#just the concept of the man you feel you should have died for still living but twisted into something unrecognizably despicable | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heartpascal · 1 year

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the gold. . .

▹ — joel miller x f!reader

▹ — summary: you don’t like the person joel’s become.

▹ — a/n: not my favourite writing ever :( i love this concept tho it would make such good angst!!! also i’m only part way through the game so idk if this sorta thing is really covered :’) either way, go easy on me pls <3 kinda tempted to do a pt 2 where they meet again years later via tess buuuut yk

▹ — warnings: angst, like. quite a bit of it, joel’s kinda a bad person ish, grief, arguments, (mentioned) killing, blood

masterlist

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

The outbreak had torn the world apart, it had torn your world apart. But then again, that was everybody’s story, anyone who managed to survive had lost everything they valued. Most people had to have the debate if survival was even worth the suffering or seemed to come pre-packaged with.

Hell, you were one of the lucky ones! You were alive, your fiancé was alive, but the two of you had lost the thing most precious to you; Sarah.

For a long time, you were convinced that you’d soon follow her footsteps, finally kick the bucket in some way or other. But miracle after miracle led to you living, with a lot of those miracles being orchestrated by Joel or Tommy. For years, the three of you looked after each other, surviving in the QZ together as best as you could. Sure, you and Joel wouldn’t be getting married, and yes, Tommy became more restless as the days went on, but you were together.

You thought that was all that mattered.

An aching that started at your chest had long since spread to the rest of your body, settling heavily in your bones and leaving you exhausted.

Tired of Joel being out all times of the night, with his newest crew of people who you couldn’t help but get chills from. Tired of Tommy refusing to cooperate with the authorities in this dystopian world that was now your reality. Tired of being the only one who was still trying to stick together, to survive together.

There was nothing worse than watching the man you love die in front of your very eyes. It was slow, at first, the grief over Sarah making everything seem minor, excusable. It made the world harder to live in, the centre of both yours and Joel’s universe now suddenly gone, and it was like you’d lost your orbit. Like you were floating in space, unsure where you were meant to be going.

Eventually, you found Joel and Tommy being the people you’d orbit. Somehow, you always came back to the shitty apartment that Joel refused to make feel anything like a home.

You were the only one who knew that this was your reality now, and you could either live in it, or you should have just died with Sarah. You wanted to live, with Joel, with his brother, who used to be your best friend.

It started when Joel finally figured out the best, most efficient, way to sneak out of the QZ without being caught.

You felt uneasy for days, unsure as to why, but when you saw Joel hammering nails into a strip of leather, you couldn’t help but feel something was very, very wrong. You knew it was a bad idea to follow him, knew you could get everyone, including Joel and yourself, caught and likely killed, but you had to know what was going on, what they were getting up to.

With your heart hammering inside your chest, you watched from a small distance away as Joel rolled out the leather strip along a road, confusion dancing across your eyebrows. It was only when you heard the distinct rev of a truck engine that you realised what he could be doing.

A man splashed with blood stepped out of the building, screaming at the people in the truck for help, for anything, and you watched as they approached him hesitantly, the truck rolling over the nails in the leather strip.

The tires screeched as all the air streamed out, the truck trying to reverse but not getting far enough as the group — Joel’s group — approached.

You turned away, hurrying back to the QZ with your stomach turning, your whole body flinching when you heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

Managing to sneak back in to the QZ without being caught would’ve impressed you, had you not just witnessed a horror you almost couldn’t fathom. When you got back to your dingy apartment, you pulled open the cupboard that the weapons were kept in, and held your hand over your mouth when you saw the gun that usually sat locked in there was gone.

Your brain could barely catch up, the thought of Joel, your Joel, killing those people was strongly refuted, your own mind betraying you by conjuring up old images of domestic bliss.

Sarah’s head across your lap as you leant into Joel’s chest, one hand gently holding on to her hair, whilst your other was occupied by Joel’s own. Mornings of Joel scrambling around the house, running late as usual, whilst you and Sarah cooked breakfast together. Then, the three of you sat at the dining table, you and Sarah playfully arguing over who got shell in the pan whilst you were cooking.

The day Joel had asked you to marry him, with Sarah stood by his side, just coming up on twelve years old, her eyes so big and wide as she smiled at you. The two of them having matching expressions as they awaited your answer: a package deal, the two of them.

How could this man be the same one you lived with now? How could he hurt those people, unprompted by anybody but the shitbags he had started hanging around with? You felt sick to your stomach, like everything around you wasn’t real. Surely, you’d wake up any second, see Sarah already up and bruising her teeth. You’d go back upstairs to make sure Joel was awake, before continuing to help Sarah with breakfast. This whole outbreak thing had to be a dream, because you didn’t know what you’d do if it wasn’t.

What would you do, if the reality is that the man you love is dead? If he’s gone, twisted and darkened beyond recognition?

But that night, when Joel returned late as usual, you saw a splash of red underneath his jacket. He came in with more supplies, things you hadn’t been able to find for weeks, that miraculously turned up, he claimed. He shoved the gun back in the cupboard, locking it up as casually as you’d lock your back door.

You had no choice but to face the truth; you lost everyone the night of the outbreak. Sarah is dead, and now, clearly, so is Joel. There’s nothing left of the man you agreed to marry, not a single drop of that love reflected in his hollow eyes.

He saw you staring at him, eyes wide with what could only be horror, and snapped, “What? I got somethin’ on my face?”

“I can’t believe you— I can’t believe you!” You cried out, standing from the couch you’d been sat on since your return, awaiting his arrival anxiously. Everything within you was hoping you’d just found his doppelgänger, or something, but no. This was Joel, your Joel did this.

His eyes hardened, eyebrow casting shadows over the brown colour you remembered so fondly, “What can’t you believe now?” He scoffed out, shoving his backpack off of his shoulder and dropping it loudly on the wooden floor.

“I followed you,” you told him, watching the way his eyes widened, realisation hitting him like a ton of bricks. “I saw you, and your—your group. How could you do that? Those were people, Joel, people! Trying to survive in this hellhole just like you and me!”

Joel’s jaw clenched, “You think you know everything, huh?” He asked, sneering at you, acting as if you were an idiot, as if you were just a naive little girl who didn’t know anything about the real world.

“I’ve surely seen enough! You planned that. You helped them do that. People are dead, because of you.”

“Everybody is dead!” Joel retorted, his voice reaching the level of yelling, and he shocked even himself with his lack of restraint, the comment pulling every reservation you had from your body.

“I’m not.”

His eyes followed you as you stood, watched as your face hardened to that of stone, a look he had never seen from you. At least, not directed towards him. It filled his chest with some kind of dread, one of the first feelings besides anger and something a step further than heartbreak since Sarah had died in his arms.

You huffed, shoving past him and pretending you didn’t notice him following close on your feet. You grabbed your backpack, shoving the few clothes you wore often into it, as well as the brush you kept beside what could only be loosely referred to as your bed.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you, anywhere as long as it’s far, far, away from you.” You snapped at him, the bite in your words unfamiliar to him. “You think everyone is dead, but they’re not. I’m not. You’re not. This isn’t some fantasy land where bad things don’t count, Joel.”

“I’m doing what it takes to survive!” Joel counters you, his fingertips stretching in order to reach out for you, but he closes his hand into a fist before it gets close to you.

“That’s a lie, and you know it.” You tell him, unable to even look in his direction.

He sucks in a long breath, closing his eyes as he tries to remain composed. When he opens them, he sees you looking over at him, and he wished he’d kept them closed. Your eyes, which had once looked at Joel with nothing but adoration, were filled with angry tears, and you stared at him with something new, the warmth gone from your gaze.

“I get that you’re still grieving Sarah, so am I, but I would never do something like that. The you that I know? He wouldn’t either.”

Your voice was softened when you spoke, giving him this one chance to repent his sins, but the mention of his daughter sends him over the edge once more, words flying out of his mouth far before he could even think to stop them.

“You don’t get it,” he snarled, face red and matching the blood that stained his clothes, “She’s—was my daughter, not yours, you could never understand.”

You stared at him, expression unchanging even as Joel seemed to sober up, realising he might’ve gone a step too far. You could see the situation more clearly, and if he’d have listened, you would’ve told him he’d leaped across the line.

He reaches for you, trying to keep his grasp on you, but you pull away before his fingers could even graze your skin.

Joel’s face falls, but you stand firm.

“Sarah was my daughter, Joel. The closest thing I’ll ever get to having one, anyway. I certainly loved her like she was my own.” You say, his eyes falling closed as he let out a breath through his nose. “This isn’t what she would’ve wanted for you.”

You think of the little girl who looked up to Joel as if he hung the stars and moon himself, and for her, you’re sure he would have done. You stare at the man in front of you, and you find no resemblance to that little girl’s dad.

“Listen—”

“No, Joel! I’m done, you hear me?” You yell out, swinging your bag across your back, “I’m done.”

You pull off the engagement ring that hadn’t left your hand in years, and shove it into his hand as you pass by him, walking back towards the living room. Your hands fumble as you reach into the weapons cupboard, and you hear Joel’s hurried footsteps as he approaches you. Your hands grasp the gun, and you check the ammo, seeing that yes, there were bullets missing. It gets shoved in your bag, along with the knife you had dropped in there once moving in.

“You—c’mon, you can’t do this!” Joel pleads then, his hands reaching for you once more, but once again finding nothing to hold on to, with you moving away from him to grab the few ration cards you’d earned recently. “The—there’s curfew, just stay, stay here.”

You shake your head firmly, unable to tell him no to his face. Your confidence is fading, and you just want to curl up and cry, preferably in the arms of the man you love.

“Don’t leave me,” he says, his fist squeezed tightly around your engagement ring, not wanting to lose it. He feels sick, seeing your hand bare of it. “We—we made a promise to each other! Darlin’ just listen to me!”

“I can’t,” you say, your voice shaking and unsteady, “It’s too late, Joel. You’re too late. I—I don’t even know who you are!”

“It’s me, darlin’, it’s still me.” Joel insists as you approach the door, pulling it open, but you just don’t recognise him.

“No,” you refute, “this isn’t you.”

You close the door behind you, hearing the crash of the weapons cupboard hitting the floor, the sound of Joel’s yell only cementing your decision to make a hasty exit.

#joel miller imagine #joel miller angst #the last of us imagine #the last of us one shot #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal angst #tlou one shot #tlou imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you

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crystal-moon-101 · 1 month

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A while ago I had made up a Zak for each day of the week to match Zak Saturday and Monday for fun, and because I wanted to give Zak some more AU similar to how Ben gets a lot of them. So not only do they all have different last names, but each have their own backstories and colour theming! So I hope you enjoy my little AU concepts.

-Zak Saturday-

Classic original Zak. I decided to draw them all when they're 11, start of the series vibes. So that's why he doesn't look like the ways I normally draw him currently, since those are when he's 14. Nothing different with his design here, beyond still giving him those vivid orange eyes.

-Zak Sunday-

Also known as Zak Argost, having been taken in by the man after he had a certain encounter with Zak's parents, resulting in their deaths. When Argost found the young toddler, seeing the start of Zak's power, he was happy enough to take the child with him and use his powers to his benefit. Due to being taken when he was very young, Zak doesn't remember his parents at all, fully believing in anything Argost tells him, the only family he has. So he happily helps his guardian in keeping cryptids tamed during Weird World shows, or during trips to learn about them, even if Argost puts Zak in more danger than he should. Due to his appearances on Weird World, Zak is a celebrity of sorts, even if he doesn't get to go out often. Argost also gives him a lot of gifts, keeping the child in a positive mood to keep him under his thumb. So Zak truly believes that Argost cares about him.

Though things start to turn when Argost finally decides it's time to hunt down Kur and take his powers, hiring Van Rook and Doyle on the mission. This leads to Zak and Doyle getting to know each other, with Doyle feeling protective over this random kid for some reason. Eventually this leads to him taking Zak away when this whole Kur business gets out of hand. While Doyle can't seem to convince Zak that Argost doesn't care about him, the pair do at least agree to try and find Kur first, Zak worried that even Argost shouldn't handle such powers. However, only time will tell if the pair discover the truth behind their unknown family history.

-Zak Monday-

The good old twisted gremlin of a child, Zak Monday and his family were a result of the smoke mirror. They come from a world that twists the very nature of people, a poor reflection of their negative aspects. If you're naive, then your mirror self is incredible dumb. If you're a bit of a perfectionist, then your mirror self is a control freak. And Zak Monday represents the twisted doubts of Zak feeling like a monster, so why have any doubts when you can be the monster?

I decided to change Zak Monday a bit to have the green eyes and green shirt with his own logo, cause I liked the idea that after his first appearance, they switch back to what they're suppose to look like. But other than that I kept the concept of him looking just like Zak, minus the inverted hair colour.

-Zak Tuesday-

The young naga is the son of Rani Nagi. Born solely to have Kur's soul enter and be a host, but whoops! Looks like Kur's memories aren't there, but that wasn't going to stop Rani Nagi, who thinks if she keeps at her plans, eventually her son will become the old cryptid king she once knew. Even going as far as to solely call her child Kur, who secretly calls himself Zak due to him often watching humans in the shadow, curious about them and wanting a name for himself. Zak Tuesday has a lot of identity issues, not helped by his mother's teachings towards him, ignoring all his dreams and personal thoughts. Eventually he just got really good at lying rather than convincing Rani Nagi.

However, the young cryptid prince is suddenly kidnapped by Argost one day, as he figured out where Kur's soul was currently living. Zak knew he would have died that day if not for Drew and Doc recusing him, having been chasing Argost over this Kur situation. Though they're a little surprise that upon meeting the new Kur, they find it's just a young naga who really doesn't know who he is. At first Doc and Drew didn't know what to do with him, but Zak begged them to not send him back home, and let him stay at their place until he could figure things out. He wasn't foolish, he knew the nagas were planning a war, and he wasn't keen on being the face of it all. So now the Tuesdays just have a snake living around the house, but they can't exactly complain as he is a well mannered guest at least. And perhaps the house doesn't feel so lonely with him around either.

-Zak Wednesday-

Some of you might recognize this one, but this Zak is from my old Zur AU, where Kur was reborn via the Kur Stone due to it being an egg, and Zak is a dragon that shapes between human form and dragon form. I decided to update him, making him Zak Wednesday now, with a pink theme! I also decided that instead of Kur being reborn, I wanted to shake things up a bit and have it that Zak was directly Kur's son. His mother is unknown, and as Kur saw how the world was at the time, he put Zak's egg into a stasis situation until it was discovered again. After saving it from Argost, the egg hatched among the secret scientist, leading to them chasing the child of Kur. But upon using his shapeshifting abilities to look like a child of Drew and Doc, they just couldn't help but adopt him on the spot, siting there was no sense in blaming Kur's son over what happened years ago.

The growing dragon is very playful with a cheeky personality. He exhibits a lot of draconic behaviors, with a wild and free spirit. He is aware of his family history, but he doesn't like to think about it, unsure in how to view his father based on the stories he's heard. Besides, Doc and Drew are his parents, and that's all that matter to him. Though perhaps this sudden appearance by Argost, claiming he was going to far Zak's father, has been a bit rattling to deal with.

-Zak Thursday-

When Kur knew he was going to die, and also knew his soul wasn't able to live the mortal realm, he made plans to make it so his reborn self would both be born in hopefully a better time, and be without his memories. It was better that way, so that his new self could live a lovely life without the sins from his past. But that didn't exactly pan out properly, as Kur was reborn and sadly remembers everything. It took him a while to understand this growing up, his young human mind not processing it until he was roughly 7-8, and even then he needed time to think about it. And now he's a depressed 11 year old who now has to be stuck with the fact his plan didn't work, unable to run away from the person he once was. Doc and Drew found out the truth when Zak tried running away one day, their son sitting them down and telling them the truth in hopes they'd just leave him, it would be better that way. But to his surprise they disagreed, as he was still their son, Kur or Zak, and it would be too dangerous to leave him alone.

So now Zak lives with his parents? Are they really his parents? The family keeping this dark secret to themself, even from the other scientists. Doc and Drew still reach out to their son, doing their best to connect with him, but he can't help but push them away. He doesn't deserve this, and they deserve better. However, their secret might come out after Argost stole the Kur Stone and now hunts for Kur, not realizing the truth right in front of him. So now the family tries to get the stones back, wanting to protecting Zak/Kur from others finding out. Doesn't help that he has to go through being a child again with such dark memories lingering in his head, feeling tired and overwhelmed with the world. Hasn't he suffered enough?

-Zak Friday -

In a world where Kur and cryptids successfully wiped out humans, the king ruled the lands for a while after, before one day he mysteriously vanished. Many concluded that he had died somehow, the details unknown, but this lead to a prophecy that one day their king would return, leading to many claiming to be him, or praying that they will be him for the power and wealth. In this universe, Zak and his family are all cryptids, with Zak being a a Chuvash Dragon, Drew and Doyle are Epimeliads, and Doc is a Gargoyle (Other characters are also cryptids in this timeline). Zak is a serpent like dragon that breathes fire, as a very twistable body, and can freely shapeshift. He's heard about the legend of Kur returning, but frankly he thinks they don't need him, even if the cryptid world has been shattered without a king for years now.

But when a yeti named Argost claims that Kur is back, being backed up by the Nagas, everyone starts to gossip and run around trying to figure out who the new Kur is. So maybe it's best that Zak doesn't tell the whole world about his sudden new powers to control and communicate any fellow cryptid is walks by.

#The Secret Saturdays #TSS #Secret Saturdays #The Secret Saturdays AU #AU #Zak Saturday #Character Design #Creature Design #My Art

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itsclydebitches · 4 months

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This has got to be one of the most frustrating screenshots in RWBY.

Fans can deny it as much as they like that Qrow was not responsible for Clover's death but this screenshot proves that he did. Tyrian may have struck Clover through the heart, but Qrow was the one who allowed it to happen by fighting him and whittling his Aura levels down to dangerous levels before breaking it. AND there was literally no reason for Qrow to strike him, Clover had Tyrian restrained, the literal serial killer was ready to be taken back into custody and instead of stopping the fight and surrendering...he decides the best course of action is to attack the man restraining the serial killer. Okay. The worst part is Clover's death changes nothing, whether he lives or dies doesn't change the fact that Qrow still gets arrested and taken to James.

The concept of responsibility in the canon is so hopelessly skewed. Personally, I consider characters at least partially responsible for an outcome if their action meets three criteria:

Did this action directly allow for the outcome to occur, even if it wasn't the final step? e.g. Qrow breaking Clover's aura = Clover is now vulnerable to death via Tyrian. No punch = new outcome (Clover not dying then)

Did the character have agency in this moment? i.e. they're not mind controlled, not threatened into taking an action they otherwise wouldn't consider, not manipulated or lead astray by false information, etc.

Was the character aware that this action could lead to a horrific outcome? Are they reliably informed of the risks? e.g. Qrow ABSOLUTELY understands the dangers of breaking someone's aura, in the middle of the tundra, while a long-established serial killer is attempting to murder them

Now, note that when I say "responsible" I mean in the sense of, "You should be held accountable for this" rather than the equally literal and ethically simpler, "You just did the thing." I'm just plain old responsible if I knock a vase over like, "Yeah, regardless of this being a total accident I am the one who knocked it over. No one else did that. I'm the responsible party, but in a chill, very forgivable way." I'm accountable-responsible if I willingly throw a ball across the room, knowing full well it might hit something, but not really giving a shit for stupid, OOC reasons.

The show tries to play Qrow's choice off as just generic-responsible (when it's not irrationally blaming Ironwood), but he's accountable-responsible. He made a choice of his own free will, understanding better than most (as a huntsman and someone who has faced Tyrian before) the danger that choice presented to his friend, and that choice directly provided the means of Clover's death. Qrow didn't murder Clover, but he sure as hell was an accomplice.

And RWBY is full of these moments that, like with Qrow, the story ignores or forgives a character because the action in question is taken by one of the heroes. The above criteria is why I hold Ruby largely responsible for them ending up in the Ever After (you made a series of informed demands that directly lead to this outcome), or why I hold Jaune responsible for Penny's death (you made the choice to end her life without persuasive evidence that she couldn't be saved), even though both obviously have villains taking that final step: Salem is the one actually attacking Remnant, Cinder is the one who stabs Penny. Yet neither character has to grapple with their choices; the story glosses over them by introducing a new emotional focus that makes us feel for the character instead, not their victim(s): Ruby doesn't have to own up to her actions as leader because she jumps straight to crying over how hard it is to be leader; Jaune doesn't have to own up to Penny's death because he jumps straight to being traumatized by a lifetime of Ever After isolation. As a side-note, this is very similar to one of my biggest issues with Bakugo from MHA: too often the story has him engage in horrific behavior, immediately introduces something Bad in his life - he's kidnapped, injured, upset that All Might doesn't love him best - and saving/comforting him becomes the new focus, bypassing accountability. Or, fans read the Bad Thing as divine punishment for previous actions... despite there being no connection between the two and thus no growth. Meanwhile, in parallel world, Ruby helps doom Remnant but it's fine because she's upset about something and all the story cares about is showing Any Emotional Reaction, not one that will demonstrate that the character a) understands how their actions lead to this outcome, b) understands why that's an issue, and c) strives to change their behavior in the future.

RWBY also plays the Dramatic Emotional Card. Like, you know that person who when you correct them about something they become SO over-the-top upset about their mistake that you wind up comforting them rather than allowing them to sit with the correction? Yeah. There's no space to let Qrow sit with his responsibility because the show is too busy having him rail against Ironwood, or stare his Super Depressed stare at Clover's badge. The cue to the audience is, "He's so upset! Feel for him!!" not "Damn, he fucked up... how's he gonna grow from this?"

Then to round things off the responsible hero is always narratively forgiven. Qrow stops the bomb with an unprecedented spout of good luck: Clover from beyond the grave helping him in his time of need (not literally most likely, but in a thematic sense). Ruby returns to a world with her image painted in alleyways as a martyr: Remnant overlooking all the ways she helped cause their predicament and, again, positioning her solely as the injured party, rather than a victim and a perpetrator (which, frankly, makes Ruby more boring!). You're not supposed to hold them responsible, but if you do don't worry, here's a "hopeful" scene that explicitly says blaming them is a mistake.

#rwde #rwby #mymetas

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proper-goodnight · 2 years

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Fandom: The Gray Man

Pairing: Court Gentry/Reader, Sierra Six/Reader

Words: ~3K

Type: One-Shot

Title: Into The Woods

Six didn’t talk much, you noticed.

Since he’d been assigned to protect you per your father’s very infuriating insistence, he’d never said much beyond simple introductions. Besides walking in circles around your house and looking at his shoes, he’d done as promised and stayed out of your way. Any further attempts at conversation only left you feeling more confused than when you’d started.

You didn’t mind his presence in your life. After all, he did his job, and he did it well. And that’s what you were: A job. What else beyond that were you meant to ask? He liked to chew gum and had a habit of always giving vague, short answers. Beyond that, he was a closed book, bound and wrapped ten times over with a promise that he would never open.

His secrets would stay locked away from you. You didn’t even know if he had an actual name.

One day, when you’d prompted your father about him, he’d only called him disposable. If something happened to him, nobody would notice. However, that wasn’t completely true. You’d notice. You didn’t think that men like him died and nobody noticed. Sickening suspicion suggested that he probably thought that nobody would mourn his passing, and he would be wrong.

Six possessed a sense of humor underneath all of that passive neutrality, and you wondered if he’d find the concept funny; if he’d find it funny that you’d found it comforting having him at your house, just the two of you while your father was away on a business trip. You’d never found peaceful silence anything comforting, always needing to fill it with conversation, but with him, it just worked.

And when the threat had come, twenty to one were stupidly impossible odds that he’d defeated. Then, he’d whisked you away to a safehouse in the mountains that were too damn cold, and the silence he left between you even colder.

You didn’t think he didn’t like you, but you didn’t really know what he thought about you at all.

Next to the window of the cabin, Six sat in companionable silence, arms draped over his knees and appearing none too bothered by the cold. He didn’t look any different after having killed all of those people, his expression always thoughtful, and always contemplative. If you could, you’d crack his head open and see what sat inside, but you very much liked it intact.

Blankets were drawn tight around you, but it didn’t matter. You were still freezing. Your skin felt clammy, reeking of sweat, bruised and miserable about it and he was acting as if ending lives was like any other day of the week. He had his track jacket, thin and probably not very warm, but you didn’t see the slightest trace of a shiver through the tightly wound cord of muscle on his arms.

He glanced over, just catching your eye before you ducked your head. With a fierce blush, you realized that you’d been staring a hole into him.

“You should get into some different clothes.” He said, only sounding a little amused.

The two of you had jumped into a river to escape the house, your clothes further hindering your ability to get warm. When the attack had started, you’d been walking through the halls and Six had rounded a corner, covered in blood–albeit he’d told you later that it wasn’t his blood and that still hadn’t been a comforting answer. You’d just barely managed to get the words out ‘ Oh my God. What are you–’ before he’d moved past you, telling you to follow him, to keep your head down and not to ask until you were both out.

You figured there was danger, and he hadn’t grabbed you, so you’d had no choice but to stumble after him. Outlines of men, bodies , on the floor, tucked back into corners had barely been discernible through the dark. If it hadn’t been for Six knowing the house better than you did somehow, you doubted that you would’ve made it very far on your own.

You had an affinity for scared, lost things that looked tough on the outside–your father had a tough time convincing you to rehome the animals you brought home–but you knew that was stupid. Sitting there with Six as he draped a musty smelling blanket over your shoulders, even after everything that had happened, his hands were steady.

He was a murderer–good at it in fact–and you believed that he should probably be in jail, but you were safe with him. You trusted him and he was probably the only person in the world besides your father that held the honor.

“Did that bother you?” You asked. You looked up as he shifted back to the window. He wasn’t looking at you, and although you were sure that it was part of his job–keeping watch–he was avoiding your eyes for some other reason entirely. “Back at the house?”

His answer was immediate. “Just another Thursday.”

So was yours. “It’s Tuesday.”

Six cracked a smile, the barest upturn at the corners of his mouth, but you took great pride in that.

“I know that you had to kill those people, but when did it start getting easier? I think about it, seeing them like that , and I just can’t imagine…” You couldn’t finish it, feeling as if you put a foot in your mouth already. Your eyebrows drew down. You hugged the blankets tighter.

“I do what they tell me to do.” There was no edge in his voice–never was. He didn’t lean on any of the words. He probably didn’t know anything else. Not anymore. You wondered what his life was like before all of this.

Maybe it’d been so long that he’d forgotten.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized. “I’m sure it’s not something that you want to talk about–”

He shook his head, and once again, his attention was back to the window, at anything but you.

You couldn’t help yourself, the possibility permanently embedded at the back of your mind, suffocating until you got it out of your system and into the open–hoping for an answer that wasn’t as vague as Six himself was. You squinted, scrutinizing his appearance. “If it wasn’t because of me–I mean if you weren’t protecting me, what would you be doing?”

“Prison, maybe.”

“Oh. ”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

You were, but you couldn’t let him know that. You quirked a small smile. “You look the type.”

He scoffed. “Yeah. I guess I do.” He sounded so awkward that you tried not to laugh. It wasn’t that it was funny, but you’ve come to know what hysteria feels like and you’re verging on the edge of whether if you don’t laugh, you’ll start crying.

You wondered if he had a preference.

Six looked relieved to have this aspect of the conversation over, however. It was snowing, heavy, flat flakes coursing through a darkened sky. Wind howled through the trees. It was beyond you how he saw anything at all, the idea that he was looking out for some other reason only further cemented in your subconscious.

“Do you think they followed us up here? That they made it through the pass?”

He shrugged. “If they did, they won’t get far.”

You didn’t think that they would. Hours ago, you were driving through it while he hung outside the passenger window and blew their pursuers to pieces. It’d been difficult to manage a car up a bumpy pass while the sound of gunfire raged in your ears. You remembered screaming, high pitched but also guttural and blood curdling; screaming so loud that you nearly took your hands off the wheel and let fate sort itself out. You may have been ready to just let them take you. Kill you. You could have been collateral damage if that wouldn’t hurt Six’s career in the process.

Water had soaked the driver’s seat, your hair and clothes plastered in frost while your teeth chattered hard enough to bounce out of your skull. You’d been shaky and nauseous when you finally made it, but he was ushering you inside before you could find your feet, the squelch of your boots and wet socks following you into the cabin. Your stomach had lurched and nearly vomited up everything you’d eaten, and everything you planned to eat later.

You lost time after that. It could have been hours ago, and yet somehow it felt like lifetimes.

Trying to make conversation with Six had that effect on you.

“Is this your place?” You prodded further, attempting to fill the silence with something.

“Something like that.” He looked at you, really looked at you now. Even after witnessing him put so many people into the ground single-handedly, you didn’t flinch. He’d never had that kind of power over you, and he didn’t want it. In the dim light, his looks hadn’t changed. Same facial scruff and blonde hair that you had come to know so well after the last few months. Six didn’t look soft to you, and you didn’t think that he was supposed to, but he didn’t look any less human either. He also didn’t look tired. Maybe there was some kind of release from mowing your enemies down.

You wouldn’t know, but that didn’t sound like something you should ask.

You gathered the blankets a little closer; looked around. The cabin was small, barely space for one. There was a small dining area, a couch, and shelves stocked with essential supplies that looked as if they had been gathering dust for a long time. There was a sleeping bag though, and a closet that you held a sneaking suspicion was full of guns.

Knowing Six, you were dead certain that’s what it was.

You shivered.

The lamp was lit, but it was dim and barely cast a shadow. You thought that maybe that was all Six could handle for now, too cautious that someone unsavory would see, and would find them, and they’d spend the next few hours trekking in the freezing wilderness again with scarcely anything except his intuition that he knew where they were going.

You just barely caught a glimpse of Six before he was standing in front of you, holding out a stack of neatly folded clothes.

“It’s dry.” He said, his smile dry and a little wan, but you took solace in anything you could get from him. Your heart picked up its pace a little, but you shoved that aside for now.

You took them, looked around awkwardly and saw nothing resembling a private space to go change in. He was still standing there, and you were acutely aware of that. “Can you…” You moved your finger in a circular motion, unsure how to voice the question.

His face switched seamlessly from simple confusion to realization. He nodded, turned and faced the wall, avoiding the reflection in the window before maneuvering off into the small kitchen. You heard the sound of water running, and the wrestling of tea bags. It was startlingly endearing; Six being who he was somehow still polite and understanding how such a thing would be awkward.

Nonetheless, you undressed. The blanket dropped to the floor as you peeled off your shirt; filthy and you begrudgingly realized that it would never take back its vibrant colors again. Next was your jeans, and although you felt awkward, you stopped being childish and removed your underwear. Six wasn’t looking at you anyway, and even if he did, you doubted that you’d be the first woman that he saw like this before. The last thing was your boots. You tossed them off to the side and flexed your numb toes, excitement bubbling in your chest at the sight of socks in the pile. It was the little things sometimes.

Inside the cabin had become quiet and still while you changed, the flurry of snow outside and the tension in Six’s muscles underneath his shirt. You flexed your numb fingers next, wondering how warm they’d be against him, the warmth that was sure to come if you buried your head in between his shoulder blades and absorbed what he had to offer.

You’d shimmied into one of his track suits, a hoodie and some socks: black and red because that had come to be recognized as his colors. Everything was way too big, but it was warm. The material was soft, and it smelled like him.

Your hair was another story, but thankfully you could throw that up if you really wanted.

“You can turn around now.”

He did, albeit slowly, as if he was giving you a final few seconds to cover up, two cups of tea in hand.

You earned a little half-smile when he saw how badly his clothes fit, his absence of words expected but still a little disappointing. You settled onto the couch–It smelled musty and wet and completely and utterly disgusting, but it was comfortable–while he brought the tea over and handed you one.

He leaned back against an end table to drink his own.

You looked down at your reflection in your cup, fingers skimming around its circumference. “Why do you think that they tried to take me instead of going after my father directly?”

He hovered by the couch, more focused on his own tea than your questions. “Leverage most likely.”

“So, if not for me, then they’d have no leverage against him.” You sipped, the tea scalding your tongue. Both of you had an understanding about that. You knew by his sudden change in expression. He got it. You’re a liability.

“It wouldn’t matter either way, I think.” Six said earnestly.

“Why not?” You asked. “Because without me, they would find a way to hurt my father anyway?”

He frowned, looking as if he wanted to say something, but stopped. He looked down at his mug.

You drew the blankets tighter around yourself, feeling more secure within your little barrier. The little heater was trying its best to warm the place up but between the weather, and Six’s silence, it was failing miserably.

“You can sleep if you want.” For the first time, he sounded uncomfortable.

“I don’t think I could.”

He didn’t tell you that you should, or it was what was best for you, or how he’ll watch out for you. Instead, he grabbed the remaining sleeping bag and sunk down on the couch himself, long legs splayed out in front of him.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, through his hair, closed his eyes for a long moment and you’re almost certain that you heard him humming the first few notes to an old record–one your father played a lot in his study. You wondered if there’ll ever be a time when Six no longer surprised you. If you’ll ever come to understand why he is the way he is.

“You know, I care.” You said and that edge was back.

He opened his eyes and glanced at you, raising an eyebrow.

“Whether you were safe.” You clarified. “My father called you disposable, but you’re not.”

“That’s the whole reason that I’m here,” he said, and you could hear the certainty in his words, how strongly he’d meant them. “Because I am.”

“I meant to me.”

He didn’t say anything, and you were grateful. Things were fucked up for the both of you; complicated and you weren’t completely sure what you wanted him to do with that information anyway. You thought that maybe people like him didn’t have the capacity to think outside the current. “I guess … I guess I’m just glad you were there. That you’re here .”

You shivered violently then, the heat doing nothing to warm you and the copious amounts of blankets even less. You’re freezing, whether from the snow outside or the emotions you’re just expended you don’t know, but you were moments away from turning into an icicle.

He looked you up and down, and then he extended a hand across the couch.

You’d think about the consequences of it later, giving up the cold safety of the couch for the reckless warmth of him. Teeth chattering, you moved over and sunk into his side, laying your head against the crook in his shoulder. He shifted to accommodate you.

You don’t talk. Not for a long time anyway. You bundled under the blankets and sleeping bags and he held you close with his cheek against your head, and you listened to the wind outside, the cracking of trees in the distance.

He sighed out through his nose, and you hoped that meant that he was relaxed.

“You feeling better?” He asked eventually.

You nodded. “Much.”

You felt his smirk more than you saw it, imagining how his mouth twisted slightly at the edges. It would be gone before you looked.

You didn’t turn; didn't want to ruin the moment. For the first time that day, you felt content. You pressed closer, breathed gently into his neck, felt his pulse jump.

“They didn’t choose you because of your father.”

You let the moment stretch, refusing to give much thought to where it was going or why. You allowed yourself the time to absorb this new revelation, to understand it. You guessed it changed everything, but nothing. You didn’t know what to do with it either way.

He looked like he might say something, like he was searching for the words in his head but couldn't find them, locked somewhere else. Six was violent in most aspects of his life, and you wondered how this could be any different.

You looked up at him, fully expecting him to say something about needing to go back to work instead of talking to you. You waited for it, steeled yourself for the disappointment that was sure to come your way. He didn’t move. Instead, he leaned into you, closed his eyes, covering your hand at your waist with his own. You waited for him to part his fingers so that you could slide yours between them.

“So what you’re saying is that there are a lot of people pissed off at you?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess it’s good you’re like a super soldier, then.”

“After expenses, I’m more like a soldier of the middle class.”

You smiled, laughed for the first time in what felt like ages. The silence in the cabin didn’t seem so strained. It was you, and him, suddenly much warmer than you ever thought possible. You still felt as if you didn’t know much about Six, most certainly not, but something about the moment made you believe that you were headed in the right direction to figuring it out.

For now, that was all that mattered. Once the two of you made it out, alive and well, then… then you would see.

#the gray man #sierra six #Sierra six/reader #court gentry #court gentry/reader #the gray man 2022 #sierra six x reader #court gentry x reader #the gray man fanfiction #the gray man fanfic

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demonslayedher · 3 months

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The Taisho Secret canon content regarding The Legend of Zenitsu has unfortunately made me have to give up beloved concepts in this future!Zennezu headcanon post. Most specifically, Old Man Zenitsu's with a mustache, because Word of Gotouge says he never grews facial hair. Zenitsu is probably far more disappointed than I am about this.

But also, it has all given me a much deeper headcanon about "The Legend of Zenitsu" being a bonding experience in their marriage, for Nezuko is a big fan, like so, what with Nezuko being a willing model for Zenitsu's praise-worthy paintings.

And is my brain spinning headcanons again? Yeah.

Zenitsu wished he could rub it in Tanjiro's face that he got a book deal. Not on everything, just on "The Demon Slaying Arc ~Fated Encounters~," "The Heavenly Maiden Arc ~I Am Willing To Die For You~," and "The Life of the Man Who Loved The Spirit of the Plum Tree Arc." No one else deserved to know "The Tastiness of Nezuko-chan's Cooking" anyway, for Zenitsu had described it too well and it would be like sharing his wife with a bunch of slimy readers. Bad enough that he still had to share with Inosuke all the time.

But Tanjiro didn't rub it in. He smiled and made as kind a sound as even, and congratulated him.

Maybe Tanjiro had grown too mild to say or feel anything more than that.

Because Zenitsu had a publisher and small fan base, he got paid a small advance to keep writing. Not even to stop going to an office job in town, if he wanted to to keep spoiling Nezuko with nice things. The stroke to eager made him write "The Beautiful Swordswoman Nezuko Arc" in one night, but "The Golden Dragon Wandering Alone Arc ~Go And Rescue Nezuko!~" was one he slogged through. It was getting to be a handful, going to work and raising a kid living up to expectations now that people had them of him. It felt good at first, but it made the writing less fun.

His heart was hardly in it when he wrote the "Botamochi from Zenitsu Arc." The sales tanked, and Zenitsu's publisher didn't bother him when he said aside his pen for a while. It was a long while, and there were other things going on anyway.

Not long after Tanjiro died, Nezuko caught a flu that was going around. It honestly made Zenitsu a little glad to have an excuse to leave his kid with Aoi for a while so that he could have Nezuko to himself while she was contagious. He didn't need anyone's help to take care of him, because every cell down to his soul cared only about how he might pamper and comfort her.

"Nezuko-chan, come on and drink a little. It'll make your throat feel better."

"I can't. I don't want to," she moaned. Tears escaped her hopeless eyes. She still must have felt so gutted, and Zenitsu knew he could do little to fill her for the time being. Some of that hopeless look must had been from thinking she'd never be free of the headache, but at least that much he might be able to soothe.

"Why don't you rest your head on my lap for a change? Here, I'll stroke your forehead for you."

"You should sleep."

"I can do it in my sleep," he smiled to her. "Actually, did you know that the legendary hero Agatsuma Zenitsu can be even more powerful when he sleeps?"

At this, she gave him a weak smile. The first he'd seen lately. "Yes."

"It's true! It's because he can hear the sound of his wife at his side. It powers him up like lightning coming right out of his empty eye-sockets! Actually, there was one time when he blinded his enemy before the roaring sound of his power knocked him over."

"Or the sound of his snoring."

"No, no, it's thunder like it shoots right out of him! You see, it all started one night in a terrible, creepy forest, when he saw a helpless man swooped backwards into the tree tops..."

When Nezuko recovered, Zenitsu picked up his pen again, and published "Rumble of the Knock-Out Secret Swordsmanship of Zenitsu Arc ~The Legendary Man’s Eyes Shine With Light~" not long afterward. It sold decently, and it was nice to hear that he had some fans who were excited about it.

Life fell back into a new busy normal, and Zenitsu's muse was fickle. "The Potato Feudal Lord Arc" was just a passing thing for fun, not something he'd ever tell his publisher about. It was more fun for a while to try out other things, like painting. As long as Nezuko was his model, Zenitsu found he had a knack for it. He ran into Yushiro one time though, who told him he was a hack, and they got into a big argument that ended with Zenitsu throwing all his brushes and unused canvases at him and daring him to do better. Those had all cost a lot of money, so Nezuko was not happy about that. Likewise, she wasn't happy when Zenitsu refused to sell a painting of her and tore his pants while throwing a fit.

By the looks of Nezuko's ledgers, it looked like Zenitsu was stuck at that desk job, selling electricity around the little mountain foothill town. He had been there so long that he got promoted for being good at sitting in the same chair for years, and that meant moving closer to a bigger town, closer to the growing metropolis, where Zenitsu felt right at home and Nezuko assured him she would adjust.

What would Tanjiro think, now that nobody bought charcoal anymore?

The world that once had demons seemed further and further away and the droll of adulthood stretched on, and powers he couldn't behead with a swift Thunderclap and Flash fought amongst themselves. More and more, there were expectations of Zenitsu, and people depending on him. He had to assure people they would still have light and heat even as Tokyo burned, and the sound of planes rattled his ears almost daily. He was a man of his community now, and the only one his family could depend on. At Nezuko's insistence, they collected nearly-blind Kanao and his nephews and niece, and he tried to insist to Inosuke to stay with them in town where there were bomb shelters, but Inosuke, just as responsible for his own family, felt he kept them safest going deeper and deeper in to the mountains.

Nezuko knew nothing but worries. Sometimes, he almost wished she could be back to a childlike state of mind, protected from all the pain and horrors she so unfairly had to endure. In the darkness of a bomb shelter, he hugged her close as she trembled. "Say, Nezuko-chan. Do you remember that time..."

"What?"

"...that time the great hero Agatsuma Zenitsu was a teeny-tiny, but very, very strong mouse?"

He could hear her worries lift, however slightly. Maybe that was all a mouse could do.

"Actually, it was when he was a little boy. You'd never guess it, but he was very cowardly. That was a terrible warlock with a fancy red mark around his eye painted him with a magic white makeup that turned him into a mouse!"

She stifled a snort against his chest. "Uzui-san..."

"Yeah, that was the warlock's name! Did I already tell you this story before?"

"A mouse?" his son clung tighter to him, sometime he hadn't done in years. Even when he was little he always clung to Nezuko instead anyway. Zenitsu could tell by the tone of his son's voice that he was already teary-eyed and sniffly.

"Yeah. A little mouse who thought he had no power at all. That the world was too big for him. But as it turns out..."

What really hurt was Nezuko's reaction. She sighed with disappointment, and lamented that this was why he spent so many long hours away from home.

That was a story Zenitsu recorded later, as a memory of those times. It stayed on his bookcase at home next to the Potato Lord story, now that the world was quiet again.

Business picked up really well. The world got brighter, and so did the indoor lighting. As a general sense of optimism filled the world again, the small but dedicated base of "Legend of Zenitsu" fans called for a new installment. He responded well to praise, and soon gave them "The Dragon Palace Arc ~Eternal Nezuko~," but being so busy as a highly promoted seat-warmer at the office meant he had things he had to do while sitting in that seat. He put on weight again, and spent a lot of sad, long evenings stuffing cookies in his face while streaming with tears that he couldn't be eating one of Nezuko's homecooked meals instead. "Sitting In A Happy Circle and Boiling Tea in Our Bellybuttons Arc" was something he secretly wrote at his desk as a form of silent protest. His publisher rejected that one after reading only one page.

Of course! He had to be at home to write his best work! He had to be in the same space as his muse, Nezuko! Another quickly written revenge work of his, "The Future Holds Zenitsu Arc," was considered one of his better ones.

After that, he was satisfied with writing for a while, and he muse pushed him to start playing (perfectly) the piano. Nezuko was not thrilled about the piano he bought.

If only he had taught it to Nezuko, then. Her joints all bothered her, but she kept sewing out of willpower.

This new hobby inspired another novel, and Nezuko inspired another novel after that of course, and the stress of their son getting married and wanting a lavish wedding inspired another novel and another novel after that was a desperate attempt to strike it big and get out of the debt that wedding cost them. After all, Zenitsu's daughter-in-law was a cutie and he wanted to spoil her. It made Zenitsu remember how cute Nezuko was when they were newlyweds, and before that too, of course, and now too, and before he knew it he had written yet another novel, despite his dwindling fan base. Nezuko sure liked that one, though, and that was all that mattered.

The years went by. Zenitsu felt he lost his mind over how his granddaughter got cuter every time he saw her, and he eventually reached some arbitrary age when his company could only promote him to retired. Aside from the aches in his legs, he felt as young as he always did, though. Kanao said it was probably the effects of Breath technique. It sustained them without reaching a threshold at which it would be dangerous to them.

Zenitsu still wrote sometimes. He stayed busier when his busy-body grandson read the old unpublished "The Birth of Zenitsu Arc" and insisted on learning Thunder Breath. That was like a new job Zenitsu never asked for, especially since he still only knew one of the original six forms, but Kiriya sent him a letter askeing him to give it a shot, for who knew what the future held. Certainly not demons, Zenitsu was assured of that much. If Yushiro gave his novels a bad review one more time, he'd make sure of there were no more demons left in the world.

He got back in touch with Inosuke. He thought it might never happen after he abandoned the old house and charcoal mill, but the whole time, Inosuke had been on the mountain next to it, where he had always been King of the Mountain. He still took care of the house, he said. But a King still had to be King. They weren't the only people on the mountain, though. Aoi paid house calls. Still, Zenitsu gave Inosuke a stern lecture about making Nezuko (as well as Kanao) worry, so Aoi made sure to drag Inosuke into the bigger and bigger city sometimes.

Zenitsu's newest hobby to drop money on was photography, but now that he was a pensioner, Nezuko did not mind so much. She even agreed to let him fulfill his dream of taking her to Paris. He was glad he had that camera, to prove how the city could not outshine her.

He was glad he took her when he did. Her joints made it harder and harder for her to get around, even though she always smiled and insisted Zenitsu's legs must hurt more. He didn't like it when she laughed and joked around about chopping her legs off to grow new ones.

"Grandpa," his youngest granddaughter looked to him with a tearful face, "Grandma was saying something about being a demon again. I wish she'd stop that."

"I know, right!? She's a princess, and the very spirit of a plum blossom tree! A shrine maiden too!"

"There's no way someone like Grandma would ever go to hell."

He paused, and his stomach sank.

Nezuko gave up her sewing. She spent more and more time in bed, but with no desk job to sit at and a grandson taught enough that he could be told to go off and practice on his own, Zenitsu spent his days writing again. He took a long time on that novel he wrote for her, putting in all the sorts of parts he knew she liked. Sometimes he couldn't help himself and reads parts aloud to her without telling her everything else that already happened in the story. She smiled and enjoyed each fragment anyway.

"I've finally got the title for this one!" he announced. "It's called, 'I Will Be In Love With You A Thousand Years Arc.' Perfect, huh? Well, maybe it's still missing something. A million years, maybe?"

"Zenitsu-san... tell me a story..."

"I am! I'm telling you the greatest story yet! It's about this immortal princess who..."

"Tell me a real story..."

He paused and listened to her heartbeat as she took a breath--a simple, unpracticed breath in tired human lungs. Nezuko still made the same warm sound that she always did. It had a different resonance when she was a demon, and when he carried another life inside her, but it was always uniquely her.

"I want to hear... about the time you spent with my brother."

"Tanjiro? Yeah, he... hasn't been in these for a long time. Maybe I'll bring him back."

"You cared so much about him," she smiled from her futon. "That was why you protected my box, before you even met me."

"He... yeah."

"I'm glad you were such good friends... I want to hear about all those good things that happened to you. About your Ojiisan, and your little bird..."

"Yeah," he grimaced to a smile, and the inside of his nose zapped like a storm was brewing. "I had a lot of good things happen to me. A lot of bad things too."

"It's up to you to decide if you're happy or not. I hope... you'll decide you were happy."

"Yeah," he said, the snot already flowing. "The happiest. I'll tell you all about it. I'll make it my best story ever."

"You promise...?"

He kissed her forehead. "I'd never be able to come up with anything better than the truth."

#whoa I wrote something sappy #but also whoa #I wrote fic again #Zennezu #my fics #Agatsuma Zenitsu #Kamado Nezuko

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aphroditelovesu · 1 year

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I hope it’s okay to ask , but what do you think about a baby reader being the surviving twin of baby Baelon? It would probably be another reason for Viserys to remarry as the small council believes the baby needs a mother. It would make the greens and the blacks equally overprotective of baby- for team black it’s the last living piece of Aemma. However Team green would view baby as their child/grandchild , after all , Alicent was the only mother baby have ever known.

I love it when you guys send me concepts, so don't worry, it's always a pleasure to read what you think!! ❤️❤️❤️👏👏

Both Aemma and little Baelon died, but you lived, the surviving twin of Viserys's son and your father would not let anything happen to you. You are the last thing that has left of Viserys's beloved wife and the little baby, so you can be sure nothing will happen to you.

Viserys didn't want to marry again, that was very obvious to everyone, he loved Aemma deeply and couldn't imagine marrying again, but he was a King and he had obligations to fulfill whether he liked it or not. He also understood that you needed a mother, but he couldn't imagine you having a mother other than Aemma. Your older sister, Rhaenyra, was the one who helped take care of you the most. At first she was concerned of the idea, but she grew to love her younger sibiling very much and she felt more and more possessive of you. Why would you need a mother, no, a stepmother when you already had her and Viserys in your life?

Everyone thought that the chosen one would be Laena, but it was Alicent instead. Rhaenyra felt betrayed by her father and her best friend, but she still had you and would make sure not to let anyone turn you against her. Alicent felt distressed at first, she helped take care of you, she genuinely liked you a lot, maybe a little too much, but she didn't want to ruin her friendship with Rhaenyra but couldn't help but feel happy at the idea of being your mother. She would love you so much. I can see her and the Greens, especially Otto, trying to convince you that she really is your mother, not Aemma as others say. Alicent was the only mother you've ever known, so if it weren't for Rhaenyra and Viserys, you'd really think she was your real mother.

Otto sees you as his grandchild, his beloved and precious grandchild, and depending on the extent of your bond, I can see him supporting your claim to the Iron Throne, regardless of your gender, he can override Rhaenyra and Aegon to place you on the Throne. You may not be of his blood, but you were raised by his family, you share the same values, and you would be a perfect ruler with him by your side. Don't get him wrong, he loves you more than anything and would do anything for you, but he's still an ambitious man and always will be, but maybe, just this time, he'll be willing to back you up to become the next King/Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

For The Blacks, you must be cared for and protected at all costs. You're the only thing left of Aemma and they won't let anything happen to you. Rhaenyra loves you very much, although at first she was worried and apprehensive about the idea of having a sibling, she has grown to love you so much that she would do anything to ensure your happiness. Viserys is your father and he favors you above everyone and everything, he loves you very much and is always worrying about you and is totally against the idea of you leaving his side. He can't risk losing you, not the way he lost your twin brother and mother.

Both sides will fight over you a lot. Alicent wants you with her, because she's your mother, and mothers should never be separated from their children, right? Viserys will agree to this, as he agrees that you must remain with him in King's Landing, where he knows you will be safe. Rhaenyra wants to get your attention and maybe take you to Dragonstone with her, which will cause a lot of conflict between her, Alicent, Otto and Viserys.

Nothing else will matter than you. Once you survived the deaths of your mother and brother, you became a source of possessiveness, overprotection, and unhealthy love. Everything will be put to the test for you and your yan!family is never willing to let you go.

You belong to them and will always have.

~ Lady L

#ask #yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #house of the dragon #hotd #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #yandere viserys i targaryen #yandere rhaenyra targaryen #yandere alicent hightower #yandere otto hightower #concept #yandere concept

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comradekatara · 10 months

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Ok based on how much Sokka built himself around Katara, how different would he be if she was the one who had died instead of their mother? Like obviously the story would be different with her not there, but what about him personally? You don't have to answer but it is an interesting concept

oh man this is so sad to think about. like the story wouldn't just be different, there would be no story period. she is the narrator and the hero, she is the one who summons the iceberg, she drives the plot. without katara and aang there is no story at all. but okay, sure. i think if katara had died in the raid every member of her family would live with the guilt of wishing they had died in her place. i think his parents would be very protective over him, but he would still feel like he's the one who should be dead. he would still have that same complex of feeling like he needs to protect his family so that nothing like that can ever happen again, and also that he needs to be invulnerable and perfect to make up for the fact that he isn't a waterbender. if hakoda eventually leaves him behind as "the only man" of the tribe, not much would change for sokka, except for the fact that in this world, he is truly alone.

#very sad! no thanks!#sokka dying for katara would be a more interesting AU #since there would still be a story but it would just be more tragic and difficult for katara #and in that version she'd wear sokka's necklace instead of kya's...#32beesinatrenchcoat #asks #AUs #sokka

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 4 months

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Stsg anon back at it again with a new idea for you to eat!!! poly, teen!stsg where they both develop a crush on reader who’s quiet, who’s timid, who keeps to themselves. Not as strong as either of them and not as popular. They two are best friends and they certainly won’t fall apart over a crush, so they talk it out and decide they’re both perfectly fine with arranging some sort of polyamory (if you return their feelings, of course. That was something suguru pointed out btw 😭)

(…which they both convince themselves is totally just for the sake of maintaining their friendship, just for the sake of both of them getting to date you, totally not also because there’s some romantic tension between them that they aren’t ready to face yet.)

But they have such different ideas on how to go about courting you and they bicker (lightheartedly) about it all the time. Suguru who thinks that they should go about it gently, kindly, who thinks they should take it slow. Who’s so thoughtful, who recognises that being flirted with by two very attractive and popular guys could be overwhelming, especially for someone shy and introverted. Who’s charming because he’s gentle, because he brings you food when you mentioned you were in a rush and forgot to make your own, who’s just so kind and always seems to offer you a spot with him and satoru when he spots you alone in your classroom at lunch. Who gives the softest smiles and gently taps your shoulder to get your attention, who’s big hands gently brush against your own when he hands you a worksheet.

But Satoru is eager. Confident, exceedingly so. Who, when he wants something, he gets it. He’s the Satoru Gojo for the love of god, he knows he’s everybody’s dream man, so he sees no reason in waiting or being slow- who, not for the first time in his life, needs suguru to calm him down and force him to be rational and not freak you out. He’s the embodiment of a lovesick puppy. Who showers you in gifts even if you aren’t dating yet, because he just can’t resist ! Who brings you flowers he remembers you said you liked, who writes witty and flirty notes and chucks them at your head (gently) in class when the teacher isn’t looking, who’s always slinging an arm around your shoulder, flicking your forehead, ruffling your hair. Who grins and winks at you in such a satoru way, who excitedly grabs your hand and interlinks your fingers when he wants to bring you somewhere, who has to physically hold himself back from squealing and giggling like a schoolgirl when he catches you glancing or blushing at either of them.

Both of them who make sure nobody gives you shit, who are with you constantly, always making sure you’re okay and not upset about anything, who help you to become a little more self confident and extroverted (around them at least), and who don’t mind it when it’s one of those days where you’d prefer to just be your normal self, to read and be alone (alone from everyone but them of course, god forbid the clingy bfs go a second without you..)

Giggles so hard…. They’re such cutie pies <3333 this might be a little bit too long but I just needed to share this thought augh I’m such a sucker for them and how they respond and think about things differently yet are still each others ride or dies :3 !!

HELP MEEEEEEE THIS IS THE CUTEST THING EVER I COLLAPSED 😭😭😭 stsg anon u need to write a fic this concept makes me so weak

i know i already said it but u r just FEEDING me atp….. i lovelovelove reading these SO much pls never worry about them being too long!!! u could drop a whole essay into my askbox n i wouldnt mind at all <333 i adoreee poly stsg and ur thoughts on them !!

AND THIS CONCEPT …. hhhh :( so sweet. it gives me insane shoujo manga vibes anon !! just all heart fluttering n giddy. theyre cutiepies its true <33

and ofc i agree so much!!! sugu being the more gentle one, patient, considerate… (he’s soooo <33) while gojo is just so eager to see u smile and laugh and blush he LIVES off ur reactions……. him being his lil lovesick puppydog self and sugu trying to keep him in check LMAO thats so so cute!! squealing n giggling while sugu rolls his eyes (fondly) (lovingly) (in adoration) (i just feel like he’s so whipped for both of u… he thrives off ur joy </3)

(ALSOOOOO ANON….. the romantic tension between stsg…… i agree so so much. i think they just dont really have a word for what they feel for each other yet, but once they do… maybe there would be an adjustment period where they’re just figuring themselves/each other out but !! i think it’d be short. they just care for each other so much yknow??)

AND AND them being so protective <///3 u know the way to my heart. and understanding too!! we’ve talked abt this before anon but they really ARE such a great duo bc gojo is always there if u feel more extroverted and outgoing but on days when u just want to be silent and cozy sugu is waiting on the couch w blankets and tea <333 and them being so clingy LMAOO it’s so true…. on days when u want to be ALONE alone sugu has to literally pry gojo away from u w his bare hands 😭😭😭 n then he just waits outside the door like a dog. and sugu starts getting headaches bc he has this itch to tend to ur needs but he knows he shouldn’t disturb u PHDHDHS codependent losers <333

i loovveeee imagining them in more fluffy scenarios like this it makes me so happy wahhh… its what they deserve!!! i LIVE for ur thoughts anon tysm for the meal as always <333

#theyre our lovelies always and forever <333 #war criminals to the world silly babygirls to us frfr #poly stsg x their lil quiet introvert reader ohh im melting T_T they would be sooo protective its insane #wishing u a super nice day anon !! 🌻🌻🌱#ask tag ✩#stsg anon !! ✩

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fuck-you-upmusicbracket · 2 months

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Searching For Former Clarity (Against Me!)

And in the journal you kept by the side of your bed/You wrote nightly an aspiration of developing as an author/Confessing childhood secrets of dressing up in women's clothes/Compulsions you never knew the reasons to/Will everyone you ever meet or love/Be just a relationship based on a false presumption?/Despite everyone you ever meet or ever love/In the end, will you be all alone?

"Searching for a Former Clarity is about the process of dying. It's the closing track to the album, and it shares a theme with the opening track, but while Miami uses disease and dying as a way to talk about the city metaphorically, Searching for a Former Clarity is much more personal. It's also partly autobiographical. Laura Jane Grace wouldn't come out for another seven years, although if I'm remembering right she was convinced that this song would immediately out her to everyone. (I could be thinking of a different song from the same era. It's kind of a running theme in her music.) A while back I saw an old video of her performing this song, when it was still new and she still wasn't out. It felt wrong to see that version of her, honestly (I'm old enough that I should have been a fan in the 2000s but I'd never heard of Against Me until a couple years ago), but it also amazes me just how much *better* she looks now. She looked so much older then, and unbelievably more miserable, than she does now. I hate that she had to live like that for so long, but I think about that contrast every time I hear the song now. Honestly, with that in mind, I never want to hear anyone saying shit about how they are glad someone suffered so that they could Make Art(TM) about it. Fuck that. Don't get me wrong, I love this song and most of Against Me's discography, but I'd willingly give all of it up if it could somehow retroactively mean that Laura Jane Grace didn't have to have the shitty life experiences that led to it. Yes, a lot of art comes from suffering, but people shouldn't have to fucking suffer for art. I've had some experiences lately that forced me to think about my mortality a bit more seriously than usual. If I died today, there would be an extensive record of my gender, and my complex feelings about gender, on various mostly anonymous twitter and tumblr and reddit accounts. If I died today, nobody who knows me would know the name I chose for myself. Not that I'm a historical figure (I'd probably be entirely forgotten in a decade tbh) but speculation about my gender would be *at most* someone's conspiracy theory based on poorly-sourced and badly-interpreted speculation. I'd be buried as a man, I'd be remembered as a man, I'd be forgotten as a man. That was my choice. I have my reasons for making it. I don't know if it is right or wrong or even if the concepts of "right" and "wrong" are the right ones to use when thinking about it. I'm still going to have feelings about it every chance I get. Searching for a Former Clarity is a pretty good way to get them. Emma. That is the name that I chose."

Am I Awake (They Might Be Giants)

When I get through this part/Will the next one be the same/Will I be wondering/If I'm awake?/These are not the clothes I had on when I went to bed/And something else besides my hair is growing from my head/And when I close my eyes it looks the same as when I open them again/Am I awake?

"Man I don't know what exactly about this song gets me so hard but it just makes me wanna get up and stim and think about my blorbos and their trauma. it also just speaks to me as a person with memory and identity issues, it really outlines the dissociation and confusion i feel when i don't remember something and/or can't grasp what i'm feeling. it also has a sort of inception vibe to it? or maybe groundhog day? The strange vocal samples and frantic drums and fast bpm with the really slow vocals on top is just soooo good. really really good song"

#fuck you up bracket #tournament #polls #against me!#they might be giants

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fightabear · 6 months

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also dumps some of my drabbles here for fellow tsviet enjoyers

its just headcanon drabbles but characters; nero the sable, weiss the immaculate, professor hojo, reno, misc faceless fan characters

cw: child death, medical horror

THE CULLING.

there were more of them once.

the survivors are, of course, the red, the black, and the white.

but his childhood was a myriad of colors. other children just like him, like his brother, all of them toted to be the next generation of soldier. precursors to a new era of prosperity for the planet.

but the others were not nearly as successful.

nero is eight. he's the youngest of all of them, the last successful attempt before shinra decided to pivot and focus on adult test subjects. there is a slow decline in their care - they were but a proof of concept, the prototypes. never meant to make it to launch.

some die slow. the experiments that created them showing late-stage complications. their immune systems turning against their own bodies, their minds collapsing against the weight of the voices of the planet pressing in and in and in.

nero can't say he was close to any of them - even amongst the discards and the freaks, he was an outlier - but they were still there. populating the spaces he was permitted to roam when he was permitted to roam them. they were part of the deepground he knew, live steal but blunted at the edges.

and so it made sense that their deaths marked the end of that era.

the file before him is heavy. nero does not bother stepping forward - it's not for him, it's for the handler to his left.

"all of them?" the man whistles, shaking his head.

"they're a waste of beds and resources," professor hojo says coolly. "once we cull the weak we can bring in the more promising recruits."

nero feels cold inside. colder than he usually feels, something twisting deep in his chest. his bound hands clench his shoulders and he hunches down as far as the chains will let him.

"sable," the professor says, and nero looks up. "this is not a test. you are not leave any survivors."

but it is a test. he knows it. a test of his abilities, a test of his willingness to obey. they've already told him that if he fails to comply they will punish weiss, but if he does a good job then the two of them can move into a compound together.

the chains holding him jerk forward, drawing him towards the training hall. inside he can hear his fellow tsviets talking amongst themselves, expressing their impatience and irritation that the exam has not started yet. their confusion that so many of them are gathered here. is this to be a free for all?

the world is complicated. but this choice is not. yet nero finds himself unable to step across the threshold, frozen in place. his breathing quickens, the urge to run strikes in a way it never has before.

( some have died before. deaths due to experimentation. death due to failing health. deaths on field missions.

but none have died at the hands of a fellow tsviet. )

restrictor kicks him forward and nero stumbles forward, catching himself awkwardly. all eyes are on him, the confusion on their faces even more apparent. his wide eyes flick from face to face, he turns towards the way he'd come only to find restrictor's cold eyes glaring through the slats in the armor.

"nero?" one girl says, her voice gentle. he doesn't know her, not well, but she has always been kind. the sort to bandage wounds even when you should leave the wounded behind. "are you training with us today?"

he doesn't move. he feels the flicker of her fear, and that he holds onto. the fear. desperately clutching at any justification for this cruelty. they fear him, they hate him. he has never been one of them, would never be one of them.

the restraints release, nero's arms falling to his sides. the fear surges, rising, and he feels it. tastes the terror on his tongue, feels the moment that the friendly atmosphere shifts and they recoil from him.

he feels them die, too.

feels their memories pass through him as they die screaming to the void. sees his own face in their memories, the fleeting comradery in missions abroad. the betrayal at what he has done and he can't he can't he can't -

the void consumes them. it is not painless. he is desperate for justification, desperate to feel their hatred. to believe that this was justified, regain power and autonomy where he has none. their bodies twist and writhe in the dark only and he feels it, all of it, holds their lives in the palm of his hand and holds to the sharpness of their curses as they finally pass.

then he is alone.

only weiss is there.

weiss is there. and someone is screaming - nero is screaming.

he doesn't know how long he's been screaming. his throat is raw and his eyes are leaking, tears flooding down his cheeks. braving the storm of his emotion and hauling nero to him, unafraid that he may join them. his brother is gritting his teeth, burying nero's face in his shoulder and whispering over and over again that he's sorry.

he's sorry. he's sorry he couldn't protect him.

nero's arms come up slow and lock around his brother, collapsing into wracking sobs. slowly the darkness abates, pulls away from where it had been clawing at the glass, desperate to consume those who stood there and took notes as the child slaughtered his peers.

weiss smooths his hair, tells him over and over that it's okay. this wasn't his fault. this was never his fault.

the "wonderful job, nero" spoken over crackling speakers is unheard over the sound of a child mourning the last of his innocence.

THE MASK.

appearances don’t matter in deepground. there’s little time for attraction when your lives are spent under a microsope, every aspect of your being open for dissection. you feel less like a person and more like a poor assembly of bones and blood waiting to be taken apart.

he had been told he took after his father. whoever that was, whatever that was meant to mean. it was always delivered in a mocking tone, scornful of his existence. nero was a success but he was never meant to be one, he was meant to fail like all the others, an example hojo could use to rub in his mother’s face. he knows this, and he knows that this is why the professor likes him the least of all his pet experiments.

because though nero had claimed her life as he’d come squalling into the world, she had succeeded where hojo had failed.

you have your father’s eyes and his stunning lack of wit, the professor sniffed, yanking his hand back when it was clear nero was unwilling to cooperate with yet animation examination, his oblivion pooling along his skin. they’d been weaker then, only able to manifest with skin to skin contact and completely at will. it was a foolish act of rebellion as all it did was encourage the good doctor to nod to the scientists on either side of him, a silent signal to put him out if he was going to be difficult. the disgust in his eyes had been palpable. learn to make life easier for yourself, boy.

( he does, after that, he does. he’s just old enough to know better then, clever despite hojo’s insistence that he is lacking. he learns to play along to get what he wants, and what he wants is to be left alone when he’s not permitted to be with weiss. he learns control at the expense of all else. suffocating his little freedoms with the need to belong. )

and so when hojo hands him a mask at eleven (a simple cloth facemask, something he could put on and take off at will) with a sneer and a command to cover his wretched face until the examination was over, he’d done so without complaint. something about it was displeasing and if he wanted to get through this in one piece, he would do his best to mind his terrible face and continue on.

it wasn’t uncommon, after all. everything about nero was either unsettling or displeasing. he couldn’t be controlled or corralled the way others could be. he couldn’t be shattered the way rosso was, nor could they implant something to control him the way they did weiss. his body was wrong, his powers were wrong, he was wrong.

until that moment, though, he had never considered his appearance to be one of those things. mirrors were scarce, and even if he had easy access to one, he wouldn’t know what made someone attractive or unpleasant to look at. nero looked at his face and simply saw his face, pale and ragged and so often bruised. something about him was unpleasant. this too was something wrong and something he must work to withhold.

yes, nero had thought as he’d slipped it over his mouth and nose, this makes sense.

( it was comforting, after a while. how much he could hide behind the mask. a small freedom he allowed himself. childish moments when they were allowed. )

the mask was worked into later designs of his restraints. some were wild and elaborate, others simple and cleanly designed. most of them, after the first, could not be removed without a restrictor’s code. it was pointlessly elaborate, pointlessly cruel, and just another fact of life in deepground.

what nero understood was this: he was an unlovable abomination born for the express purpose of experimentation. it was a miracle weiss looked at him and felt and spark of familial love, especially given that were it not for him weiss may still have a mother to protect him from the worst of things here. and yet he did, he did. weiss shielded nero as best he could, though nero scarcely deserved it, and he loved him all the more for it.

unlike weiss he had no redeeming qualities, nothing to make him worth a damn to the world. it made sense that he was hideous to boot. something to live in the shadows and cover up while weiss stood brilliantly before him, taking center stage while using nero as a backdrop. he existed to ensure weiss shone brighter, and he was fine with that. thrived in that even. at least that gave him purpose, a reason for his wretched existence, gave him use to weiss.

it makes sense, it makes sense because he never thinks to question it. to ask why when the answer was clearly him. he scarcely thinks of it as anything less than an absolute truth.

until he sees his face on another person.

not exactly. not precisely. the elements he shares with his brother (half brother) are not present in this doppelganger’s countenance. he takes in the shade of the eyes, the line of the nose, the high cheekbones, the ghastly pallor of their shared complexion. and as he does, nero understands something at that moment that he couldn’t possibly have understood as a boy. nor could he while looking at the aged, colorless photos of the once dead man before him.

it was never his face that was so offensive to professor hojo.

it was vincent valentine’s.

PAIN.

pain.

it's exquisite. divine. a break from the endless, painful nothing that has been the sable's entire bleak existence. the hand fisted in his hair is euphoric, the blood slowly tricking down his nose a blessed reminder that his heart beats. that he is alive.

in truth, he had been at his limit for some time. there was only so long he could rampage through the building before someone finally took him down. he'd imagined he would carry on until restrictor arrived, dangling the threat of his brother's life over his head.

the soldiers had posed little challenge. weak little things still wet behind the ears, genesis' abduction robbing them of all their best and brightest. he had resigned himself to exhausting himseif and going quitely until the redhead had entered the fray. he radiated a wild confidence that nero was certain he didn't feel, but surprised him by being a worthy match.

what he lacked in brawn, he made up for in skill.

( though he imagines a turk must know the secrets of the company, the secrets of his suit. the mako does not fuel him, it contains him, and all one needs to do to harm the undead is breathe life into them )

the damage sustained was far from lethal ( very little was lethal to nero ) but the mako leaking in to the open wounds had been what sealed his fate.

it was no accident, of that he's sure. the turk had aimed carefully. his veins burn with the flood of mako, his powers neutralized as it poisons him. makes him something infinitely mortal, more killable. his hands twitch with the aftershock of the electricity still working through is system, but he's already up again.

he lifts his head, blood dripping down the cloth of his mask. there's a delirious shine to his eyes as he raises his chin defiantly, the glint of teeth far too sharp to exist within a human mouth as he leans in closer, pressing into the still tingling weapon as he raises his own.

it doesn't seem to be a threat. more like a game. russian roulette. the press of his revolver against reno's side is almost friendly. playful. gleeful to have found a match capable of meeting his speed. the cock of his head asks the question, can you subdue me before i kill you?

"again."

#nero the sable #weiss the immaculate #ffvii remake #final fantasy vii #deepground #reno #vincent valentine #professor hojo

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mariusperkins · 4 months

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my favourite new-to-me movies of 2023

a few years ago my resolution was to stop just only rewatching Ocean's Eleven over and over and actually watch some of the thousand-ish movies that I say I'm going to watch and then don't, which, honestly, has been Very fun and something I highly recommend! It also means that I watch a lot of movies that aren't actually "new" (which, honestly, I also recommend).

Picking a top 20 was really hard this year (I would do top 10 but that was impossible), I watched so many movies I absolutely LOVED, and so I narrowed them down to the below using the only criteria that I think really matters when it comes to lists like this which is 1. How insane did I feel about the movie at the time, and 2. Do I still feel insane about it when I think about it now.

This list got long so to save your dash I have put it under the cut:

20. Fire of Love (2022): a documentary about the lives of two volcanologists who ultimately died together in a volcanic eruption. It's told in such a beautiful, moving way, and I've been telling everyone I know to watch it, so of course it had to make this list

19. Lady For a Day (1933): a group of loosely-socially-connected people work together to convince a wealthy man that an old impoverished apple seller is a member of high society so her daughter (who also believes her slightly-estranged mother is high society) can marry into real high society. It was literally the first movie I watched in 2023 and I truly can't think of a better way to start off a year than with a movie that is about helping other people for the sake of Just Helping Them, because we should care about other people, because what else are we on this earth for if not to help and care about other people. Also, this is one of those 1930s movies that seems wildly progressive in it's treatment of women (nobody shames Annie for having a daughter out of wedlock or anything that goes along with that, everyone wants her to be happy, and healthy, and to help her get the thing that she wants above all else: for her daughter to be happy and safe).

18. The Talk of The Town (1942): one of the many "Cary Grant's most bisexual movies" but boy howdy is it!! Cary Grant, a communist sympathiser and unionist, has to hide out at Jean Arthur's farmhouse to escape the law after being accused of a crime he didn't commit but wouldn't you know it, Jean Arthur's just rented out her farmhouse to Ronald Coleman, a judge who prides himself on his neutrality who's about to be nominated to the supreme court! Jean Arthur, thinking fast, says Cary Grant is her gardener for the farmhouse and also sets about trying to prove to Ronald Coleman that Cary Grant is innocent, Cary Grant sets about trying to radicalise Ronald Coleman before he can get to the supreme court. Ronald Coleman spends a significant amount of time playing chess with Cary Grant while the two of them speak softly to each other. Just wonderful stuff, and Jean Arthur is so beautiful that I genuinely tried to find out what her skincare regime was.

17. Beyond The Infinite Two Minutes (2020): a short (just over an hour) Japanese scifi film where a man discovers that the tv in the cafe downstairs from him and the tv in his apartment are connected, with the tv in the cafe showing two minutes into the future (of whatever is in front of the tv in his apartment). It does some really fun stuff with this time-travel adjacent concept, especially in the final "fight" sequence! It's a little hard to find (I think I might have watched it on vimeo?), but absolutely worth it.

16. White Zombie (1932): sometimes called the "first zombie movie", it's so different from what we now think of as a "zombie movie" that it feels fresh (or, at least, it did to me). A young bride is "killed" by an evil count and brought back as a zombie forced to obey his will. I found the short scene towards the end of the movie where her husband and True Love almost breaks the hold on her mind and there's a close up of her expression as it changes from wide-eyed blankness to almost a smile before she slips back under Bela Lugosi's spell to be genuinely affecting. Also, there's a scene right at the start where Bela Lugosi's eyes are superimposed over a scene that I found genuinely frightening, I was as jumpscared by those eyes as a person watching in 1932 probably was, which is always a fun feeling.

15. A New Leaf (1971): Walter Matthau, an aging, asexual bachelor is informed that he is on the brink of complete poverty and decides to find a orphaned heiress to marry (and then murder) to keep himself in his preferred lifestyle. After several unsuccessful endeavors he meets Elaine May (who also wrote and directed the movie), a weathly and extremely absent-minded botanist. Instead of killing her, he trips his way through improving both her life and himself. I was enthralled by this movie, I just want to rotate every part of it in my mind forever.

14. It's a Wonderful Knife (2023): the most recent of all the movies on this list in terms of both release date and me having watched it, this slasher retelling of 'it's a wonderful life' has it all: a Scary Slasher opening featuring a killer with a gimmick ("The Angel"), the classic bit where she wishes she'd never been born and stumbles through realising Oh No I'm In The Universe Where I've Never Been Born, the universe saving True Love of lesbians, Justin Long being a little weirdo, the bit where she runs down the street wishing everyone and everything a merry christmas. All the in-text callouts by the characters that what's happening is "just like" it's a wonderful life snowballed into a (to me) touching romantic moment ("you were my Clarence"). It all just Worked!! The perfect holiday watch.

13. Bones (2001): I love a horror movie that I've never heard of and the early 2000s is a great time period for this. 1970s Snoop Dogg (with beautiful 1970s hair!) is murdered, and his ghost comes back to get revenge on those who killed him. Features some great gross-out horror scares (the nightclub scene, especially, made me jump out of my seat and pace around). Also, a very cool, scary-looking poster!

12. Eyes Without A Face (1960): A doctor attempts to use his plastic surgery skills to "replace" his daughter's face, which has been mangled in a car accident (that he caused). I hope whoever designed the mask the daughter wears, which is a plain white 'death mask' style with only the eyes cut out, got some kind of award because it's visually striking in every scene (especially when combined with her mod/60s coat). This movie is full of the gestures towards a broader life that his daughter would have had, or the life she did have that is just enough to both paint a vivid picture and make you feel so curious that the movie would be enthralling even without the serial murder/body horror aspect. Has one of the greatest "good for HER" endings to a movie I've ever seen, which I would implore you not to spoil for yourself if you want to watch this. The version up on internet archive does have english subtitles (thank you internet archive!!).

11. Grosse Point Blank (1997): A disconnected and disaffected hit man attends his high school reunion, confronting his past (the mother that barely recognises him, the girlfriend he abandoned on prom night, the friend that never heard from him after he left town) and his present (the other hit men attempting to kill him). I feel cringe somehow for putting this on my list, I feel cringe admitting that I did feel a big Swell of emotion as John Cusack makes eye contact with a baby as the lyrics to Queen/Bowie's 'Under Pressure' swells in the background (why don't we give ourselves one more chance), I even feel a little cringe for liking something that seems like it should only appeal to Gen X's. But what is this list for if not for films that game me cringe levels of emotions?

10. Waxworks (1988): Much like the early 2000s, the 1980s are also a great decade for 'horror movies you've never heard of'. The plot summary doesn't do much to give it away: 'a group of teens go to a wax museum and get killed off one by one'. "Well, that's just house of wax", you think to yourself, "I know what to expect from this movie". It isn't, and you don't. Please don't look up scenes ahead of time, please do watch this movie!

9. Knightriders (1981): I'm a very loud member of the Movies Should Be Shorter club but this movie is over two hours and I wish it had gone on forever. Every time you think 'well that's the end of the movie' another movie arc starts, and I couldn't have been happier. It follows the "knights" (motorbike stuntmen) in an 80s renaissance fair as they travel from town to town, argue about modernising, and put on shows. Feels like you're really vibing with them under the 1980s sun. Also features a cameo of Stephen King, who eats a sandwich in a truly disgusting way.

8. House (1977): a group of teen girls go to the house of one of the girl's aunts. It's a very haunted house. The best way I can think to describe it is that it's like watching the description of a nightmare you had as a child, almost too over the top and ridiculous to be scary in an explainable way but it is still scary. I'll think about the piano sequence until the day I die.

7. They Might Be Giants (1971): A man who, after the death of his wife and his subsequent mental breakdown, believe himself to be Sherlock Holmes. His brother, who's attempting to get him committed to collect his inheritance, introduces him to a woman named Dr Watson. They run around around town as the man who believes himself to be Sherlock Holmes attempts to solve the mystery that he believes Moriarty is orchestrating, solving real problems for various people around town almost by accident. A extremely hopeful and upbeat movie with the saddest last 60 seconds to a movie I've ever seen, a very, very bittersweet love story.

6. The Palm Beach Story (1942): Claudette Colbert is deeply in love with her big rectangle of a husband Joel McCrea, but wants to divorce him because she believes that providing for her is holding him back (and he won't let her accept money from random men who want to give her money for being beautiful - a realistic thing to happen if you are Claudette Colbert imo). He's desperate to stay married to her so when she runs off to Palm Beach for a quickie 1940s divorce he follows her, but on the way she meets mega rich Rudy Vallee who falls instantly in love with her. As a complete 180 to the previous movie, this is a fun movie with the most rediculous final 60 seconds. I truly believe that your enjoyment of the movie hinges on those final moments - I, of course, loved it.

5. The Abominable Dr Phibes (1971): the king of horror Vincent Price stars as the mysterious Dr Phibes, who's out to kill a very specific set of people in various very specific ways, assisted by his beautiful and incredibly dressed assistant Vulnavia while the police unsuccessfully try to figure out what he's doing and stop him. I truly loved this movie, the mystery just silly enough, the kills just over the top enough, the elaborate sets not really trying to not look like sets and better off for it!! The sequel, in which Dr Phibes and Vulnavia travel to Egypt to resurrect Dr Phibes' wife, is also quite good!

4. Brief Encounters (1945): A man and woman, both happily (or at least contentedly) married to other people, meet and fall into a whirlwind-style love before the real world crashes back into them. Soul-obliteratingly sad, but in the way that love can be, sometimes.

3. Shocker (1989): A college student starts having visions of a serial murderer in which the murderer can see him, helps to catch the murderer... And then the movie really starts. This was going to be lower down until I realised that it's become such a reference point for me since I watched it. I wish Wes Craven would make a sequel about the protagonist's girlfriend, who, by the end of the movie, is a ghost who shares his body.

2. Wild Thing (1987): Tarzan, but if Tarzan was in 1980s New York instead of the jungle. I had such a fun time with this movie! Excellent use of 'wild thing' (the song) needle drop, which happens in conjunction with a Spiderman-style man-on-the-street interview section. To me, this one is an undiscovered gem.

1. Tampopo (1985): a woman, who isn't good at making ramen but owns a ramen shop, asks a truck driver and his friend to help her improve her cooking. He agrees, and they begin a winding journey, encountering and befriending various people to help her along the way. Tampopo is also a movie that's interested in exploring the different relationships people can have to food and the different roles it plays in society, so it's full of little tiny scenes staring all kinds of wonderful weirdos like this scene, which is one of my favourite scenes in all of cinema, of a little old woman causing chaos in a small supermarket late at night. Also, if you watch this movie: get ramen first, because otherwise you'll have to pause the movie to go and get food.

Honourable Mentions: You've Heard Of This Edition

Best movie about The Movies: Asteroid City (2023)

Best action scene that made me claw at the person next to me: Mission Impossible (Dead Reckoning Part One (2023)

Award for 'movie famous for being good that is good': RoboCop (1987)

Award for 'movie referenced as a punchline that actually has Things To Say about the treatment of houseless people to the point that I now feel like those punchlines do the movie and incredible disservice': C.H.U.D (1984)

Best rediculous stunts/scene chewing from Jake Gyllenhaal: Ambulance (2022)

Best 4th movie in a film series that was still incredible and also made me cry: John Wick Chapter 4 (2023)

Award for special effects/goo (for when you see the clones sloughing out of the pods): Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956)

Best use of Bill Pullman as a romantic lead: While You Were Sleeping (1995)

Award for 'predator movie that is actually enjoyable to watch': Prey (2022)

Best use of cocaine as a plot device: Cocaine Bear (2023)

Honourable Mentions: Maybe You Haven't Heard Of This Edition

Best movie that is just really a series of weird little sketches: Better Off Dead (1985)

Best movie about a married couple that are horny for each other: Undercover Blues (1993)

Best use of Willem Dafoe as an ally to the protagonist: Daybreakers (2009)

Best use of a one location (and primarily one set): Welcome Back Mr McDonald (1997)

Best use of the little lock of hair that falls out of the gelled-back hairdo in a 1930s male lead: Love Is News (1937)

Best use of enemies-to-lovers: Legal Eagles (1986)

Best use of Bob Hope: Nothing but the Truth (1941)

Award for 'most people cheating on each other with everyone else' in a single movie: Dinner at Eight (1933)

Best movie involving a woman who died and then possesses another woman to get revenge on the man who killed her: Supernatural (1933)

Best use of weird masks and scary basements: Popcorn (1991)

Award for 'most 1980s tropes in a 1930s movie': The Old Dark House (1932)

Best underutilised setting for a horror movie: Intruder (1989)

Best movie that you truly can't believe got made and released: Roar (1981)

Best performance of an actor pretending to be a robot: Deadly Friend (1986)

Best 1930s 'extremely wealthy old man and poor fast talking woman best friendship' in a movie: Easy Living (1937)

Best early 2000s thriller you haven't heard of/best Emily Blunt performance: Wind Chill (2007)

Best use of 1940s tropes and jokes in a hallmark movie: A Biltmore Christmas (2023)

Best use of best friends in a noir movie: The Gun for Hire (1942)

Best netflix movie that netflix inexplicably didn't bother promoting: They Cloned Tyrone (2023)

Best Dylan O'Brien performance: The Outfit (2022)

Best slimy little weasel performance: Cure For Wellness (2016)

Best use of time travel to a Very specific but not well-known historical event: Timeline (2003)

Award for most specific accident in a horror movie that required a transplant: Mad Love (1935)

#mariusperkins at the movie #if you enjoy this let me know and I'll do more of it I guess

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rathologic · 1 year

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I think I've seen you mention that the original, poorly translated version of patho classic had some lines that where better for being stranger or something like that. Can you give an example or two? Genuinely curious because I don't think I've seen anyone play the original english translation before and only know about it from word of mouth.

there's a Ton... in general I find that 2005 has stronger assertions and more interesting imagery, while Classic HD renders character speech more uniquely at the cost of making the concepts discussed a bit generic and ambiguous. here's four comparisons from scraping my screenshots folder:

from the Grave-digger npc: illustrates the character voice part

2005: The keeper's been feeding worms for five years now. Got grass all over him. The sun makes him happy now. I have yet more sorrow to suffer here.

2015: The caretaker's been pushing up the daisies for, lemmethink, five years now. Turned to grass already, all excited to bask in the sun. Me, I'll have to endure them hardships for a long time still.

katerina's explanation of the pain mechanic: conversely, this is a good show of the stronger language in 2005: "tearing away", "can even" versus "may even help"

2005: It isn't worth tearing away from the living to give to the dead, however, you can tear something away from yourself and will be rendered for that. Whoever helps a dying man leave this world will save it a lot of suffering. Such things are valued especially here. Such care can even atone for murder.

2015: It's not a good idea to try to take away from the living for the sake of the dead—but perhaps you should share a part of yourself with them. It will pay back in spades. He who helps the dying pass on painlessly is sparing the world unnecessary suffering. We respect that here. Being considerate may even help you atone for murder.

the Bachelor's letter: I love the sense of hopelessness in the original... he's already lost and accepted that he's lost and there's only a small chance to salvage anything...

2005: Tomorrow the militarians will be here. They arrive to burn down and destroy. No way to stay aside - it depends on us, whether it would be possible to save here at least something. I have made my choice.

I rise under the banners of dream which has lost the battle with the history. Henceforth all my forces will be devoted to the rescue of the doomed and their affairs - which are also sentenced to death by the logic of evolution. I speak about so-called "Utopians". Four Kains, brothers-architects, my good Eve and, as I hope, Younger Vlad.

If these people survive, probably, I shall manage to rescue one of the most surprising monuments of this world. I do not hope that you will help me - but just do not interfere! Woe are you if even one of my "Utopians" is lost by your fault. I shall fight up to the end for my doomed banner.

2015: The military will be here tomorrow. They come to raze and demolish. Due to this, we can't avoid making the important choice, for it depends on us whether anything here may be saved. My choice has already been made.

I am going to champion the dream that is doomed to lose its battle with history. From now on, I will use whatever agency I have left to save the condemned creators and their creation, whose sentence was spelled out by evolution itself. I am speaking of the so-styled "Utopians." The four Kains, the architect twins, my good Eva, and, hopefully, Vlad the Younger.

If these people survive, I may be able to preserve one of the most fascinating miracles of this world. I don't have much hope for your assistance, but I urge you not to obstruct me! Beware my wrath if any one of my utopians dies! I am going to fight fiercely for my doomed sovereign.

capella to the haruspex: just more fun imagery in the first one!

2005: But you need your victory. Or don't you? Or don't you feel this cage of obligations, this trap that inevitability caught you in? [...] Let us be honourable and kind.

2015: But you need to win. Or don't you? Don't you feel obligated, clenched, trapped by fate? [...] Let us be noble and generous.

the parts where 2005 is Really Bad are also great, such as the little boy npc talking about "the scientist who blasted the world", capella asking "are you bamming me?", and the 11 times that people exclaim "Wao!".

also, I stream playthroughs of the 2005 translation fairly often (including right now: bachelor route at 1pm EST on saturdays), so my twitch channel may have clips illustrating the effect it all has when read out loud :-)

#sorry this took a while! post editor crashed an unpleasant amount #long post #asks #anonymous #pathologic #p1 spoilers

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blametheeditor · 2 months

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To See And To Hear | Chapter 2

Previous | Next

NOT FOR EVERYONE

Content Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of murder and death. The concept of someone who was killed living their after-life on Earth. Dark thoughts/themes.

Run Down: Fazbear Corporation has a dark past full of death and murder. On one hand, it'd be safe to assume at least one unrestful spirit would haunt their last resting place. On the other, if they knew the plans William Afton had in store, any reason to stay should immediately be replaced with moving on as soon as possible.

It's the Jerber!

____________________________________

Scott stares up at the familiar sign of Fazbear’s Pizzeria, fear and uncertainty washing over him. A feeling he hasn’t felt in honest to God years.

Why would he? Ever since he died, the only he thing he’s had to worry about is Vincent accidentally leaving him behind at one of the restaurants and force the ghost to figure out where he went. Even then it’s nothing more than a chore considering there are only four other places he could be, it’d just be a matter of traveling to each location to check for a lurking shadow, and then possibly recheck them again if the purple man backtracked after realizing his mistake.

But this will be the first time he’s possibly meeting another ghost. And not just any one, but someone who died at a Fazbear location. Meaning they’re damned to haunt the restaurants for eternity with how much luck Scott’s had when it comes to moving on.

...who could it be? One of the original children? A night guard in which Scott would be the last person they’d want to see? Will they be hostile and turn out to be a threat, or will they just be confused and grateful to have someone who knows what they’re experiencing?

Honestly, it breaks his heart at the thought of how long they might’ve been without a friendly face. Prays it hasn’t made them become resentful of those still living. He learned early on the animatronics can see and hear him, but they’re not human. And, no offense to the Toys, but they aren’t exactly the most welcoming compared to the Originals, though God forbid someone gets trapped with the Funtimes.

“You alright, Scotty?”

“Yeah,” Scott falls over his shoulder. Grateful to have Vincent by his side, even if his best friend couldn’t come inside the restaurant. He’ll come running if there’s trouble. “I’ll be right back, Vince.”

He then takes a deep breath. Despite it only being an imitation, it’s a familiar action that’s helped ground him time and time again. With that he walks through the closed doors without issue.

One glance at the stage confirms the Toys are locked in place, powered down until the clock strikes midnight. Right now it’s 11:30pm, giving him enough time to confirm if a ghost truly does haunt the restaurant, give a promise to come back another time if there is, and leave before they wake up. Not that he doesn’t like the Toys, they can just be a bit...much.

Hopefully they haven’t convinced the ghost to start murdering people for the hell of it.

Scott slowly makes his way through the familiar restaurant. The first place he ever worked. Where he met Vincent. Where-

Focus. Lives could be at stake.

Nothing stands out to him as he checks off the different rooms. No missing items or burst lightbulbs. Hell, there doesn’t seem to be a distinct chill in the air when he passes through the door to parts and service, the room that always makes him shiver completely vacant.

At least that can prove Eggs really can’t sense ghosts.

He turns to leave before jolting when he hears a familiar laugh echo down the hallway. Confused until he remembers that Mike has been alternating between this location and Freddy Fazbear’s due to absolutely no new applications coming in for the night shift. Not that Scott can blame anyone, but that meant the young man had to do a bit more traveling depending on the week.

The ghost makes his way toward the office, wanting to see how Mike’s handling the Toys so far. Vincent had only laughed when he learned the Originals had been intimidated by him, but Scott’s hoping that’s not what happened here. Their most valuable night guard would’ve kept his promise not to challenge over 6 foot tall animatronics who can snap his neck without any effort, right?

“Hold the fuck on. Your ass can’t eat a goddamn ghost pepper?”

...who is Mike talking to?

Scott runs when it clicks, skidding to a halt at the office’s opening, freezing at the sight that greets him.

Mike’s feet are kicked up onto the desk as he leans back in the rolling chair, somehow able to balance on only two legs without the wheels spinning to make him crash to the floor. And to his left stands a kid who doesn’t look older than 16. One with brown curls, wide grey eyes, and is translucent enough Scott can make out the pattern on the wall behind him.

So there is a ghost. One Mike apparently found and didn’t tell anyone.

“Michael!”

Scott watches as the young man barely jumps from his name being yelled, but it’s enough to disrupt the careful balance needed to keep his chair from falling, meaning the guard disappears from sight as he’s thrown backwards. There is no sympathy despite it sounding like he most likely cracked his head open.

“God-fucking-damn it.”

“M-M-Mike!” the kid exclaims, running over to where Mike lies as he stares down in horror, hands hovering but unable to offer any help. “Are y-you okay!”

“Fucking fine.” A hand grabs the desk as Mike laboriously pulls himself up, blue eyes locking onto the silently fuming ghost glaring daggers. “Well shit, Phone Guy. What the hell did I do?”

“Why the hell did you not tell us there was a God damn ghost!”

He doesn’t notice the light above him is flickering, nor the fact that he can see Mike’s breath every time he exhales. Because Scott has trained himself not to get too upset, all too aware of the damage he could cause when he’s worked up. There were times at the very beginning when not even Vincent was able to calm him down before the purple man got thrown into a wall.

But this is different. He’s told Mike how dangerous interacting with the paranormal can be, including Scott. He’s hurt his best friend before, so why would the young man be so flippant with his own life with a stranger who clearly never worked for Afton.

What if had gotten killed! He could’ve ended up just like-!

“Phone Guy.”

Scott blinks. Flinches when he realizes Mike is standing directly in front of him. Sucks in a gasp at the realization there’s hands resting on his shoulders. As if he’s corporeal. As if he’s alive.

That’s when he notices Mike’s uncontrollable shivers, even breathing out his nose leaves a small cloud visible for a few moments. “You’re scaring the Jerber, asshole.”

All of his anger vanishes within seconds. Horrified he might’ve just traumatized the kid. Made him think other ghosts were like that, ready to snap at any second. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“I fucked up,” Mike smirks as he removes his hands, Scott clenching his jaw to keep from asking how the impossible had been done. “I’m sorry for being an asshole and not telling you Jerber was bitching with me on my shifts over here.”

“I’m sorry for almost cracking your head open,” the ghost murmurs.

Mike then turns to gesture toward the poor kid trembling behind the desk. Who stares at Scott with a mix of concern and terror. “Jerber, this is Phone Guy. Phone Guy, Jerber.”

“Scott,” he clarifies. Almost holds a hand out to shake before deciding against it. “I-I’m sorry for loosing my temper. I just, I was worried Mike wasn’t being...careful.”

‘Jerber’ watches him for a few moments before taking a step forward. He then squeaks when he goes through the desk, jumping back before slowly walking around it in order to fully join the conversation. Though he makes a point to stay a safe distance away, using Mike as a barrier between them. “So, y-y-you're a ghost t-too?”

At least he didn’t fuck up completely. “I am. Have been for about twenty years, though I apparently don’t act like it with the stunt I just pulled.”

He’s looked up and down before a glance is shot toward Mike. When Scott’s nodded toward, a hand is then suddenly offered. “I’m J-J-J-Jeremy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Scott says, earnestly, shaking the hand in greeting. He almost jumps in surprise when they actually make contact. Instead of passing through the other they connect as if they were living.

It’s nothing like how Mike’s touch was, with warm flesh that pulsed with a heartbeat, but it’s much more comforting. The tangible confirmation he’s not the only one anymore, no longer alone. If Jeremy decides Scott is allowed to continue talking to him.

That’s when Jeremy flings himself at Scott, the ghost extremely unprepared considering he’s not used to things or people being able to interact with him. That doesn’t mean he didn’t instinctively catch the kid to pull into a stunned hug as he’s clung to, it just meant he nearly fell backwards to send them both to the floor. A little confused how quickly he had been forgiven.

And then it all comes together as the younger ghost sobs into his shoulder.

Scott hugs Jeremy as tightly as possible, gently rubbing the kid’s back, happy to offer what little support he can. Because who knows how long he’s been dead for. Left to wonder around the restaurant where children can run right through you without even noticing. Maybe needed multiple weeks just to gain the courage to leave whatever room had become a temporary grave. Maybe a permanent one depending on if a body was ever found and taken to be buried.

At least Scott had Vincent. To be honest, he got incredibly lucky considering his best friend has been able to be there for him all these years. Able to see and hear him. Can even respond to questions in front of others with sign language when backs are turned. If the purple man wasn’t able to, if he never found the ghost and promised to continue staying by each other’s side, Scott might not’ve calmed down before severely injuring Mike. He might’ve even joined the animatronics in killing every night guard just to send Afton a message someone’s biding their time.

He might’ve even tried to kill Vincent and succeeded.

At least it hasn’t been long enough that Jeremy’s thought about going down that path. Maybe the Toys are owed a thank you for that.

“S-S-Sorry,” Jeremy sniffles as he pulls away, hands wiping at his tears before freezing when there’s only a phantom feeling of wetness where they should be. “I’m still not u-u-used to this.”

And that’s something that won’t change no matter how much time passes. “It’s a lot. How long have you been a ghost for?”

“A y-y-year.”

Now Scott feels awful avoiding this location as much as he can. Vincent’s one thing, but the one who’s already dead shouldn’t have let himself be controlled by bad memories. Not when he can’t get killed again.

“I’m sorry we missed you,” he begins, eyebrows raising when Jeremy immediately waves his hands.

“N-No, it’s okay! The Toys have k-k-kept me company! And I sleep d-during th-the day before playing the...” The kid’s eyes widen before he gasps. “They’re y-y-your recordings!”

Oh God.

“Holy shit,” reminds Scott that Mike is still here. And wearing a shit-eating grin. “You have more of those goddamn things, Phone Guy?”

He honestly forgot about the ones for this location. He can’t be at two places at once, so when it came to choosing which play button he’d much rather press, it ended up being for the ones at Freddy Fazbear’s. Especially because it was the least he could do to try and ensure no one else ended up with the same fate. Not that it really seemed to do much, and he couldn’t exactly make better one’s considering that would make Afton extremely suspicious and poke around in things Scott would never want him to. And over the years he forgot there were others. Many, many others.

“You’ve been playing them?” Scott asks. Grateful someone has been helping those hired for this location for the past year. Worried how Jeremy knows they exist.

“The Toys told me a-a-about them! Said th-they were helpful for n-n-new g-guards, so I’ve been p-playing them. I accidentally s-slept in on Mike’s first shift, but he d-d-didn't need it, so I’ve been helping in o-other ways.”

So Jeremy wasn’t as unlucky guard and instead met his untimely end another way. By the way he talks about the Toys, it doesn’t seem like it was a death by animatronic at all. Which is concerning, but not as much as apparently being able to help Mike during his shift.

It doesn’t help that Mike is nodding his head. “We’ve been fucking shit up.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Scott whirls around at the familiar growl, swallowing down fear clawing at his throat at the sight of Marionette slowly walking down the hallway toward them. It’s irrational to be afraid of the puppet, and yet the ghost’s heart would’ve started beating widely if he still had one as he’s given a glare.

At least he’s not alone, Jeremy squeaking at the towering animatronic’s presence. “Long time no see, Mari.”

“Cut the bullshit, Cawthon. Where the hell is he?”

“Outside,” Scott says honestly. “He won’t hesitate to come inside if you go after Mike, however.”

“Seriously?” Bon demands as he peers into the hallway. An angry finger is pointed toward said night guard who returns it with a middle finger. “How the fuck did this asshole get your blessing?”

“At this point they’re adopting everything they come across,” Marionette growls. “I’ll go tell the other’s Scott’s teaching Jeremy he should trust strangers if they’re offering candy.”

“I am doing no such thing!” Scott calls after the retreating figures.

“And I didn’t offer Jerber shit!” Mike joins in.

“Michael, if you’re not sitting at the desk and winding the music box in three seconds, God so help you.”

Mike obediently does as he was instructed, though they both know it’s not out of fear for what Scott would do. He wishes it was at the very least it was to ensure the young man isn’t killed tonight, but they also know that’s not the reason either.

Scott sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Well aware it’s his own fault for not checking the time despite knowing the Toys would be waking up soon.

“A-A-Are you leaving?” Jeremy quietly asks.

Scott looks at the kid looking a bit unsure if this is just a first meeting, or an only meeting. Because Mike would’ve confirmed he’ll be switching between the restaurants weekly, meaning the ghost will be alone all over again. And when you’re dead, you have no influence on if schedules get changed or if someone new to hire for the position is found.

Fellow ghosts have no obligation to come back when the animatronics have made it clear his presence isn’t wanted.

“I’ll be back,” Scott promises. “At some point this week. And next week when Mike’s at the other restaurant, but I have a feeling he’ll be dragging you over there with him.”

Jeremy hugs him again. “Thank y-y-you.”

This is going to get complicated.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

#and here's a ghost!#I have also finally made a list of all of the current projects I have going on #I went through them all #tossed out the ones I'll continue at a later date #but for now I like what I've got!#so I will be posting that sometime this week #but ghosts for today!#I hope ya'll enjoy and have a great day!#BTE writing #Ghost Jeremy AU #To See And To Hear #FNAF bois #cw #content warning

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griombrioch · 1 year

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Hello if you can spare a few moments of your time what do you think of the prompt where Jessamy the raven gets reborn but as a human person and meet hob as a college student and met Morpheus not realizing he’s dream and she thinks is hobs boyfriend or husband?

Hello yes I have So Many thoughts on this.

First off, I fucking adore Jessamy and I'm heartbroken each and everyday that we never get to hear her speak in the Netflix adaptation.

Jessamy's life as a raven was already her second chance. Like Matthew, she had lived a life in the Waking World in which anthropomorphic personifications of concepts did not exist to her. Nor did the reality of magic or the journey of flying between realms. Her first life had been a short one though. As a human, she'd been very sick. And frail. And, more often than not, alone. To die in her sleep and wake up a raven was strangely liberating instead of frightening. She could put up with the magic and the strange enigmatic man who called himself her King if it meant that she could fly. She was reborn into a body that no longer held her back. She could go anywhere and everywhere and nothing could stop her. Except the shells fired from a shotgun. Of all things.

All of this is to say, of course, that no one expects to have a third chance at life. And for quite some time, Jessamy herself doesn't even know. When she walks the earth again as a human, she knows that her name is Jessica Barnes. She knows that her parents died in a car accident when she was a toddler. She is told that they loved her very much. She knows that she doesn't remember her childhood - PTSD, she is told. For what, she is not sure and nobody seems to want to give away answers. She knows that she is drawn to history, to writing, to uncovering the truths of the past that still linger between the lines of a textbook.

The first time she sees Dream it is at the end of Professor Galden's lecture on a regular Tuesday. As his TA, she is at the back of the room. When she sees the lanky, dark haired man amble to the front of the hall, she doubletakes. Not because she finds it absurd for teachers to have partners, but because she swears she recognizes this man. From somewhere. She has another class across campus though, and Jessie's really not in the habit of stalking university faculty, so she makes a hasty exit. She still needs to talk to Robert about the classes' last exam scores, but an email will have to suffice.

The next time it happens, weeks later, the man stares back at her. He looks pained and she cannot, for the life of her, figure out why. She casts a glance toward Dr. Galden for help, but he looks just as confused as she feels. The man introduces himself as Morpheus, and something about that name is so achingly familiar. Morpheus Morpheus Morpheus.

She starts getting snippets, here and there. Tiny fragments of memory that she has no previous recollection of but the moment she experiences them, she knows that they are hers. A bus passes her on the street and she sees the wings of a thousand black birds. An undergraduate asks her about European rituals and she suddenly finds herself knowledgeable on the dark summoning magic from the 1800s. Eventually her name doesn't feel like her own anymore. Like she's outgrown it.

Finally, Dr. Galden's strange boyfriend (husband? partner? consort?) shows up in her dreams. She pushes through a door and ends up in an enormous white room with a thousand steps. Morpheus stands at the bottom of them, but the coat she's used to seeing has grown another several feet. It drags on the pristine floor. He is staring at her impassively, like he was expecting her. He doesn't appear to be in pain anymore. If anything, there is something akin to hope in his eyes. She should be afraid or at the very least startled by his ghostly appearance. She is not. She knows him.

"I know this place. Why?" "Because you are home, my dear Jessamy."

#asks #the sandman #dreamling #jessamy the raven #also jessamy the not raven #dream of the endless #hob gadling #amnesia #pls let my sweet girl live her best not dead life

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your-favorite-roommate · 9 months

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"LISTEN this is about spaghetti"

prompt by @sleepyowlwrites

a genloss concept

cw for gore and death

Sneegsnag, who went through the same trials that Ranboo did. He had to do the cooking show. He walked into that cabin, and the execs were a little looser at the time so he had a bit more free roam. He talked not to the audience but to his best friend frank, who he was with. Now Frank was a smart cookie; while Sneegsnag was looking for the keys, Frank saw there were no hinges and walked right into the kitchen

Sneegsnag was so popular with the audience that the execs brought in a Best Friend character, meant to be silly and goofy. However, Frank, who wasn't with Showfall Media from the beginning, wasn't nearly as brainwashed, and was deviating from the plot and his intended character more and more.

They walk into the kitchen. They see the spirit of the cabin, Charlie's character. He jumps up in surprise, "Welcome to my cabin" he says, waving his hands around as his theme song kicks in. Why did no one give me my cue, he muttered under his breath

They start playing his little game, they're meant to make a dish for the spirit, and they choose spaghetti, or splaghebbi as the spirit calls it

But Frank keeps snooping. The producers are ready to jump in at any second but the audience is loving frank so they hold off. He messes with the chains on the bedroom door, not even hearing anyone approach as he feels the clap of a strong hand on his shoulder, startling him.

He turns to see the spirit directly behind him, too close for comfort. He grins widely, madly, "Don't go snoopin' where you aren't supposed to, there, Frank" and for a moment, his eyes hold a pit of fire, his teeth are sharp and jagged and far too many crowd his mouth, his clothes covered in a thick mucus of red, too closely resembling blood for Frank's taste.

Another moment and it's like it never happened. His eyes held charm and wit, his movements comical, his smile award-winning and not looking at all like the horror he had just seen. And the slime covering his suit slid back to a bright neon green that it once was, but it was too late. Frank could no longer trust his own mind, shock clear on his face as he allowed himself to be led back to the kitchen by the spirits strong arms. Sneegsnag was still in the kitchen, mixing what looks like spaghetti in a bowl, though Frank can't even be certain its not meal worms and tendons.

"Frank! There you are buddy, I could use your help in here! This guy is working us to the bone, I swear" he mutters the last part out of the side of his mouth, loud enough to still be heard.

Frank looks at him and says "Yeah… yeah okay." He still stands blankly, but tries to make it look like hes helping. A minute passes, the spirit making loud commentary as he leaves the room to sit at his own table. Frank leans in "I need you to tell me. What color is on that mans suit"

"Green, why? What, are you feeling okay Frank?" Sneeg looks at him, a half smile on his lips as he tries to figure out the joke.

"I don't think so. Listen, I don't… I don't think this is real"

Sneeg scoffs, a laugh rising from his chest, "Yeah, alright dude. Maybe you should go sit down. Have a little chat with that demon guy. Don't worry, I'll make enough splaghebbi for both of you"

"Sneeg, I'm serious! I don't think he's who he says he is. and I'm frea-"

"HEY" the spirit loudly enters the room. "That doesn't sound like splaghebbi making to me, Snackpack and Francis"

All other words died in Frank's throat, but Sneeg took the moment to speak up. "Oh perfect. Slime demon, tell Frank that this is super normal and totally real and not a show that's being put on and live streamed to people against our wills. He's getting a little freaked out," he looked back down to the spaghetti, missing the momentary flair of anger that welled in the spirit's eyes.

"Of course, Frank. You see, this is my cabin. I am the spirit of this cabin. Sneegsnag and his best friend, Frank, have broken into my cabin, and as payment, are making me some delicious spaghetti to eat. It's totally real and not fake and if you look to this wall, you will not see a multitude of cameras and producers and workers filming our every move, because this is not a show, this is real life."

As frank turned, he swore for a split second he could see the wall melt away, replaced instead with exactly what the spirit had said; cameras all pointed at the group, filming their every move, trained on him like a hawk. The image melted away before he could gather much else, but not soon enough to stop him from freaking out. He moved back, grabbing Sneeg's arm, mumbling and pointing at the wall.

"It- it's not- it's not real. I-I told you! I told- it's not- noth- it's- what- I-"

Sneeg clapped both hands on Frank's shoulders, forcing his attention to him. "Hey dude, you're alright. Yeah? What's this about it 'not being real', what? Come off it, dude. Just help me make this guy some spaghetti"

But Frank finds his voice once more. "No, no you don't understand. They're- they're watching! We're being watched, being filmed, actively! They're just there! They were just-"

He's cut off by the spirit, who looks at Sneeg with a devilish smile. "Do not believe a word he says. I don't know what the fuck he's on about." Sneeg nods, giving the spirit a knowing look.

Franks yells "What? Why can you be so sure, why do you trust this weird spirit in a random cabin? Do you even remember how you got here? Do you even kno-"

"LISTEN" the spirit yells over Frank. "This is about spaghetti. And it better be done by the time I get back, or so help me," he mutters darkly before leaving the room.

Frank takes the opportunity to grab Sneeg's hand, trying to tug him away from the kitchen counter. "Come on, we've gotta go now before he gets back."

"Dude, what? Why? The guy just wants his splaghebbi? We did break into his cabin"

"No! We didn't! We were planted! We didn't start anywhere but here! We've got to get out! This- this is a death trap!" He tries the other door leading out of the kitchen, but it's locked. No way to go out but through the living room, maybe he can try the cabin door again.

"Nuh-uh, I'm staying right here and finishing this splaghebbi. You go do your own thing, if that's what you want. Have fun without me."

Frank turns back, heartbroken and confused as he tries to rack his brain for when he first met Sneeg and comes up blank.

He runs into the living room, coming face to face with the spirit, who flickers back to that horror standing before him, dripping in blood and holding a great fiery rage in his eyes. "Now, where do you think you're going. You're not meant to leave for at least another three episodes." Frank says nothing, too stunned to speak.

"You know, you were a fan favorite, but what can be done. They'll get over you," the spirit says as a knife is drawn and shoved deep into franks chest. He yells in pain, blood gurgling in his throat as he watches the spirit twist the knife, pain exploding in his body, too much for him to handle as he nearly passes out. The spirit retracts his hand, wiping the blood off on his own suit, a disgusted face as his hands get stuck in the mucus.

///

Sneegsnag is still making splaghebbi, looking up when the spirit reenters the room. "Oh, Frank! You're back so soon! Didn't wanna leave after all, I'm glad."

The spirit laughs in response and says "Yeah, I convinced him otherwise. But unfortunately, you've failed."

Sneeg looked up in shock, his spaghetti yet untouched. "What? failed?!"

"Yeah, unfortunately. It's no good, I can tell just by looking at it. I mean," he made a pained face "not even a hint of slime in there! No, no, I can't eat this. You fail. Awful. Horrible." He waved his hands, knocking the plate to the ground in the process.

"Let's go, out, out," he says, shepherding sneeg, frank's limp arm hung around his neck, into the room that had been previously locked.

"You don't even wanna try it?" Sneeg asked.

"Nope, nope, not enough slime. Something like that would kill me, I swear. Well, kill me more." Sneeg nodded, letting himself be led into the room and into a small cage off to the side.

"Watch your head, Frank," he said, kneeling so as to help his friend into the cage first. He didn't comment on how unmoving frank seemed; maybe he was just tired. Nor how his mouth hung open, a trail of red seeping down the side; that would just be rude of him. Nor did he comment on the dagger hilt sticking out of his chest; maybe he was just into alternative fashion.

The spirit disappeared as one of it's ghouls came along and pinned a tarp to the wall of the cage, effectively making the already small space feel even smaller. But sneegsnag wasn't worried, he was with his best friend Frank. And it was alright if frank decomposed over time. It was alright if his flesh rotted away and left a horrible corpse behind. Sneeg was fine, everything would be fine.

#genloss #genloss au #genloss fanfic #genloss sneeg #genloss frank #genloss slimecicle #generation loss

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