#hit the floor reboot WHEN
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This is quite random sorry but has Dick ever acknowledge (or as close to it) that a lot of things that Bruce did to him are abusive? (this is for a fic I’m trying to write)
Yes and no!
Dick knows Bruce is an assholes and WILL yell at him to stop being an asshole, or at least he used to. Dick would call him out on his BS and wouldn't let him get away with a lot of things, but this was once upon a time, before they rebooted everything and erased decades of character development.
The closest he gets to that post reboot is after Forever Evil - everyone thinks Dick is dead, and Bruce wants people to keep thinking that, hence he forces Dick to join Spiral and become Agent 37.
Dick is, as you can imagine, not thrilled. He yells and fights and Bruce beats the everloving shit out of him in a very upsetting sequence, where Dick is half naked and Bruce is wearing most of his gear while he keeps hitting him to the point of leaving him bleeding on the floor of the Batcave.
Dick begs and tries to appeal to everything he can including the "things can never be the same between us after this", to which Bruce essentially replies that it's a sacrifice he's willing to make. Ha. I say that this is especially upsetting because Dick went through a horribly traumatic experience during the events of Forever Evil, in which among other things he was tortured by Thomas Wayne Jr AKA Owlman, who wanted to turn Dick into his own sidekick after losing his Talon.
The way Bruce beats and humiliates Dick is drawn in a way which creates a clear parallel between Thomas and Bruce's actions towards Dick, in a way that suggests they're "not that different after all", but this narratively goes nowhere and I don't get why they fuck they even came up with that. But anyway.
All of this gets forgotten soon enough. Despite his own warnings Dick forgives Bruce after a very short time, pines for home and tries to communicate with Bruce in any way he can because he "misses his dad", which to be honest made my guts churn and my bile rise after Bruce nearly beat him comatose.
Essentially the story forgets Bruce did all of that and so does Dick, but for the brief time Dick was allowed to be aware of it and angry about it, he was indeed aware that he was being abused even if he never used the word abuse.
This is the case for lots of stories in which similar instances happen, as I mentioned before especially pre-reboot. Dick does call Bruce out on his bullshit - especially if Bruce is being an abusive asshole to someone else, since Dick is way more prone to defend other people than he is to defend himself, like here
or here
But despite being obviously aware that there are issues in the way Bruce does things, to put it mildly, he never uses the word "abuse" (which is sort of a prohibited word for DC standards, kind of like "rape". They're way more likely to say non consensual than rape because it's a less upsetting word apparently).
There is an instance of this post reboot, and it's during a conversation Dick has with Tim. I believe it happens in the Pride comics of 2022, but I don't have the panels on hand at the moment. Basically Tim asks for advice on how to please Bruce, being the man demanding and prone to bad moods, and Dick flat out replies "I spent a very big part of my life trying to please him, and I left when I realized it was impossible" which to me is so interesting since it's the textbook reaction of a former Golden Child who fell from grace and became a Scapegoat (please note that tumblr's definition of Golden Child is completely arbitrary; golden child doesn't mean "good kid", it means a child who the parent holds to the highest standards, on which there are the biggest expectations and the strongest pressure regarding everything the child does. Sometimes a parent lives vicariously through them and perceives them as an extension of themselves, but not necessarily. If you watched Encanto, Isabella is the Golden Child of the family).
Something similar happens during Nightwing's run from the 90s.
Dick lives in Bludhaven and at this point he's gone essentially no-contact with Bruce. Tim, being the new Golden Child, is trying to reel Dick back into the toxic dynamic because he genuinely thinks it's going to be good for both Dick and Bruce.
I'm pointing this out not to fault Tim in any way, he's just a kid what does he know, but to show you that indeed yes, Dick is aware that he's been abused otherwise he wouldn't have left, he wouldn't be on a no talking basis with his parental figure, and he wouldn't reply to Tim that he spent so much time of his life deluding himself into thinking that Batman actually needed him.
Of course this also goes nowhere and their relationship isn't allowed to grow or heal (things are just conveniently forgotten after a while), but as I mentioned, Dick knows what's up.
That being said, I believe it's also worth noting that many many times Bruce abuses the fuck out of Dick and Dick doesn't really acknowledge it, just takes it. Sometimes he doesn't have the spoons to fight back, sometimes he thinks he deserves it, sometimes he just doesn't know how to react because Bruce strikes like an unprovoked viper (this happens especially when Dick was still a kid but already a Titan).
A very good example of this is what happens after Jason's death.
Bruce doesn't tell Dick that Jason died. When Alfred offers to let him know, Bruce says "I will handle it", and he doesn't. Then there's Jason's funeral and Bruce doesn't tell Dick about it, again Alfred offers to inform him, Bruce says he will handle it. He doesn't.
Eventually Dick finds out for collateral reasons and has an emotional breakdown in front of the other Titans, which are powerless to help him. For reference, this is how he reacts when he has definitive proof that the boy is undoubtedly gone, if there was any doubt that Dick did care about Jason.
So Dick goes to the grave with Kory but then decided to confront Bruce alone, and Bruce, in the abusive feat of the century, blames Dick for not having showed up to Jason's funeral, despite having refused to 1: tell him about Jason's death AT ALL, and 2: refused TWICE when Alfred very gently suggested to inform Dick.
Dick of course argues that he didn't know anything, and so Bruce reacts by gaslighting him, telling him they he never cared about Jason and in fact he was angry that Bruce adopted Jason and not him. Which is not true, Dick just wanted to know WHY Bruce adopted Jason and hot him. Oh and also punches him in the face when Dick tries to argue that Jason was an untrained kid. Please note that when all of this happens, Dick is hurt and can barely stand on his feet, having one of his legs in a cast.
Cherry on top, Bruce explicitly saying that he never should have had a partner and never will again, essentially "our partnership up to this point meant nothing".
In this instance Dick is too neck-deep in his own self guilt to see that he's been through a sequence of extremely abusive behavior, and never really faults Bruce for that, using the easy-coming rationalization that Bruce was in pain, suffering for Jason's death, couldn't see reason etc etc (quick PSA: someone suffering isn't entitled to abuse and gaslight anyone. And even if we really want to enable Bruce cut Bruce some slack because he was grieving, it doesn't make his behavior any less abusive. Regardless of the reasons why, the way he acts here is very damaging towards Dick who in turn did nothing to deserve it, and is grieving Jason too).
See, the problem with Dick and Bruce is the sysyphean nature of comicbooks. Dick is doomed to be the original Golden Child who falls from grace, becomes the Scapegoat, but ultimately can never be completely free of the clutches of the relationship he has and had with Bruce, for better or worse. And since he can't ever truly get out and can't ever completely be independent, the abuse end up getting downplayed. If Dick never truly gets away from Bruce it's because it's not that bad, isn't it? Nay, it's because Dick cant.
He is quite literally not allowed to, same as Bruce is not allowed to truly grow from his mistakes and learn to treat his former partner, sort-of-child and dear friend with the respect and love he actually feels for him, because despite all of this and because this is fiction, Bruce does love Dick more than it can be put into words and would set the world on fire for him. But, alas, he also is doomed to keep treating Dick like shit and never really learn from his mistakes.
So again, the answer to your question is yes and no.
Dick is aware of how much of a difficult person Bruce is. He's aware of the domineering aspects of his personality. But he will ultimately brush it off in the name of the good that there is and there was between them, and he will keep answering Batman's call every time, because he's not allowed to ever truly grow apart from him. It doesn't matter how much he gets angry and how much Bruce hurts him, they're indissolubly tied in this dynamic and unless there is a huge shift in the way DC execs handle things, I don't see how this dynamic can change in the foreseeable future. Sadly enough, because I'd really like to see something new.
#long post#I tried to be as exhaustive as I can but of course I missed TONS of other instances which could have been used as examples#I hope you can make use of my analysis anyway#good luck with your fic btw!#feel free to leave me a link for it once you're done - no pressure tho!#and thanks for asking ♥#my asks#my meta#Bruce Wayne#Dick Grayson#cw abuse in fiction
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Intoxicating Fear (Xiv)
Wake up call
Continued from // Masterpost
This one was a struggle, I’m not happy with the end of it, but… the first half is good enough
*~*~*~*~*
Kit woke in the middle of the night, his head on fire as if there was poison lacing through it. He lurched to the side of the bed, rolling over the damp sheets sweat clinging to his forehead and hair. He hit the ground on his hands and knees, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain and resting his forehead on the cool wooden floor of his bedroom.
He groaned, nausea climbing up his throat that he fought not to throw up. What would he even throw up? Bile? He hadn’t eaten anything all day.
Fuck… Kit let out another moan of pain, the terrible clanging pain of it quieting from the hammer on an anvil level pounding. Slowly, dreadfully slowly, Kit sat back on his hips, raising his head to try and sit vertically. He shivered as he set his shoulders against his bed frame, his sweat freezing on his skin, teeth chattering as he looked to his clock.
6.15 a.m.
He needed to get something, painkillers something, water— anything. He grabbed his shirt by the collar and yanked it up over his head, throwing it down beside him on the floor. It landed with a heavy wet slap, but Kit didn’t care. He did the same with his bottoms and pushed himself to his feet, his muscles aching as he walked to his wardrobe and grabbed some fresh pyjamas, pulling them on. Some fresh socks.
The house was almost expectant, eerie, as Kit opened his door and padded down the hall, hand on the railing as he took the stairs. As if the house had been woken with Kit’s nightmare or… something. It felt like he had eyes on him, but he didn’t care enough to investigate the shadows peeking at him in his mind.
He grabbed the painkillers, filled a glass with water and turned to walk back up the stairs. Rain pattered heavy against the roof, wind creaking the gutters and trees outside. The changing shadows were just that, shadows as the dawn tried to yawn awake. The skies oppressed with the rainclouds and poor weather, and Kit fell asleep before first light broke, curling up in Mentor’s bed, arms wrapped around himself, shivering to sleep while the house’s shadows watched over him.
Kit woke again later with that same ear shattering headache that drew a cry from his throat. He didn’t wake in a cold sweat like last time, but the headache was somehow worse like a migraine. The pressure was unbelievable and it felt as if someone had reached inside his skull and took his brain, squeezing it in the palm of their hands like putty and Kit opened his eyes as a single name crossed his mind: Ambrose.
“Motherfucker,” Kit ground out as he got his feet on the ground, the room swaying as he stood. Shit… where did he leave his phone? Kit’s feet stumbled forward just before he reached the door, hand flying out to catch himself on the wall. He wasn’t going to make it downstairs if Ambrose didn’t at least let up a bit.
I’m coming! Kit thought as loud as he could, over the thunderous rolling of sound and pressure. He didn’t even know if Ambrose’s power worked like that. How far was his reach? Could he even hear Kit’s thoughts from so far away? Kit paused at the railing of the stairs, white knuckled grip keeping him upright.
The headache lessened in pressure, but remained there in the back of his mind, thrumming impatient for Kit to reach his phone. Kit walked down the stairs carefully, dreading every step closer he got to his phone. He turned it on and waited for the screen to reboot. There’s no way Ambrose knew where he was, did he? Did he have to be close for his power to work? Or did it just matter that he was in the city — could his reach be that strong?
Kit had only put his pin to unlock the phone in when Ambrose’s name flashed across his phone. Kit answered after the fourth ring, just to piss him off.
“What?”
“Christopher!”
“My name’s not Christopher, Rosey.”
“Fine, Mallory,” Ambrose drawled, far too chirper for Kit who was just dragged out of bed. “You slept in.”
“I would have slept longer if you weren’t so fucking needy.”
“I did knock first, but you weren’t answering your door.”
Kit froze, turning his head to the front door. “I didn’t hear you,” Kit said, voice thankfully even.
“That’s fine. You can see why I went to plan B then. Just let me in now, it’s cold outside.”
Kit didn’t answer. A beat passed between them. Then, “Kit. I’m waiting.”
Kit licked his lips. “Can you even force me over the phone?”
Ambrose laughed a cold, humourless chuckle. He didn’t answer, instead he said: “Kit, open the front door.”
Apparently he could. Kit felt his feet carry him forward, his heart thundering in his ears, because what if Ambrose knew where he was? What if he was waiting outside that door? Kit didn’t want him in his house. His childhood home, where he had countless memories with Mentor.
Kit swallowed hard as his hand settled on the lock. It clicked open and Kit opened the door. He let out a small laugh as he did, seeing his porch empty of any sadistic villain.
“Kit, I’m getting impatient.”
“I opened the door, Rosey,” Kit told him. Kit felt a sudden sharp streak run through his mind, as if searching for a lie.
“I told you that you weren’t allowed to run, or disappear,” Ambrose said. Kit could hear the cold anger in his voice and could imagine Ambrose’s face right now.
“Maybe you’re losing your touch, Omen,” Kit said with a laugh. “Better luck next time. I’m going back to bed.”
“Kit—!”
“Bye, Rosey. Have a nice day.”
Kit pulled the phone away from his ear to hang up on the bastard when Ambrose’s voice rang out again. “Do you want me to find that water Hero instead, Kit? Oh, what was their name? Tides?”
Kit’s thumb hovered over the red end call button, his heart hammering against his chest. He should hang up. He should hang up. He wanted to hang up. Hasn’t he suffered enough? Wasn’t it somebody else’s turn to suffer the sadist?
His hand was shaking and he wanted to scream. Just end the call! It’s not your fault what a fucking Villain does. You can’t control his actions. Nobody would ever know that you could’ve saved Tides, it would be a tragic accident and—
Mentor’s face flashed through Kit’s mind and he balled his free hand into a fist at his side. Did he really want to have to visit two people in hospital, especially when he could have prevented one of them from being there in the first place?
“Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick—”
“Fine!” Kit spat into the phone. He could almost see Ambrose’s horrible smile.
“If you are not at your apartment in an hour, I will make good on my threat, Mallory. See you soon.”
Ambrose hung up. Kit stared at his reflection in the black screen of his phone and cursed, slamming the door shut and letting out a long, guttural: “FUCK!”
His voice crackled and echoed with electricity, his phone like a battery in his hand that he was draining. He let out a breath, straightening and focused on moving the charge back into his phone until the screen blinked up at him.
Fuck, at this rate he would need to wear power dampeners just to ensure he didn’t cause any power outages on the way back to his apartment. His apartment… His apartment where Ambrose was waiting, and probably pissed off.
God… how long had he been free of the bastard? Two, three days? Such a short amount of peace, and the first day Kit had spent most of it sleeping! He didn’t even consider enjoying it because exhaustion had forced him into bed.
Kit had a quick shower and left, taking the metro back to his apartment. The entire way his mind raced with the sheer power that Ambrose possessed. How was any Hero ever meant to beat him? To defeat him?
A smaller voice in his mind echoed a poignant: how will I ever defeat him?
But… No, if Ambrose was really as strong as he wanted Kit to believe then he would have taken over the city at any given moment. He could have wiped the minds of the city’s entire population and made them think that Ambrose was the number one hero, and why stop there? Why not the mayor? Or something else more grandiose and Ambrose-y.
No… There’s no way Ambrose would just let the world be if he could do that on such scale. There had to be something local about his ability. Some restraint. Something that stops him from controlling whoever he wants, whenever he wants.
The information didn’t stop his palms from sweating, or the dread from building in his stomach as he came to his stop. The doors opened with a soft whoosh and a creak and Kit stepped out into the underground. His apartment was a five minute walk from here.
He checked his watch. He still had fifteen minutes. He could hang back for a minute, maybe dawdle away some of the time so he wouldn’t have to see Ambrose again for as long as he possibly could. Then Mentor flashed through his mind again and he found himself ascending the steps to street level and walking towards his apartment.
Towards Ambrose.
Towards Omen.
Towards his tormentor.
His heart shudders to a stop when he sees Ambrose in his charcoal overcoat he wore the first day Kit met him on the docks. No doubt he was wearing some expensive suit beneath.
He looked so out of place in front of Kit’s small white block of apartments. He looked too much like a stranger, a foreigner who wasn’t properly acquainted with the style this side of town — as if Ambrose had just walked the wrong side of the river and was about to knock for directions.
Kit’s apartment was on the rougher side of the city because he liked it that way, and too many times he had seen people who dressed like Ambrose getting jumped or mugged on the street in certain alleyways.
Kit almost scoffed at the thought of someone jumping Ambrose. He pitied the imaginary thief who would cross Ambrose’s path.
You crossed my path, Kit.
Kit blinked then stopped. Ambrose was standing on the small path that led up to Kit’s apartment on the second floor. His back was turned to Kit, standing relaxed beside the railing. Ambrose knew that he was here and he didn’t turn his head to show he knew.
You’re so dramatic.
Ambrose turned his head this time, his dark eyes capturing Kit’s and smiling. Tick, tock, tick—
Kit started walking after that. He didn’t want to give the bastard any reason to go after Tides. He checked his phone for the time to see he still had four minutes. He took a breath as he ascended the steps to where Ambrose stood waiting patiently.
Ambrose regarded him with a cool look. “Where were you?”
“Not here.”
Ambrose stared at him for a beat. Then he said, “fine. Open the door.”
Kit didn’t fight his body as it obeyed the command. To be honest he was happy he didn’t have to look at Ambrose for those few precious seconds, his alabaster skin closer to some statue than an actual human.
The lock opened with a click. Kit pushed down on the handle and the moment the door cracked open, Ambrose shoved him inside. Kit stumbled forward, half expecting the attack and turned to face Ambrose once he regained his footing.
Ambrose smiled coldly at him, closing the door behind him and locking it again. “Kit,” he said with a drawn out sigh. “I trusted you to obey the terms of our deal.”
“No, you forced me to obey the terms of our deal,” Kit snapped in reply. “And if you fucked up the terms in the first place, it’s not my fault.”
Ambrose took a step forward, and Kit fought himself not to match it with one back. “Where were you, Kit?”
“If you thought I was just going to wait here like a little puppy for you to drop in whenever you feel like it and torture me, you are sorely mistaken.”
Ambrose clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I knew it was too premature to trust you with your freedom. You’re still so defiant. What have you got left to prove?”
“If you think I’m just going to obey every command you—”
“Get on your knees.”
Kit’s knees hit the floor before he realised what happened. He had only begun to push himself up when Ambrose’s black eyes flashed above him, his lips that horrible red against his marble skin. “Stay on your knees.”
“You’re a fucking—”
“Bark.”
Kit did his best imitation of a dog. He could feel the humiliation crawl pink up his neck at the sound.
“Look at me,” Ambrose said, and Kit glared up at him, fists balling by his sides. “See how you obey every command for me? You’re so good at it, like a little puppy.”
“You’re such a dick.”
“I wouldn’t have had to do any of this if you just told me where you were hiding.”
Kit’s lips curled back into a snarl. “Make me!”
Ambrose clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and walked past Kit. Kit turned his head, but stared back at the door when Ambrose told him to not turn around. He could hear Ambrose taking his jacket off behind him and laying it somewhere. Then he heard the sound of his tap turning on, and a moment later the click of the kettle.
Kit’s lips curled up viciously, his nose crinkling at the sound. What the fuck was Ambrose doing?! It’s ridiculous. Well fuck that. Fuck him. Kit reached for the electricity in his kettle and pulled it from the plug. The kettle stopped thrumming. Ambrose sighed behind Kit and shoes clacking off the wooden floors got closer and closer until Kit could feel Ambrose standing behind him.
“Show me your electricity,” said Ambrose.
“No,” Kit said.
“Show me your electricity, Kit,” Ambrose said again, and this time against his will, Kit’s fingers clicked the spark into his hand and he held up his arm for Ambrose to inspect.
Ambrose hummed behind him. “It’s not red anymore.” Ambrose walked around Kit to face him, and stared down into his eyes. “Hmm.”
“What?” Kit snapped.
Ambrose reached his hand forward and pressed his finger to Kit’s forehead. Kit shivered as the familiar ice cold sludge of Ambrose’s power flooded his brain and his electricity stopped cackling in his hand. The kettle thrummed to life again, back to boiling and Kit stared mutinously ahead at his floor.
“Good lad. You haven’t forgotten the futility of struggling in my absence it seems. You can stand up now.”
Ambrose walked back to the kitchen, but Kit stayed on his knees for another moment before getting to his feet. He walked to his table and sat down at it, running a hand down his face as he watched Ambrose get two mugs from the cupboard and grab the instant coffee.
He hated seeing him. He hated seeing Ambrose so at home in his apartment, as if they were roommates or friends. He wanted so bad to just murder him in that second, but the heaviness of being back here, under Ambrose’s control it was… exhausting. Kit was so tired and it hadn’t been what? Ten minutes yet? Twenty?
“You should really think about getting a cafetière Kit. The coffee is better than instant.”
“Sure, i’ll take your word for it.”
“Oh come on now, you’re not already defeated are you? Are you sulking?”
“Sure.”
Ambrose hummed his disapproval but didn’t say anything else in reply. He walked to the fridge and opened the door, his eyes going to the milk and grabbing it. He frowned staring down at the expiry date. The 21st… that was four… five days ago? Ambrose’s frown deepened as he put the milk back in the fridge and closed the door. His eyes skimming over Kit at his table, expression dazed.
He hadn’t been home in days, or he would have noticed his expired milk. Interesting.
Kit only snapped back into reality when Ambrose placed a cup of steaming black liquid in front of him. “Thanks.”
“Oh Kit, don’t be so glum. This was our deal, right? Your life for a couple visits a week.”
Kit let out a deep sigh as he grabbed his mug closer and stared down into his coffee. Ambrose’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t want this. He wanted Kit to have more life, not less.
“So,” Ambrose began, schooling his features into a more neutral expression. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
“My life, right?” Kit said, his eyes finally raising to meet Ambrose’s black ones. “That means you don’t ask about it.”
“Oh come on, tell me what you did while I was gone. The first thing you did.”
Kit immediately thought of his minor breakdown the second Ambrose left and he grimaced, setting his lips into a thin line and bringing the mug into his hands letting it hover just beside his lips.
“I went for a run.”
“And how was your run?”
“It felt… good.” Kit wasn’t lying. The run was the one thing that kept him sane after his minor meltdown. He hoped Ambrose was true to his word and staying out of his mind. Otherwise he would see everything… just in case Kit tried his best to make his mind go blank.
“Now, see? It felt good. I give you back your life, your autonomy in return for a few visits, I’m not unreasonable Kit.”
Kit scoffed and took a sip of his coffee.
“What else did you do? Where did you go?”
Kit stared down at his coffee. Ambrose rolled his eyes. “Do I have to force everything out of you, Kit? I have no qualms about using my powers on you as you know. In fact, I quite enjoy it.”
“I went to see my mentor,” Kit snapped, eyes locking onto Ambrose’s black ones. “Happy now?”
Ambrose smiled. “Ecstatic. How is Superhero?”
Kit’s grip tightened on his mug of coffee. Ambrose raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Was Superhero not your mentor?”
Kit set his jaw and looked away. Ambrose wouldn’t know, of course he wouldn’t know. As far as Ambrose knew, Mentor was before Kit’s time. Before Kit ever became a hero. Ambrose probably thought Kit came up through the ranks with Superhero, not Mentor.
And if that’s true then that means Ambrose wouldn’t know what Mentor meant to Kit, and Kit liked it better that way.
“I thought I said I don’t want to talk about my life outside of you,” he said instead of telling Ambrose to fuck off.
Ambrose hummed. “Look at me, Kit.”
Kit obeyed, swallowing as his eyes found Ambrose’s. The two black pools seemed to swirl like a storm, drawing Kit further and further in until he was lost in their abyss.
“I don’t want—”
“I don’t care,” Ambrose cut in, effectively silencing Kit’s protests. “Answer me honestly, is Superhero your mentor?”
“Why do you care?!” Kit snarled.
The corner of Ambrose’s lips tilted up slightly. “I care because you’re trying to hide something from me, and you know how much I love—”
“Torturing people, yeah I know.”
Ambrose sat back in his chair and shrugged his shoulders casually. “Always the hard way.”
Kit’s brows furrowed at the villain. Shit.
“Tell me who your mentor is, Kit.”
“Why?” Kit asked, anger leaking from his voice, replaced with a guarded almost pleading sadness.
“Because you’re protesting too much.”
“Please,” Kit whispered then froze. Ambrose froze too. Then his lips turned up into his smirk and Kit knew Ambrose was going to force him to tell him about Mentor.
“Tell me who-”
It was Kit’s turn to cut Ambrose off. “Mentor,” he ground out through gritted teeth. Ambrose’s eyes widened slightly, his eyebrows twitching up in surprise, his lips slightly parted, froze mid-sentence.
A moment of silence passed between them. The moment turned into a minute, and Kit just closed his eyes and drank his coffee in the silence. He could feel and hear the cogs working in Ambrose’s head trying to match the timelines up and coming up blank.
“You’re joking,” Ambrose said eventually. Kit looked away, it felt as if someone had a hand around their heart and squeezed it. “Oh. I see. You’re not joking… but Mentor was Superhero before—”
“Yeah,” said Kit. “I know.”
“Then—”
Kit’s scoff cut Ambrose off, his eyes going back to Ambrose’s. “What? You want my whole tragic backstory, Rosey?” He asked with a sardonic smile. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“Mallory, I—”
“Didn’t know?” Kit supplied, his voice rising in pitch. “You didn’t know? Does it look like I give two shits about what you know or not?! I don’t need your false pity, or your remorse for your actions, Omen, because we both know you don’t mean it.”
Ambrose’s expression darkened. His features schooled into neutrality, but Kit could read him by now. The subtle too-tight wind of his jaw, the coolness in his eyes, Ambrose was pissed and he was about to take it out on Kit. Honestly? Kit didn’t care. He preferred it when Ambrose was cruel to him, at least then he didn’t have to think about Ambrose possibly having human emotions, or being human at all.
When Ambrose was hurting Kit he was just a villain, and Kit could hate him completely without second guessing himself.
Ambrose stood up and Kit braced himself for impact, whatever it was. Then Ambrose grabbed his jacket, and walked towards Kit’s front door. Kit frowned, staring after the villain. “Hey! Where’re—”
“I’ll see you later, Kit.”
The door opened and closed. Kit flinched, his heart pounding in his chest and his thoughts racing through his brain.
Mainly: what the hell was that all about?
*~*~*~*~*
Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper r @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl l @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast t @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @lovethiswriting
#intoxicating fear#hero villain writing#hero villain snippet#hero villain story#hero#villain#writing#whump writing#writblr#intoxicating fear series#creative writing#Kit Mallory#Oskar Ambrose#Ambrose#omen#mind control#telepathy#telepathic villain#electrical hero#electric hero#mind control villain#telepath villain#hero x villain#villain whumper#telepathic whumper#cruel whumper#hero whumpee#intelligent villain#intelligent whumper#sassy whumpee
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You know they've rumoured for years to either be remaking Columbo or shooting a movie. If they did, who would you like to see in the lead? I remember reading Mark Ruffalo was linked & yknow what I ain't mad.
as an actor and writer myself, i don't make a habit of inextricably tying actors to roles. i believe media is meant to be interpreted and reinterpreted freely.
but peter falk, man...peter falk was more than inextricable from columbo. he was columbo.
it's funny because the show's creators, levinson & link, had a totally different vision going in their heads during the casting process--they saw a much older, balding irish/anglo type. for reference, burt freed first played the character in a brief TV appearance; thomas mitchell first played him onstage; bing crosby was one of the first choices for TV.
then peter falk frantically waltzed in (quote: "i'd kill to play that cop") with his overpowering, mensch-y charm and sold them on columbo as the whimsical, dark-featured little guy we've come to know and love. falk's columbo was such an earth-shattering hit that NBC was practically on their knees begging him to sign a serial contract; when he did, he swept the nation. i don't have exact figures handy, but he was earning hand over fucking fist playing him, and NBC spent the better part of a decade kowtowing to his sometimes famously insane demands just to keep the hits coming. needless to say, despite the insanity, peter falk's dedication to his craft and the character of columbo was second to none.
on a decidedly darker note, i confess that i often think of it this way: when falk had alzheimer's in his twilight years, someone leaked from court documents that his doctor noted he could "no longer remember playing columbo". you can still find those news articles everywhere online; it was so widely reported and discussed that it was effectively treated as a death announcement. the public treated the "death" of peter falk's memory of columbo as effectively the death of both he and the character.
to me, it's pretty difficult to top that.
so yeah, frankly i'm just not interested whatsoever in seeing anybody else as columbo proper. if the character had to return, i'd rather see something actually iterative like a prequel/origin story or something. i'm also sick of reboots in general so seeing inspirations from columbo in new media rather than directly revived is a much more inviting prospect for me.
speaking of which, take natasha lyonne in poker face (you knew i was gonna go there!). she's a huge peter falk/columbo fan herself and was widely rumored to play "female columbo" in a reboot, but she did the far more creative thing and teamed up with rian johnson to devise a character/show inspired by columbo but fresh and new, neither a reboot nor carbon copy. if only the rest of mainstream flim/tv these days could take note.
tl;dr i would like to see absolutely nobody in the lead of a columbo reboot except for a terrible PS2 graphics render of peter falk clipping through the floor
#columbo#plus ruffalo has sort of. aged out of columbo. imo imo imo#get a fresh face if you must!#mark ruffalo#natasha lyonne#poker face#ask
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hiiii! for jason voorhees can i request him and his s/o having a cuddly afternoon while its raining outside and they're laying by a nice cozy fireplace🥺 for reboot jason if thats ok!
Midnight Rain
AN: I tried to make it so the story can be read as either reboot Jason or og Jason since I’m not too familiar with the reboot. Also instead of the afternoon it’s the middle of the night, I hope that’s alright!
A loud strike of thunder awoke you from your sleep. Your body jolted upright in your bed, surprised by the sudden noise. You looked around the room as lightning flashed through the windows and thunder roared outside. The bedroom was dark apart from the dim moonlight that barely shined through the windows. You were about to lie down and go back to sleep when you realized something, Jason wasn’t in bed with you.
You slipped out of bed, your feet softly landing on the wooden floor. You quietly left your bedroom and walked to the main part of the cabin.
Jason stood facing the window like a statue, gazing out into the dark abyss of the forest. His body was perfectly still and his gaze was fixed on the nothingness that lay in the vast wilderness of Camp Crystal Lake.
You approached Jason and peered your head out the window. Nothing was there. You sighed and gently touched Jason’s arm.
“Jason, no one is out there. Come back to bed.” You softly pulled on his shirt sleeve hoping he would do as you asked him. However, he didn’t move an inch.
“Jason, look at me.” He once again didn’t move. “Jason, please,” you pleaded. Your sad voice broke him from his thoughts. He slowly turned his head to face you.
You reached up and gently cupped the sides of his face, your thumbs caressing the plastic of his mask. “Love, no one is out there. No one. It’s almost December. It’s freezing out. No stupid teenagers are going to want to come camping in this weather. If I’m wrong in someone is out there, we’ll handle it. We always do. So, please, come to bed.”
He anxiously looked out the window one more time before shaking his head. Jason quickly grabbed his machete and headed outside. Before you could protest he was already gone.
You let out an angry huff and began pacing around the room. You knew he could handle himself, that was obvious. But you loved him, and you always worried for his safety.
Soon, Jason returned with dry logs of wood, tossing them into the fireplace quickly and with ease. He lit a match and quickly threw it into the pile of wood. The fire roared to life, warming the cabin.
Jason walked over to you and grabbed your hand. He led you to the rickety old coach in front of the fireplace. Jason gestured for you to lie down. You did as told and he placed a heavy blanket on you.
He walked over to you and grabbed your hand, gently helping you to the rickety old couch in front of the fireplace. He sat down on the couch and hit his thigh. You lay down facing away from him and placed your head on his lap. You watched as Jason gently covered you up with a heavy blanket that was nearby.
You smiled to yourself, his presence making you feel safe and secure. The feeling of fatigue started taking over, and the sudden sense of calmness and tranquility inside your body made you feel more and more drowsy. You let out a loud yawn, your body slowly sinking into a deep slumber. Before falling asleep, you felt Jason’s lips press against the top of your head.
#jason voorhees x reader#jason voorhees#friday the thirteenth#friday the 13th#slasher x reader#slashers x reader
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Pure white gardenias spilled out between Serizawa’s lips, more than his hands could hold onto, shining from saliva and so far gone they broke apart when they hit the floor. In contrast, the veiny leaves were a deep black green that blended into the shadows as they slipped under the counter. A full bloom got caught on the crook of the arm Reigen had raised to shield himself. Stray petals stuck to his suit, staining the dove grey into black outlines around them.
Days Spent Dreaming Shit-All, chapter 1, "Love, Blooming"
a hanahaki serirei longfic (reboot)
[read on ao3]
#serirei#reigen arataka#serizawa katsuya#mp100#hanahaki#days spent dreaming shit-all#late night indulgent doodles#told you i'd have new material this week#uhhh just in case#emeto#emetophobia#i'm liking the things i've been learning with these recent pieces#going to try to redraw more of the old fic thought doodles
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even if servamp were to get an anime reboot, id still feel like it cant really animate the true beauty and masterpiece of the manga
like yeah i mean some fight scenes would be animated, scenes would be voiceovered, but when you get to how tanaka strike just beautifully layouts the pages, the wording, and all the symbolism and meaning you can just get from that, i feel like it takes away that experience for anime-onlys and also the art in general
id still recommend reading the manga to anyone whos getting into servamp
servamp's main charm for me is the paneling
take this scene from chapter 3
mahiru's deteriorating mental health as he struggles to pretend everything is okay after losing his mother is depicted with the panels getting wonkier and wonkier, as if unable to handle its own weight
notice how in this sequence, the first panel depicting tooru is standing straight, but after he sees mahiru crying on the floor, tooru's panel is swaying too
but then
they hug. and the panels are all standing straight again. they become each other's pillar of support.
and i think like... when animated without any special gimmick to it, it won't hit as hard as the manga pages
and there are many, many scenes where tanaka strike plays with the fact that servamp is a book
look at this page from chapter 62
now look at the next page
noticed something?
and considering how a lot of adaptations tend to focus on action scenes to sell the anime at the expense of important monologues like this
frankly speaking the only successful anime adaptation i've seen is mp100, and even then, studio bones fucked up literally every other adaptations they handled, like bsd and vanitas to name a few
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The Weight of a Letter(3)
A/N: Y'all I don't know a thing about basketball. My bad. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.
Taglist? If you want to be added or removed, just say so: @ssak-i @sinister-things @ancreativename @t0ta11y-n0t-cup1d @idiotreblogger
Part 1 - Previous - Next
Words: 3617
Content warnings: mentions of stalking and paranoia, elevators, mention of not wearing a seatbelt(wear your seatbelt or I will smack you), my writing, multi-chap fic
Summary: The first one I received was innocent. Nothing more than a love letter from a secret admirer. But as more letters came, so did the fear and paranoia. Guess secret admirers aren't so romantic after all.
Chapter 3: A Watchful Eye
Silencing the countless reminders and notifications I had set to remind myself of Irma’s basketball game, I continued eating my breakfast. I chew through my cereal, scrolling through various social media apps as I wait for my brain to reboot. My head was heavy and throbbing slightly, most likely from dehydration. This morning was hard to recuperate, it was like my body shut down after the stress from last night. I frown, closing my eyes as I try to process my emotions. I knew this was coming for months, but now that they actually left? Nothing felt real. I thought I would feel more free, no longer having my parents constantly looking over my shoulder and monitoring everything they did, but instead I felt numb. The world was too slow and fast at the same time, everything was too quiet but oh so mind numbingly loud. I didn’t like being alone. I didn’t want to be alone. Maybe Irma would stay over with me for a bit.
My phone buzzes again, another notification popping on my screen and bringing me out of my head. I tap on the messaging app, grinning at Irma’s good morning message. My leg bounces a bit as I wish her luck on the game and tell her my estimated time of arrival at the school. My phone gets set on the counter as I stand, my hands clasping above my head as I stretch and pop my back. I move through the kitchen, blinking tiredly as I set my cereal bowl in the sink. I quickly wash it, not wanting to cause a pile up of dishes for me in the future. If it sat in the sink for more than a day, I knew I would never touch it.
I move back to my room and grab my planned clothes, moving to the bathroom to take a shower with the bundle of clothes in my arms. I set my outfit in the sink, making sure it was dry before I did so. I look at the mirror for a moment, scanning my face. My hand comes up to touch my cheek, pulling at the skin as I tilt my head. My eyebags were evident, sleepless nights catching up to me and shouting my bad sleeping habits from the top of their lungs. I sigh, turning away from the mirror with a small frown. It would be fine, I just needed to ignore it. I will sleep better tonight and sleep in tomorrow. It would be fine.
I step into the shower, flinching slightly when the cold water from the shower head hits me. I reach my hands up to scrub at my hair, trying to ignore the bite of cold from the water. I dump a generous amount of shampoo in my hand, running it through my hair as the water finally starts to warm. Steam slowly rises from the water, filling the room with its heavy fog. I let the water run down my back for a moment, sighing softly as my hands rest at the base of my neck. I needed this, my brain finally calming as my eyes shut. The water continues to thrum against my skin as I continue to wash myself, being mindful not to slip on the tiles that lined the floor of the shower.
I turn off the shower head, turning the knob until water stopped coming out. I run a hand through my hair, trying to dry it a bit before stepping out, water dripping off me and onto the small mat protecting the floor. I wrap a towel around me, drying off while I run a brush through my damp hair. Satisfied with the less tangled strands, I set the brush down and change into my outfit. The bright purple and red colors of our school adorn the jersey I wore over my hoodie, Irma’s number shown big and bright on the front. I run my hand through my damp hair one last time, trying to relieve some of the energy building up in my chest. My head buzzed with thoughts, not resting for even a moment. I needed to go, Irma was waiting. I walk back through the apartment and into the kitchen, grabbing my phone and slipping it into my pocket along with the keys I threw in the center bowl on the table.
I exit my apartment and lock the door behind me, resting my forehead against the cardboardy wood for a moment. I push myself off and start to walk down the hall and to the elevator. I hit the button once, moving to the side in case anyone needed to exit when the doors opened. The elevator arrives with a small ding, and I enter into the contraction, pressing the button for the first floor before moving to a corner and trying to press myself into the wall. The small chimes of a marimba sound as the elevator moves down. It was nice, being able to stand there for a moment with the light music sounding. The elevator doors opened again, allowing me to exit. I rush out, keeping my head down in case one of the older residents tries to rope me into a conversation.
The cool air of the outdoors hits me, the sky overhead cloudy and dark. Outside was damp, the sky showing signs of rain that threatened to fall. I scan the clouds for a moment, grimacing. I didn’t want to get caught in the rainstorm. I start to walk towards the school, debating whether or not I needed to run. I roll my shoulders before sighing. It was a ten minute walk to the school, and I didn’t trust those clouds. But if I ran, I would get winded by the time I was at the school and possibly sweaty. I didn’t want people to stare. But they would also stare if I was sopping wet from the rain. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath before nodding to myself. I would walk until it started to rain. Hopefully It would all work out in my favor.
I take one step when I feel a drop hit my head. Then another. Then another. I start to sprint towards the school as the sky opens up, unleashing its anger on the world as lightning starts to light up the world in place of the sun. I stick my hood over my head and run, grimacing as water starts to soak through my clothes. This was just my luck. I huff as I keep running, my arms pumping at my side as I stride forward in quick succession. A ten minute walk turns into a five minute run, my sneakers skidding on the pavement as I reach the school. A familiar chill runs down my spine, my head whipping around to look for eyes. I see nothing, only seeing cars pulling up with kids coming to watch the game. I scan the rooftops, thinking I would see the shadows as always, but the nearby buildings held none.
I open the door to the school and enter, the cold of the AC making me shiver. My dampened clothes clung to my skin, my hair pasting itself on my forehead and neck. I wipe my wet hands on my shorts, the squeaking of my shoes echoing through the dark halls of the school. I duck into the gym, making my way into the bleachers as I scan the bobbing heads on the court for Irma, both teams warming up with hoop shots and runs. I sit at the top, leaning my back against the white concrete wall of the gym. Taking off my wet hoodie, I sigh a bit. Being damp was not ideal. Hopefully I would dry off a bit during the duration of the game. I take the jersey off the hoodie and slip it over my shirt, holding my hoodie in my lap. The referee blows their whistle and the players line up, Irma shaking hands with the other captain. I lean forwards, resting my elbows on my knees as I watch the game start. Irma ended up being the one to get the ball between the captains, having jumped higher than the other and won the tip-off.
Watching Irma play was like watching a fish in water. She moves fluidly with her team, the ball seeming to be more of an additional limb than a random orange rubber ball. Irma had always tried to get me into basketball with her. I had tried, when we were both back in middle school, but had given up after the ball rebounded from the backboard and went straight into my face. My nose was broken and my pride was too shattered to try and join the team. I played still, of course. Just never on a team. The local basketball court was my preferred way to play the game Irma and I's rounds of horse and around the world being superior to the actual game.
I cheered loudly when Irma got another basket, her lanky body dropping back to the ground after gravity caught up to her. I was convinced Irma was more rabbit than human, her quick movements and high jumps seeming inhuman. The game was going fast, Irma's team dominating as always. She passes to one of her teammates, who turns around and shoots the ball. I wince when she misses the basket, understanding her embarrassment. The opposing team gains the ball and the game goes on, Irma’s team doing their best to stop them from scoring a basket.
I watch the game with a wide grin, excitement building up in my chest, the impressive way the girls moved on the court sending shivers down my spine. My leg bounces, a constant thud of my sneakers against the metal of the bleachers bringing some peace to my jittery nerves. My hair raises on end while I watch, my brain stuttering to a halt. I glance around, peeling my eyes from the game and to the crowd, searching for the eyes I could feel burning into me. Down at the opposite bleachers, my eyebrows furrow as I make eye contact with someone who was shrouded in shadow, their face barely peeking out from where they hid under the bleachers. My heart sinks into my stomach as I continue to stare back at the figure, my mouth gone dry.
I couldn’t make anything out about them, their body distorted by shadows and the metal seats of the bleachers. I could tell they were wearing a purple hoodie, but that was it. I shift uncomfortably, looking back at the game as I try to focus once more. Irma’s team won the first half, taking a ten minute break for intermission. A part of me wanted to go down to Irma and tell her about the figure, to recruit her help in finding the person who was hiding under the bleachers. I glance back at where they were but see… Nothing. No one was there. I squint at the gaps between the seats, trying to find the mystery person. I couldn’t see anything, no one was there.
I huff a bit, annoyed with myself. Of course they weren’t there, I was just seeing things again. I stand up and set my hoodie down where I was sitting, making my way down the bleachers to go buy some food from the concession stand. I wait in the short line while scanning the poster board menu, thinking over whether I should buy the slice of pizza or the hot dog.
I make my order, eating my food as I walk back over to the bleachers. My eyes drift over to the opposite side, looking at where I saw the figure standing. Watching. A shiver runs down my spine as I think about it, the feeling of the shadowed eyes raking over my skin was nightmare fuel. I quickly scarf down the rest of my food, wiping my mouth with the back of my wrist as I walk over to the opposite side of bleachers. I duck under them, looking through the shadows to see if I could find any proof of the figure. My hand rests on one of the poles holding the seats up, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I stare into the empty space. Nothing was here.
Sighing in defeat, I turn around. Running my hands through my hair, I walk out from under the bleachers and back towards my seat, patting at my legs as I do so. I pick back up my hoodie and sit down, leaning against the wall. My eyebrows furrow as I continue to stare at the spot the figure stood, racking my brain for a reason. Was I really just imagining it? It was plausible, knowing my history with the many shadows this past few months. Maybe my paranoia was just spiking and my brain filled in the blanks. I roll my shoulders and pop my back, my attention turning to the third quarter of the basketball game. It didn’t matter, nothing was there. It was just my imagination playing tricks on me. Again.
The last two quarters of the game go by fast, Irma’s team dominating as always. I stand up as the game ends, walking down the bleachers to stand on the sideline while all the players shake hands. Irma talks idly with her teammates, drinking at her water as she bounces on her feet. I see Irma’s dad in the bleachers, his arms crossed as he watches the players and audience disperse. Her dad meets my eye, a smile spreading across his face as he waves. I wave back. I was happy he came considering how much he worked. He was a trucker and was constantly on the road to deliver whatever he was hauling. I was surprised I didn’t notice him earlier, his large build and bushy red beard were quite eye-catching.
Her father finally stands up as Irma yells up at him, waving her long arms in a wide arch. Her father beams at his daughter, his booming voice sounding as he shouts back his praise. His sure steps thud slightly as he walks down the metal bleachers, his heavy work boots not helping the sound. Her father was always loud, his voice no lower than a boom. He was big, both in personality and person, able to captivate an entire room in an instant.
I watch awkwardly as her dad picks Irma up, swinging her taller form around with ease as she laughs. His large hand ruffles her head, a small pit of guilt forming in my stomach. I wanted my parents to act with me like that, to hold me and celebrate my achievements. Irma’s dad might not always be with her in the moment, but he tried his hardest to support her in every opportunity. I admired that, his determination to make her as proud of him as he was of her. I remember when we were kids, taking us to the park to run around, how he gave Irma her first basketball and taught her how to play.
“You’re in your head again, you okay?” Irma’s dad takes me out of my thoughts, his large hand clasping my shoulder tightly as he shakes me gently. His gruff voice was comforting, Irma’s head poking over her fathers shoulder while she stares down at me. I shake my head, a wide grin spreading across my face. I shouldn’t envy Irma for her dad, considering he took me in as his second child years ago. He taught us both to drive, taught us both to cook, taught us both to live. In every way that mattered, he was my dad too. As far as he was concerned, I was just as much his kid as Irma. Especially considering he started introducing me as his kid years ago.
I shake my thoughts away, grinning up at the pair. “I’m all good Mr. Campbell, thank you.”
He nods, clapping me on the shoulder twice before straightening up. “Call me Tony. I’ve known you since you were born, you don’t have to be formal.” He says, as he always did. Irma’s dad hated the formality, hated the responsibility that he claimed came with ‘Mr’. His name was Antonio and he refused to even go by that, always saying it was ‘too fancy’ for him. I’ve only seen one person use his full name without correction, and that was the principal. He didn’t like the principal.
Tony grabs both me and Irma by the shoulder, pushing us in front of him. Irma laughs slightly, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me forwards. Tony follows behind, Irma starting to babble on about her game. I listen closely, grinning as I compliment her on her impressive playing skills. We make it to the entrance of the school, Tony’s blue 1987 Chevy Silverado sitting in the parking lot. I look at it for a second, tilting my head. Tony notices my look, opening the door and ushering us in. “I thought we’d go for ice cream. I know you two go out for dinner after a game, but I wanted to take you both to ice cream for celebration. Do ya mind movin’ ya’s dinner t’ ‘morrow?"
“Not at all.” I say, sliding into the middle ‘seat’ of the Chevy. It’s more of a couch than a car seat, and I pull the small seatbelt over my lap while Irma buckles in on the passenger side. She was taller, so she got the side seat, her seatbelt pulling crossbody. Irma’s dad grabs the frame of the car, using the momentum of his pull to get into the car. He slams the door shut, jiggling it to make sure it was in place and wouldn’t swing open mid drive. Irma pulls out her phone and starts checking her notifications, leaning on me as she scrolls through her apps. Her eyes flick to her dad as he starts the engine, her brow furrowing.
“Seatbelt, dad.” She reminds. He grumbles, sticking his tongue out at her. I grin. Mr. Campbell was always fun.
“Can’t, ’s not fat friendly,” Tony pats his large stomach, frowning slightly as he puts the car in gear. “And the dang things are useless in this truck, they don’t lock like a normal cars.”
Despite his argument, he puts his seatbelt on, pouting like a small child. He was always one for car safety, being a trucker himself, but he always had a hard time with the seatbelt in this truck. It was tight over the lap and loose over the body. Tony’s larger frame made it more or less choke him whenever he tried to change gears. I lean back on the plush seat, looking over Irma’s shoulder as she scrolls through her phone.
“Why’d you go under the bleachers during the intermission?” Irma asks, glancing up at me inbetween her rounds of her phone’s game. I wince slightly, rubbing at my neck.
“Thought I saw someone down there. My eyes were playing tricks again.” I explain. Irma nods, patting my knee in quick comfort. Tony glances at me, a small frown bringing his lips down.
“You still seeing them shadows?” He asks, not moving his gaze from the road in front of him. I nod, fiddling with my fingers. Tony blows air out while his mouth is pressed together, making his lips rumble in a small vibrating noise. “Try put’ta mask on ya’s noggin’.”
I snort slightly. “That’s for tigers.” I say, shaking my head with a grin. Tony shrugs, patting the steering wheel.
“If it works, it works.” He says simply. Irma puts her phone back in her pocket, turning her attention to the both of us. The buildings went past as Mr. Campbell continued to drive, his hands steady on the wheel.
“Do you want to stay with us tonight?” Irma suggests, looking at her dad in case he denies her suggestion. Tony seems to brighten at the suggestion instead, nodding eagerly.
He claps his hand as he pulls into the parking lot of the ice cream store, grinning widely at his daughter's suggestion. “Yes, yes, great idea. I was gonna make a big pot of spaghetti, and we need someone to help eat it. Plus, your’s parents left last night right? It’s only best you stay with us.”
I laugh slightly, Irma shaking her head at her dad’s enthusiasm to have me stay. We walk into the ice cream shop, waiting in line as her dad starts talking excitedly about the dinner he was planning on making. Irma leans into me, whispering softly as she watches her dad talk. “He wasn’t planning on making spaghetti, he just wants you to stay the night. He’d adopt you if given the chance.”
I snort at that. Tony had been trying to get me to call him dad for as long as I remember, joking with my parents at every chance that he’d just steal me so he could have a second kid. We move up to the counter, ordering our ice cream and Tony finally stops his spaghetti talk. We sit down at one of the booths, digging into our respective cones. Irma asks about a new pin on her dad’s hat, Tony starting on a new story about his trucking adventures and the gas station he got it from. I settle into the booth, eating my ice cream with a smile. Even if my own parents left, I would always have Irma and her dad keeping me close. Everything would be okay.
#rottmnt#rise of the tmnt#tmnt#teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt donnie#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#donnie rottmnt#donatello#tmnt donatello#donatello hamato#yandere story#tw yandere#yandere rottmnt#yandere tmnt#yandere#yandere donnie x reader#donnie#yandere donnie#rottmnt yandere donnie#yandere rottmnt x reader#tmnt x reader#donnie x reader#yandere donatello#yandere donatello x reader#yandere rottmnt donnie#rottmnt donnie x reader#rottmnt x reader#tw stalking#tw staring
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PRETTY BOY!
plot: niki swears he met the girl of his dreams at the convenience store late one night- however, his discovery proves to be misguided. the "girl" he likes is actually just a really pretty boy, and he's the main vocalist of the new and wildly popular boy group of four, X_CAPE.
<- prev. masterlist. next. ->
written: 1.1k words
chapter five: potassium yttrium sulfur
it's around eleven in the morning, but yn and the rest of his group are practically drenched in sweat after an intense dance practice.
they don't typically have a set schedule for each day, but the choreography for their latest single is extremely complicated and they're determined to get it down point.
ivory drags a hand down his face, collapsed in a heap against the wall. "let's take a break." kuli plops down next to him as the other two breathe collective sighs of relief.
yn wipes the sweat from his brow, grasping for his water only to realize it isn't even there. chaeri takes notice of this, and laughs directly in his best friend's face once he defeatedly turns back around. "holy shit, you're stupid."
"why, you crusty-haired ass-"
"hey, i was GOING to offer you some of mine but never mind."
"i don't want your pisswarm water?!"
"if the either of you can go a single minute without cussing or fighting, i'll buy you both a days' worth of meals." it's a funny sight to see their usually stoic, unflappable rapper with a face flushed so red, glasses ridiculously askew and hair a mess on the floor. chae opens his mouth, likely to make a smartass comment, but kuli holds up his hand before he manages to speak. "say anything even remotely mom-related and you're being thrown out the window."
chae shuts his mouth.
yn exhales a breath of laughter before getting hit by another wave of lightheadedness. "jesus- unless someone has water cold enough to reboot my system, im gonna go buy some." he looks to ivory for approval, but the leader is way too out of it to respond. however, chae perks up at this, rushing to the main vocalist's side with a renewed sense of energy.
"great 'cause i'm so hungry so let's go to the café sounds good ok bye!" he bolts for the exit in a hurry but is inevitably delayed by his skeptical seniors.
"practice isn't done, we're only taking a break. you're gonna throw up." kuli scolds him with a frown.
ivory just grins tauntingly. "what happened to being broke?"
"i borrowed your money." ivory's amusement is immediately replaced by shock, then fury. "it's for a good cause!" chaeri takes it as his cue to run when the white-haired boy scrambles to his feet. a high-pitched scream tears through the air, and he grabs yn by the wrist, flings the door open and sprints down the hall, dragging his bewildered friend with him.
"dumbass, you're so dead!" yn cackles once they slow down, still dizzy from the chase but highly entertained. the two enter the cafeteria while trading meaningless banter back and forth. the older starts to rummage through his pockets as they approach the cashier, fishing for money until his eye catches on a familiar face.
"oh, it's sunoo!" he would have said hello, but then his gaze ends up subconsciously drifting over to the significantly taller male sunoo was conversing with and the words die in his throat. apparently he's pulled an interesting expression, because chaeri easily follows his line of sight, furrowing his brows in confusion.
"what are you..." it takes him a moment, but the kid's not that dumb that he can't piece the situation together with the hints he already has. the description of grocery boy's appearance, sunoo's group mate, it all fits. yn doesn't even get a chance to explain before chae's shoving him in riki's direction, racing to order food. "i'll buy you a water."
"dammit chae wait up-"
"yn!"
ah shit.
sunoo waves him over cheerfully, and he reluctantly obliges. not that he isn't happy to see his friend again; of course he is, but he senses a scheme being plotted by said friend.
riki isn't wearing a mask this time, which makes it a lot easier for yn to fully observe- and honestly, cute's a major understatement.
this boy is fine as hell.
nevertheless, our lovely protagonist can, fortunately, maintain a fantastic deadpan. "hi sunoo, hey riki."
"oh? i wasn't aware you two knew each other."
that's the sunoo i know, goddammit.
it's no wonder the fox is his representative animal, really. yn has to stifle a laugh when riki starts glaring holes into the side of sunoo's head, and the latter just beams as if he has no idea what's going on. "that was chaeri back there, wasn't it? i'll be just a second, i haven't seen him in a while."
sly fuck.
with that, he excuses himself and practically sprints away to find chae (who has oh so conveniently vanished into thin air). poor riki seems like he's ready to pass away from humiliation, ears burning redder by the second, and this time yn can't hold back his laughter.
in reality, riki was torn between strangling sunoo or simply bursting into tears on the spot, though he refrains from acting upon either and chooses to focus on what's- or, who's- in front of him.
he's just as mesmerizing as the first time he saw him, by the way, and his name is yn.
quick quick, say something!
"...hi...i'm, uh, riki."
he already knows that, dammit!
for the sake of his own dignity, yn humors him (and riki is eternally grateful for that). "hi, riki. i'm yn, but i'm sure sunoo told you that by now?" he smiles teasingly, and riki's heart leaps into his throat. however, he can't help but notice how scratchy the singer's voice is, at least compared to their last run-in.
"are you feeling okay?" he frowns, concern seaping into his tone, and yn's in disbelief at the way the boy is so ridiculously endearing. "you sound kind of sick. not that you sound bad. but y'know, your, uh, you...do you get what i'm saying?"
"i understand, riki," yn laughs, and nishimura has to remind himself to breathe. you know, like a normal person. "i don't bite! you don't have to be so nervous. and yeah, i was trying to buy a water, but then chae started being weird and all, so..." riki doesn't even think twice to offer his water.
"you can have some of mine if you want." he gets whiplash from how fast he regrets the decision- is that too forward? but it pays off in the end, because in turn yn doesn't hesitate to accept gratefully. within only a few minutes, the teens already feel more at ease in the presence of one another. as he rehydrates, yn proceeds to launch into a conversation, and riki suddenly forgets to be intimidated by the pretty boy.
meanwhile, a certain pair of troublemakers fist-bump in the background, hidden by the all-too clichéd means of a trash can.
notes: COMPLETELY SKIPPED AN UPDATR DAY IM SOSOSOSO SORRY. havent been feeling too good as of lately but ill do my best to make it up to yall 😭 felt the need to incorporate some twt cus tbh i forgot abt it. i WONT speedrun the relationship btw... prepare for a shit ton of obliviousness 💯
taglist: @silkentides @nikikids @totoroblop @winter-world @phantom-butterfly @simsoobean @byu @noredplz @sh0uj0-r3i @onementally-unstabel-kid @thepeachyhub @enhypen-reblog @ao5riki @bearseulgs
#x reader#enhypen#enhypen smau#enhypen x reader#enha x male reader#enha x reader#male reader#niki x reader#nishimura riki#enha niki#niki x male reader#ni ki enhypen#enha#enha riki#enhypen riki
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Cyrus Borg & Pixal
Warnings: robot injury.
The ninja rarely called him regarding Pixal—usually she contacted him herself—so when he recognized the call as coming from Master Wu, he put an important politician on hold to answer at once.
"Hello?" Cyrus said. "Is something wrong?"
"It's Pixal," Wu said. "She's injured."
His gut twisted. "How bad?"
"Unsure. She's conscious, but acting erratically. She won't let Jay or Nya look at the damage. She's asking for you."
That was all he needed to hear.
"I'll be there as soon as possible," Cyrus said. "Where are you? The monastery?"
"We're in Ninjago City. We haven't moved her."
He nodded. "What's the address?"
They were in the warehouse district. Cyrus confirmed the location and promised he'd be there soon. "Tell Pixal I'm on my way, alright?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I have all my equipment with me, and I'll make sure she's alright. Tell her I love her."
"I'll pass on the message," Wu said. "I won't be there to meet you, but the others will."
The call ended. Cyrus informed his other call that an emergency had come up and disconnected without waiting for a response.
---
The warehouse had a hole blown into it spanning the ground floor to half the second, still smoking. Cyrus' heart dropped at the sight. "Keep going," he told his driver. "My daughter's hurt in there."
Zane and Nya met him at the entrance. "This way, Dr. Borg," Zane said. "She's still conscious, but she's stopped making any sense. She won't let anyone help her."
"Tell me what happened," Cyrus said, pushing himself with one hand and holding his supplies on his lap with the other. "What parts of her were damaged?"
"We're not sure," Nya said as they walked inside. The power was out, and she turned on a flashlight to light their way. "After the explosion, we found her rebooting herself upstairs. Her armor looked like it absorbed most of the shock, but her head was exposed. When she woke up, she was disoriented and couldn't tell us what happened."
Cyrus inhaled sharply. "Could be anything from a loose connection to something more serious. I won't know until I examine her." He paused. "You said she was upstairs?"
"I can carry you in your wheelchair," Zane said.
"Thank you."
His heart pounded as they ascended the stairs. Pixal would be fine. There was no damage he couldn't fix, short of total incineration, but—but Pixal was conscious. She was responding. She would be fine.
When they reached her, Cyrus couldn't restrain a distressed noise. Pixal was limp in Lloyd's arms, the green glow of her eyes fading in and out. She was rebooting, he realized, which only brought up more concerns.
"How many times has she rebooted?" were the first words out of his mouth.
Lloyd glanced at Nya. "Four times that we know of," he said.
"Including this one, I mean."
"Has anyone disturbed her during a reboot?"
"I mean, I caught her this time, but I figured it would be worse if she hit her head."
"No, you're right." Cyrus pushed himself over. "Lay her on her back. I'll have to wait until she wakes up."
Lloyd nodded. Cyrus got out of his chair to be closer to Pixal, taking in the damage. Her face had several cracks marring its surface, some worse than others, and her carefully rooted hair was in disarray. She had built the latest version of her body herself, commanding the machines of his factory from the computers she was bound to. Cyrus brushed over her bangs and a chunk of synthetic hair came out in his hand.
He looked around the room. Around them was an upturned table and a desktop computer laying screen-down on the ground. The explosion had done a lot of damage. He forced himself to look away.
When he returned his attention to Pixal, her eyes glowed green and stayed bright. Reboot complete. She blinked once and her eyes focused on him.
"Pixal," Cyrus said. "Pixal, can you hear me?"
Her lips moved. "Father," she said.
Cyrus exhaled. "Pixal, you were injured. Do you remember what happened?"
"No," said Pixal. "There are holes in my head."
His heartrate picked up. "Do you mean gaps in your memory?"
"Holes in my head," she repeated. "Father, something is—something is wrong."
She tried to sit up. "Lay there for me," Cyrus said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I need to examine you. Pixal, I believe it would be safest if you were powered down while I repair the damage. Can you do that for me?"
Pixal's gaze drifted to the ceiling. "There is data on my drive I did not…" She trailed off. "I don't remember where it came from."
Cyrus took her hand. "Pixal, I need you to power down. Can you do that, or should I do it manually?"
"I—" Her voice glitched for a moment. "I don't know. Something is wrong."
"We'll figure it out together." Cyrus managed to smile at her. "I'm going to open your control panel, okay? Zane is going to help me take your armor off."
Zane was beside him at once. "Tell me what to do."
Pixal didn't struggle or speak as they removed her Samurai X armor, but just as Cyrus opened her chest panel, her eyes turned off. Cyrus thought—hoped—for a moment that she had shut down like he asked her, but realized the next second that she was rebooting again. "Five times," he said to himself.
"The last few times she was conscious for longer," Lloyd said. "She was moving around a little, too."
"Not good," Cyrus said. He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. "Not good. When she wakes up again, I'll tell her what we're doing, and then I'll have to shut her down manually."
They waited in tense silence for the reboot to complete. Cyrus kept Pixal's chest panel open, watching the lights inside blink and flicker. He didn't recognize any of the lights as abnormal, but it had been so long since he had to repair Pixal himself.
Pixal woke up. "Father," she said.
"Pixal," said Cyrus. "Do you remember what happened?"
"No," she said. "You are repairing me. Why?"
Cyrus sucked in a breath. "You were injured. You have been rebooting over and over again, and I need you to power down so I can fix you safely. Do you understand?"
She blinked. "Father, there are holes in my head."
"You're going to be okay," Cyrus said. "We'll find out what's wrong, and we'll make sure you're okay. I'm going to power you down now, Pixal. I love you."
Pixal's eyes found him. "I love you too, Father."
He found the button to power her down. The light in her eyes faded.
Cyrus took a moment to calm himself before he began examining Pixal.
Her hard drive appeared fine. The more Cyrus examined her hardware, the more he began to dread the problem was internal. He glanced back at the broken computer.
"Tell me what happened," he said. "Pixal was upstairs, there was an explosion, and the power went out."
"The power went out first," Lloyd said. "It was out for a few minutes before the explosion. Not sure how long, though. Probably less than ten? Is that important?"
"Maybe. I'm not sure." Cyrus pointed at the computer. "What about that?"
"It was like that when we found her."
"Bring it to me."
Zane picked up the computer and at the sight of the wire trailing from it, Cyrus realized what happened. From the way Zane froze, he knew too. "That's Pixal's," said Zane, unplugging the wire and staring at it. "Was she plugged into it?"
"She must have been," Cyrus said. "Whatever you were doing in here, she must have thought the computers had relevant data, and when the power went out, she would have had to connect to them herself to read the information." He took a breath. "That's not good, but it's better than if we didn't know about it."
He opened up his laptop and, after a moment of hesitation, plugged a fresh wire into it and into Pixal. "You'll be okay," he said to her unconscious body. "I'll make sure of it."
Doubts prickled at his mind, even as he scrolled through Pixal's files. What if the damage was unfixable? What if the damage had corrupted her core personality? What if he woke her up and she became someone else?
He steeled himself. If that was the case, he would mourn the daughter he knew and love the new daughter he had.
He lay on the floor for over an hour while the ninja kept watch. Some of her code was corrupted, but it appeared to only be technical functions, nothing that influenced her personality or emotions; normally, she could fix them herself, but something was preventing her from doing so.
After the first fifteen minutes, Jay brought him a glass of water, which Cyrus rejected. "I'm not going to risk spilling it," he said. "She's gone through enough as it is."
Finally, he found the problem. Cyrus sighed in relief and looked up. "I know what to do," he said. "Something damaged the program she uses to repair her own code, and instead of functioning as it should, whenever she tried to run it, it failed and made her reboot. I can run it manually from here."
"From the laptop?" Zane asked.
"Ah, no. With the amount of data on her, it would take hours to run it off something as small as this. I'll have to bring her home."
Zane tilted his head. "Would my processors be faster?"
Cyrus paused. "Well, yes, but… the risk is low, but your own data may be damaged in the process."
"I'm willing to risk it."
Cyrus didn't argue. He gave Zane instructions on what to do and connected him to Pixal. Zane carefully lowered himself to the floor beside her and sat up stiff and straight as he ran the program.
He didn't know how long it would take. Cyrus sighed. "I'll take that water now, Jay," he said.
After about ten minutes, Zane returned to full consciousness. "It's done," he said. "Hopefully she's alright now."
"Hopefully," said Cyrus. He put down his water and returned to Pixal's side. "Let me look at her head one more time."
After disconnecting Zane, Cyrus finished the cosmetic repairs to her head as best he could with the materials on hand. "Her vision should be fine," he said. "Alright. Hope for the best…"
His hand shaking, he powered her back on and leaned back to wait.
The process was slow. The glow in Pixal's eyes faded in and out for what seemed like hours, though by Cyrus' watch, it was only thirty seconds. She blinked and turned to face him.
"Father," she said.
Cyrus smiled. "Pixal, how are you feeling?"
She frowned. "Could be better, but I assume this is an improvement from my prior state. My memories are not all there. You were repairing me?"
He sighed in relief. "You certainly sound better. Your maintenance program was malfunctioning. I had to go into your code to repair the damage."
Pixal nodded, then sat up. "We're still in the warehouse," she said. "Lloyd, what happened?"
"The guy we were chasing blew up half the building," Lloyd said. "Probably to destroy the evidence or something. You were caught in the blast. You were conscious, but not coherent, and you asked for Dr. Borg."
"Understood," Pixal said. "We should return to the monastery and–"
"Pixal," Cyrus interrupted, "you were injured, and I only performed the most urgent repairs. I would like to continue your repairs at Borg Tower."
"I appreciate it, Father, but I'm fine."
"Pixal," Zane said gently, "we were all very worried about you. This is not a mission where the fate of Ninjago is at stake. Please take the time you need to recover."
"But…"
Cyrus took her hand. "Please, Pixal," he said. "I need to make sure you're alright."
She relented. "Okay," she said, and leaned over to hug him.
Cyrus gratefully accepted the gesture. "I love you, Pixal," he said.
"I love you too, Father."
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My dealer: listen I've got something you might like
Me, who is destined to be defeated by my own hubris and curiosity: okay hit me
Dealer: here *opens of silver suitcase* *opens to show bag of dog treats*
Me: okay very funny stop pulling my leg and give my weed before I throw you against the wall
Dealer: nah nah listen. they're edibles disguised as dog treats, no copper is gonna be whining up your leg if you've got these treats
Me who doesnt understand why i even come back here anymore: okay your freaking me out with the dog puns but I'll take'em. Can you please bring me normal weed next time btw? I'm tired of getting roped into these wacky adventures because of your strange drugs
Dealer lying through his beautiful smile: of course but you just enjoy yourself my good companion. Your one of my best and only customers and I make sure to only sell the best quality spices for someone so special.
Me grabbing the weed doggy treats and it stuffing into my snack stash bag: sure whatever well see yeah til next time
...
..........
.....................
I awake I dreary state, my mind and body rebooting as they tether together after this smoke session. The time between when I ate those stupid treats feel like either three hours or three days. Maybe three years seeing that I felt like I got sent to mars, died, and was reincarnated back on earth. I was drowned in a sea of feelings and emotions and buried in the mud for hibernation. Only now has the spring thawed me out of this cold winter pond.
My eyes readjust to the bright lights even though they're incredibly dim. I think I'm lying on the floor. I'm covered in food stuff and atleast half a bottle of ketchup i must have murdered in some weed rage. I gotta layoff the hotdogs.
I flop over onto one side like a log. I try to get up but my arms don't seem to work. Within my mild consciousness I force my body to stretch my eyes open. It feels like lifting a boulder. Like my body has gone rock solid and I'm forcing myself out of this petrified cocoon.
My eyes decieve me. I have. Paws. Crossing my eyes I zero in on the wet black spot I now realize is my nose on my elongated snout and not just a my vision giving out. GOD DAMNIT THE WEED MADE ME INTO A DOG FUCK.
#yaza short stories#idk i just like writing for a meme and getting way too attached to it#fuck it ill post this why not
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Just As Stubborn And Twice As Dense.
Pairing: Knockout X Breakdown x Reader
Reader Type: Mech Autobot
Song: Sweet Dreams- Borns
Warnings: N/A
An: First time writing for these two. And a male reader. Killing two birds with one stone lol. After writing this I think I might actually make this into a few parts. We'll see.
Tags: @rawmeknockout
You were positive there had to be a million and one rules and regulations about this. There was no way there wasn't when there was a mech like Ultra Magnus with the Autobots. Honestly? You pretty sure that this would be the reason Ultra Magnus would quit.
It didn't help that your spark was constantly trying to outrule all logic to your processors. Nor did it help when the cherry red mech flirted in the middle of battle of all places.
Sure he did it to everyone. Even to Optimus. It was a good thing Elita One wasn't here. The poor mech wouldn't have been around for much longer and it would make a huge buzz kill for your dating life.
Granted. An Autobots dating life shouldn't include the enemy.
And despite all of that here you were. Neck deep in Vehicon blaster fire with the red devil himself.
"Come here often Sweetspark?" Oh you for sure were going to throttle him the moment you got out from under this energon crate.
"No." You spoke bluntly.Knockout lent against the cave wall. Tilting his helm and gave you a fanged smile.
"Really? And here I thought you snuck into Decepticon territory just for little ol me." You gave another push upwards on the crate. The thing had been full to almost bursting before you had been thrown against it from a stray plasma shot. Your aching chassis was a testament to that.
"Y'know con? You could make yourself useful and lift this thing off of me." Knockout gave a laugh that had your spark fluttering.
"And quit watching you use those strong arms of yours? No thanks. Besides, this is a fresh coat of wax, Mon Beau."
"Mon what?" Your helm scrapped against the stone floor as you tilted your head back to look at him. Just in time to see him wince from both the sound and the paint you had just lost.
"I. You know what? Never mind that. I'll have Raf use the. The. Fragit!" You had lifted the crate a brief few inches before it came crashing back down. A hiss of pain left your lips when it hit your chassis. You were not a small mech by any means. And with your larger size came strength. But all that meant nothing with how low on energon you and the others have been. That's why you had risked coming down here.
Even the smallest amount of energon would have meant something.
A white face hovered over yours. Knockouts brows furrowed as he looked down at you. He tilted it to the left. Then the right. You swore if he look any longer he'd be able to start reading your very spark.
"You see somethin' ya like con?" At that he smiled.
"Oh. Very." Slag. There was a certain tenor in his voice that had your processors stalling. You gave another attempt at lifting the crates instead of thinking about the growing warmth in your chassis.
"Don't you have a conjunx? Don't think he'd take it kindly that your flirting with an Autobot." Frag it. The blasters fires had went silent and clearly Knockout wasn't going to kill you or help you.
"Hmm?" Two clawed servos press at the side of the crate above your helm. "Breakdown yes." Knockout looked down at you. His lips curled into a grin that reminded you of the look Chromia would give Ironhide before they'd ditch on you for at least four hours. 'And believe me, Mon Beau. He doesn't mind very much."
The crate hovered above you chest and you took that moment to push as hard as you could.
The crate went flying to the left of you. Hitting the stone floor with plume of dust that had you reseting your vents a few times.
A quick roll had you on your knees. Servo pressed to your chassis as you took in just how badly you had been hit. You heard rather than saw Knockout hiss as you stood up.
You stumbled backwards as your processors rebooted to keep you upright. You looked like slag twice over from helm to ped. Every inch of your paint job had been scratched in some shape way or form. You were full of dents and dings. A few stray plasma burns had already half healed from your nanites. The worst was your chasses. Energon sluggishly drained out. Staining your grey servos blue.
"Slag it ta the pit n'back." You muttered. With Knockout very much being the last thing on your mind at the moment you sat back on he crate you were previously under.
You jumped when White servos pressed at your shoulders to get you back.
"Watch it con." You pulled his servos away. You ignored the fluttering your spark gave at you being this close. And a very familiar stirring of heat when you realized just how much your servo engulfed his.
"I am a medic you know." Knockout made a swinging gesture with his free servo. You let his go after a moments thought.
Knockouts digits brushed around the burnt armor. Tutting and fussing as he bemoaned your ruined paint job.
"Y'know? I planned to throttle ya when I got out from under that thing." He gave a hum and began quickly cleaning debris out of your wound.
"My safe word is crystal." Of course it would be. You couldn't help the soft chuckle that left you. Or the sharp yelp when he dug just a little to deep. Knockout pulled back a bit of shrapnel that had been the bulk of the problem. You chassis went from a sharp pain to a dull rhythmic ache.
"Why are you helpin' me?" The question slipped before you had fully thought of it.
"Do I need a reason?"Knockout asked you. Pulling away after he had plastered some temporary mesh bandages to your chassis.
"Being my enemy? A little." Knockout held a servo to his chassis. A soft white against a cherry red.
"And here I thought we were becoming friends Mon Beau." Again with that slagging word. You cursed the fact that you were to far down to access The Google as the kids called it.
"Hardly." You voice was flatter that the wild plains of Praxius.
"You wound me." Knockout was quick to clean his servos off with a rag he pulled from his subspace. He was also quick to eye you up and down as he did so. "Then again. I shouldn't have expected much out of an Autobot. " Ouch.
The two of you were quick to turn your helms when another mech spilled out from the open hole the you made before coming down here.
"There you are Knockout. Been looking everywhere for you." Breakdown. You were quick to pull yourself up a bit higher. Sitting up straighter as you flexed your hand. Waiting for the moment you would need to turn it to a blaster.
Knockout really had no intention on hurting you. Breakdown on the other servo.
"See you've finally cornered Y/n. How's that going for ya?" Knockout waved a servo before turning away from you to walk to his conjunx.
"About as well to be expected. The mechs more stubborn than you were. And about as twice as dense."
"I'm right here." You spoke mostly to yourself.
Breakdown laughed and you found yourself looking away when the two shared a tender moment. Every warning bell in your head was firing off at once when you did this. A millennia of war and battle having long since drilled into you never doing that to your enemy. And certainly not when you were injured.
You looked back after a few klicks. Glancing up and down as the two looked at you. Then each other. It was obvious they were talking through their spark bond. It ended when Knockout smacked Breakdowns upper arm then left through the gaping hole in the wall.
Breakdown sent you a look that had you leaning back. Everything that had happened this cycle had went against everything you knew about the Deceptions and then some.
"Primus mech." Breakdown shook his helm. "Despite you being an Autobot we like you. As in "Hey. Be my conjunx like.". He pointed a thick digit at you. "And yes i'm telling you that because I overthought that when Knockout told me. I don't expect anything to happen." He gestured above your helms were the battle once was.
"But your a good mech. Even if your an Autobrat. As long as your with us nothing will happen. Just." He looked to where Knockout had left. "Don't hurt him."
After Breakdown had gone it left you with more questions than answers. Often you were lost in thought after coming back to Base.
How would that even work?
Was there anything else like this in the history of the war?
And what in the frag did Mon Beau mean?
#Maccadam#knockout x reader#breakdown x reader#Mech reader#knockout x breakdown#This was bit of a tester#Like i said i've never written for these two before#and I want to get their personalities right
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Day 29: Anti-Hero, Echo
Song link
Fanfic, fem!medic! reader
Hurt/comfort, fluff
Word count: 3451
Tw: Being overwhelmed, anxieties and doubts. Omega entering her teenager stage, Tech is kinda a dick. Mentions/descriptions of an explosion, but no wounds. Being out of breath, bottled up feelings. Idk, it’s a lot of words to describe insecurities.
Summary: Travelling with the Bad Batch as the only one who had no military training can sometimes work against you. After experiencing your first explosion, you have a much worse time dealing with it than the rest of the Batch, leaving you feeling like the odd one out. Luckily, Echo is there to comfort you.
“I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser
Midnights become my afternoons.”
“Y/N, Omega - run!”
Blaster fire came from around the corner, alerting both of you of the new presence. Forcefully, you tore the compact disk from the drive, no longer giving it time to fully process. It was loaded up 95% anyway, that last information couldn’t have been that important.
Shooting up from your spot on the floor, you grabbed Omega’s arm, dragging her with your as you ran in the opposite direction of the approaching footsteps.
“What happened to the distraction?” You yelled over your shoulder, already seeing Wrecker and Hunter catching up.
“Someone forgot to disarm the cameras!” Hunter replied, grasping Omega from you as he pushed her in front of him.
“I did not!” Echo’s voice shot from behind you.
“I did warn that the system would be rebooted far before we would be able to make an ample escape.” That was Tech. Had the adrenaline not been pumping through your body, you might have laughed at him.
“When my depression works the graveyard shift
All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room.”
“Can we discuss this when we are safe on the ship?” Omega’s higher voice pitched over the four of you.
A loud noise was heard behind you, and before you even had the chance to properly respond to it, you felt yourself being tackled to the floor. All air got knocked out of your lungs as your chest hit the ground harshly.
Smoke blew from the halls behind you, but you were given no time to point it out. Echo almost immediately got off of you, offering you his hand before pulling you up to your feet, setting the pace as fast as you were able to stand.
Wheezing in discomfort, you tried to catch up, already spotting the ship in the distance.
“Tell me we at least got that disk!” Tech shouted, already having recovered from the blow as well.
Unable to form an audible response, you held the disk up, hoping someone could see it. Echo spared you a short look over his shoulder, simultaneously slowing his pace to match yours.
“She’s got it!” He affirmed, placing a gentle hand on your back as he ushered you forward.
“I should not be left to my own devices
They come with prices and vices
I end up in crisis
Tale as old as time.”
The second your feet hit the familiar floor of the Marauder, you fell into one of the chairs, breathing loudly, bent over your knees to try to catch your breath.
“Tech, you’re flying.” Hunter voiced, already seeing Echo rush towards you.
The clone knelt down in front of you, clasping one of your knees gently. He didn’t say anything, but the second your eyes locked onto his, you could feel his silent question.
“I’m fine,” you wheezed out, waving your hand in dismissal. “Just wasn’t prepared.”
When his eyes did not seem to fade from concern once, you tried to smile. “You’re heavier than you look.” A joke. Echo did not seem to respond to it.
“I’m fine.” You assured again, resting your hand atop his as an offer of comfort. Finally, he seemed to let it go, squeezing your hand once before standing back up.
“I wake up screaming from dreaming
One day I'll watch as you're leaving
'Cause you got tired of my scheming
For the last time.”
After the take-off, your breathing seemed steadier, and you prepared yourself to get off of the chair. Wobbling on both legs, you inhaled deeply. They all seemed to handle explosions well. Almost too well. You? You were just recovering from a near death experience. Had Echo not - literally - knocked the air out of you, the panic most certainly would have.
Walking up to the cockpit, you leaned against the doorframe, making your presence known to Hunter, who nodded his head in acknowledgment.
“I don’t know how you guys do it.” You spoke up, referring to the earlier incident.
“Unfortunately, we have gotten used to it.” Tech voiced, preparing the jump to hyperspace.
“I figured.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Hunter shrugged. “We are trained for this. You are not. It’s not weird to lack breath after that explosion.”
“Or that running.” Echo added, raising from his seat in a silent gesture for you to take it. But you lightly shook your head instead.
“I’m gonna help Omega out on some work.” And with that, you abandoned the pit.
“It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me
At tea time, everybody agrees.”
“This is stupid,” the girl whined, flopping down on her bed as you took the pad from her. “I’m supposed to be training so I can fight out there. Not learning things that I won’t use later.”
“Knowledge is a dangerous opponent,” you commented while reading through her notes. “You don’t want to be all brawn, no brain.”
“That’s why we have you, right?” She sighed. “You know a lot, but you don’t fight.”
Silently gathering her feedback, you formed your lips in a thin line. “Well, I am an adult, and you are not.”
“That’s not fair.”
“When you come of age, you can make your own choices,” you lectured. “No one likes school, but it is something we must all sit through. In the end, you’ll be grateful for it.”
“I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror.
It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.”
“Knowledge won’t help you shoot a fighter out of the sky.” She objected, using her fist as a fighter, letting her hand extend to imitate an explosion.
“Do not be so sure about that.” You attempted to joke, but - once again - it went unheard.
“Our team needs more muscle. We need to destroy the empire!”
“Omega,” you shut her down, lowering the tab and raising your eyebrows. “There are enough children in galaxies out there who never had a chance at education. Do not leave this as a thing you took for granted.”
In response, she sighed, rolling her eyes at you. That was something that took you back. Sure, you’ve had this conversation with her before, but she had never rolled her eyes at you before. She hadn’t rolled her eyes to anyone before.
Instead of scolding her, or commenting on her attitude, your shoulders slumped. You had no more energy left for this.
“You’re right, it is late,” you sighed, handing her the tab back. “And we’ve had quite the day behind us. We’ll resume this tomorrow.”
“Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby
And I'm a monster on the hill.”
Echo always stayed up too late. There was enough to do on the Marauder, even after errands and missions. For now, he was helping Tech with the disk you managed to secure earlier.
You had already made your way into your bed, wrapped under warm blankets, a sudden dreadful feeling setting in in the pit of your stomach. Tiniest things suddenly seemed so overwhelming. The explosion, the fact that you were the only one who did not seem to be okay, Hunter almost pitying you, and then Omega rolling her eyes at you.
You were exhausted. That was simply it. That must have been it. Sure, having travelled with the Batch for as long as you had now, you had gotten used to being a little more out of shape than them, but you simply dealt with it. Yes, you worked on stamina and running speed, but you wouldn’t beat them. That hadn’t even been your goal. Hunter was right; they had been trained for this their entire lives. You had not. You had been a medic hired at the beginning of the clone wars. You didn’t even have that much experience yet. The republic was simply desperate.
But sometimes, you felt like the odd one out. An ironic thing to say in such a group of clones. Omega was right; you always stayed on the ship. You made sure they were safe, and had backup in case they needed it. You flew the ship when Echo or Tech could not. You made sure their weapons were charged, and that their armour was strong enough to get them through. You patched them up when they couldn’t do it themselves. But whenever they left that ship, there was some part of it that left you almost lonely.
And sometimes, that feeling could get overwhelming. So when Tech called your name after you’ve just settled into bed, you had to put all your strength into getting up, and not pretending as if you hadn’t heard him.
“Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city
Pierced through the heart, but never killed.”
“Something wrong?” You asked, ascending down the tiny stairs.
“Are you sure you had the right disk?” He questioned, gesturing towards the piece you had snagged earlier.
“It was the only one there. Couldn’t have picked the wrong one.” You answered, shifting your weight to the balls of your feet. “Why?”
“It appears the location of the recruiting station of the Empire has been lost.” He returned, gesturing towards the screen that had pages of information about said station, except for its whereabouts.
Squinting your eyes at the sudden bright light, you looked at the clone. “Maybe it wasn’t on there.”
“Our intel was very specific about this one.”
And then, as if everything suddenly seemed to click, you froze, your eyes widening as your hands fell by your sides.
“Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism
Like some kind of congressman?
Tale as old as time.”
“Cyar’ika?” Echo spoke, forcing your thoughts back on the present. “Everything all right?”
Swallowing thickly, you looked down at your feet.
“Well, I think I might know why you cannot find it.” You offered meekly. “But I do not believe you’ll enjoy the reasoning.”
You were answered with silence, but you could feel Tech’s eyes drilling holes into the front of your head.
“The disk was still loading when you came running,” you explained, reminiscing the earlier encounter. “It had charged to 95%,”
“Then you unplugged it.” Tech mumbled, continuing your sentence.
You hummed in agreement, shrinking under his stare.
“That disk was our easiest shot at destroying the Empire’s army at the root. You were made aware of that, correct?”
“Yes, I talked about it with Cid, but-“ “So what made you think that we could lose any part of that information?!” He fumed, slamming his hand down on the desk, causing Echo to rise to his feet immediately.
“What would you have had me do?!” You returned in equal volume, though your voice had been upset instead of angered.
“Take cover and wait for those last five percentages!”
“And risk my life?”
“More lives will be lost if the Empire keeps gaining the upper hand!”
“I wake up screaming from dreaming
One day I'll watch as you're leaving
And life will lose all its meaning
For the last time.”
“Enough!” Echo interrupted, standing in front of you, blocking you from Tech’s view. “This was the easiest way, not the only way. We at least know their training now, we can use it against them. We’ll get another chance.”
“This whole mission has been for nothing!”
“What is going on?” Hunter broke through, barging from his cot underneath the small stairs.
“We cannot find the location of the station,” Echo spoke instantly, not giving Tech a moment to rant first. “It appears not all information made it onto the disk.”
Hunter’s face seemed to fall slightly, but he gathered it quickly, nodding his head in understanding.
“It’s been a long day,” he started, walking up to the three of you, planting his hand on Tech’s shoulder. “Get some rest. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
You could hear Tech grumbling under his breath, but you were gently shoved forward before you could make anything out. Echo’s hand made its way on your back, keeping your balance as you ascended the stairs. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you opened the curtains to your shared cot.
“It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me
At tea time, everybody agrees.”
You were back under the blankets almost immediately, seeing it as your one resource of solitude and comfort.
“You know Tech didn’t mean to freak out,” Echo stated softly, removing the armour from his upper body. “Hunter’s right: it’s been a long day. It’s getting to all of us.”
When you didn’t respond to him, he went on, stacking the pieces neatly before working on his left arm. “After you left for Omega, Wrecker didn’t even laugh at any of Hunter’s stupid jokes. He went to sleep soon after that.”
“Omega rolled her eyes at me today.” You commented, regretting the words almost immediately after they had left your mouth.
“I’m sorry,” you apologised. “It’s not a big deal, I know, but it’s the one thing that made this whole thing even worse.”
“This thing?” He repeated, abandoning everything he had wanted to say earlier.
“It’s nothing.” You dismissed, turning around to face the wall, silently wishing you hadn’t said anything at all.
“I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror
It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.”
His hand, now without armour or gloves, touched your shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin. The mere touch sent goosebumps down your back, making you shiver slightly.
“It isn’t nothing if it bothers you this much.”
You opted to remain quiet now, knowing that if you would run your mouth again, you probably wouldn’t shut it. But Echo wasn’t having it.
“Mesh’la, talk to me.”
Begrudgingly, you turned around, grabbing his hand to prevent him from retrieving it. You were grateful he had closed the curtains already, for the room was darker now. Dark enough that you couldn’t properly make out his face. It gave you slight courage.
“I think the explosion was a bit too much for me.” You admitted, keeping his hand close to your face as you curled up slightly. “All of you pretended as if it was nothing, so it’s stupid of me to pretend as if it is such a terrible thing.”
“It isn’t,” Echo reassured. “Explosions still terrify me to this day. But I don’t get a chance to freeze in the middle of battle. I’m a soldier, I fight my way out of it. You are not.”
“Omega is half my age,” you argued. “She seemed fine.”
“Omega was raised amongst clones. This wouldn’t have been her first gig.”
“I have this dream my daughter in-law kills me for the money
She thinks I left them in the will.”
“But I was the only one,” you finally confessed. “And I am always the only one.”
You heard shuffling from beside you, before the bed dipped even more, Echo’s hand moving from your grip momentarily as he laid down, then making his way to your hold again.
“I don’t fight, Echo. I stay behind where it’s safe.”
“I’d rather have you here, than out there.”
“Of course, you’d say that, but I don’t do anything here. Tech has a mind unparalleled to others, Wrecker has muscles that could beat a Wookiee’s, Hunter can intercept danger far before any of the others can, you know so many battle tactics, that not even commando droids have time to analyse them, but I do nothing that cannot be replaced by someone else.”
“I don’t think I’d like to sleep beside Wrecker.” The man tried to joke, but you shoved his shoulder in disagreement.
“I’m serious, Echo. It’s always been on my mind, but after today it’s grown more apparent.” Another heavy sigh. “And then Omega rolls her eyes at me, and Tech lashes out at me and I don’t know what to say or do anymore.”
“The family gathers 'round and reads it and then someone screams out
"She's laughing up at us from hell".”
“Oh, Cyar’ika,” he mutters, moving his figure closer to yours as his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his hold. His head rested atop yours, a gentle kiss placed on top of it before he stayed there.
“I don’t think you have any idea how significant you are to this team.”
You hummed in mockery, your hands wrapping around his arm as you relished underneath his touch.
“If not for you, Wrecker would have lost all four limbs by now and Hunter would have needed to buy new armour every mission. Tech wouldn’t have his gadgets you get from other planets, Omega would be as smart as a deactivated droid, and I would have been wallowing in self-pity since Skako Minor.”
Again, you didn’t respond to that. You had closed your eyes halfway, fatigue setting in over your frustrations and anxieties.
“You trust me, don’t you?” Echo asked, forcing you to open your eyes, even though he couldn’t see them.
“Yes,” you whispered, resting your eyes after your answer.
“Trust me when I say that I do not want anyone else doing the things you do for us. And they do not go unappreciated by me.”
“It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me
It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me
It's me, hi, everybody agrees, everybody agrees.”
“I know,” you admitted, already aware of the fact that Echo held more appreciation for you than he’d often think to voice. “But sometimes these thoughts just get the best of me. And I get the feeling I’m alone in them, so I don’t announce them.”
“You’re not alone,” He reassured, gently toying with the ends of your hair. “I sometimes wonder if I’d have been more helpful if I was simply human again.”
At that, you frowned, turning your head slightly to look up at him. “You are human.”
“I am more droid than human.” He mumbled, his hand falling to the small of your back. “And even then, I am a replication of someone else.”
“No,” you refused. “You have a mind of your own. No droid or man can influence that. I’ve seen your brothers, but none of them are like you.”
As you referred to his brothers, you felt him stiffen in your hold momentarily. You both knew you weren’t talking about the Batch. You were referring to his days in the 501st.
“That’s what makes you human,” you went on, trying to get his mind off of the subject, knowing you had hit a sensitive subject, even though you had not meant to. And so, again, you tried to lighten the situation by a joke.
“And I don’t think I would’ve fallen for a droid.”
A low chuckle escaped his throat, vibrating through his chest. A silent sigh of relief escaped your lips.
“You had fallen for me way before I turned into this.”
“Yes,” you agreed. “But it didn’t make me hesitant when I saw you again.”
“It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me
At tea time, everybody agrees.”
His hand began to trace patterns under your shirt, something he had done countless times before going to sleep. And even after all that time, a light feeling entered your stomach. Looking back down, you nuzzled in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply.
“Don’t go to sleep like this again, please.” Echo’s voice cut through the quiet air. “You can always talk to me, even if you don’t know how.”
“I know,” you mumbled. “But you seem busy enough with your own problems.”
“I am not,” He argued, a teasing tone to his voice, before it shifted into a serious one again. “I am never too busy when it comes to you.”
“Sap.” You commented.
“Jerk.”
The silence that now hung in the ship was comfortable, and not dreadful. If anything, it was almost welcomed. And you enjoyed it more than you found yourself doing before.
“Thank you, Echo.” You finally said, grabbing the blanket to raise it over both your figures. “I love you.”
A sigh of amusement escaped him as he leaned down once more to place a kiss on top of your head.
“I love you too, Cyar’ika. Get some sleep.”
And then, ultimately, you found some peace in your day. Sleep found you not long after, locked in Echo’s embrace. All night, he wouldn’t move, his mind asleep, but his figure clung to you in an everlasting comforting embrace.
Some matters could be resolved by a simple touch.
“I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror
It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.”
#november writings 2022#TBB#the bad batch#echo#arc trooper echo#echo x reader#arc trooper echo x reader#Star Wars#tcw#the clone wars#the bad batch x reader#echo tbb#echo the bad batch
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if its not too late perhaps Orchid + Yohei for the flower meme
Yohei Kanbayashi:
Orchid - an innocent moment devolving into something that’s not.
You just needed a few things done around the house.
You did most of the busy work, dusting and scrubbing the floors, cleaning out your fridge, you wanted the place to feel brand new for a new chapter in your life. You had whisked out all the old furniture you’d gotten when you moved into the place and had ordered a matching set of furniture; a cute little table, a couch, and a chair to set up in the living room in front of the tv. But there was the case of moving the old furniture to the curb to make room for the new ones, and then what if you wanted to rearrange them to make the picture perfect dream of a living room—that was a lot of work for just one person to do!
You had mentioned that little fact to Yohei, in a similarly dramatic fashion, and he had huffed at you before demanding you just ask him outright. As much as he initially grumbled about it messing up his schedule, that he would certainly be sacrificing his precious sleep to come over and help you out, you had managed to convince him to spend a day just helping you out (with very little effort on your part, he had pretty much convinced himself).
You greeted him with a beaming smile the next day and you could see him return it for half a second before it was replaced with his normal grumpy look, asking where he should start so he could get it over with. Unbothered by his attitude, you pointed out the few pieces you still had to take care of, noting when your new couch would be delivered.
You couldn’t have chosen a worse day to move, considering the rising heat in the area. It hadn’t been a boiling summer so far but today was the lucky day that it nearly hit the triple digits, leaving you both a panting mess as you finally took the last piece to the curb. You trudged back into your home with Yohei behind you, noting a flash of movement from the corner of your eye; when you turned to ask him a question you’re greeted with a finely sculpted bare chest and a man who’s looking at you expectantly.
Your brain needed a minute to reboot, and another minute of staring at Yohei had him raising an eyebrow at you like he might be worried the heat melted your brain. He waved a hand in front of your face to snap you back to attention, rolling his eyes when you finally got yourself back together and whipped your head toward your apartment door.
“Dr-drinks? Something cold? Great idea, me!” You opened the door and nearly closed it in his face but a strong hand came out to stop, you eeping out an apology before darting to the kitchen. Not even the shiny cleanliness that had brought you so much joy while deep cleaning the week before could alleviate the strain on your rapidly beating heart, trying harder than you’ve ever tried before to stay focused on your task ahead. Get glass, get ice, pour water… Done!
The condensation already building on the glass had you worried that you’d need to turn on your air conditioning properly, just so you and he didn’t die of heatstroke at your young, delicate ages. You giggled at the joke in your head but then a droplet of water streaked down the side of the glass, your mind immediately going back to Yohei—the way a drop of sweat had slid from his neck down his chest to—
“Here you go! You look super hot.” You’re ignoring it, the thing you just said, holding the water out to him as Yohei seemed to not even hear you. He nodded his head in thanks before taking a drink, draining the entire glass so quickly you almost considered offering your own. “Did that help?”
“Sure.” Yohei handed the glass back to you and you set it down on a nearby table that had passed your personal purge, almost a lone survivor in the living room as it were. You place down your own glass after a quick sip.
“I can turn on the air if you need.”
“I’m good, but if you need to, go ahead.”
“Are you sure? You still look…” You don’t finish your sentence as a brilliant idea, more of an impulse, sprung to mind. You reached out to the shirtless man in front of you and placed your cool hands on his neck, sliding down to his chest the longer his eyes bore into you. You were almost embarrassed at reaching out to touch him like this, in such an intimate way, yet it was like your hands were glued to him. You couldn’t will yourself to just move.
‘You’re not helping,’ Yohei thought, keeping that little fact to himself.
He didn’t need you to know that just a touch from you wasn’t helping his rising temperature, it was only making it worst. He could probably spontaneously combust due to all the factors causing him to overheat and taking his shirt off had only made it worse. You were replacing his thirst with an insatiable hunger that only you could satisfy.
There had always been a lingering tension between you, an electric jolt that coursed through his veins every time he saw your smile, and it had been the same today. Perhaps even more amplified since he was alone with you in your home, an act of trust and intimacy, another step towards something…more? There was always something or someone around to stop him from acting on his desires, from even questioning you about yours, it seemed like he was doomed to have his romantic life interrupted.
Ryu’s interruption were frequent and constant, like he knew Yohei was thinking about doing something he maybe shouldn’t do. Shiki and Saimon were less intrusive but still had the worst timing, assuring that no conversation went too far as long as they were occurring in Bar 4/7. Had he considered inviting you out, or even over to his place? Absolutely. But had it ever come to fruition? Had he ever managed to just bite the bullet and take that next step?
Maybe he should’ve. He felt like he was at a distinct disadvantage.
He placed his hands over yours, no longer as cold as they once were thanks to his body. You thought he might be going to throw your hands off him and storm off for invading his personal bubble, but you’re surprised when they simply rested on top of yours. He’s always been an advocate for strong eye contact but the way he’s looking at you now, you don’t know if you’re seeing what you want or if it’s how he’s really feeling but—
He's inching closer and closer, you think your noses might brush soon if he doesn’t stop moving.
“…That felt good,” He mumbled, squeezing your hand. “Thank you.”
You hear the sound of clinking as the ice in your glass melted, entertaining the thought that the heat rising between the two of you had only sped up the process. There’s tension, more tension than you had ever felt between you before, and you wondered if Yohei was waiting for you to make the next move. Did he want to make sure he wasn’t overstepping? Despite you having made the first move by touching him it seemed he was waiting for another sign.
Your eyes drift to his lips, a movement you think is brief but Yohei picked up on it. Words weren’t always his strong suit when it came to his feelings but you had given him more than enough to move, his nose brushing against yours, lips so dangerously close you can taste him—
And then the world once again proves it’s against Yohei.
He has to wonder if it’s the universe wanting him to suffer but your phone lets out a ‘ding’ at the same time as there’s a knock on the door. You removed yourself from him, rushing to peak out the door and confirming it was the delivery men here with your new couch. Its another few hours of hard work, the air now on as you and Yohei work hard to make your living room look like an acceptable place for an adult to exist in. You’re thankful that it’s quicker than you thought but there’s still some regret that the moment you were sharing was ruined. How could you get that back? Maybe giving him a thank you kiss goodbye…
“I should get going.” Yohei glanced at the door, “I have some time to catch up on my sleep before I have to go in.”
The ball is in your court. Would you really be satisfied with some quick goodbye kiss?
“Y-you could stay if you want. Sleep on my couch, it’s comfy… and you could cool off too, since it’s so hot out…” You motioned to the couch but Yohei didn’t follow your movement, eyes plastered on your face.
Yohei suspected if he stayed cooling off was the last thing he’d be doing, but he wasn’t about to refuse a second chance.
#Paradox Live#Paralive#Paradox Live Imagines#Paradox Live x Reader#Paralive Imagines#Paralive x Reader#Yohei Kanbayashi#Kanbayashi Yohei#Yohei Kanbayashi x Reader#Scenario#Flower Meme
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Monster Match #4
This is a monster match for the wonderful @somebodysumbuddy, thank you for the support!
Grigori
Something is going to happen. You feel it in your bones, as true as day, as assured as night. The air is electric, the hairs on your arms standing up, almost as if a lightning strike is about to happen. Except there is no instantaneous relief, no immediate snap of violent electricity, just the precipice of something terrible.
You try to relax by going out hiking, backpack filled with a snack, some water, and a battery pack. The excursion does nothing to soothe your nerves, the trail is eerily quiet as you walk up the side of the wooded hill. The air out here is almost as suffocating as home’s, so you sit down on a rock, looking up at the sky, trying to center yourself in a world spinning out of control.
For the third time today, you try to set your anxiety straight with breathing exercises. Force your nervous system to calm down, trick it into thinking the danger is over. But like the previous three times, none of that works… except now, you have the unbearable feeling of being watched.
Birds flap away suddenly, the trees bending and snapping up ahead. The air gets unbearably hot, then suddenly chilled, and you feel your body snap to attention as you back yourself into a rock. You can’t make out what’s happening in the near distance, only hear the dull ringing of a dimly pitched note. Like tinnitus, but it’s not coming from the inside of your-
Blood drips down your nose, wet and warm against your lips and chin. Then your vision goes pink, eyes stinging, and you blink hard and fast to clear your vision. Your entire body seems to reject being alive, and as your brain fizzles and spots out, you fall to your knees and hit the leaves of the forest floor.
When you wake up, you taste copper in your mouth, clogs of blood resting on your tongue and cheeks. Your eyes are almost crusted shut, it hurts to move them, but you manage to crack one open.
It’s daytime still, you think, the sun so bright it almost blinds your good eye. But as you manage to open the other, the light dims enough that the sky goes dark. Tracking the lumination left, you drag your vision over to the kneeling stranger at your side.
Your vision goes blank and your tongue goes numb. Whoever it is, she- no… he is one of the most beautiful beings you have ever seen in your life. Even with your blurry eyesight, your fuzzy brain, and your initial shock, you’re still certain that whatever he is… isn’t human. No human could be this perfectly shaped.
He doesn’t have irises or pupils, eyes only an unsettling milky white. But you can feel him looking at you, there’s an odd judgment in his face, dusty pink lips slightly downturned as he withdraws his hand from your forehead.
You hadn’t even realized he was touching you, your lungs moving and heart pumping so forcefully it feels like someone is puppeting your body. Are you dead? Is this-
You gasp loudly, air forcefully pushing its way into your throat and nose, and he tsks.
“Delicate thing,” he says, like he’s talking about a broken baby bird.
His hair drapes over the side of his shoulder, loosely tied together in a braid. It’s… not golden enough to be blond, rather, it’s tinged with a slight earthy red. Though you’re more distracted by the fact that it’s glowing. A dull, throbbing light emanates from him, and you feel the inside of your brain turn to sludge as he gently forces your gaze away.
You didn’t realize you lost consciousness, but one blink later and you’re surrounded by concerned state troopers. One is checking your pulse, eyes on the clock at her wrist, another seems to be making sure all your bones are unbroken in the correct place.
“There you are,” the one taking your pulse says, “good morning, hon. Do you know what day it is?”
Groggily, you try to answer, but your brain feels like it’s hard-rebooting, everything sluggish and slow. Parts of your clothes are gone, not like it’s been ripped away like a wild animal. The edges are singed and tough, as if you’d been exposed to heat to unbearable parts of your leggings and jacket burned away.
But you’re fine. Better than fine, actually, a bruise you got after sideswiping the edge of a desk is gone. Your vision feels sharper, your hair and fingernails are a little longer, and the rest of your body feels like it got a hard reset… and your hazy memories aren’t doing much good to find the culprit.
You don’t have to wait much longer. After the troopers take a statement, hand you a water bottle, and send you on your way with a confused shrug, you find yourself wandering back to the same area barely a few days later. It doesn’t have to take much time before you turn around and find the stranger, standing a few paces away.
After the rebelling angels fell to earth, they had children with the humans of Eve. From those unions came half-beings, creatures of ground and sky. Some chose to seek refuge in the heavens, while others found worship beneath the stars. This Grigori is still young, learning the depths of his powers while trying to remain loyal to his mother’s people. But to remain loyal he must learn what being human means.
He is an overly gentle creature- he thought he was being cautious before he almost incinerated your body and soul. After piecing you back together better than before, he hid until you were dragged away by your own kind, but he is relieved to find you, still whole, looking for him. Not in worship, or in fear, but out of sheer curiosity and nothing else. Something about that makes his want for a… relationship of mutual interest more legitimate.
It’s interesting you don’t fear him, but he can see the tired exhaustion from your life in your eyes. You’ve already experienced so many terrible and wonderful things that the strange nature of an almost-angel doesn’t phase you so much. He finds he enjoys that more than fervent worship some of his cousins crave.
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HUGE DHMIS SPOILERS AHEAD
I think I might've figured it out.
I was thinking about the possible story with Lesley and how Yellow guy runs on batteries when I realized...what if the different episodes' subjects have something to do with it? So here's my theory:
Once, there was a family (Episode 3). The mom was named Lesley, the dad was named Roy, and the kid was named David (the name on the tombstone and the D on yellow guy's shirt) (another thing to note is that in episode 3, Duck shows pictures of a random family, which could possibly be Lesley, Roy, and David). Lesley was at work (Episode 1) so Roy told David to make friends with the neighbors (Episode 4). The neighbors gave David a bird (little baby pigeon?) who flew into the street. David chased after the bird, but in a series of gruesome events, was hit by a car (Episode 5) and died (Episode 2). This is what we saw in that one Claymation scene in episode 5 (notice how panicked Lesley sounds in this scene, as if she's losing a son, which if this theory is true, she is). Roy becomes quiet and reclusive, metaphorically eating up whatever family they have left (just like how he ate the family in episode 3). Lesley, meanwhile, has to go to therapy (Carehound). This didn't work (notice how nonsensical the elevator's therapy speech is) so she decided on a DIFFERENT coping mechanism. She decided to bring her son back (like how Yellow guy brings duck back in episode 2 (which is also the exact same way that Lesley puts a replacement duck figurine there in episode 6 (notice how both times their heads get taken off))). What she did was she make a new version of David. A robotic version (Episode 6). She then decided to give her new robotic son (not biological, which is the reason for the "You're not my real son" outburst. Notice she doesn't say "You're not my son", she says "You're not my REAL son"). She decided to make a reboot of a show her kid once starred in. A show created by her husband and a friend of his. A show called "Don't Hug Me, I'm Scared." Red Guy doesn't know he's in a show this time, which is why he's more aloof now.
Then we get to the book. I have three different theories on what that book could've contained before it got shredded.
An incantation for the council
This is basically if everything I just said was completely wrong and instead it's some sort of demonic thing about something. Not much to say here, except that if it's true, then maybe it's a good thing that yellow guy shredded it.
2. The script
This one is one that I personally really like. It would make sense after all. The thing is that there isn't much to say about it other than that.
3. A scrapbook
This one might seem weird, but there's a chance that it's a scrapbook of David when he was alive. It would work with my current theory and I think it would also work with how Lesley acts. She would like Yellow Guy to know who he once was. The only thing that strains this option is why would she want the others to see it? Would it really matter if they did?
This multiple theory thing goes for the stairs too, because I have some theories on who could be a floor above Lesley.
The council
If you remember, in Episode 2, Lamp speaks about some organization named the council. I think at some point in Episode 5, someone talks about "the ancient ones" as well, but I can't remember very well. They seem like such weird comments that they can't just be jokes.
2. The director
There's a chance that Lesley isn't the only one working on this show. There could be a director that works on the basic scripts and then Lesley fine tunes them.
3. Roy
Seeing as Roy is Yellow guy's dad this could also be very likely. Who knows? Maybe Roy IS the director.
So that's my personal theory about the Don't Hug Me, I'm Scared TV show. I only saw each episode once, so it's not completely fine tuned just yet, but I still think it could all be very interesting, especially since there are still things I have yet to talk about. Here's a list of other possible things that could be important.
Why would an uncle be "in the distance" in episode 3?
The big boy and bigger boy rooms aren't just one off jokes, they appear in Lesley's model of the home.
Was yellow guy always smart? After all, he was only dumb because of bad batteries.
Why was red guy so desperate to leave the house in episode 5?
In episode 2 of the original YouTube series, Yellow guy says "My dad is a computer." Is Roy a robot too? Does the original YouTube series even have anything to do with the TV series?
After Lesley said yellow guy wasn't her real son, she said she was kidding.
Why can dumb yellow guy see smart yellow guy in reflections and vice versa?
The shovel appeared as a teacher in DHMIS 6 of the original YouTube series
Speaking of the shovel, did Lesley dig up David's corpse and use it to make the robot like how Yellow guy digs up duck?
All of these questions are being left without answers, which is why we all try to answer them in different ways. But we always say any other theory that doesn't go with our theory is wrong. That's just not true. As Becky once said in an interview, "We've read a lot of theories online about what it all means and they are all correct.
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Just Press Play request by @spiralteewriter
Thomas Hardy is a hard working guy finally about to relax after a long day when he sees his son waltz into the home and he ignores him.
Angrily he rolls his eyes pounding after him in total annoyance opening the swinging door of the kitchen and bounces into the living room.
When he saw is the complete opposite of his expectations a new video game system according to the box it the Hypno Tech V 5 and special edition.
He places the box down accidentally hitting the remote as television blurts on with an old static like buzz breaking through at him with no issues.
Soon the emblem of a multicolor spiral rush at him beginning to spin his mind twist and twirls causing him into a fallen state as he drop to the couch.
He is lost unable to do anything except to stare at the scene a thunderously loud ping could be heard coming from the system and straight to him.
Crashing into his ears his body shook upon it instantly hitting him at his core he can’t do anything but obey deep down inside what he is.
The screen switches the system demands his presses play, he pushes the x button as the room is now in lights and the color over took the entirety of the room.
His hands are now glued to the controller as he picks it up holding it tightly not even aware of the fact that the screen is shooting out a ray scanning his body to exact body specifications.
The scanning stops saying uploading as it changes image to image the countdown is about to begin and once it hits one his eyes close.
On the side of his wall the kid formerly his son watches on in a thrill of excitement as his dad’s head drops, his dick springs to action and an avatar of his appears on the screen.
The system transforms with golden light as it projections every bit of information on him online hacking through his banks encryption and connecting his information.
Two strapping and tall men walk in through his door into his home are at his sides one takes his hand forces him to robotically sign a lengthy form on a pad.
The pad shut down rebooting with his name on it center stage his body totally let’s go and shuts down falling into the men’s arms they grab his under arms.
They lift him upward then throw him on to the floor enjoying every moment they carry him out and load him into the back of the van.
Every single trace of him is now erased from the neighborhood and surrounding town as if he never existed but his kid so richly paid a compensation every month.
The van drives for miles into an open road on a secret alley back end off the highway so it stops and releases him to head down a single path.
They inform him of his short journey to a real paradise for men of no worth to find meaning in their lonely, tiresome and monotonous life.
Previously on Just Press Play, Thomas M Hardy discovers the joy of the power of a video game when he is uploaded as avatar onto The Hypno Tech video game system interface.
The minute he is upload a second ping hits even harder in one resounding noise flowing through the air ricocheting into every home in the area you can see a gold beam appear in different rooms.
Children and wives seem to fall immediately in to a deep trance but men’s eyes pop open feeling a deep need to sit up in bed and some need down the staircase to the living room.
The minute they see to the screen their over active minds slowly are corrupting deeply in a shroud of nothingness and a haze of red smoke consume him leaving me mindless in a weird way.
The minds slowly swing side to side, back to forth watching the television screen as the spiral appears swamping up their screens they can’t help but to walk over to chair plopping down onto the couch.
A strange young man transmit on to the screen sitting in his swinging chair with a wicked looking smile creeping over his face with evil intent.
“You can thank your neighbor for this”
“I am your boss”
“Your new creator “
“Smile for me and let’s begin your interface”
“Strip your clothes off”
“Kneel and let’s play a game while we wait”
“Yes Creator”
“Two men will walk in to your home “
“Sign the form and follow them”
“Get in the van “
“Rest for a short journey”
“Yes creator “
“The path is a few miles down “
“It’s a beautiful farm made for men like you”
“Good boi! Go get milked”
The end
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