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cherubfae · 4 months

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love letters || hazbin x reader

with Alastor, Lucifer, Sir Pentious, Angel Dust, Husk, & Vox!

You think you're being sooo sneaky leaving all these sweet love letters for your favorite guy. You're not. They 100% know but if they'll do anything about it is another question entirely.

tags: gn!reader! but implied male/masc reader for Angel ofc :3 mostly fluff!! mildly suggestive in Luci's & Vox's, slight angst for Angel, mention of alcohol consumption in Husk's! Alastor being his usual self lmao

Alastor

You must think you are quite the clever little thing, leaving such sweet notes around for anyone to find. Little letters you think he doesn't know come from you. His shadows haunt every crevice aware of all that goes on within the hotel's interior, and especially those that dwell within his radio tower. It is amusing watching you slither into his abode to leave yet another sweetly decorated note on his control panel while Alastor lurks within the darker corners of his tower. Scarlet eyes soaking you in like a lion hunting a gazelle.

Then, like smoke, you slip out the hatch and down the ladder towards the hotel as quickly as death. Trying to seem casual, whistling an off-key tune.

Curious, he grins. What a curious creature you are, hmm? He picks the letter up, his red claw caressing the crease of the seal. His name stares up at him, written in exquisite cursive and emboldened red ink he wished was blood.

With a single claw he slits open the top of the envelope with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel, withdrawing its contents that had piqued his interest. Immediately, his smirk widens. Positively Cheshire-like.

"My, my, darling. You are endearing, I hope you know that!" Alastor cooed with crackling static. He traced his finger along the penmanship.

He pictures you hunched over your desk fretting over such a delicate piece of stationery. Your words oozed admiration for the Radio Demon. How truly touching! The sentiment was most definitely mutual. Next time, he'll be sure to catch you in the act, little lamb.

Lucifer

The King of Hell was quick to move in upon Charlie's insistence. Eager to make up for lost time with his daughter, he takes on all sorts of tasks and attends every event she has planned. Every team-building exercise, there was Lucifer at the forefront; lest his rubber duck depression returned.

Initially, he's quite confused by the sight of a white and gold foiled envelope placed neatly on the center of his pillow when he returns to his quarters to rest. He's never seen his name written with such care. The scent of love and genuine fondness exudes from the small parcel and tempts his senses. It catches him off guard, a puff of hot air escaping his lips, blinking owlishly.

He's lightheaded as he reads the letter with one hand braced against the wall beside him. An apple-red blush coats his cheeks and creeps down his neck. The scent of you clouds his mind and corrupts his thoughts. He's starting to feel dizzy yet oh-so-happy!

You... You wrote this didn't you, sweetling? Red eyes wash over the page. He closes his eyes and presses the letter to his lips as he leans his back into the wall. It's surely from you, but why didn't you just come and talk to him instead of being all mysterious and cryptic? Has he not made his affections for you clear enough? Perhaps you were shy and felt more confident in staying anonymous.

Lucifer couldn't promise you or himself that he wouldn't go and find you immediately after he calmed down enough to be well-composed in a public space. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

Shaking out his hands and jumping in place, Lucifer straightens his tie. If all goes to plan, he'll have you snuggled in his warm embrace as he flies over Pentagram City before sundown.

Of course, he will make sure all six of his massive wings are preened and looking their best first. Hey, he is the King of Hell after all! He's gonna show off for you a little.

"Alright, darlin', I hope you're ready for a night on the town." Lucifer sucked in a sharp breath and exited his room swiftly making his way to you.

Sir Pentious

Sweet man is so flabbergasted! Surely this is a prank, yes? No? Oh my, then that must mean--! His pupils dilate and water, a big cheesy grin sneaks across his cheeks. His tail swishes behind him lightly and it's hard to fight the blush off his cheeks. It takes everything in him to collect his breath as he clutches the letter to his chest.

"What'cha got there, boss?" Points out one of his Egg Bois. Sir Pentious all but squeaks and shoves the paper unceremoniously into his breast pocket.

Pentious rasps, "No-nothing that needs to concern you!"

"Oh, okay!" Chirps his Egg Boi, waddling off.

Sir Pentious sighs, slitted eyes wander over to where you sit at the bar engaged in deep conversation with Angel and Husk. There's a weird tug in his chest he's never felt before. A longing. You catch his eye and give a gentle smile and offer him a tiny wave which he returns eagerly. He sighs dreamily, coiling in on his tails. I hope I may catch you at a more opportune time, my heart.

Angel Dust

Whenever he's had a particularly rough night at Valentino's, Angel retrieves a pastel blue shoe box from deep within his closest, almost completely filled to the brim with letters, gifts, and keepsakes you'd given him. Even the silly little half-assed doodle you made of him as a spider. He saved it all.

You're so cute, thinking that you're all anonymous when you are absolutely not, leaving him the cutest fuckin' letters that make him want to explode. It's nice. Having someone want you and not for sex. The pure heart of gold of yours was gonna be the double-death of him.

Angel hasn't quite worked up the nerve to ask you out yet. It's something he ponders every day, especially when reading your newest letter. He feels too stuck, too... Fucked up. That's not something he'd wanna put on you. You've never treated him like anything but a person. You saw the real him.

Instead, he lives for your letters. Wishing things could be different, that he could find the power to cut the contract with Valentino, and truly become yours when he's no longer that fucker's pet.

His eyes well with tears as he cradles your latest letter, praising him for how well he'd done at Charlie's little team-building experiment. He pretends it's you that he's holding. His fingers combing through your hair, smiling to himself when you lazily lean up his body to kiss him ever-so-softly. A true kiss made of real love, not lust. You snuggle into his chest fluff with your arms around his waist.

"Baby, I," with a blink, Angel is back to reality. The weight on his chest had only been a snoozing Fat Nuggets. Angel sighs, stroking his little buddy's ears. "Maybe one day, I can be strong enough for both of us, baby." He says out loud, hoping your heart will find his words.

Husk

He's quick to snatch the new letter up before anyone else sees, sending his half-drunk whiskey all across the countertop with a clang. Husk cussed under his breath, stashing your thankfully dry letter beneath the bar for safe-keeping until he could read it later.

"Why'dja gotta leave it out in the open?" Husk grumbles without malice. The playful sway of his raised feathery tail and soft hum as he wipes up his spilled drink was always a good sign of his rare, pleasant mood.

You're growing more and more bold with each letter. Leaving them places where someone other than Husk could accidentally misinterpret them: Charlie.

The last thing he needed was the well-meaning Princess of Hell to overextend herself and start playing matchmaker. Husker was doing just aces on his own. His love life was his and his alone to fuss about. He finished cleaning up the bar for the night, keeping the booze secure in its display case until the following day.

Husk peruses the letter freely in the privacy of his bedroom, one arm folded beneath his head. His golden eyes flicked from word to word. His pupils expand as he exhales an airy chuckle, lingering on the word handsome. The sound of his own trill rumbling in his throat startles him enough to drop the letter and slam his elbow into his nightstand.

Hissing, Husk pressed his palms against his shut eyelids. "Fuck, baby, ya really got this ol' cat comin' undone, huh? Sneaky little minx." He lied back down with a huff. "If only ya knew." His eyes slip shut. Tomorrow. Husk would finally approach you tomorrow.

Vox

"I see you still don't wanna text these, huh, baby?" Vox scoops up the letter taking residence on his seat, hastily clawing it open. He plops down on his chair, leaning back. "Too shy to be so vulnerable for me?" Vox's sharp-toothed grin spreads wide across his display screen, red dripping from the corner of his mouth as he hungrily drinks in your words.

"You are too fuckin' cute, aren't'cha, darlin'?" Vox chuckles, smashing his fist against his console with triumph. A bolt of electricity spirals around the system, causing him to yelp as it spans across the entire city. He created another blackout. "FUCK."

Vox is at your doorstep in a matter of minutes despite the darkness of Pentagram City. The forever-flushed red sky is light enough to find your apartment building. He's dressed in a new suit and feigned ignorance when you opened your door, holding a new letter. Surprised to see him there. Hah, caught with your hand in the fuckin' cookie jar, babe.

Allowing him into your home, Vox easily towers over you with a big grin. You looked fuckin' adorable, staring up at him so meekly.

"You didn't need to hide your feelings from me, sweetheart." He gently tilts your chin upwards. A single cyan claw grazes the line of your jaw, sliding to cup your cheek with his full palm.

"Vox, I," you stammer. Your sentence goes no further than those two small words. Vox traces your lower lip with the tip of his sharp thumb, smiling as your eyes flutter shut. He waits to see if you continue to speak and when you don't, he nods and tugs you to him by your hips. You gasp against him and he smiles, a bit softer now.

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

"I know, baby. I've gotcha," Vox's mouth presses tight to yours, lifting you up further into his arms for better access. Electricity soon ignites the house and city, Velvette must've gotten things running again.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagines #alastor x reader #lucifer x reader #sir pentious x reader #angel dust x reader #husk x reader #vox x reader #cherubfae 2024

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sweetnans · 2 days

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Firefighter!bakugo pt 2 pt.1 here

a/c: This bakugo is softer because there's no quirks hunting him. This isn't proofread yet, and please consider that english is not my first language.

You didn't call him. He left his number on the card, the company replaced all your burnt furniture and electronics, and after all, you still couldn't look at your new stove without thinking of him. And that you never called him.

Of course, the next time you saw him, it wasn't your fault.

It was a sunny day. A few months had passed, and you were making your way for a new job interview you had pending.

You did the interview pretty well, considering your strike of bad luck. The boss and the executive of the company said that your resume was everything that they were looking for and that gave you a sort of security you hadn't felt for a while.

You were making your way out of the office after hearing the 'we will call you to discuss minor details' when a rare feeling appeared on your stomach, a slight pinch in your guts that didn't felt like it was a stomach problem.

You shook the feeling away and kept walking to the elevator, pressing the button you realized that you were free all afternoon, so you made a quick plan to go for a coffee and a donut. Lately, you were craving sugary things.

Once the elevator's doors closed, the uneasy feeling made his way back to you. You felt that something wasn't right the minute the elevator creaked before going down. The office's company was on the nineteenth floor, and you were almost reaching the thirteen when the movement stopped abruptly.

Suddenly, the light went off too.

You never thought that you would be in a situation like that, so you obviously tried to remain calm, but it didn't work.

Panting, you reached to grab your phone from the back pocket of your jeans. As you were expecting, you had no signal, mostly because you were trapped in a box made of metal.

"Hello?" You said pressing one of the buttons from the panel, the one that got a bell on it. "I'm stuck in the elevator"

No one answered, and your heart started to beat faster and faster. You tried banging on the doors, crossing your fingers that the elevator got stuck on a specific floor and not in between floors.

You considered yourself a calm person, or at least a good pretending something you are clearly not. You were good at faking because you were more afraid of feeling ashamed, but no one was around to see you panicking.

"Help!" You screamed and then waited to hear any noise coming from outside. The silence was overwhelming. "Shit"

You slid your back until your butt hit the ground and started to remember the breathing exercises you learned on a yoga session your friend made you go. Thinking that it will work was a very optimistic thought.

The feeling of your lungs stretching and trying to find the air that was lacking in the elevator was exhausting, closing your eyes, you pushed one of your hands in your chest to apply some presure on it to feel the movement and connect the moves with your brain so it would process that you were actually not dying and still breathing.

Your eyes started to close, and your body started to sweat. Was it the end of it? You got a decent degree, got drunk with your friends many times, and had a good childhood, but still, you wanted to do a lot of things, like learn how to drive, get a dog, start your own business and even make fucking cookies without setting your house on fire, you were so young to die like that.

Thirty minutes later, that felt like an eternity, you started to hear banging and voices from the other side of the elevator. You were skeptical that it was actually help and tried not to feel so excited about it, but then, a ray of light appeared from the darkness.

"I think she's conscious, guys," a voice you've heard before said.

Many hands and bodies started to work in the steel, using saws and jaws to break the door open to get you out of there.

The door cracked after a few minutes, and you were free and ready to never jump in an elevator again.

You were almost falling asleep, and you felt so weak to move, so they carried you out of the elevator and settled you on the floor.

A blonde man put a little flashlight in your eyes and looked at you very focused on his task. The sight wasn't very clear, everything looked very blurred to you. You could only see two shapes that obstructed the sunlight.

"I think she passed out while she was there. I got a faint pulse too" The same voice you heard before echoes in your ears like it was miles away but you could see the red haired man in front of you.

Oh no.

You felt your senses returning in a whiplash. That man, in front of you, was the man that went to the fire in your house and the one that was next to him was the one that went to your brother's home and gave you the box of cookies.

Fuck fuck fuck.

"I'm okay, I swear." You tried to stand in your feet, but a wave of dizziness didn't let you.

"I don't think you are," the red-haired man told you, giggling. "Wait, I know you" he stated in awe.

"Yeah, her face, it feels familiar, right?" The blonde man spoke to the other ignoring completely that you were there.

"She's the one that burned down her kitchen a few months ago"

There he was, taking off his gloves, a drop of sweat in his forehead, and looking as good as the last time you saw him. You cursed yourself in your mind. He was hot, and now after you never called him, there was a ninety-nine percent chance that he hated you.

"Move aside. I'm going to check her vitals. You two can talk with the building manager about his excuse of an elevator. " he spoke lowly to the others, and that volume of timber scratched that unworkable brain of yours.

The two firefighters stood up and patted the shoulder of his friend while he kneeled down in front of you.

You were left alone with him, the guy you turned down.

"Hey, you know I'm very sorry and -" You started to apologize.

"Do you consider yourself claustrophobic?" He interrupted, putting the oximeter in your index finger

"Mhm, I don't think so." You avoided eye contact because his serious facade was something you couldn't bear at the moment.

"Doubtful, why is your heart rate so elevated then?"

You felt how the blood in your system rose to your cheeks. He must have noticed because he lowered his head at the same time that a smug smile appeared on his face.

"I think I got what I deserved, a scare that almost ended up in death," you dramatized while he lifted a finger in front of your eyes with a tiny flashlight following the movements of your pupils. "I think that's the karma acting"

"What do you mean?" He clicked the flashlight off and reajusted himself crouched on his knees.

"You were nice to me, and I never responded" you shrugged.

Bakugo put on a face you couldn't decipher. It was a mix between thinking and not giving a shit about everything.

"Have you tried baking again?" He asked, reverting his glance from nothing to you.

You denied with your head.

"Just looking at the oven freaks me out," you let out a sigh, followed with a shiver when your mind put the memory of that day in your head.

He grinned at your words and you couldn't help the smile that appeared in your face.

"What's so funny?" You tried asking.

"How do you burn your kitchen and end up trapped in an elevator in less than a year?"

You rolled your eyes at him and handed the oximeter to him. He extended his hand to yours, and you dropped the device before his hand reached your hand. The two of you were quick on catching the device before it landed on the floor, but in the process, his hands covered yours.

Bakugo stared at your joined hands for a second before taking his away. You thought that you were the only one who felt attracted like a magnet to him, but the slight pink on the tips of his ears gave him away instantly.

"You know, there's a chance you might have hurt yourself, so we have to take you to the hospital so they can check on you properly," he explained while closing the paramedics bag.

"Great, no coffee and donuts for me, huh?" You muttered under your breath while gaining momentum to stand from your seat.

He helped you to get steady, and then he guided you to the truck.

Before you could jump to one of the seats, he stopped you.

"My shift ends up in like an hour. The doctors would want to check your vitals and see if there is any concussion from when you fainted, well that, and the time you were there without much air... I was wondering if maybe, if you want, I mean...-

"Bakubro, did you ask her out yet?" The red-haired guy appeared from the back of the truck.

Bakugo stared at him like he could burn the man down.

"He was actually doing that," you said, biting your lip and looking back at him. "And I was about to say yes so..."

"Ah man, I'm sorry... Now that I'm here, I remember I left something back there. " he left the scene very quickly.

"You thought I was going to ask you out?" He said with his eyes going straight to his hairline.

A cold shiver ran through your spine from embarrassment.

"Shit, no? I'm, oh my god, this is so...I should've died, " you whined, praying in your mind for a hole in the ground that could swallow you down.

You could feel how your body was burning from the shame. Your face red and you felt your own temperature rising.

"You thought right," he said after a moment, enjoying your suffering. "But I was expecting you to make the first move, I mean after you turned me down"

"Please, stop, I beg you," you cried. "I'll take you out, meet me in the hospital, and I'll take you to wherever you want to go, just stop"

He almost laughed at your suffering. Bakugo thought that you looked so cute when you were ashamed and blushed.

"Nah, this one is on me. You'll have your donuts and coffee after all"

He pushed you, putting his hand in your lower back to get you on the truck.

...

Taglist

@spinninoutwaiting4you @gsyche @hanacheryl @itzjustj-1000 @kiridagremiln @reads-stuff-quietly

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alllgator-blood · 2 months

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We have had big shows of narinder, shamura, and kallamar angst. Heket hasn't been fully outright said but certainly implied and noticeable. What about the baby of the family

I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED ACTUALLY- I have a few comics that get into my idea for what Leshy Angst would be. They moreso tie into heket and shamura's angst as well but he's the first focus of this one specific comic I unfortunately never finished the sketches for...

I posted a few panels from this in a sketch dump a while ago, so here's the continuation of the comic I posted where leshy is flexing his incredible art skills (with a page taken out):

[this is the part where the page is taken out, and also where I'm putting a cut cause this post is super long]

This dialogue/art is all subject to change but this is the base idea! This comic takes place on the one-year anniversary of the red crown schism, and is supposed to explore all of the bishops' relations to the stages of grief. Heket is denial, Leshy is anger, Kallamar is bargaining, Shamura is depression and Narinder is acceptance (lol). Leshy is actually the only one I got the sketches done for which is why I'm happy to hear you ask about him specifically! So in short, my leshy angst is basically him running around in circles screaming WHY WON'T ANYONE TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON!! WHY ARE YOU ALL ACTING LIKE IT'S OKAY THAT MY FACE IS GONE??? because everyone still sees him as you worded it in your ask, the baby of the family. They don't want to freak him out by saying he's never gonna get his eyes back, shamura as the sibs knew them is pretty much gone, and narinder will never stop hunting them down.

I have a heket angst comic that was supposed to be my first big project, but it got put on the backburner cause I was having trouble writing for it. It's pretty much entirely about her and shamura coming to terms with the fact they're gonna die soon, and making sure the brothers don't ever find out. Leshy and heket's angst directly ties into each other, because one of them is desperate to protect the other and the one being protected does NOT want that.

This is close to the end but there's still more after this part, I have....SO MUCH to say about these comics but I probably shouldn't infodump about my ideas all at one or I'll run out of shit to talk about

#long post #cotl #cult of the lamb #leshy #heket #shamura #kallamar

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seiwas · 1 month

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the blade bleeds longer than the wound takes to heal | simon riley

wc: 2.2k

summary: progress is non-linear. simon is learning just that.

contains: any warnings that apply to cod, blood, mentions of serious injuries, recovery and healing, kind of non-linear, simon-centric with a splash of romance, hurt/comfort

a/n: first time writing simon and he's a tough one!! but i'm really happy with how this turned out! + a very belated birthday gift for @vierisqe! forgive the jumble of american + british english in this one (i've reread this so many times that it's mushed together in my head and i can't tell the difference anymore djhfbjas) i hope i wrote him well!!

Simon picks up a knife in the dead of the night.

At 2:00 a.m., the wind whistles outside your window, a wayward branch being thrown aimlessly against glass. The branches drag roughly against the delicate surface, scratching and banging in the gust of a predicted storm.

Simon wakes up, eyes shooting open as his fingers instinctively reach for the small blade slotted underneath your mattress, sandwiched between soft cushion and the wooden panels of your bedframe. He keeps it there—

“For monster hunting. Sneaky fuckers only appear when lights’re out.”

—in case anything happens, he doesn’t say.

(But you know old habits die hard, and Simon sleeps better with a weapon only layers away from his skin.)

You’re curled up on his chest, hanging tightly onto his bicep as your breaths lull in the steady beats of slumber. His eyes blend dark blue against the backdrop of the night, and the only light casting itself into your bedroom diffuses from the streetlamp a few flats down.

“We should keep a night light,” you’ve told him a few times before—if only to avoid small accidents, like tripping over folded carpets or bumping into the sharp edges of your dresser.

“No ghosts here but me, love.” is all Simon replies.

(You take his cheekiness and keep it close to your chest, sporadic as it is, snorting as you let go of the topic.)

He sees better in the dark—better than most, he’d like to think.

His gaze flits to the window, watching intently as the branches move haphazardly; the sound hits the glass like bullet cases clinking against marble flooring. The same white marble bloodied deep red—

An inhale tickles his side, a phantom sharpness despite his ribcage being fully healed. There is no puncture, no gaping wound like that day 8 months ago—only scar tissue formed thickly along the outline of the knife that pierced through him.

He breathes out, slow and steady, taking one last look at the window, before moving over to the door, checking for shadows and any suspicious movement. Then, his gaze rests on you—your hair splayed across his shoulder as you sleep soundly.

It’s okay. You’re okay.

Everything is okay.

Some days, he can breathe just fine.

Spring blossoms through the flowers in your garden, white chrysanthemums that give Simon the worst spring allergies but he insists you keep. Despite the morning sniffles, when pollen seems to dust his dawning breath, he finds breathing easier on these days than most.

You do your best to snip away at the blossoming buds, preparing to bundle them far away from the burly man they weaken.

But Simon stands beside you with a watering pot, tilting the spout to drizzle life onto the blooms he knows are your pride and joy.

He owes it to them, he supposes, for keeping you company months at a time.

It’s at the fizzling end of summer when Simon returns to you.

Captain Price had contacted you weeks prior to inform you of the incident—just three things Simon requested be divulged:

One, that he had incurred a stab wound to be monitored for a few weeks, most likely in military facilities.

Two, that he’ll be discharged soon after.

And three, that you stay put and be calm; that you not worry.

(Your hands shake throughout the entire call, your knees giving way as you fall to the bunched up carpet of your bedroom floor.

To you, Simon is untouchable.

To you, Simon is impenetrable.

He never divulges any more than he has to, but you’ve always known he was good at his job. The silent yet commanding confidence he carries can only be born from years of expertise, his senses sharpened and tuned to the slightest sign of danger.

Over the years, without fail, Simon has always come back to you in one piece.

So when he walks into your flat with staggered breaths, smelling of antiseptic and sterile sheets, your heart aches.)

You give him a look, eyes glassy with your hands clenched on your sides as if avoiding to touch, should he be fragile; he holds that stare for a few seconds too long until he decides to fuck it, pulling you closer to his chest.

Fuck doctors’ orders that his stitches haven’t fully healed. Fuck doctors’ orders that he should ‘minimise thoracic pressure’.

Fuck doctors’ orders that he should watch his breathing, keeping it slow and steady only.

“Quit all ‘o that,” he clears his throat, hiding a wheeze from the impact, “Didn’t get me killed, ‘n it won’t. S’no grave to cry over.”

You can’t help it though, he knows, your fingers clutching tighter onto the ends of his jacket as you rest your forehead on his collarbone. The pain muddles together in his chest, soaked by the tears seeping through the fabric of his t-shirt.

There are many things Simon doesn’t tell you, many more that he won’t—

His body holds a litany of injuries, scars built upon scars; some lie on the surface of his skin, others residing deeper than any knife can sink into.

—last month, he nearly died.

A miscalculated raid had led him straight into a trap, isolating him from the rest of the 141. He was concussed and sedated, senses dulled by the chemicals injected into his bloodstream. It happened too fast—a blade, inconspicuously small but sharp, piercing through his ribcage; the hits that followed dealt greater damage.

Price found Simon lying in a pool of his own blood, deep red against the white brinks of death.

Three broken ribs—two that stabbed through his lungs along with the knife, and one that managed to puncture his heart. Doctors warned that breathing during recovery would be difficult, but he hardly finds it to be the most challenging part.

The paranoia is worse.

He’s been more fidgety since, constantly wary; uneasy. Worse compared to usual.

Every professional he’s spoken to has told him that progress is non-linear—

“So, give yourself some time. Some days can be easy and difficult the next, but the day after that might be—”

To that he says, fucking ‘ell.

You cut yourself while trimming your chrysanthemums.

It’s a small nick on your thumb, but that finger always bleeds more than the others do; blood red drips onto a few white petals—a striking contrast.

Simon finds you that way.

He moves on autopilot, rushing in to grab the first-aid kit you keep in one of your kitchen cabinets. On the surface, he is calm, face set straight and hardly rattled by the accident. This is the only good he sees in the snail-pace of his recovery—his jagged breaths conceal the real reason his hands tremble slightly holding yours.

A small cut shouldn’t need bandaging. A small cut shouldn’t need gauze and waterproof plaster. Simon shouldn’t insist on taking over, especially when the pollen clogs his nose.

But your white chrysanthemums should not be red.

He tells himself he’ll get you a pair of those cut-resistant gardening gloves.

Those petals should not be red.

The knife isn’t the problem, it’s what surrounds it.

Simon hasn’t been the same since his return, and you’ve begun to notice.

For a big and hefty man, he prefers keeping himself away from as much fuss as he can. Weekend markets with him have always been pleasant; he carries all the produce and you stop at food stalls to feed him bites of whatever catches your eye.

Not this time.

This time, Simon glues himself behind you, your back pressed against his chest as he navigates you both through crowds. He zeroes in on every single person brushing against you, searching for anything sharp.

When you wait by a food stall, he scans the area; his focus shifts from a family of four settling their toddler on a stroller, then to a man older but not nearly as large as he, bringing in sacks of flour inside a bakery. Off in a corner is a teenager, swallowed by the thick fabric of a hoodie similar to his own; Simon observes him a little longer, drawing suspicions about the movement concealed inside the kid’s pocket.

(You notice it when you ask whether he prefers peaches or mangoes for the crepe’s filling, only to be met with no reply.)

Then, a faint trail of smoke wafts out of the boy’s nose—it’s just a vape.

Simon turns away.

By brunch, which you always somehow seem to drag him into, you settle into your seat and ask the server for a butter knife.

(Simon stays silent most times, with the occasional dry retort or witty quip directed at any silly thing he notices, but he’s been completely quiet this entire day. The slightest bit of tension pinches the skin between his brows as his eyes dart from one person to the next—like roaring waves rushing to catch the shore.)

It happens all too quickly, how he pins the server’s wrist down onto your table when you’re handed the butter knife.

Everybody in the restaurant pauses to look at you two.

The shock on your face mirrors the server’s.

Simon lets go immediately, mumbling his apologies as his hands dig inside the pocket of his hoodie. You turn to the server sheepishly, standing up to follow him to the cashier.

(You know Simon well enough that he hates all the attention, so you quickly settle everything with the manager, explaining as best as you can that it wasn’t intentional. The server is kind enough to let it go, his wrist red but otherwise uninjured from Simon’s grip; you still give him a tip, for the shock and trouble.)

The whole trip home is tense. Simon can’t look you in the eyes, and even when you both walk into your flat, he heads straight for the kitchen, preparing to clean and wash the vegetables.

He rolls up his sleeves and opens the tap, rinsing carrots and potatoes, along with some of the lettuce you managed to pick up for half off.

(Something stabs at your heart seeing him curl into himself even more, but Simon will talk when he wants to—never before or after.

So, you walk towards him instead, wrapping your arms around his waist as you rest your cheek against his back.)

He stops moving, and the water continues running.

(You can hear his heartbeat, feel each slow breath he’s taking.)

Simon doesn’t tell you of the sleepless nights, of the terrors that plague his waking mind more than nightmares do. He doesn’t tell you that he sees you in his spot that very same day, on that same marble floor—your own pool of red against the very same white that your chrysanthemums bloom into.

“I’m okay,” you whisper against his back, landing kisses on each of his shoulder blades. The fabric of his hoodie is soft and thick, but he feels you through it.

“You always do a good job of keeping me safe.”

Your words layer on him like tactical gear, arms tightening around his abdomen akin to the belt that holds his ammo.

“Let me take care of you now,” you close your eyes, voice a little shaky, pleading, “okay?”

Simon holds his breath.

Your chrysanthemums sit in a vase by your kitchen sink, water droplets catching onto the petals and leaves.

Simon sneezes every time he washes his hands, but he’s the one who put it there—

“S’called exposure therapy, love.”

(And who are you to argue with a man on a mission?)

—along with the cut-resistant gloves he stores in a drawer near your kitchen tools.

From the corner of his eye, he watches you drag your chef’s knife to fillet a chicken breast. He keeps his gaze locked on your every movement, fingers twitching as if they itch to reach for you. Pain tingles at the side of his chest, a faded remnant of how it felt when the wound was still fresh.

You fillet the breast successfully, and he releases a breath.

Simon has keen sight and he uses it to his advantage—sniping, scoping, watching. He notices the sharp edge of the open cupboard door over your head and reflexively lays his palm over it, cushioning the impact when you hastily move to the side.

If you notice, you don’t show him any signs.

Tonight’s menu is honey glazed soy chicken, a recipe you’ve been wanting to test out. He’d offered to help but you insisted that he sit back and relax; and of course, in typical Simon- fashion, he only partially heeds your advice.

He sits back and relaxes all right, but on the barstool by the kitchen island, ready to spring into action whenever you need him.

And he sees it all—that near-mishap by the cupboard, how dangerously close your fingers are from your chef’s knife; your cut-resistant gloves are ready-to-use in the drawer next to your garden tools. He still keeps that small blade between your mattress and bedframe.

Old habits die hard, the aftereffects of near-death moreso, but Simon is a man on a mission, and when he watches you hiss away from the brief ‘pop!’ of oil splattering from your pan, he stays right where he is, convincing himself he can leave you to handle it.

You’re okay.

This is progress.

It’s a start.

a/n: this turned out a lot more serious than i intended, but i enjoyed picking simon to see how he would act in a period of adjustment back to regular life, especially after something potentially traumatic. i find simon an incredibly difficult character to write because he carries so much with him and i could go on about this, but the tldr is: i think he's become desensitised to a lot of things, which is why i don't think he's afraid of wounds or knives no matter how much he's been hurt by them. i don't imagine him being afraid of dying either, because it's what they do—it comes with the job. i do think though, that his close call with death here shifts his fear to the idea of loss, particularly, losing you. and as a protector, he finds himself responsible for that.

thank you notes: to @soumies my gawd!! for helping me with dialogue and proofreading, practically beta reading this entire thing!! you are the heart of this fic 🥺 simon would not be simon in this without you!! love u love u love u!!!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon x reader #call of duty x reader #shotorus.writes #cod #ghost

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munchymunch348 · 1 year

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Isagi Harem in a Nutshell

Part 1

(since Tumblr only allows 10 pictures in a post)

New to the concept of Isagi Harem? Let me catch you up to some of it real quick :)

Disclaimer: based on my observations.

The Big Four

Rinsagi, kaisagi, bachisagi, nagisagi

I think these four go without saying.

The difference in Japanese and international fandom is interesting though. In here, you’ll find Bachisagi to be the most popular Isagi ship, followed by Rinsagi, Kaisagi, and then Nagisagi.

In Japanese fandom, the most popular ship is actually Kaisagi with Bachisagi being the least popular ship amongst these four.

The 4 dark horses

Saesagi, chigisagi, kurosagi, reosagi

Saesagi

The amount of great Saesagi fanarts that show up on my Twitter TL is outstanding. To think that this ship is thriving based on little interactions is really terrifying (in a good way). Patiently waiting for the next interaction of these two. Rin could go cry on his own bed.

Chigisagi

Probably the least popular amongst these four but I still see their fanarts and fanfics going around. People who actually ship these two are usually chill and aren’t very loud. They’re more into the “I can get behind this” rather than “I will sacrifice my life for these two” type of shippers (with exception for some). Still pretty popular though.

Kurosagi

I don’t think I need to explain this.

LIKE COME ON.

The panel speaks for itself.

The newcomer of Isagi harem that racks up the rank quite quickly and it’s deserved. There is a term in Japanese fandom called 忠犬サンド (Loyal Dogs 3P) for Isagi, Nagi, and Kurona throuple because of the devotion these 2 people have for Isagi. It’s quite sweet actually.

Reosagi

What do you do when two shipping fandoms keep bickering with each other about which ship is better? Right, you ship the other two characters together. The perfect mediator between Nagisagi and Nagireo. This ship has been rising in popularity and it’s for a good reason. Go check out their fanarts (keyword: rois). They’re pretty neat.

The rare pair that shouldn’t be a rare pair

Barosagi

One of the ships with relationship that had been developed from the very first arc and arguably the most underrated Isagi ship out there. You have great characters, canonically good relationship development, nice banters off and on the field, and just simply a very fun duo to ship.

The things this guy speaks is basically asking, no, PLEADING, for you to ship them.

“Your light is my favorite food”

“Rin is just another Isagi”

“it’s time for Isagi-hunting”

???

They’re also practically each other’s fetish type.

Isagi canonically has a thigh fetish and have you seen Barou’s thighs?? Exactly.

Barou’s type is someone who likes to clean with him and who is the only person who actually helps with cleaning? THAT’S RIGHT. IT’S ISAGI.

#blue lock #isagi harem #allsagi #allisagi #bachisagi #bllk ships #rinsagi #kaisagi #nagisagi #chigisagi #reosagi #saesagi #kurosagi #barosagi #isagi yoichi #barou shouei

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soupthatistohot · 10 months

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BSD 109 Spoilers!!!

I will always always ALWAYS come back to this panel when talking about Asagiri’s storytelling.

At its very core, BSD is an absurdist text, Kafka Asagiri having been inspired by many absurdist authors. Franz Kafka, who he took his pseudonym from is one of them. Albert Camus, basically the most well-known absurdist is referenced with the Mersault prison, the name of which comes from a character in his most famous absurdist work, The Stranger.

Absurdism is the belief that the world around us is irrational and inherently absurd and that explicitly seeking meaning is pointless. In his essay The Myth of Sisyphus, Camus explains, that there is value in the act of rebellion, though. Sisyphus, who has been doomed to roll a boulder up a mountain only for the boulder to tumble back down each time he reaches the peak, finds meaning in the act of continuing to push the boulder. Even though he will continue this cycle for all of eternity, he doesn’t just lay down and give up, he rebels against the absurdity of his situation by continuing to push the boulder, despite the seemingly futile nature of the act.

As I said earlier, BSD is an absurdist text. All of the animanga’s main characters are on a journey of discovering their meaning in life, and their place in the world, and they do this by rebelling against its absurdity — especially Dazai.

Dazai sees the absurd world for what it is, and when he was in the PM, he hated it. Thus, he sought suicide as a solution. I will note here that absurdists generally view suicide as a failure to rebel against the absurd, just giving up and giving into hopelessness. But ever since Dazai left the PM and took Oda’s advice, he’s been rebelling against this, doing good despite his inherent beliefs about morality and the world, and he’s absolutely gotten better for it.

Other characters embody this idea of rebelling against the absurd, hell, that’s kinda what this whole arc is about. The world is literally ending, and things seem to be at their absolute worst, but someone like Atsushi still has hope that he can change the minds of the hunting dogs and save reality as we know it. He even has hope that he can get through to a vampiric Akutagawa when the guy is literally brainwashed and attacking him. Aya as the “last hope” right now embodies this, too, deciding that she can’t just sit around and do nothing and then trying to remove the sword from Bram even though the effort appears futile.

But everything is going wrong right now. Fukuzawa is bleeding out, Dazai has just been shot through the forehead and appears to have died, Atsushi’s had his limbs ripped off and is at Akutagawa’s mercy, and Fukuchi is literally going to end the world! How can we have hope?!

Think about BSD. Think about the story that’s been told so far. Surely Asagiri isn’t killing everyone right now, surely the world isn’t gonna actually end. I’m not entirely convinced Aya’s plan is gonna work— but please consider that the point of absurdist storytelling is that even when everything seems to be at its worst, even when life seems completely meaningless, there is inherent meaning in still continuing to fight against this.

BSD has never been a story where the villains win, and I don’t think it’s gonna start being one. I think, as usual, Asagiri wants to scare us, to make us feel hopeless about the situation, only for someone to pull through and completely turn the tides.

Dazai laying down and accepting his death at Chuuya’s hands is not going to be the end of his story, because it goes against everything Asagiri seems to stand for. Dazai wouldn’t just give up in his fight against Fyodor, because he needs to prove he’s right about what he says in this panel:

"The ones who actually make the world turn are those who scream within the storm of uncertainty and run with flowing blood."

I think this reflects Asagiri's own beliefs and is also the reason why he is not going to let Dazai die like this, because in a way, that would be proving that Fyodor is right. From a storytelling perspective, it’d be saying “everything I’ve communicated up to this point actually means nothing and life is truly hopeless!”

Dazai has cheated death before, as has basically everyone else in danger right now. I promise you, something is going to happen and they’re all going to survive, because BSD is not trauma porn, for lack of a better term. It’s a story about how a group of people fight against the absurdity of their reality, even when everything seems completely and utterly hopeless.

There’s a lot of theories circulating about how things could work out, especially Dazai’s “death,” and I’m not here to repeat all of them, but I will say that a lot of them have credence, especially because Asagiri isn’t the type of author to make mistakes, every single detail has a distinct reason.

So even though I don't know how things are going to work out, I have full faith that they will, including Dazai's current situation. None of these characters are done just yet, they've got too much fight left in them to just give up.

[original twt thread]

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd 109 #bsd spoilers #bsd manga spoilers #bsd meta #kafka asagiri #asagiri kafka #soup rants #being a hashtag camus girlie has its merits!!!#bsd absurdism analysis

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agustdef · 11 months

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Will You

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Black!Reader

Genre: Fluff; Idol AU/Idolverse

Word Count: 3k

Warning: Light Language

Rating: PG-13

Beta Reader: @hobeemin

A/N: This was due to idk and I have so many ideas that I simply didn’t write a ff that ended up posted for much too long. So here’s to hoping to finishing these ideas.

“And without further ado, I am more than happy to introduce you to our keynote speaker Ms. YN LN.”

Clapping fills the room, and Jungkook joins in a beat late. His mind wandered as he’d listened to the other speakers for almost an hour. They’d all had interesting things to say, but something about being in a room with all these people with a person at a podium felt too much like school. Plus, a few of them seemed just to enjoy hearing themselves talk.

He refused to admit that to YN, though.

His beautiful girlfriend tried to give him an out when he said he’d come with her for this event. Told him how boring it would be and that she didn’t mind if he just did something else until she was done. Of course, he pushed for it, and she relented with one final warning about how he’d be bored as hell. To a degree, he’d known that going into it, but he wanted to support her. And to see her in her element.

Though they both work in the same industry, they’re on different ends of it. Jungkook as an artist and occasional writer, while YN worked legal. Their first encounter was when an American artist friend of his invited her out to dinner as a thank you for helping him with a contract issue with his label. They’d made him promises and tried to backtrack when it was time for the new contract. YN worked at a firm that specialized in that kind of thing, though they usually worked with smaller artists. His friend had been her big break, bringing in business and a promotion.

Of course, Jungkook was too much of a punk to ask her for her number at that meeting. He was too nervous about if it was forward, and he didn’t want to mess with the mostly professional nature of the event. But he got her card, and that was enough.

Until they kept bumping into each other at the more business-like industry events. Well, half bumping into each other and the other half him hunting down her name on programs and making sure to show up to those panels or events. It made him feel like a little bit of a stalker, but to combat that, he finally got his shit together and asked her out after running into her at a restaurant.

Grateful to not be turned down was an understatement.

As they got to know each other, he felt himself fall hard and fast. She was perfect. Not in how one thinks when they hear the word, but in how that worked for him. That made their relationship work through the lows as well as the highs.

I love you slipped out of his mouth five months in.

If that didn’t explain why he put himself through this boredom, nothing, else would at least not in a way that made sense. His members still sometimes looked at him crazy with how he felt about her and how he could only sometimes find the words to explain it in a coherent way.

“I promise to try not making this too boring for y’all. I can not, however promise it won’t be boring at all. My line of work has to have some pitfalls besides all that paperwork,” YN joked.

The entire room laughs. It’s not the funniest thing in the world, but the way she delivers it and the energy she exudes as a person gets to people. It’s why Jungkook lets out a laugh that’s a little too loud and draws the attention of those around him. And of YN, though she doesn’t look his way to make that clear. He just nose from the way she pauses for a second longer, and her smile widens.

Embarrassed isn’t even the right word for him at the moment. Part of him wants to flee the room, but he stays in his seat. It helps that anyone who side eyes him switches to being shocked to see him there. Being identified as a member of BTS is what he can handle; being embarrassed is not, despite what his variety show content and the lives over the years might suggest.

To let the feeling pass, he focused on the stage. Well, on YN.

“For those who don’t know me, I’m YN LN, and I've been working at Heights Law for the last six or seven years,. We specialize in fair contracts for indie artists. From things with their label to tours, merchandise, the people they hire, and even contracts between members if it’s a group. About thirty-five percent of those we work with don’t even have a label they’re signed to and don’t want to. And then about twenty percent of our clients are more mainstream artists looking for the same services.

We don’t work with any sort of label because we feel it ties us to worrying too much about keeping on their good side when trying to figure things out. And while we are not on a mission to do anything that would be, for the lack of a better word, line crossing with the people we are trying to get to sign the contracts, our clients come first. That’s made us stand out in a way y’all may have heard about a time or two. I’d like to personally apologize for making you sit through articles about a certain label trying to screw over up and coming artist Minx and all the weird things that were honestly not so weird about her tour rider.”

Again laughter, but with some whispers and grumbles thrown in. That entire situation had everyone in the industry confused as hell, and for the last few months, they thought Minx was trying to be greedy until everything was settled and it was shown that all her asks weren’t as crazy as they’d seemed. Even Jungkook found himself looking at YN like she’d lost it with every new bit of information that was released. He’d asked her about it, but she gave him a look, and he had to wait out the outcome like everyone else.

“And for this, I think Minx is the perfect situation to discuss. I mean, when else will you see how things can go when a former lawyer turned pop star wants to sign with the label she used to work for but knows all their tricks.”

That was all it took to have people enthralled. After everything settled, everyone still had a million questions about it, but they were still waiting for someone at the firm to answer them. Jungkook had the fortune of dating YN around the time, so he got her to tell him, and Minx had invited them somewhere and told him more. So, he knew everything.

Which meant he could just stare at her. He didn’t think of himself as the type to be much of a creepy person, even if him trying to run into her wasn’t a clear indication of that. That and that looking at her was one of his favorite pastimes.

YNs cute.

He would and did use a million words to describe her. But the first thought in his brain when he saw her was how cute she was, and he felt his heart triple in size from that alone. Her genuine smile and soft features do a lot to counteract the fact that she’s only an inch shorter than me, which throws people off when they meet her and had only seen her face before.

Those legs of hers, when she wears heels, drive Jungkook absolutely feral. And he has to fight off the thought of them as his mind spirals. He focused instead on the light tint of pink pushing through the brown skin because of all the bright lighting, the way there’s a stray piece of hair not as curly as the rest that she swears isn’t from heat damage, and she can fix, the soft red of her lips, and the way every part of her body seems light and open as she talks about a subject she loves. A look he’s familiar with and is how he knows she looks at him.

More than anything, Jungkook is sure that YN loves him as much as he loves her, and like a revelation, he knows how much that is. How much space that love takes up in him, to the point that sometimes it feels like it’s overflowing. Right now, it feels like it’s overflowing.

“Questions?”

That one word pulls him out of his head, but he looks at YN with a clarity he didn’t have a few minutes ago, let alone a few hours ago.

Someone clears their throat, but his eyes don’t leave her.

“Why not just go with what the label wanted? I mean, sure, Minx had the background, but that shouldn’t make her any different than any other artist. Should she not be thankful to get into the place twice on different sides of it?”

There was agreement in the crowd, but it died out quickly with everyone else's quietness drop quiet.

Despite the shift in vibes, there’s a smile on YN’s face.

“Why do you think that? Is it because others don’t have that same knowledge? I can see how that could be seen as unfair because it is. But because she has the background,, she used it to help herself best,, which made it so we could best help her and those in the future. However, I can assure you that they changed their contract language a lot since then. Height and many other firms who deal with them and this kind of thing all saw a shift for the better and for the worst with them. So, while you may wonder why Minx didn’t simply take what she should be lucky to have gotten from them, I hope you’re settled by the fact that unless the rare thing happens. Someone else does the same thing, no one else will be able to give the insight on how to best make the next contract work for the client in the way she did.”

The response is assertive, sarcastic, and professionally annoyed. It doesn’t leave room for anyone to say anything that doesn’t make them look any more like an ass. But the man at the podium opens his mouth a few times to try and figure out what to say. In the end, he walks away from the mic with his head down. Jungkook is sure that if it weren’t for pride, he would walk out of the room altogether.

“Any more questions,” YN said after a moment.

There’s one that Jungkook has. One he needs answered, but he finds himself glued to his seat.

Several people go up and ask their questions, all of them better than the first one, though some of them toe the line. There are also a few that Jungkook would deem flirting, but they don’t bother him. Not with the thoughts swarming around in his head.

Before he knows it, she answers the last question, and everyone is dismissed. A few linger to talk, but with this day being so packed, everyone wants to rush off to the next talk or event happening.

He sits in the seat for about fifteen minutes before she walks up to him, and when she puts her hand on his shoulder, he looks up at her startled, even though he watched her approach him.

“Ready to go?”

Jungkook’s mouth opens and closes as he stares at her. He feels all over the place, but none of it’s uncertainty or doubt.

“I have a question,” he managed.

“Huh?”

“I have a question. I didn’t get the chance to ask it in there. I was… I’m nervous to ask it, and I couldn’t do it in there.”

YN frowned. “You can always ask me anything, my love. No need to be nervous about it. Plus, I’m sure yours is better than some of the bullshit I get asked in general when it comes to work.”

For a moment, Jungkook says nothing. All he can do is stare at her and try to keep his breathing normal. The latter is the hardest part, but YN takes his hand in hers and squeezes it tight.

Taking a breath, he gets to his feet, takes both of her hands in his, and stares into her eyes. He’s more than sure about what he has to say.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

Question nor answer was said with any hesitation. However, Jungkook could tell that YN was still trying to process what was happening. He was too, but that wasn’t important now.

After a second, Jungkook released one of her hands, and with the other firm in his grasp, he led her out of the room. He hears her ask a question, but it doesn’t fully register in his brain. All his focus is on weaving through the crowd of people and out the door of the convention center. The place isn’t as isolated as some can be, so he walked past the parking lot where his car is and made his way past the hotel they were staying at.

“Where are we going?”

“Jungkook?”

“Jay?”

There’s a loud exhale too, but Jungkook paid it no mind. He’s on a mission.

“For goodness sake, Kookie.”

YN matches his pace though she’s clearly confused by what the hell is happening. He knew he should say something, but couldn’t find his words just yet, so he kept walking until ten minutes later, they were in front of a popular celebrity-use jewelry store.

A few of the things he bought for himself and others - YN included - were from here, so he had a code that they gave him to get in. The door buzzed them in, and the moment that they walked in, there was a person there and ready to help. Though it might not be obvious to most, it was clear from the knowing smile on the woman’s face she knew what was up.

Didn’t stop Jungkook from being so flustered, though.

“Hi. Engagement rings. I mean, we would like to see engagement rings.”

Without a word, she directed them to the back of the store. They followed close behind her, and when they entered the room, she’s taking them to another person is setting down a tray of rings, with others sitting on a cart behind him.

Yeah, she knew.

Once everything is on the table, the man leaves, and they’re directed to sit. The woman who welcomed them stands on the other side of the table.

“This is a collection of all the rings we sell in the store. Though there are others, we can have custom made if what you see in front of you isn’t the right fit or you want a mix of styles. There’s a mix of the traditional sort and the non-traditional. Some are even without diamonds. Please, take your time to look through them and see if something catches your eye.”

Then she’s gone, and all the sound goes with her.

“We’re doing this?”

“You asked me.”

“True.”

Jungkook finally turns and looks at her, and despite all the nerves he’s feeling about if she’ll take it back, there’s a smile on her face. And a lack of anxiety like what’s going through him. Though he can tell, she’s a little thrown off by it all.

“I did. And I want to.”

“Then we better start looking, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

All the tension that was once there leaves the room, and they both turn their attention to the hundreds of rings in front of them. It’s an overwhelming site, but they dive into them. Jungkook tries to get YN to try some on, but she says that she doesn’t want to just yet, so they set them on the empty tray right in front of them.

Each one feels perfect to Jungkook, but not right. More of the diamond rings that look how he’s used to seeing American engagement rings look like end up on the tray, which isn’t much of a shock with YN’s usual preferences.

A tray marked as morganite is second to last, and Jungkook almost avoids it, but then one ring calls to him. His eyes zone in on it, and he reaches for it just as YN gasps. His neck nearly breaks when he turns to look at her, but the slight pain means nothing as he follows her gaze to the ring he was reaching for.

Without another thought, he picks it up, takes her hand, and slides it into place. Though it’s a little loose, it fits her finger. The oval champagne colored gem is on a white gold band and surrounded on either side with diamonds that fan out, almost like leaves on the stem of a flower. They wrap perfectly around her finger and stop before they reach the palm side. Everything about it is YN. Is them.

“Perfection,” YN whispered.

“Yeah.”

And like the whirlwind that this was, Jungkook was happy to find that they had the same ring, the right size, on the premises, and he paid for it right then and there. It only left YN’s finger so they could clean it, and then it was on again.

They walked out of the room, and both were on a cloud. All those nerves Jungkook felt before were gone, but something else replaced it.

“I guess we have a wedding to plan. I can’t imagine when we’d even have it,” YN said.

“Now.”

Not the least bit startled, she turned to him with a raised brow.

��Now?”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe?”

Silence sat between them for what felt like forever, and then YN turned her attention back to the jeweler.

“We need to see wedding bands, too,” she said, then turned back to Jungkook. “And you need to start making phone calls.”

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chamiryokuroi · 11 months

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My thoughts on Tim Drake: Robin #10 heavy spoilers under the cut

First of all got to say it wasn’t a bad ending if we consider they had to wrap up this arc in such a short amount of time, gotta give it to Meghan she managed to figure out a way to answer as many questions as possible and give us a relatively good ending for a series that I feel was canceled with no reason.

You can definitely feel that the story was planned to be done in more issues, the building blocks are all there for an amazing arc and it is sad we had to condense it all in one issue.

Now into a more in depth analysis of the comic of my favorite parts.

The Labyrinth was such and interesting point I wish we could have seen more of, specially with the fact this is the cult if Dionysus.

I absolutely adore the fact that Bernard is fully aware of Tim’s identiry because we get such funny interactions like this where Pie honestly thinks Tim is cheating on Bernard with Robin, and that panel of Bernard laughing because of that is one of my favorites for sure, boy is having so much fun, as he should.

Now in a more serious tone, this two panels tells us so much of how Tim feels, how insecure he is of his own place, not only on his family, but in the world as a whole. That second panel specifically where we see Bernard having fun while Tim is just on the bg, knowing how hard it must be for Tim to wrap his head around his sexuality even now, a year after coming out and starting dating Bernard, this feels realistic, sometimes when you come out later in life it feels as if you do not fit exactly with the community, and it can be hard to find your place.

If I had a nickel for every time a creepy cult tried to recruit Tim into their ranks I would have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it is weird that it keeps happening.

This is honestly another point that feels like it was meant to be explored for longer before the cancelation notice came. At least it gives us an explanation of why Kate was acting the way she was, it took me a while to get it but basically after Tim saved Bernard from the cult back in Urban Legends Kate went around hunting down those that managed to escape, one of them being the son of this man that appears to be the leader of the cult, the son then took his own life and Kate was taken into the labyrinth, were we know Tim was being pumped with some hallucinogen gas of some sort, depending on how long she was on the labyrinth before managing to escape that might explain her memory loss, again this is all theorizing with what we are given since there wasn’t much space for it to be explain as it should.

And now we go back to Bernard who is looking around for Tim, going to all the people that knew him as Robin, and then those words “Tim takes care of everyone… but sometimes he needs someone to take care of him” hits me straight on the feels, Bernard is such a supportive boyfriend, he is definitely what Tim needs, someone that is there for him, not only for Tim, but also Robin.

Also the fact that Bernard is making his own homemade bat-signal with his hands is just adorable to me. Boy could had probably drove to Bruce’s house, but he doesn’t need Bruce’s help right now, he needs Batman.

And of course Batman responds. Bruce why were you following Bernard? Anyways, yet another great speech from Bernard “I thought you might be a ghost. Or you weren’t real. But the truth is you look sort of normal. Like regular-people normal.” Leave it to Bernard to understand exactly what Batman is, just a normal man trying to help as best as he can.

And then he says Tim needs help, not Robin, Tim. This is just Bernard out right telling Bruce “I know, and I don’t care, because Tim is in problem and you got to find him”

And then we get the best thing, Bernard, and Tim’s friends and family, rushing in to save him, just as he was losing hope of managing to leave the labyrinth alive. Absolutely in love with Bernard’s long ass coat.

And then we get to my favorite page. The uncertainty if it is really him or another hallucination, the confirmation that it is him, it is Bernard, here to save Tim. The hug, the way Tim is holding Bernard’s face, the only thing that would had made this better would had been a kiss.

And then we get to the ending, not much to say here, I just love these two pages, Tim just finally realizing he doesn’t need to be anyone else, that he can be himself and that he is right where he belong, and that he can be happy with that. The best ending we could have hope for with what we were allowed to have.

There are obviously many questions left unanswered.

What was exactly the Cult of Dionysus? Where did it came from?

What’s going on with Bernard’s parents?

What’s up with Moriarty? Who was his boss? What was his deal with Robin/Tim??

I am sad TD:R ended the way it did, had it been given the time to develop I feel it would had gotten better. But I am glad we managed to get as much as we did, now we just have to wait and see what will DC do now with Tim, and if Bernard will stay relevant or will they brush him under the rug.

#dc #tim drake #bernard dowd #timbern #this makes no sense but I just had to speak out #td:r spoilers #spoilers

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ketterdamskaelishprince · 2 months

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episode 100, mr raven what the fuck

obviously since i'll be talking about episode 100 i'm going to just put it out there that if you haven't read episode 100 yet then do not read this. then again, this is all in vague reference to the episode and i'm mostly just using bits and pieces to back up my previous idea.

(this is taken from ep 99 pls chill i'm not dishing out spoilers)

anyways, if we continue to ep 100, we see MORE EVIDENCE FOR THAT WIERD DEER THING BEING THEO.

"and for you, especially" shouts to me specifically about this. as previously stated, i have the most insane and stupid thought that the weird deer-monster-bone-tree thing from episode one (you know what i'm talking about), is theo's spectre.

as stated before, the most compelling evidence i have for this is the fact that theo was known to hunt deer a lot, and the thing we see in episode one looks a lot like a deer skull, just with loads of red eyes placed into the cracks and such. and we know from the first episode that it seemed to flock towards lenore and annabel. or at least i think it sort of seems to go towards them.

and you, know i could've been wrong– except look at this from ep 100:

now, obviously the first part practically proves the fact something is following lenore, and that this something is (potentially!!!) theo's spectre. but i think what proves it more is what mr raven says next.

"close as a second shadow"

someone on tumblr (i cannot remember who) pointed out that annabel and lenore's like fates are almost reversed? and how lenore who once had nothing to loose now has everything, and annabel is vice versa. and you know, first of all, amazing take. delicious. fantastic. whoever this was, please please please make yourself known to me pookie i'm gna worship the ground you walk on because you've given me thoughts !!!

from this "second shadow" talk, i wonder if the idea of reversal spreads through more than just lenore and annabel's relationship. in life, theo was the star violinist whilst lenore was the accompanist, the piano player.

musically, lenore was his shadow.

of course, this is a very generalised take. as somebody who plays both piano and flute, i'm not going to go out and say that the piano player is just background noise when it's a duet, but more often then not the piano stands aside so that the violin (in these situations) can shine.

n life, lenore lives behind theo's shadow, and when he dies she's haunted by it.

when she looks in the mirror, she sees theo as she cuts her hair. she sees him everywhere. in his life, she was the the dark shadow that loomed– but in death he always behind her, always the dark looming figure that follows her. her guilt binds with his memory and forms that dark looming thought that nobody wants to discuss.

and so, to me, it makes perfect sense that this little deer-tree-bone-monster thing is theo.

but then, obviously, as i look at all of this, there is the glaring question of why in the first episode this monster looked like it really wanted to chomp on lenore and annabel's limbs. and you know, typically, siblings don't want to cannibalise each other.

i see your point, and i respond back with these three panels:

lenore goes on to explain that their bloodline has been plagued by madness, misfortune and death. then, take a look at what the raven says of how spirits "oft" are "driven to madness" by their desire for souls.

i think this connects, because idk i just think it does. could be totally wrong, but i think (???) theo (???) somehow escaped to try get back to lenore and go to the threshold (???) but got trapped in that spooky place, and his only defence left was his spectre (???) and so, by staying in it too long, he too was "driven to madness" which probably wasn't helped by the vandernacht curse (???). he might be half forgotten in his own mind, but he knows one thing right now: he wants to find lenore, his sister. he might not remember her as his sister, but he knows her name and an image is there in her mind. so when she arrives, he must get to her.

anyways guys, that's it. ignore me. i yap a lot. i know i don't know a lot and i'm sure there's a few fastpassers out there who are laughing because i'm being silly, but let me delude myself :)

#nevermore webtoon #nevermore webcomic #nevermore #lenore nevermore #annabel lee nevermore #lenore vandernacht #theo nevermore #i am singlehandedly adding to this tag #this may be riddled with typos #episode 100 damn fr

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 7 months

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 7

Part 1 Part 6

Eddie may not have thought this through. The walk to the trailer doesn’t take long, even with the limp Harrington’s trying to hide and the weight of their backpacks.

Eddie wants to stretch out each step to last hours, even as the bottom of his feet ache, and his stomach rumbles its displeasure. But sooner than he’s prepared for, there it is: home sweet home.

Unfortunately, in the light of a red-hellscape day, his trailer looks shittier than usual. It’s sky-blue paneling is blocked out by the vines crawling their way up its sides, coiling atop the windows like it’s a choice. There’s dirt caking it, like the vines dragged up all manner of mud and debris on their trip toward the sky.

It’s a beacon of rural piss-poor American life, and King Steve Harrington had just brushed past him on the doorstep to shove his way inside without even a by your leave.

Eddie’s not embarrassed by his life with Wayne. There’s a light in his heart for him that will never go out. He’s given him so much – a room of his own, consistent meals in his belly, someone to ask him what his plans are for the day over morning coffee. This is the best it’s ever been for Eddie Munson.

But there’s something curdling in his gut that feels an awful lot like shame. He imagines Harrington in there now, perusing Uncle Wayne’s mug collection with a derisive curl to his lip. Judging the way some of their logos are faded, the little chips in the handles and lips. The way none of them match. The way springs stick out in a few places in the pull-out couch. The television that’s at least ten years out of date. The hole in the bathroom door where Eddie’s foot had gone through when he’d been trying to learn how to cartwheel at thirteen.

All the little things he never even thinks about, stacking up in the face of King Steve’s perfect hair and perfect house. It’s curdling his insides, sinking like cement, weighing him to the stoop for a few moments more.

He takes a deep breath, pulls the dangling hem of his vest in tight, and shoves through the door like he hadn’t just been having a stupid breakdown over class warfare while trapped in a hellscape and being hunted by monsters.

Harrington’s not in the living room or the conjoining kitchen. Eddie’s bedroom door is still firmly shut. He follows the rustling sound to the kitchen where he finds Harrington, stooped over and rifling through the cupboard below the sink.

“Whatcha doing in there, big boy?” There’s a curl of satisfaction at the way the other boy jumps, smacking his head against the cupboard door.

He pulls his head out, grimacing up at Eddie and rubbing the back of his head. “Looking for anything useful.” He ducks back under the cupboard. Eddie stands there, listening the rustling of his first aid cabinet as Harrington digs through it. He resists the urge to yank Harrington out by his hair.

Almost as if he heard the though, Harrington bolts upright, narrowly missing hitting his head for a second time as he turns to Eddie, eyes wide. “Shit, sorry. I forgot this was like, your house.” He looks at the window, the light half obscured by the vines crawling over its glass and amends, “well, sort of.”

Eddie can’t help the way he laughs. “You’re good dude,” he says, patting Harrington’s shoulder lightly. “But I don’t think you’ll find anything down there that we didn’t already get from Melvald’s.”

Harrington sighs. “Well, then,” he says, “where are the goods?”

Eddie retrieves Wayne’s shotgun from its place of honor behind his recliner, grabbing a box of extra shells from the little cupboard above the fridge.

The way Harrington grimaces as Eddie hands it over doesn’t inspire confidence, nor does the way he eyes the thing like he’s never seen one before, finger twitching toward the trigger before appearing to think better of it.

“How long ago was that hunting trip, dude?” he asks, trepidation leaking into his tone.

“I was eight,” Steve murmurs, barely audible.

“That was almost ten years ago!” His voice breaks in the middle. A pit has opened up in his stomach, and Harrington is going to throw them both in it and send that thing in after them.

“Do you have a better idea?” he hisses.

The kicker? Eddie really really doesn’t.

Part 8

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #stranger things #my fic

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playbucky · 6 months

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Operation Safe House | 2 |

Price needs a safe house, you have a safe house. Should be an easy deal, right? Well when he and the team appear in the middle of the night, you come across Ghost, Gaz and Soap, all who are unsure of you an the solitude that you have. The solitude that will soon beep broken when the people they are hunting show up unannounced. Characters - Reader (Reaper), Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz. Word Count - 2k.

Part 1

‘Samuel, it’s Samuel Reagan.’ You faltered at their name, you looked at his broken fingers, they were bloody and had started to turn purple. ‘Who?’ ‘You heard me.’ He leaned closer, you clenched your jaw as you brought the rolling pin down, it connected with his fingers again. ‘Why is he here?’ You asked. ‘You helped the wrong people last month.’ Percy breathed out, your brows furrowed. ‘The two girls?’ You asked, not saying their names but he nodded. ‘Anya was his wife.’ He informed you. ‘You’re kidding?’ You said, he shook his head, ‘she was barely twenty.’ ‘Nineteen and he wants to know where they are.’ Percy said, you shook your head and stood up. ‘How did you know it was me?’ You quizzed, Percy chuckled and followed you up. ‘One of his men got close enough to watch, he was going to get in but you moved them before he could do anything.’ He explained, you pursed your lips. ‘And the team?’ You questioned and pointed behind you, they had fallen silent momentarily. ‘He hired me and I knew that if they were pushed hard enough they would go to a safe house.’ He said, you dropped the rolling pin onto the floor as you pushed up. ‘When is he coming?’ ‘Soon.’ ‘How soon?’ You asked, leaned his head back as he gave a tired smile. ‘You’ll find out.’ He commented, something snapped inside you before your arm swung forward and connected with his jaw, it cracked and he went backwards, the chair toppled with him. You went to climb on top of him but a large arm wrapped around your stomach and pulled you away, you fought against the person but they didn’t budge. ‘As much as we want to see you do it, now isn’t the time.’ Ghost stated as he set you down, you turned to him. You went to object but them movement on the security cameras caught your attention. You stalked away from the group and sat at the computer, you typed furiously and deleted anything that connected anyone that had came through the building. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘You need to leave.’ You told them, you stood up and pushed the chair back before you picked your computer up and dropped it to the ground, you stomped it a few times as the screen shattered. ‘Y/N who is Reagan to you?’ ‘Y/N -,’ a large bang filled the room, everyone ducked before guns were pulled out and aimed. ‘Looks like it stands up to a rocket launcher.’ You commented, you looked at the footage and noticed the large group of men that surrounded the house. ‘You guys should leave now.’ You told the four men who were bewildered by your calmness. ‘Reaper.’ ‘Reaper?’ Percy chuckled, you snapped around to him before you made eye contact with Price. ‘Take your team and leave, through the back.’ ‘What about you?’ Price asked, you titled your head to the side. ‘I’ll be fine.’ ‘I’m not leaving Captain.’ Soap said, you ignored him as you walked over and bent over Percy, his eyes widened before you freed his limbs of the ropes and pulled him up. ‘Neither am I sir.’ Gaz added, Percy tried to fight you but you grabbed his destroyed hand and twisted it behind his back so you could guide him to the area in front of the cracked door. Price looked at Ghost, eyebrow raised under the hat as Ghost tilted his head, Price sighed at the unanimous vote that everyone made. You kept Percy in front of you, your free hand moved along the wall before you found the panel. ‘Y/N.’ ‘Sorry boys.’ You apologised as you pressed the button and the heavy glass panelled door slid over, they tried to get through but it was useless.

They thumped against the glass before they stopped, you lifted your pistol of the counter it had been sat on earlier and moved, your back against the wall. Percy tensed up when you rested the gun on his shoulder, aimed at the door. Another loud bang filled the house, brightness seeped in from outside as you ducked behind Percy, muffled voices sounded before Percy’s head was flung back, his blood coating everything. Before his body dropped to the ground another shot was fired, you were flung into the wall, a bullet lodged in your chest the gun fell from your hand. The task force watched as you smiled, Reagan appeared, he turned his head to the panel and then back to you. It was a two-way panel. ‘Gaz, get this open.’ Ghost commanded, he moved to the edge were it should be connected to the panel. They watched as you and Reagan talked, your lips moving as your face remained stoic, Reagan got angrier. Suddenly he lurched forward, his wide hand wrapped around your throat as he straightened your back, leaning closer to you and whispered into your ear. He pulled back with a smile that you returned, your leg jerked out, his knee went backwards and he dropped down. You leaned down and moved to beside his ear, you silently told him something as your hand slid into his suit jacket, you pulled it out to reveal the silver gun pressed against his chest. ‘Got it.’ Gaz announced, the door slid open as you fired the gun. Reagan slouched and you waited for the waves of bullets to come your way but you were quickly pulled the to side and Soap and Ghost fired out the front door. Price guided you to the couch and lowered you into it, you yelled when he pressed down on the bullet wound. He yanked you forward to see if there was an exit wound, which there wasn’t, he leaned you back. ‘Need to get you to a hospital love.’ He said, the heel of his hand pressed against the bleed. ‘I told you to leave.’ You tired to pull away from the pressure. ‘Not gonna happen.’ Ghost said, you glared at him as he and Soap walked back over, you noticed the pile of bodies at the front door. ‘Who opened the door?’ ‘I did ma’am.’ Gaz said, you groaned at being called that before you noticed the whole in the wall, the cables pulled out and sliced. ‘Hope your gonna pay to get that fixed.’ You joked, Gaz’s lips curled and he looked away. ‘Soon as you’re better ma -,’ ‘Call me ma’am one more time, please, try it.’ You warned him, he stopped and took a step back. ‘Stop threatening my team, you should be focused on getting out of here.’ Price said, you slid your eyes to him before you sighed. ‘Press the star key and then leave.’ You gritted out. ‘What?’ ‘You can’t be linked to any of this, you can’t be in the system, they will be here within ten minutes so you’ve got to go.’ You told them, they shook their heads. ‘We aren’t -,’ ‘Leave.’ You snarled, you pulled away from Price and pressed your own hand against the wound.

You stepped through the automatic doors, the busy hospital gave way to the chaotic street, silence was hard to find here. You inhaled deeply, wincing as your shoulder pulled in the sling. Rolling your neck you turned and went to walk away but a loud whistle pulled you from your thoughts. ‘Need a ride love?’ Price called out, you looked at the group that waited around the black jeep, Ghost situated in the front passenger seat whilst Gaz and Soap leaned out the back window and waved. ‘What are you guys doing here?’ You quizzed as you walked over to them so the conversation wasn’t being shouted. ‘Thought you might need a pick-up.’ He said. ‘I can get the bus.’ You motioned to the bus stop about twenty feet away. ‘You saved us, we can give you a ride back home.’ Gaz commented from the back, you look at him. ‘I don’t have a home anymore.’ You reminded them. ‘Yeah, you do.’ ‘Pretty sure it’s in pieces.’ ‘With us, you’ve got a spot with us.’ Price said, your brows furrowed as you looked at him. ‘What?’ ‘We discussed it and talked to our bosses, and we think it’d be good for you to join us, become part of the one four one.’ Price said, you looked to the group who watched you expectantly. ‘I can’t impose.’ You held your good hand up. ‘You aren’t, we offered, you can say yes or no either way you will be seeing us.’ Price said, you raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that a threat?’ ‘It’s a promise.’ Ghost spoke up, you looked at him before you sighed. ‘We don’t want to replace the team that you lost,’ you lowered your head, ‘but we want you to became part of us, you belong taking down bad guys and helping behind the lines instead of sitting in a house waiting for them to stumble onto you.’ Price said, you rolled your neck. ‘When would I start?’ ‘Now?’ Price said, ‘we’re heading back to base to write up reports and gather ourselves before we head out.’ He finished, you nodded. ‘Okay.’ ‘Soap, Gaz move over.’ Ghost told the men as they did, Price reached for the door and opened it for you.

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greeniegaes · 2 months

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From that one X-Files Audio lol

1) SQQ: “why would I make them so uncomfortable?”

2) SQH, scratching his face: “it probably has to do with your reputation.”

3) SQQ, surprised: “I have a reputation?”

4) SQH: “They feel your methods, your theories are…”

5) SQQ, eyes now visible: “Spooky”

6) SQQ: “Do you think I’m spooky?” SQH is thinking about in the past he spied on SQQ, who was at his table mixing this up

Explanation for this little comic, if people want to read it ig lol

Basically it’s after SQQ gets poisoned by without-a-cure, and he’s desperate has he can feel it starting to take a toll on his body occasionally. He’s chronically exhausted and in pain no matter how hard he tries to hide it and the qi flair ups are only getting worse. Mu Qingfang tries his best but he’s a doctor who can only do so much. SQQ however is willing to go farther, so he starts to hunt demonic creatures down to try and make his own cure for it. Rumors are going around that a peak lord had gone insane no matter how much they all try to hide it and SQH is told by MBJ to go check it out. He sneaks into the bamboo house (last panel) and finds SQQ crying into his palms with various rare ingredients that he somehow got. SQH doesn’t see him as some scum villain or some insane character like he used to now, SQQ was someone trying to survive, and he felt bad that he second handedly got him poisoned. So he starts to try and help him out, giving him a lighter amount of paperwork, more shipments of fire wood, easy stuff, until SQQ calls him out on in (comic) asking why he was doing this and what was wrong with the people around him. Everyone but SQQ can see how exhausted the man is but only SQH can see how terrified his fellow peak lord is under it all.

#shen qingqiu #shen yuan #svsss #svsss shen qingqiu #shang qinghua #svsss fanart #comic #svsss au #greeniegaes

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sweet7simple · 1 month

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Drift would NEVER (Spoilers)

So I already talked about this in another post:

But I am STILL ticked off at Rodimus for abandoning Ratchet:

(More Than Meets the Eye, Issues #17-22)

Oh noooo, fifty angry decepticoooonnns - Rodimus still ended up in a jail cell with everyone else EXCEPT Ratchet who was being tortured by Pharma.

Drift would have NEVER turned his back on Ratchet. And I am going to prove a point with more comic panels because that is how I do.

(More under the cut)

Let's start with More Than Meets the Eye Issues #4 & 5 where Ratchet and Drift go up against an artificial plague created by Pharma. This plague kills. Drift catches the plague. Drift is ACTIVELY DYING as Ratchet goes off to have his main boss fight with Pharma (Ratchet also has the plague and is dying, but not as much as Drift who started showing symptoms sooner):

Drift STILL drags his dying carcass after Ratchet and saves his ambulance from getting shot in the back:

They both live by the way.

Moving onto More Than Meets the Eye Issues #14 where Overlord escapes confinement on the Lost Light and starts rampaging. Ratchet and Drift instantly make the dream team:

They instantly fail:

(Drift's legs have been torn off.)

BUT THEY STILL FOUGHT TOGETHER BECAUSE THEY WOULD NEVER ABANDON EACH OTHER. As everyone knows because Drift: Empire of Stone is dedicated to Ratchet hunting Drift down and convincing him to come back to the Lost Light, but that isn't what this is about. This is about how Drift is goddamn RIDE OR DIE.

He isn't even necessarily just Ride or Die for Ratchet either.

Speaking of Drift: Empire of Stone, there was that time in Issue #1 where Drift got himself and Ratchet kidnapped by decepticons because he was going to the aid of another decepticon (the group of decepticons thought he was a turncoat/spy and were treating him like the enemy even though he was a goddamn decepticon):

"Well, Rodimus was running from fifty decepticons, not five!"

Well, shut up. Five or fifty, my main mech Drift would still say:

But Rodimus just up and left Ratchet behind.

I wonder if, wherever Drift was in the galaxy (this is during the time Drift was banished from the Lost Light, so he was not present for this shit show), his "my ambulance is in danger" senses were tingling. I wonder if he experienced this sudden and unexplainable dread when Ratchet was taken and tortured physically and psychologically.

I wonder if he felt a helpless rage at the fact that something was wrong and he couldn't do anything about it.

And when he and Ratchet spark merge for the first time down the line (you should have guessed by now that I support the Dratchet movement, please keep Rodimus's grubby paws off my Conjunx Endurae), when he sees these memories, I wonder if he cries. If he blames himself for not being there. If he wishes fervently that he had been at Ratchet's side the whole time for better or for worse.

And I hope he would have hit Rodimus for leaving Ratchet behind.

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witchofthesouls · 3 months

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I just read your seeker bird kiddo (Jack) and Truck dad Optimus adventures and I beg for more content, I adore it all and the spOoky cryptic parts are 👌

👁️👄👁️

Jack accidentally triggers mechs’ protective instincts because he makes baby bird noises to mimic the local corvids. It doesn't help that Jack parks himself at the entrance to the Ark and plays games with the more playful blackbirds. Dadimus is very much used to Jack’s imitations, the rest of the Autobots (and his counterpart) are most definitely not.

The chirping and screes are reminiscent of newsparks’ calls for attention and care, and it drives the resident Seekerkin up the wall because he is the only sparkling in the vicinity and Jack punches the Seekerkin-coding into activity after four million years of dormancy.

There have been a few jokes to take a recording of the sparkling’s noises and play it to the Decepticon Seekers after the Autobots had seen their own Seekerkin with the kid. TFP Optimus is immediately No. Stop. Control, Alt, and Delete that terrible plan. He will take Jack and run into the most remote environments he can find.

No one knows how Jack did it, but the blackbirds got into gambling, and everyone blames Smokescreen.

He's partly to blame with the cards, but the dice is Bluestreak's fault.

Jack is a polite menace. The kid knows his manners, but that doesn't stop him from skipping up the walls, hanging on the ceiling, and popping into places that he shouldn't have access to. At all.

Mechs were confused why Dadimus pinged out so often but then realized that's the most reliable way to actually tag Jack as he's a slippery little thing. Sometimes the sparkling responds, but usually he doesn't.

Red Alert is on the verge of having an aneurysm since Jack can bypass all the security measures. Mechs have taken to looking up to see if Jack is trapezing on the panels or checking under the tables and desks because of near unfortunate incidents of almost shooting the kid or shock-related delays with time-sensitive chemical reactions that nearly turned the ship into a massive crater.

Dadimus was highly disappointed and upset by the last part as Jack knows better as he had done similar stunts when they were upon research vessels. Not only Jack had to apologize to Skyfire, Wheeljack, and Perceptor, but he wasn't allowed to stray from Dadimus' field for a month. ("Curiosity cannot override safety protocols.")

On one camera, Jack would be at a corner by the entrance with organic birds, and between blinks he would then disappear and reappear across the ship, talking excitedly to a random corner with a different group of birds.

(If anyone catches them at the right second, at the right angle, at the right frame... the raven/crow/jackdaw/jay will ripple. Feathers dripping and flowing like an inky waterfall and eyes splitting into multiple, countless pairs as Jack's shadow expands- And then, the watcher will blink because they have to, and the footage will reset. Devoid of Jack and blackbirds.)

There's talk about new cryptids going around. It's silly Halloween and superstitious nonsense… until it isn't.

Due to Smokescreen, Bluestreak, and the Aerialbots constantly monitoring the perimeter or setting traps that are becoming more elaborate each week, it's becoming a new running joke. It's the Autobot snipe-hunting. All because of Jack's devoted drawings of strange, contorted creatures.

They're adamant that something is outside.

(They’re right).

An eerie thing begins to appear at the nearby dunes by the Ark’s entrance. It’s vaguely canine and its size is constantly changing. They can smell a wildfire in the air and taste ash upon their tongues as it beckons them to follow with a heavy, burning gaze.

Before anyone follows, a racket of shrieking blackbirds breaks them out of the trance. When the piercing noise fails, then a nasty peck to some skin or exposed protoform is enough to bring them back to their senses.

“It’s looking for something that can’t be regained,” Jack speaks with a keenness beyond his age and a lilting cadence. A flurry of pictures of the same dark canine by a campfire with multiple individuals and groups sitting by it. It remains unchanged, despite the others’ fashions and vehicles it managed to beckon to it. “Don’t be taken by its ancient sorrow. You won’t escape its grasp.”

Between the space of desert and forest, there’s an old barbwire fence and a seemingly endless dusty dirt road that has never been updated to proper asphalt, despite its existence for over a century and all the grumbles and complaints by humans and Cybertronians.

When it rains, a phantom of a massive stag appears. Dark and regal, it gently trods along the path, always towards the forest, never in the opposite direction. Perched upon its twisted antlers is an owl with multiple wings, spread out and spotted with many painted eyes, a feathered and watchful halo with a cry that echoes in everyone’s ears and audials. It leaves no tracks, just deep puddles with flickering shapes in its vast depths that immediately dry when people look away.

The mechs start to understand that the local humans’ grumblings and complaints are half-hearted, and when it starts to drizzle, everyone stays inside.

“It’s older than all those that vaguely remember its beginnings,” Jack murmurs to a window full of drawings in the condensation, sleepy in the colder weather as he curls in a heated seat. “Dreaming and wandering, yet always returning to the place that crowned it King.”

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