in with Falcone weeks ago. The answers felt just out of reach, every lead seeming to dry up before they could chase it down.

It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t even close to comfortable. But it was where they had to be. Marie was hunched over a stack of case files, her eyes bleary but determined. Her mind raced through the details, each piece of evidence trying to form a bigger picture.

The room was littered with empty coffee cups, a faint smell of dust and decay in the air, and the constant hum of frustration that echoed between them.

Marie took a break, grabbing the container of Chinese takeout she’d brought along. She pulled out the chopsticks with a sigh of relief, letting herself have a moment of indulgence in the midst of the madness. A small comfort in the chaos.

Batman, standing by the wall, watched her with a curiosity that almost surprised him. The way she settled into her own rhythm, how she made the mundane moments bearable—it was... unexpected.

“You’re doing well,” Batman said, his voice deep and cutting through the silence. “You’ve got a knack for cutting through the noise.”

Marie paused mid-bite, looking up at him. She took a thoughtful moment to chew a dumpling before responding, her voice warm despite the exhaustion she wore like a second skin. “Thanks. Sometimes, I feel pretty useless here. I’ve made more progress with you than I could’ve on my own.”

Batman’s gaze flickered to the takeout container in her hands. His expression remained hidden beneath the cowl, but there was a certain curiosity in the way he regarded her. “Is that takeout?”

Marie’s lips curved into a small, amused grin. “Yep. It’s my survival food. You don’t eat, do you?”

Batman tilted his head slightly, considering the question. There was a moment of silence before he answered, a hint of something almost resembling amusement behind the mask. “I do. But not on stakeouts.”

Marie laughed softly, her weariness forgotten for a moment. She popped another dumpling in her mouth and then leaned back, stretching her tired arms. “You know, I was just thinking—what does a bat eat anyway? Must be a pretty weird diet. Bugs?”

Batman’s posture shifted ever so slightly. For a split second, he considered the question before giving a dry, almost amused response. “Not bugs. Mostly protein bars and coffee.”

Marie blinked in surprise, the smallest smile curling at the corner of her lips. She wasn’t sure why, but hearing Batman share even the smallest bit of personal information felt like a breakthrough. She knew nothing about him—his name, his life, who he really was under the mask—but now she knew his snack preferences. It was something. It was a start.

“That’s a diet fit for a superhero. No wonder you’re always so serious,” she teased, a playful tone creeping into her voice.

Batman didn’t respond right away. He seemed to contemplate her words before offering his usual reply. “Seriousness is part of the job.”

Marie shook her head, rolling her eyes, though the smile never left her face. “And eating takeout is part of mine. We all have our quirks.”

For a moment, Batman’s gaze softened—just slightly. A hint of amusement flickered behind the dark mask, the edge of his lips pulling upwards for the briefest of moments.

“Glad you’re finding a way to stay sane through all this,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost like he was letting his guard down just a fraction.

Marie looked up at him, her eyes meeting his—she couldn’t see the full depth of what was behind the mask, but for the first time, she felt like she was seeing a little more of the man underneath. “Same to you. We’re both making it work.”

The quiet hum of the warehouse, the flickering lights, the cold air that pressed in from the cracked windows—it all faded into the background for a moment. It wasn’t the case they were working on. It wasn’t the city they were fighting for. It was just them, two people sharing an unlikely, quiet moment in the chaos.

And somehow, that made all the difference.

Batman gave a slight nod, as if acknowledging something unspoken between them, before turning his attention back to the task at hand. The air still hung heavy with tension, but the brief connection they shared lingered, an invisible thread drawing them just a little closer than before.

As they continued their work, the sense of camaraderie between them felt more solid—more real. Something was starting to change. Something was beginning to grow.

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sourbinnie · 2 years ago

Text

title -> tocarte genre -> mafia!au + smut pair -> mafia!skz x gn!reader plot -> a day in the life of (y/n) dealing with their 8 lovers. warnings -> explicit sexual content (minors dni!) + blood + explicit drug use + smoking lowercase intended

valiente o gallina

a gun pointed right at me would've been a scarier experience if this guy knew what he was getting himself into. from behind i could see a shadow walking and i knew that figure too well so i decided to walk away and take my chances on this idiot who even dared try and attack me.

"looks like we're done here." the shadow with the deep voice said and fired his gun to the imbecile from earlier. felix wiped away the blood that splashed around in his clothes and looked at me, looking for any signs of terror in my face but there was none. "you got too used to this kind of life huh?" he asked as he lit up his cigarette and i just shrugged.

"i don't really care anymore, what can i say?" i said honestly as i looked at him, his freckles shining in the moonlight. he was tired but didn't seem to show it with his attitude but i knew him all too well. i leaned in as he dropped his cig to the dusty pavement. he grabbed my chin and planted a kiss on my lips as i savoured the smokiness and the bitter taste that he had.

la bolsa o la vida

as soon as i got there, they were coming back. bags of cash dropping on the table as they completed another successful deal with the other "business". jeongin dropped down next to me as his hand found it's way to my legs and squeezed my thigh. i just bit my lip 'cause he was so careless when he wanted something from me but did not give a shit if we were in public or not.

"god did i miss you." he whispered in my ear as soon as he got close to me. i decided to sit on his lap even if there was plenty of space in our couch. "wow when did my babe get so bold?" he said as i let his hands travel around my waist.

"taught from the best i guess." i said and laughed as i could tell he was impatient. evidence was found when i could feel his hard on poking at me as i let out a moan that didn't catch anyone's attention in the room except his which is the only i wanted. this was gonna be a long night.

picar medicina

"slow down baby." he said but i didn't. i went all in as i grabbed my card and piled the line up to go right through my nose. a nosebleed surely popped and made it's way down to stain the carpet, dripping red and i just laughed as everything was suddenly blurry and i felt so dizzy. "god you're insane but i love you." hyunjin said as he wiped away the blood and laid me down in his lap.

"you're so pretty jinnie, i want a taste of you." i said and he just laughed as he looked at me dearly, with those caring eyes of his. i knew i was just his the moment he looked at me that way. "jinnie i can't feel my face." i said as i touched my cheeks where he would place a kiss and the sensation would go right through my whole body as i tried to compose myself, it was just a kiss.

"it will pass, don't worry baby." he said, his hands tangling themselves in my hair as he removed some of the locks from my face and then i would feel his lips on mine. the only thing i could feel right at that moment was love.

chupar golosina

"stop doing that, i need to concentrate." jisung exclaimed but i wouldn't listen. i had found a lollipop and i was gonna use it for evil and he was the easiest to tease. i would twirl it around my tongue to then suck it all up again slowly and then rapidly. making the most obscene noises while at it but never losing my eyes that were meeting him (and his bulge forming in his pants).

"sungie please." i said as my hand traveled to my heated core but that's when i felt him stop me as he got up and put my hands behind my back. he actually did attach them with his work tie and laughed at me as i pleaded with my eyes and pouted.

"don't give me those eyes baby and make yourself useful." he said as his hand went to his belt and then his zipper, making me bite my lip and wait as my knees got easily bruised in the carpet. "look at you, gonna take your punishment so well baby."

perder la partida

the concentration on his face was something that i loved. he was in pure game mode and i just saw how the guys around the table were looking for a solution to not lose the last match but nothing was going through their brains. i just smiled knowing he was victorious again 'cause if there was something that turned me on was seeing him with that winner smile on his face.

"my lucky charm." changbin said to me as he kissed me in front of everyone and laid down his cards. just as i predicted, he was on top once again and the rest of the guys just looked in disbelief. "now get the fuck out of my house." he said with a little smile as he pointed at the door.

as soon as everyone was out, i was on top of him once again and he squeezed me like i was gonna get out of his grip but in reality there was nowhere else i'd rather be. my legs tangling themselves in his waist as he lifted me up and pinned me against the wall. a long lasting kiss that i wish would never end.

beber tu saliva

"on your knees now." minho muttered as he left all his papers aside and his smirk started to grow on his face as he saw how obedient i was all of the sudden. "good girl/boy." he chuckled and looked at me, i must've looked pathetic just how he liked it.

"what do i do now, mister?" i fired back but not in a mocking way, he loved that nickname way too much. no shame though 'cause i loved making him feel good and if it meant indulging myself into his kinky world then so be it. he signaled something with his fingers, it was for me to look at him in the eye and not the floor anymore. as i did, he whispered.

"open your mouth baby." i followed the instructions and heard a noise coming from him, spit fell into my mouth and down my chin as well. "swallow now love." he said and i swallowed the saliva and wiped my chin to then lick it. "god you're a travesty baby."

jugarme la vida

i sat him down as if he didn't have one of the biggest wounds i've ever had to tend. everything was calm, the silence was comforting and it didn't feel odd to be digging through this much blood. i silently took care of him as i grabbed the bandages from the drawer and slowly wrapped his arm up as i couldn't stop looking at him shirtless. he got so big since i first met him, no doubt hitting up the gym more than he used to.

"you're looking again." he said firmly and i just nodded at his words, completely lost in his body and then his face as he got close to mine and closed the gap between us. he bit my lip and i let out an embarrassing moan that i could not believe escaped me. "you're so easy but i think i like that." seungmin said.

"the easiest one for you if that's what you like." i mumbled as i laid my head down on his shoulder. he just smiled, meeting me for another kiss that i would easily give in.

buscarme la ruina

at the end of the day i knew he was looking for me. if it wasn't for him i wouldn't be here in the first place and i was grateful he introduced me to this life, as fucked up and not easy as it is, i couldn't ask for better company. my hands tied behind my back as i entered his office, a red bow adorning them. my clothes drastically changed into something a little bit more out there, as if i was ready to be ate by my prey.

"good evening (y/n) shall we begin?" chan said as he got up and i nodded slowly but i knew exactly what he was going to say after i did that. "i wanna hear you baby, speak up." he said standing in front of me as i fell to my knees and responded.

"yes master." and that brought out a smile on his face as he lifted up my chin and made me look at him. all i could see in his eyes was my reflection and the desire that was bursting within him to have me his way.

i couldn't be in a better place.

#stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids drabbles #skz au #skz aus #skz smut #skz x reader #skz drabbles #skz scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #skz songfics #sourbinnie #skz mafia au #skz short imagines #scenarios stray kids

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paingoes · 5 months ago

Text

Crash Out

Nimrod I

see attached graphic here :)

(Content: royal whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, immortal whumper, blood, stabbing, a gun, death?, drugs, paranoia)

The whole planet was an experiment. They really weren’t supposed to be there. It was ecologically irresponsible. Her curiosity was too piqued to just drive by it, though. The conservancy didn’t have the budget to secure the entire perimeter; it was too easy to get inside.

The climate was held in permanent stasis. The whole environment was in permanent stasis. The displaced grass quickly replaced itself. The daisies sprung up again wherever they were plucked. The energy that went into maintaining the project was extravagant. By her own estimate, Lorelai guessed it wouldn’t last another year before shutting down. Then the rock would be barren again. The thought helped her to justify the breach; nothing like it would ever exist again.

The ship was tucked safely beneath the treeline, obscured from any drones. They were halfway in between it and the hot springs — deathly heat, the kind that’d melt all your skin off if you ever dipped into its waters. She’d skirted the edge of it nonetheless. Her dress was damp at the edges. The sky was still bright.

She was taking notes in the field journal, the same one she’d saved from her school days. She wished she could send the revised version back to her advisor, but that would raise more questions than it was worth. She was content saving it for her own personal record. She glanced up at Paris, who was visibly disinterested in the experiment. He yanked out the grass and the flowers restlessly, watching as they were regrown each time. He ripped out one dandelion over and over again, tying all of its clones into a chain. He had the start of a crown in his lap.

“Who taught you how to do that?” Lorelai asked, her voice heavy with suspicion. No other girls, yeah, totally.

Paris looked up guiltily. “…My mom?”

She shrugged and looked back out to the horizon. Four legged and horned creatures with legs taller than her entire body walked about the tall grass. Slow-moving. Easy. She wondered if the regenerative effect would work the same on the animals. She readjusted the shotgun on her back, hearing it thud against the soil.

“Is it weird that I want to go hunting? My dad offered all the time when I was little, but I always said no. I should’ve.”

“What, you have a taste for it now?” Paris asked.

He was joking, but he’d been dangerously close to the truth. She thought of death a lot — death and violence. All her childhood, she had dreamed of the things she did not see. By now, that gap had been closed with no abstraction. She was on the other side of it – and she wanted to be good. She wanted to see that she still had control of it, to make sure she could roll it around in her fingers and see it without flinching. Without crying afterwards.

Not that she herself was violent. Never sadistic. Two bullets straight through the heart. She could not have been more efficient. She kept thinking about CTRL.

“Little bit.” She smiled and adjusted her hat to cast a shadow over her face.

“I don’t know how to close it.” Paris looked down at the long chain of flowers in his hand.

“Just knot it?” She took it from him, trying to knot the stems together. They were weirdly slippery.

“Fuck,” she said.

His laugh cut off mid-breath. He had straightened up so abruptly that made her flinch, his expression turning deathly serious. His eyes were set on the forest, each line of his body drawn in sharp tension. She looked over. A figure was emerging slowly from among the rows of trees.

“Warden?” She raised an eyebrow. They’d been surprisingly good at not running in with the law, all things considered. You don’t break the law while breaking the law, as the old adage goes. Even a minor trespassing charge would be major trouble just as soon as the cops realized who they were dealing with. They’d have to flee.

Paris didn’t even hear her. His hand slowly withdrew the sword from its sheath. Her eyes widened at the escalation. But when she looked back to the figure, she realized why.

Two long braids, two leather gloves, pacing unbidden and unhurried. Lorelai recognized her from her gait more than anything else. The girl from the show – many, many shows back. The one who’d gotten her torso slashed through and the one who’d been walking around again straight after. The one who had waved goodbye at them so unselfconsciously, without any finality at all. The bounty hunter.

Mechanically, Lorelai slid the gun off her back. She aimed it square at Johanna’s heart.

“Do you want me to take the shot?” She asked Paris. He looked at her with his brow furrowed, no doubt remembering last time. It would not be like last time.

“I said I’d do it.”

It was almost hysterical how slow the threat was approaching. It had to be deliberate, Lorelai thought. Her way of drawing him out. And he did move out. Lorelai scooted back some, putting space between herself and the coming carnage.

“Hi-i-i.” The voice rose and fell strangely. Close enough to see the whites of her eyes, then to see them winking. She was unarmed again. What did she expect, really?

It wasn’t immediate, to be fair. Johanna danced away from the first lunge, her boots treading surprisingly lightly against the soil. She did a needlessly showy back handspring, inverting the pursuit, drawing him in closer. Cartwheel — meaningless. Even from a distance, Lorelai saw Paris’s nose wrinkle in disgust at the frivolity of it all. He cleared the distance between them and stabbed her through the heart, just as gracefully as if it’d been a drill.

Johanna fell like a play actor. The sword was briefly the only thing holding her up — and then it wasn’t. She crumbled into the grass without having landed a single hit.

The fall had not been very convincing, despite the grievousness of the injury spelling certain death. When he stepped closer to the body, she almost warned him to stay back, as though the dead hand would spring out and grab him like in a monster movie. He too wavered before he touched her. But when he felt at her wrist, he shook his head. Dead.

Lorelai felt it too. There was no pulse in her arm or in her throat, not even a faint one. Dead.

Johanna was still smiling when they turned her limp body over.

=======

Old Fort Kroll - stabbed through heart - seven days to reappear

Aloquois - multiple bullet wounds - four days to reappear. paris got lightly stabbed.

Mercollie - punched in face, not downed - two days to reappear. broke my nail.

Gilynigh - stabbed through heart and neck

two weeks of absence

=======

Paris felt his hair stand on end only seconds before the blow came; she must have been moving very quickly to trip up his alarm like that. Not that he’d seen it. The first he saw of her, he was already on the ground, just glimpsing the worn leather of her boots. He rolled forward, pushing back with the hard side of his forearm when she tried to kick him back down. She was briefly off-balance – not enough to fall completely, but it gave him enough space to stand. He could draw the sword again.

She was holding a chain.

He gave a short, choked laugh. The joke was lost on her. There wasn’t any time to explain it.

It was a common enough weapon, but unsophisticated enough that he’d never been taught to fight against it. The closest thing he’d fought was the net. In that case, he needed to have the advantage of proximity. His body desperately resisted this, having a deep instinctual urge to get far away from her. He suppressed it.

She dodged just the same way she had the first time, neatly dancing aside. She pushed him back with surprising torque, but she’d had to expose her arm to do it. The blade drew blood. She seemed excited by it.

“Your H-i-i-i-ghness,” her breath was all sing-song. Her veins twitched right beneath the skin, squirming around like worms, “You always fight the same.”

A little frown, like she was bored of him. He was fucking exhausted of her.

The chain came down fast and hard over his weapon hand. The impact of steel on his knuckles alone would’ve made him lose his grip, even if she hadn’t yanked the chain back. His own fingers slipped out before they could be broken, but the shock of pain had made them useless.

She was happy to let the sword clatter to the ground rather than keep it, so she still had one weapon instead of having an offhand. It was still unfavorable. Even if she was unarmed, it was still unfavorable. They hit with the same amount of force. Her injuries would heal before the bout had even ended; his wouldn’t.

She must’ve thought he’d be easier to handle if he was on the ground, because that’s where she kept forcing him.

She was on top of him again, trying to pin him down by the shoulders. He guessed he should count himself lucky that she was only trying to subdue him, not actually hurt him, but she was quickly learning she could not do the one without the other. He thrashed around too much, ready to injure himself against the restraints if she was too slow to do it herself. It was a bloody business.

It was interrupted as one heel cracked straight into the side of Johanna’s head. He rolled out from under her, using the chain to garrote her. It was only partly successful; she’d managed to slip a few fingers in to protect her neck. Lorelai watched just a few feet away, blood on her shoes. She had the gun on her, but it was no use with their bodies intertwined so close.

Johanna slammed the back of her skull into Paris’s face. He had to release her to avoid repeated impact. Enough distance was created. Lorelai pistol-whipped her.

Paris moved for the sword again. Johanna growled. Lorelai waved him back. He listened; his nerves were spent. Johanna somersaulted back onto her feet, pushing herself up.

“Who are you again?” She squinted at Lorelai, her arms held out with a gymnast’s posture.

“Back up.” Lorelai leveled the gun. “Don’t follow us.”

“You look expensive!” Johanna replied.

Lorelai must have interpreted the hands up for surrender, which Paris never would have. She got into the ship without firing, but without ever losing her target. Johanna folded her arms, looking very annoyed as the ship pulled away.

Paris pressed the already bloodied handkerchief tight against his nose — not broken this time. Just painful. He felt the blood in his throat when he spoke.

“Don’t get involved,” he said.

Lorelai’s eyes shifted right, “If I didn’t get involved, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“No I wouldn’t,” he shook his head, then it made him dizzy, so he stopped, “She isn’t trying to kill me. There’s nothing stopping her with you, though. I don’t want you in the middle of it.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that.”

=======

Drea - hand cut off, not downed - three days to reappear

Epsilon-55 - shot in head - seven days to reappear

Baleen - false alarm - paris cut himself :(

Perseye - shot through chest - ten days to reappear. burnt my fingers.

Lutal - stabbed in heart and stomach - five days to reappear. not doing well.

======

Paris was falling apart. He was trying not to show it, but the anxiety revealed itself in each twitch of his fingers, each jump at sudden sounds, each flinch at sudden movements. His hands moved up to protect his chest whenever Lorelai so much as reached into the backseat too quickly.

He had been paranoid before. It seemed impossible that he could get any worse. Apparently, that assessment was premature. The knot of tension was so tight in his body that Lorelai was sure he would drop dead of fear before anyone else ever got their turn with him. Maybe that would have been a mercy.

She supposed she could understand. She too was always waiting for the eruption, even if her body didn’t bear the marks of it. She only slept while he kept vigil. When she awoke, he still kept vigil. She guessed it had been days since he last slept.

Out on the motel balcony, she found him with the pills in his hand.

“Don’t take that,” she said tiredly.

“Fuuuuuuck you????” He’d already taken it. He looked at her crookedly, red-eyed. His neck was bleeding through the bandage, though he hadn’t noticed yet.

“You are too wound up to be taking meth pills. Your heart’s gonna stop.” She almost begged him. He did not need to be tweaking any harder than he already was.

“It’s not meth.”

“Then what is it?” She hoped against hope it was some kind of downer, anything to cool him out some.

“I don’t know, but it sure as shit wasn’t meth,” he laughed.

A car alarm went off in the parking lot. He jumped so bad he knocked the side table over, breaking glass onto the balcony, spilling the cigarette ash. A thin cut appeared on his calf. He took a deep breath.

Paris freaked out. He said he’d earned it. Truth be told, she was surprised it had taken this long. She didn’t see the meltdown, but she could hear it through the open window. It amazed her just how long it could go on. How long he could sustain the yelling. How much he could find to break. The abruptness with which it stopped.

He came back in out of breath, ready to leave again.

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

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randomthefox · 27 days ago

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Actually now that I think about it (something these movies really don't want you to be doing) even the opening scene of the movie doesn't make any sense at all.

The movie opens on Prison Island with Shadow stirring from his sleep in his capsule, which the guards watching him freak out about and hit an alarm button which summons a squadron of soldiers to arm themselves with rifles and run in and point their guns all at Shadow. Shadow then breaks out of his tube and beats them all up before escaping.

But. Why? To any of that?

Why would the guards react like that to Shadow twitching in his tube? They react with shock and fear. But why? What were they told about Shadow and his capabilities? What reason were they given to think him even so much as fidgeting in the capsule was a pants shittening worthy response?

Why was the emergency response to have a squad of soldiers run in with rifles to point at Shadow prepared to fire upon him the instant he starts moving? Why would that be their response to the alarm going off? Why would that be what they were drilled to do?

Why would Shadow's reaction upon waking up be to break out of his capsule and start putting the beat down on everybody he sees in front of him? Why would that be the instant and instinctive response to waking up from a dead sleep? Why would he assume everybody in the room was a hostile enemy to be dispatched? How would he even know HOW to dispatch them all?

Seriously. Think about it. Use your brain (something the movie doesn't want you to do) and remember how all the flashback scenes in the movie depicted Shadow, his life in the secret military base, and the ultimate result of his incarceration. Remember how they went? Think about it. And then I want a sincere answer. Why did anything in the opening scene happen?

Shadow was found and taken in by the secret military base the instant he landed on the planet, and by all appearances he was compliant and obedient. He went along with all the experiments done on him, from harnessing his chaos energy to putting little medical sensor stickies all over his body and analyzing his life signs. We NEVER see ANY scene depicting Shadow being put through any kind of combat training or tests. We never see Shadow resisting against the scientists or soldiers in the base. Even when they flee from the facility when Maria is killed, Shadow just runs away with Maria and Gerald and never engages with anyone or anything in combat. And after Maria is killed he's just shoved into a tube with a cattle prod and just sits there, not resisting at all. And then when he's put in the goop and put to sleep, he just glares angrily but doesn't bother trying to break out even though he obviously could considering he does.

How does Shadow even know how to fight at all? Why does he fight in the opening scene of the movie when he didn't fight anybody at any point including when he was being shoved into the goop in the tube?

Why did Commander Walters institute a response policy of immediate hostile aggression against Shadow if he is ever detected waking up from his coma? Walters knew Shadow personally from 50 years ago, knew Shadow was compliant and non-violent, and knew the reason Maria died was because of some trigger happy dipshit who he personally tried to restraint. Walters knows that Shadow was also cooperative when he was detained, and personally oversaw putting him in the sleep goop. He even says that he did so partially as a way of protecting Shadow. Shadow obviously wasn't happy about it since he glared at Walters as it was happening, but he still allowed it to happen without even trying to break out of the tube which he obviously could because he did. So why would Walters have his men trained to have such a hostile response to Shadow?

Walters was a lower rank back when he first threw Shadow in the goop sure. His hands were probably tied when it came to making that decision in the first place. But Walters rose the ranks and became the absolute unquestioned commander of GUN. (The movie wants us to forget that the 2nd movie established that GUN was only founded after the events in San Fransisco in the first movie, and now we're supposed to believe that GUN has been around since the 70s, because these movies are stupid and think you're stupid but for the sake of argument let's accept the change in the script that now says Walters was just some GUN lieutenant back in the 70s and rose in the ranks to become Commander). So now that he's in charge, why is he allowing the policy of Shadow Watch to be "if he moves fucking shoot him with a firing squad of a dozen men"? Walters knows that Shadow is harmless. Walters has no reason to think Shadow would be a danger to anybody, aside from knowing Shadow probably would still be very upset upon waking up.

Shouldn't the policy be that if Shadow so much as fidgets, he should be personally alerted to it immediately so he can roll on down there and deal with it personally? Why is the policy that Shadow should be surrounded with armed men prepared to fire? Why would Shadow wake up and bust out of the tube and start beating ass on everybody? How does Shadow even know how to fight at all? How does Shadow know how to teleport when he didn't or couldn't back in the 70s? If he could teleport the whole time then why did Maria even die in the first place when he could have simply teleported her and himself away? I'm getting off track.

It's crazy how literally from the VERY FIRST SCENE, this movie completely falls apart if you use your brain and actually think about it AT ALL. You literally have to be a drooling brain dead lobotomite to derive ANY enjoyment from this movie at all. Just shut up and watch the keys jingling. Look Shadow beat up the guys, isn't that so sick? Don't ask questions, don't think about how it doesn't make any sense why the character who is established as being sympathetic towards Shadow is also in charge and personally giving marching orders to all the soldiers who are trying to fight Shadow, and how based on Shadow's known history by that character him being treated as a dangerous hostile threat is completely nonsensical.

In Tokyo Shadow growls "why don't you just leave me alone?" at GUN. Hey, you know, that's a very good question. Why DON'T they just leave him alone? Why does GUN, as overseen by Commander Walters, view Shadow as such a dangerous entity that they feel compelled to roll down Shibuya with an entire squad including attack choppers and Humvees? Especially considering they consider Sonic to be a recruitable asset. Why would Walters of all people approve of this response to Shadow? Why would GUN consider Shadow dangerous and hostile whatsoever, when Walters knows first hand that Shadow has literally never been dangerous or hostile to anybody at any time ever?

Nothing in this movie makes any sense.

#sonic movie 3 #sonic movie 3 spoilers #sonic x shadow tokyo mission #sonic movie

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scaryman-fancam · 1 year ago

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REVENANT HEADCANONS - misc - How he handles his affection - implied violence/canon typical behavior - undefined reader relationship

- Revenant is by no means a romantic individual. You won’t be receiving flowers or chocolates, or many gifts at all for that matter. He won’t write you poems, he can’t write much about his feelings anyway. Instead his affection manifests in an obsessive way. His experience and skill set as a perfect murder bot come in handy when it comes to you. He follows you and watches oh so carefully, soaking in every detail of you, memorizing your body language. He teaches himself your patterns, your reactions. You are living, by no means entirely predictable, but he becomes so familiar that he *craves* your reactions and interactions, even if they’re anticipated. He’ll call you over, and internally screams at the bit of nervousness in your eyes as you approach him. You give a smile to mask your apprehension. You don’t look directly at his eyes, kind of to the side. *He anticipates all of it.* He’s so familiarized with your routine that every time you act out your mannerisms and personal social routine, it’s like a dopamine rush, if he still had that.

- He has a lot of trouble processing his feelings. He’s so used to being angry, programmed to channel that rage into violence and destruction. So used to his feelings ultimately ending in his hands bloodied, the thrill of his successful hunt coursing through his circuits, hardly even a disillusion of a man, only a horrible shadow of a beast. When he’s suddenly instead filled with a warm, fluttery feeling and a distinct thrum of infatuation, he copes the only way he knows how. He spends hours in the firing range, tearing targets apart with his bare hands (claws?) when the sound of bullets hitting the metal no longer satiates the feeling. The poor thing becomes overwhelmed, you have him in such a precarious situation. He is practically throwing a tantrum, reduced to thrashing and attacking the targets, the ground, screaming, clawing, overheating. It’s been so long since he’s been human, he can hardly remember how he coped with these feelings before.

- His tummy butterfly induced tantrums bleed out into the games as well, especially if you’re on his team. Ten times the merciless murderbot he normally is, if he weren’t restricted to guns and grenades, surely he’d tear straight into the enemy team with his bare hands, a brutish and carnivorous display of what he’d do to keep you his team alive. The games wouldn’t be aired live if he got to act out on what was nessecary to burn off the excitement of the feelings you gave him, but the second you’d congratulate him on wiping out that squad, with that sweet little twinkle in your eye, that sound of triumph, he��d need to do it all over again. He’d flick you on the forehead, or give you a shove as he walks past to a death box, “Too early to celebrate, skin suit. Still 5 more squads left.”

- He would often think about how you’re just a living flesh bag. The thought alone would excite him if it were anyone else, but this undeniable vulnerability and fragility of your being has him on edge. In the games he has to remind himself that you’re always a revive away if something happens. There’s a respawn beacon nearby, he can get you back. But outside the games? All of the lurking has become both his favorite pass time and his self proclaimed purpose. If he’s caught? “I’m keeping you safe, skin bag. Never know who’s lurking around the corner. After all, you didn’t see me coming, did you?”

#apex legends #implied violence #revenant #revenant apex legends #revenant headcanons #revenant x reader #canon typical violence

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mama-qwerty · 25 days ago

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Can you give an analysis between Shadow and Knuckles and how Sonic helped them and relate to their experiences? I feel they all suffer loss and but treat their grief differently.

On the surface, Shadow and Knuckles both seem very similar. They both are really focused in their goals, they both trusted and were used by a Robotnik, and they both kicked Sonic's butt the first time they interacted with him.

Knuckles knew who he was and where he came from, knew his family and his people, and was trying to live up to that ideal for the sake of his fallen tribe. He'd taken the quest and legacy of the entire echidna race onto his own shoulders, and did what he could to return the echidna's stolen honor. He'd sacrificed himself, his childhood, and his own happiness for that goal, because he knew he was the only one left to complete it.

Shadow, on the other hand, has no memory of his time before coming to Earth. Before he met Maria, he had no purpose, no goal, nothing to strive for because all he was was a lab rat for GUN's scientists. His days consisted of being hooked to monitors, subjected to experiments, and likely shoved back in his tube when he wasn't needed.

Knuckles lived his life constantly on the move. Searching for clues to the Master Emerald, being captured and forced to fight in arenas, and keeping ahead of the bounty hunters. Staying in one place didn't further his quest, and left him vulnerable to attack.

Shadow never knew life outside the facility. He stared at the same walls day in and day out. Maria eventually made things more bearable, but he was still trapped in this laboratory hell.

At his core, Knuckles always wanted a friend. He mentioned in the series that he was betrayed "again and again and again" when he tried making friends, but he still tries. He still has that kind heart, and no matter how many times he's hurt and betrayed, he will never let his heart grow cold. He'll be suspicious, sure, but he will (unfortunately) be more trusting than he likely should be.

Shadow has a hard time trusting, mostly because he had no reason to trust anyone to begin with. He was just a thing to the scientists. A creature to test and experiment on. No one tried to earn his trust, or treat him as anything but a novelty. Maybe at some point, even he saw himself as nothing but an object to study, and not really a person. Until Maria.

When Knuckles met Sonic, he'd been on his quest for the better part of his life. The excitement of finally, finally completing it likely overrode his instincts, as we saw him look unsure and questioning when Robotnik showed his true colors in a few scenes. Had he been thinking more clearly, he may have realized Robotnik's nature earlier on.

When Shadow met Sonic, he was dealing with the fresh grief and confusion of what had happened to Maria. The only things he new for sure was that GUN was the enemy, and his best friend was dead. He was trying to figure things out on his own, without the experience or knowledge to know what to do or where to go from there.

Sonic appealed to Knuckles by offering advice regarding hope for completing his quest. Knux was demoralized and feeling as though he'd failed not only himself, but his entire race by allowing Robotnik to get the Emerald.

"C'mon, Knucklehead, we're not beat yet." Sonic literally offered his hand in friendship, to help Knuckles complete the quest he was technically still on. Knux's driving force was his desire to get the ME and allow his people to finally rest in peace. He kept moving for all those years in their memory. To achieve what they couldn't.

Shadow was different. He didn't have an overarching goal, no driving quest that gave him focus. Shadow was dealing with so many emotions, and he'd had no one to guide him through such feelings before. Maria likely helped him back at the facility--as evidenced by the scene as they looked at the stars--but Shadow had never felt anything this big before. This heavy. This hard.

With Shadow, there was no concrete thing that would help him. Pain is all consuming. There is nothing that can be done to take it away. And because he had no idea who he was or what his purpose was before she died, now he was thrown into a complete tailspin with her gone. He was plunked into a big, confusing world and essentially had to figure it out all on his own, all while dealing with this giant hole in his heart.

Sonic offered his hand again, but this time it was in understanding. He knew the pain Shadow was going through. He knew how hard it was. He knew how confusing and scary it was to be on a planet you didn't know, suddenly faced with this prospect of being all alone and having to deal with everything by yourself.

And he knew what it felt like to lose the one person you loved above all others, practically right in front of you.

Knux may have lost everything the same day Sonic did, but Knuckles had something to focus on. Sonic didn't. Shadow doesn't. And it's possible that Knuckles hasn't fully worked through his grief yet. His quest for the ME took precedence, and he simply ignored those feelings of sadness as he did what he needed to not have let his tribe die in vain.

Sonic may have offered his hand and friendship to both Knuckles and Shadow, but the circumstances between them were different. Knuckles needed encouragement and help to finish his quest. Shadow needed someone who's been through this grief to tell him it's okay to feel sad. It's gonna hurt. And you can make bad choices, but that doesn't define who you are as a person. You can make good choices, too.

Sonic can't make Shadow feel better. But he can help Shadow feel better about being Shadow.

~~~

Check out my other Sonic 3 analysis posts

#ask me #sonic 3 #sonic 3 spoilers #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #knuckles the echidna

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ticklishfiend · 1 year ago

Text

Limitless Bond (Good Omens)

(Switch!Crowley/Switch!Aziraphale)

Summary : Aziraphale and Crowley have a tickle fight during their cute little movie night.

a/n : i’ve been aziracrow pilled there’s a worm in my brain screaming abt them at all times edit: reading this back i’ve realized i’ve never seen a single james bond film so take it with a grain of salt lmao

Word Count : 2892

hope u enjoy :D

. . .

Let’s do some math for a second.

Crowley and Aziraphale have been on Earth together for 6000 years. They’ve been in each other's lives as hundreds, thousands of human generations around them lived and died. And yet, only in the 4 years after the apocalypse did they dare truly bask in one another’s touch. In 0.00066667% of the time they’ve known each other, Aziraphale and Crowley taught themselves to be truly comfortable in one another’s presence, learning about each other in ways they never thought possible.

Try not to think too hard on the numbers. It’s quite difficult sometimes for humans to grasp an occult being’s concept of time. Time for angels and demons is so wildly different from anything a human could ever experience, and that is exactly what makes Aziraphale and Crowley’s love for each other so special and unique. Their time is limitless, so their love is limitless.

What a human can comprehend, however, is how infuriatingly frustrating their relationship must be considering the fact they refuse to actually talk about it. Non-humans are funny like that.

Why put it into words when they both know it’s there? Intrinsically, they feel it, they know it without a shadow of a doubt, and yet somehow they are both still too scared to talk. If they do, it’ll make it real. Their love could literally break down celestial systems incomprehensible to the human mind. Or it could just result in some nasty paperwork. Either way, both sound horrific, and are things the angel and demon are silently working together to avoid.

Whether they ever choose to talk about it or not, those 4 years were magic on Earth.

During that time, Crowley learned that Aziraphale’s hair might even be softer than his wings. Aziraphale learned scratching Crowley’s back when he’s sleepy makes the demon smile without knowing he’s moving a muscle. A demon taught an angel to love roughhousing, and an angel taught a demon the joys of a good cuddle.

But possibly their new favorite physical affection to take advantage of was one they learned together on a casual, cozy movie night.

Aziraphale grinned as Crowley strolled into the bedroom, “I’ve never seen that shirt before.”

Crowley pulled the shirt down to show it off, giving a little wiggle.“What, you don’t like Bond?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Aziraphale, “But I’ve never actually watched the titular James Bond films, so I can’t really say anything,” he said with a teasing tilt in his voice. He knew he’d get a reaction out of such a ghastly confession.

Crowley gaped, stuttering over incomplete words in shock, “Wha—you, you never—I mean—angel, that’s gotta be illegal. Seriously, if I phoned the FEDs right now they’d probably swarm in here guns-a blazing for your crimes,” Crowley shook his head, throwing himself onto the bed next to Aziraphale. “We’re watching it now, I don’t care. You’re lucky I got you this TV set up last month.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly, but didn’t argue. “You can’t be mad at me if it’s not my cup of tea. You know the kind of films I prefer, and I don’t think these fit the list.”

“No no you’ll love it. Got all that romantic filler your heavenly heart desires,” Crowley said, the TV turning on with a flick of his wrist as he settled comfortably against his angel.

They watched together in an easy silence, Aziraphale trying to really gather everything he could from a movie he knows Crowley loves so dearly. He’s not even sure which Bond movie they’re watching at the moment, but he assumes it’s Crowley’s favorite.

But during an intense shootout scene, Aziraphale does get a little bored. He’s always preferred scenes of great dialogue, heartfelt moments passing between characters. Right now he’s just seeing mediocre special effects and lots of screaming. He gets the appeal, sort of, but it’s just not his thing.

Crowley on the other hand was as tuned in as ever. Aziraphale smiled as he watched his friend’s intense expression, seeing Crowley suppress his excitement over a movie he knows he’s had to have seen dozens of times now.

His gaze wanders back down to Crowley’s torso, “Where did you get that shirt? Really, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it.”

Crowley blinked like snapping out of a trance, trying to look nonchalant as insecurity trickled over him. “Oh, this thing? M’not sure I recall,” he snuggled deeper into Aziraphale’s chest, “It’s my night shirt. Don’t wear it often.”

Aziraphale squinted. “You’re ‘not sure you recall’?”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, yellow eyes bearing into blue, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Aziraphale looked puzzled, shaking Crowley’s shoulder playfully and smiling at the hiss it produced, “Are you hiding something from me?”

“No, stop pestering me,” Crowley growled, but it was entirely unconvincing with that playful grin on his face. He faced the TV again as if his mind wasn’t completely on the angel holding him tight.

“You’re really not going to tell me?” Aziraphale giggled, “It can’t be that bad, darling, it’s just a t-shirt.”

Crowley groaned, hiding his face in Aziraphale’s chest, “Nooooo nonononono, I’m not talking,” he said, words muffled in Aziraphale’s silk pajamas.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows playfully, rubbing up and down Crowley’s back through the shirt in question. “You know, humans have this fun little game they play to make someone reveal funny secrets. I only wonder if it will actually work on a demon.”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale with a suspicious glare, “The hell are you talking about?”

Aziraphale said nothing, giving a nonchalant hum. Instead, he moved his hand down Crowley’s back towards his ribs, giving it a quick pinch.

Crowley squawked, arching away but getting caught in Aziraphale’s hold. He snapped a look Aziraphale’s way, “Do not.”

Aziraphale giggled in glee, wanting to clap his hands together but needing to hold Crowley close. “I wasn’t sure it would work!”

“Angel-“ Crowley growled.

“A ticklish demon. How silly~” Aziraphale sang, tickling into Crowley’s ribs without wasting any more time.

Crowley bit off a yelp, twisting in Aziraphale’s grip as if he was trying to get away (he wasn’t, but he’s allowed to play along). But Aziraphale kept pinching and prodding and finally Crowley just couldn’t hold back anymore, letting out a peal of giggles and laughs that had Aziraphale cooing.

“Nonononohohoho!” Crowley shook his head into Aziraphale’s chest, hiding his smile. His arm was a little stuck under Aziraphale’s back, so there wasn’t much else he could do.

“Saying no is what started this, dear,” Aziraphale smiled, bringing his other hand around to tickle into Crowley’s neck, relishing in how high-pitched those giggles became. “Goodness, how ticklish are you?”

“I don’t knohohow! Not tryna fihihind out-!” Crowley squeaked out the last word, finding out his ears are especially sensitive to perfectly manicured fingernails.

Crowley squirmed like a worm on a hook, pushing against Aziraphale without even meaning to, his head shaking back and forth like a protest to his giggles.

Aziraphale gasped, “Is this your first time being tickled, Crowley?”

“Stohohop!” Crowley guffawed, hardly taking in the angel’s words.

“I asked you a question,” he said simply, pinching at Crowley’s belly and watching Crowley’s feet kick the sheets.

“Fuhuhucker!” was all Crowley could get out.

“Oh alright,” Aziraphale reluctantly halted his attack, carding fingers through Crowley’s hair. “I said, was that your first time being tickled?”

Crowley huffed, pouting against Aziraphale’s chest and keeping his gaze on the TV. “You’re not even watching the movie.”

The angel chuckled lightly, giving Crowley’s head a tender kiss. “It’s a lovely movie, darling, but it’s hardly as interesting as this little discovery.”

Crowley grumbled, mumbling a response into the silk pajamas.

“What was that dear?”

Crowley lifted his head with a devious look on his face, “I said you’re a prick,” Crowley dug into Aziraphale’s sides, grinning wickedly at how wide his angel’s eyes became.

“AH! Cr-Crohohowley!” Aziraphale fell gracefully into his giggle fit, expelling his excess energy by gripping onto Crowley’s wrists.

“So I take it you’ve never been tickled either?” said Crowley as he wiggled into the angel’s ribs, biting his own cheek when Aziraphale threw his head back in laughter.

“Yehehes! I mean-! Nohoho, I-! Crohohowley plehehease!” Aziraphale never realized how difficult speaking could be when getting tickled. He truly learned something new every day with his dear demon. His mind was mush and all he could think about was how dreadfully ticklish he apparently was.

“Oh poor angel, thought he could get away with teasing a demon,” Crowley teased, poking sporadically across Aziraphale’s tummy and making the angel’s laughter grow. “Naaaah, now that I know your weakness I’m never lettin’ you live it down.”

Crowley crawled on top of Aziraphale, shoving his thumbs into his underarms. “NO! Nohoho Crohohowley! Bad snahahake!” Aziraphale teased even through his laughter, unabashedly having a great time.

“You having fun down there or somethin’?” Crowley chuckled.

“Yehehes!” Aziraphale squeaked, face turning pink from mirth.

Crowley shook his head fondly, not surprised in the slightest. But he could tell Aziraphale would probably appreciate some air soon, whether he actually needed it or not, and eased up. Not before giving his belly once last poke, of course, just to hear him yip.

Aziraphale giggled through his breath, hands resting on Crowley’s thighs. The demon couldn’t help blushing, but didn’t move.

“I never realized it felt like that,” Aziraphale said, a smile etched between his rosy cheeks. “I knew tickling was used as torture way back when, but my goodness.”

“Human vessels are a funny thing,” Crowley said, unsure of where to put his hands now that they weren’t being used as weapons. As if Aziraphale could tell, the angel gently took them in his own, laying their hands down on Crowley’s thighs.

They sat staring into each other's eyes for a while. It was such a comforting silence, one Crowley felt warm in. Why did Aziraphale always have to open his damn mouth-

“You’re quite ticklish on those ribs of yours,” Aziraphale shot a cheeky grin, eyebrows up like he’s being clever. Crowley groaned, looking up to the ceiling.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You never did tell me where you got that shirt from…?” Aziraphale said, slowly loosening his grip on Crowley’s hands before the demon squeezed back-

“I’ll end you.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m serious, angel. Death, discorporation, sooo much paperwork-“

“Was the shirt a former lover’s? Are you embarrassed, Crowley?” Aziraphale teased as he starting fighting Crowley’s grip, their hands now playing for dominance.

Crowley grunted, not shocked that Aziraphale was winning their little fight, “Grk, no! It’s…just…a secRET-!” He was cut off by a squeak as one perfectly manicured hand tore from his grasp and gripped onto his ribs, squeezing and pinching and tickling. Crowley collapsed forward in his squirmy laughter, hand still holding tight to one of Aziraphale’s.

“Oooh a secret, you say? Do tell me more,” Aziraphale finally fought his other hand free, now tickling up and down Crowley’s torso as the demon wiggled and laughed freely on top of him. His head was pressed firmly to Aziraphale’s chest, and my that just wouldn’t do anymore, now would it?

“You keep hiding your smile from me! It’s rather unfair, my face was on full display when you tickled me,” Aziraphale said before pushing Crowley to the other side of the mattress, tickling him the whole way down. He hovered over Crowley with a big grin.

“Ahahangel! This is stupihihid!” Crowley cackled, head turning this way and that like trying to hide his face in the sheets surrounding him.

“Was it stupid when you tickled me?” Aziraphale accused, pinching Crowley’s hips and smiling when he bucked and kicked.

“GAHAHAhaha-!” Crowley guffawed, finding words very hard at the moment. “Nohoho-! Was— fuhuhunny!”

“Oh Lord, now you’re just asking for it,” Aziraphale shot his hands up into Crowley’s armpits. It tickled like hell (Heaven? no, definitely hell) on himself, so maybe it’ll be the same for Crowley.

Crowley. Screamed.

Maybe scream is the wrong word. The sound that left Crowley was like a screech, a hurtle of pure loud noise that fell into cackles, squeals, and Aziraphale’s favorite, the snort. Oh what a sound it was. The angel would never forget it (and unfortunately, neither would the demon).

“Oh wow…” Aziraphale giggled at Crowley’s expense.

“Ahahangel-! I—shihihit-! I’ll tahahalk!” Crowley managed to get the words out through his laughter, a feat he wished he could be proud of. Aziraphale conceded even though he honestly really didn’t want to. Crowley looked so cute when he laughed, it was hard to quit.

Aziraphale drew his hands away, and Crowley took a moment to catch his breath. When the moment faded, he threw a pillow over his face and screamed into it quite dramatically. Aziraphale pulled it off and held it gently in his lap.

“You were telling me about the shirt?” Aziraphale said, scribbling a finger onto Crowley’s clothed tummy. Crowley batted it away with a hiss.

“Do you even actually care about the shirt or did you just want an excuse to torture me?” Crowley tried yanking the pillow back but found it held in an iron grip. He settled for crossing his arms instead.

Aziraphale took his hand. “If you really don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. I just thought a game would be fun,” Aziraphale handed him the pillow.

Crowley took it, raising an eyebrow, “So you were bored of the movie?”

Aziraphale winced. “…Meh?”

Crowley’s face pinched in frustration, “But it’s James ffffucking Bond! No one in the history of EVER has been bored by a James Bond movie, angel, you are literally setting records here!”

“I just prefer the softer films! You know, your…Pride And Prejudice types.”

“That’s one of your favorite books, that hardly counts.”

“It’s still a good film!”

“Okay okay, point stands though, that you only did all that to get out of watching my movie. You don’t actually care about the origins of my shirt at all, do you?” Even though his arms were already crossed, he made a little harumph motion with them, hand still holding Aziraphale’s gently. He turned his head away from Aziraphale, feigning anger. Crowley did love a petty argument every now and then.

“Oh come ooooonn,” Aziraphale shook Crowley by the shoulder with his free hand. Crowley said nothing. “Don’t be like this, you know how much I hate the silent treatment.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a pointed look that said ‘duh, why else do you think i’m pulling the silent treatment?’ before turning back around.

Aziraphale sighed playfully, “Whatever am I going to do without you to talk to…” He couldn’t hold back a cheeky grin as he pinched Crowley’s side, the demon flinching but still saying nothing. “Who will I complain to when my favorite books get turned into terrible films?”A few pokes to the belly, and Crowley’s knees shot up. “Who will teach me about the different plant life in London?” Three pinches to the ribs and he heard a stifled giggle as Crowley’s back arched away from his fingers.

Aziraphale let the moment hang in the air. He wanted Crowley to feel anticipation crawling up his spine. Aziraphale saw him squirm slightly into the sheets.

He quickly pinched up and down Crowley’s side, from his hip to his rib, the demon flinching hard with a keening giggle. He rolled over quickly, ticklish laughter spilling from him as he slapped at Aziraphale’s hands, feet digging into the mattress. “Okay okahahay! I gihive, you dihihick!”

Aziraphale pulled away for the final time, meaning it this time (well maybe, who knows with how playful they’ve both felt this evening). He laid on his back next to a sprawled out Crowley, putting his hand in his…friend’s.

They basked in each other’s presence for a little while, rubbing their thumbs over the skin of their hands, playing with each other’s fingers, once Crowley dared to tickle Aziraphale’s palm. But then the credits started to roll on the film and Crowley felt the need to confess.

“It was a convention.”

“Hm?”

Crowley laid his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder,“It was a, er…ngk,” he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, letting go of weird insecurities. “…a James Bond convention. They held one in London when those newer films came out. I’m a pretty big fan, you know that, so I popped by, made myself…known.” His confession was awkward but very real, and Aziraphale could tell that even as silly as it was, it did take something for Crowley to admit that. “Got a t-shirt while I was there, thought hell, why not, I’m here, the shirts here, probably made to be. So yeah. My new nightshirt.”

Aziraphale smiled so wholeheartedly at Crowley the demon was half-worried he’d pop something. “That’s so sweet, Crowley. I always knew you loved James Bond, but worthy enough to have the Anthony J. Crowley show up to his convention-?”

“Ohhhh bite me a new one, angel,” Crowley shook their intertwined fingers, getting even comfier against him. Aziraphale did the same, leaning into Crowley and wrapping an arm around his waist.

They didn’t talk about this when they woke from their nap. They didn’t need to. At least, they thought they didn’t need to. Their time has always been limitless. They thought their love always would be too.

. . .

a/n : ok im going to sleep goobyeee

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