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samaraxmorgan · 9 days

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Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time We Got High And Almost Kissed”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: brothers au, fluff, frenemies dynamic, use of illegal substances (cannabis)

Word Count: 2.63k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Sukuna always finds a way to surprise you, he’s definitely got that going for him. However, that’s not exactly a good thing the vast majority of the time, and today is no exception.

You turn the corner as you come up the stairs and find his bedroom door wide open. He’s hunched over on his bed using his pocket knife to slice open a cheap gas station cigar, spilling the tobacco onto a paper plate. He pulls a small plastic bag out of his back pocket and carefully pinches its contents out, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger before sprinkling it inside of the shell of the cigar. His eyes glance over into the hallway and he immediately does a double take after spotting you watching him, for a brief moment he looked like a deer in headlights.

You squint your eyes, your brows furrowing questionably, “Is that weed?”

He lets out a dry scoff, looking back down towards the blunt in his fingers and continuing to fill it up, “Creep.”

“You’re the one with the door wide open!” You exclaim, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

You step into his bedroom, walls littered with posters leaving no clear space in sight; even the ceilings are covered in black tapestries. You crawl onto the foot of his bed, your knees sinking into the red comforter. Sukuna’s hair is disheveled, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in focus, tired eyes narrowed down as he stuffs the flower into the dark brown paper.

“Isn’t that illegal?” You question, a little more snarky than you intended.

“What’re you, a cop?” His crimson eyes shoot a glare up at you, fingers rolling the blunt closed and his pierced tongue licking a stripe up the incision he cut into the wrapper to seal it back shut.

Did he really have to do that without breaking eye contact? He’s gonna be the death of me.

A tiny smirk creeps onto the corner of his lips, “You should try it, could really use something t’ get that stick out your ass.”

You give him an exaggerated eye roll, “I hate you so much, you know that?”

“Yeah yeah, not like y’tell me every day,” A spark flashes in his eyes, his sheepish grin turning more mischievous, “Hey tell you what, split this with me and I’ll show you my spot.”

Your head tilts in confusion, eyeing him up curiously, “Your spot?”

He leans back against the headrest of his bed, shrugging nonchalantly, “Didn’t think I smoked in the house, did you?”

It does never smell like cigarettes in the apartment, or weed, or whatever the hell else he’s smoking. You could smell it on his clothes all the time, but now that you think about it you’ve never actually seen him smoke before.

“You leave the house to smoke?”

“You could call it that, sure.” He hops off the bed, pulling on a pair of black combat boots from his closet and not bothering to tie them. He turns around to face you, looking down at you expectantly, “Gonna join me or not?”

He’s such a bad influence, you’re so aware of that. But you’re also so morbidly curious, and he’s a hard man to say no to, so you cautiously nod your head and stand up from his bed.

“Knew you had it in you.” He smirks, placing the blunt between his lips to hold it in place and snatching a disposable lighter off his nightstand, stuffing it into his pocket.

Sukuna walks across his room to the window, his back facing the glass as he slides it open behind him, and then leaning back to stick his torso outside. His strong tattooed arms reach up over his head as he grabs the edge of the roof and lifts his legs into a crouch, promptly pulling his whole body out the window, doing one hell of a pull up to lift himself up onto the roof in one fluid motion.

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor. There’s no fucking way he’s seriously expecting you to be able to do that.

You see strands of his pink hair first as he pops his head upside down to peer down into the window, reaching his arm inside and outstretching his open palm to you, “C’mon, you won’t fall.” He pauses for a moment, flashing you a mischievous grin, “… Probably.”

You give him a weary and unconfident smile, “How reassuring.”

Taking tentative steps towards the window, you see his grin grow wider. You gently place your hand in his palm and he doesn’t waste a second, wrapping his fingers around your knuckles and squeezing tight, yanking his arm towards him to pull you closer. For just a mere second, the two of you were eye level as he hung his head upside down, your surprised eyes locking with his confident ones and his breathy laughter ghosting onto your forehead.

But just as quickly, his head dipped out of view. His low voice calls down to you from the roof as his impatient hand pulls you closer, “Put your foot up on the windowsill.”

You tentatively place your foot on the ledge, squeezing his hand tight to steady yourself as you shift your weight onto your other leg and pull yourself up to stand on the windowsill. His free hand quickly wraps under your arm, pulling you up and towards him, his arms wrapping tightly around your chest and waist as he pulls you into his lap with your back flush against him.

He leans his chin down on your shoulder, his breath fanning the side of your neck as he sarcastically whispers, “Almost dropped you there.”

A deep blush paints your face red. His legs are spread with your own planted in between them, his arms wrapped protectively around you and squeezing your body against his chest as he keeps you locked in place directly on his lap. You squirm under his hold and it only makes his breathy chuckle tickle your skin, his lips just barely brushing against your neck.

He loosens his hold on you for only a moment to pick the blunt off of the shingles, placing it between your lips while mumbling “Hold this” before his arms are tight around you again. He plants his feet against the roof and slides backwards, shimmying you both up to a flat section to sit more comfortably.

As he releases you from his grasp, you’re reluctant to leave. Lifting your hips from their home on his lap, you plop down onto the flat section of the roof next to him. He wasn’t kidding about this being his spot, there’s already an ashtray up here with cigarette butts sprinkled in the bowl. And you can’t really blame him for coming up here, the sky is orange and pink with clouds stretching thinly across the horizon, the city’s silhouette faintly in the distance, tall trees forming a barrier around the back of the apartment that feels safe and protected, it’s honestly really nice, peaceful.

Sukuna pulls his lighter out of his pocket, sparks sprinkling with each flick of the wheel until it holds a steady flame. He leans in close, holding the light against the end of the blunt that you held between your teeth.

“Breathe in.” His gaze is dropped to your lips, free hand reaching up to gently hold the blunt steady against your mouth with his thumb and forefinger.

As you inhale you see orange embers form at the end of the blunt, smoke rapidly filling your lungs and stinging the back of your throat. You can’t keep the smoke down, immediately hacking up a painful burning cough that only makes him snicker.

“Hm, you’ll get it eventually.” He brings the blunt to his lips and inhales a long hit, holding his breath for a few seconds before teasingly blowing the smoke into your face.

“Ugh,” You fan your hand in front of your face to clear the smoke, “That’s terrible. It tastes so gross.”

He smirks and rolls his eyes, flicking the ash into the small tray, “So dramatic, ‘ts not that bad.”

Your eyes are glued to his fingers, holding the blunt with his pointer finger and thumb and tapping ash away with his middle, the veins on the back of his hand gently protruding out and then settling back into place with each tap of his finger. As your eyes drift to the ashtray and you realize that there are only orange cigarette butts in the bowl, no snuffed out roaches from him smoking anything else.

You pull your knees up to your chest, tilting your head to rest your cheek on your legs when you look up at him, “How come you’re getting high?”

“Needed it tonight.” His answer was quicker than you expected, his eyes locked on the city lights shining in the distance.

“How come?”

His head doesn’t move, but his eyes flick to you. Wordlessly he holds the blunt towards you, the expectant look in his eyes and quirk in his brow telling you that he’s not planning to give you an answer until you take another hit.

You let out a small huff, taking the blunt from his fingers and taking a short drag, trying to hold the smoke in your lungs and keeping your lips sealed shut to try not to cough. Your attempt was futile though, your cheeks puffing out and smoke blowing out of your nose as your throat burned again.

He let out a small snicker at your misery, letting one of his legs lay outstretched across the slant of the roof while he bent his knee on his other leg to rest his chin on, “Brat’s working his first day at his new job tonight.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, your lips dragging down into a frown, “Brat being… who?”

He scoffs, like the answer to that should be so obvious, “My brother, the one you met.”

You hum in acknowledgment, but you’re still confused what that has to do with Sukuna wanting to get high, “What’s the new job?”

He blows a raspberry, tilting his head up towards the sky while he takes another drag, smoke echoing off his lips as he speaks, “Firefighter, been his dream job since we were kids.”

Realization clicks in your brain, making a smile creep onto your lips, “You big softie, you’re worried about him!”

“Tch.” He glares down at you, but his frustrated look only makes you giggle. The look in his eyes quickly softens, shifting to a look of amusement as he leans in closer to you and peers into your eyes. You let out a little laugh, opening your eyes wide to stare goofily at him and causing a smile to crack on his face, “Are you high already?”

“No!” You counter defensively, “You’re just… cute.”

Oh fuck, I’m totally high.

He gives you a lopsided grin, “You’re a terrible fuckin’ liar.”

You giggle and flop onto your back, lying flat on the roof, “Stop changing the topic! We’re talking about you!” You reach your arm out to point in his face, “You’re worried about him! You love him!”

“Ugh,” He gives you an exaggerated eye roll, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist and pulling it down out of his face, “I absolutely do not.”

You give him a toothy smile, poorly mimicking his deep voice, “Terrible fuckin’ liar.”

A deep laugh bubbles up from his chest, his gravelly voice sounding so breathy and happy, creases forming at the outer corners of his tired eyes. He releases your wrist from his grasp, planting his open palm next to your head and resting his weight on his arm to lean the slightest bit closer to you, his free hand bringing the blunt up to his lips as he tilts his head down to look at you with an uncharacteristically sweet smile, “So stupid.”

You can’t help but giggle under his gaze, the warm orange glow of the sunset reflecting in his heavy lidded eyes, a thin ring of crimson around his blown out pupils. His lips wrapping around the dwindling blunt and taking a long hit as the embers come alight. He leans down and gently blows the smoke into your face, making you squeeze your eyes shut.

He gently knocks his knuckle against your cheek to get you to open your eyes, gesturing the blunt to you, “Give me one more.”

You let out an over dramatic groan, covering your face with your hands, “No I’ll choke! I need you to baby bird it to me.”

He quirks his brow, a mischievous smirk curling on the corners of his lips, “Baby bird? Like spit it in your mouth?” He lets out a small chuckle. You part your hands away from your face to peer up at him as he takes another drag, holding the smoke in his mouth as he cups your chin to tilt your head towards him and leans down close to your face, smoke on his breath fanning your lips as he whispers, “Like this?”

Your mouth opens slightly in surprise as his lips are mere millimeters away from yours, gently exhaling smoke into your parted lips. Your cheeks burn red and your wide eyes stare up into his lazily lidded ones, already trained on you. You slowly breathe in the smoke, feeling him lean closer towards you, his gaze dropping down as his lips just barely brush against yours. Your eyes flutter shut, heart pounding in your chest as you feel his fingers trace their way from your chin along your jaw, tilting your head slightly to perfectly slot your lips with his-

But the moment abruptly comes to a halt as Sukuna’s phone loudly rings in his pocket, the ring tone blaring “I like big butts and I cannot lie!” as he freezes in place and both of your eyes shoot open.

“Pfft!” You throw your head back in laughter, your chin clocking Sukuna in the jaw as he shoots up straight and mutters curses under his breath, frantically fumbling for his phone in his pocket.

The obnoxious music quickly stops as he answers the phone, rubbing the sore spot on his jaw as he spoke with a hint of panic in his voice, “Yuuji?”

Even though he wasn’t on speaker phone, you could hear Yuuji loud and clear, emphasis on loud as Sukuna flinched the phone away from his ear as Yuuji yelled out the small speakers, “Guess who saved a cat at work today!”

You could see a look of relief wash over Sukuna’s face, but he didn’t let it translate into his voice, speaking in a low and annoyed tone, “I was hoping you’d die in a fire.”

Yuuji belted out a loud laugh on the other line, “Not yet! But don’t take it off your bingo card!”

A wide smile spreads across your face, yelling loud enough for Yuuji to hear, “You had him worried sic- mmph!”

Sukuna shoved his palm over your mouth, shooting a glare down at you as he spoke to Yuuji, “Ignore them.”

You tried to bite his hand over your mouth and he whispered “Fucking brat” down to you as Yuuji rambled about his first day at work, something about a cat being stuck in a tree and how he thought that was a myth but it’s totally a real thing. It quickly became clear that the moment between you and Sukuna had fizzled out, but he was probably just teasing you anyway right? It definitely meant nothing, surely. If Yuuji hadn’t called he would have just backed away and laughed at you or something.

He wasn’t actually gonna kiss you… right?

A/N: DONT KILL ME WE’LL GET THERE EVENTUALLY!! Anyway y’all like Yuuji’s ring tone I thought it suited him askakaka Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

#little did yall know that last drabble was the prelude for this part #I’ve had that planned for like over a MONTH #I was giggling maniacally when I posted that drabble like ‘they don’t know what’s coming’#my writing #nav ryomen sukuna #roommate Sukuna au #brothers au #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #Sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk modern au

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my-darling-boy · 4 months

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(TW injury description)

I am SO glad you asked I lose my mind over this man. Sidney Beldam! He’s most known for his miraculous recovery from a major facial injury sustained while he served as a young sergeant in the First World War. If you’ve read the Facemaker by Lindsay Fitzharris you might recognise him! Sources differ slightly about his story, so I’ve pieced it together as best I could. The photos below were from about February 1919!

Born in 1897, Sidney was about 17 living with his mother in Cambridge, England when the Great War commenced. While he didn’t enlist initially, he was soon conscripted when it came about in 1916 though thankfully he was in a non-combatant role driving lorries transporting soldiers to boats headed for France. It’s where he learned he enjoyed driving! However in April 1917, Sidney was transferred to the Machine Gun Corps and eventually rose to the rank of sergeant where only 7 months later, his life would change forever.

During the battle of Passchendaele, one of the muddiest most gruelling segments of the war, Sidney was on the frontlines when a shell burst, sending a shrapnel fragment tearing diagonally through his nose and the right side of his face. The young soldier collapsed face first into the mud which ended up saving his life as falling backwards would have caused him to choke on his own blood. For three days Sidney laid in a mangled heap floating in and out of consciousness while vermin scurried about his body and the other dead and wounded around him. No one would ever know the details of those agonising three days, but the trauma he experienced there left him with a lifelong phobia of rats and cockroaches. After the initial wounded had been cleared out, a wandering band of stretcher bearers discovered Sidney alive after one man touched him with his boot fully expecting him to be dead. Miraculously, he was still clinging to life.

The 19 year old sergeant was rushed down the line and then transferred to two different military hospitals where his wounds were hastily stitched in an effort to save his life before infection could spread. Unfortunately, closing the gap where he was missing flesh in his cheek caused his upper lip to be pulled into a sneer and a sunken depression formed where most of his nose was missing around the bridge. Still, he was lucky to be alive, which he later used to remark. Well he was luckier still as he would be transferred to Sidcup military hospital in Kent where he would become a patient under Sir Harold Gillies, the man often considered the pioneer of modern plastic surgery. When he arrived at hospital in 1918, his wounds were healed but his face still bore the heavy trauma of his experience. If you want to see his photographs upon arrival, I won’t post them here but if you search his name, the photos are everywhere. IMO they’re not graphic but I know it can upset some people.

Gillies went to work trying to restore Sidney’s face. This required him to reopen the wound in his cheek where a skin flap was grafted to allow his upper lip to return to normal. He also folded down a skin flap from his forehead in order to create a new nose. Behind his facade, a series of tubes and canals had to be inserted for proper sinus drainage and other unnamed functions. While his initial handful of surgeries did most of the work to reconstruct his face, Sidney underwent over 40 surgeries between 1918 and the 1930s, some reconstructive and some to evacuate the tubes behind the flesh, meaning the common cold was a routinely painful affliction for him. Gillies understood operations were traumatic for the men at Sidcup, especially since most required more than one, and so made a point about creating a lighthearted ward environment, one Sidney says was quite jolly with the staff doing everything they could to make them feel comfortable and dignified as possible. And while I thought the topmost photos were the most updated case study photos for his recovery, I stumbled upon another set from 1920 in the Faces of War by Andrew Bamji I have not seen posted anywhere!

And lads listen. In such a sweet little twist, while Sidney was still recovering from the bulk of his major surgeries, a local pianist by the name of Winifred volunteered to play for the resting servicemen, all of whom had some form of disfigurment or amputation. Carrying in her sheet music, she and Sidney laid eyes on each other for the first time and she later remarked how his smile instantly lit up the whole room! For them, it was love at first sight. The two were soon married, and although it was in the 1920s, I don’t have an exact year for this. This most likely came after Sidney was finally discharged from service in 1921. There is a photo of their wedding and y’all look how SWEET!!

Between his initial surgeries and army discharge, Gillies asked if Sidney would be his personal chauffeur, an offer he took up quickly as he loved driving from his time with lorries during the war. One somewhat humorous account tells of Gillies—who was a bit scattered at times—asking Sidney to renew his driver’s license as the surgeon left it until the last day to take care of; Sidney in a rush waited in a long line at the county hall before jumping the queue and begging the administrator to expedite his employer’s license as it was needed to drive him to the hospital the next day. The man refused, even for a surgeon to get him to his patients. Sidney went to another staff member who was friends with Gillies and begged him the same. The man cheerily agreed but was still in need of a signature from the stubborn administrator who again refused... at least until he found out Harold Gillies nearly won a golfing championship, at which point he took Sidney to his personal office to expedite the license as he was happy to do business for a skilled golfer (apparently saving people’s lives doesn’t matter as much??). A no doubt perplexed Sidney was finally able to get back to the hospital on time!

After his army discharge and most likely about the time of his marriage, Sidney moved back to Cambridge where he worked for the council as a rent collector. He was so well liked, apparently even from the people he collected from, that he soon worked his way to Housing Manager for Cambridge. About this time, he had a daughter, Pam. Every account I read of him, people gush about how sweet he was. His wife recalls how Sidney was always adored by all his family and friends. His granddaughter Marilyn McInnes in an interview said, “He was the most warm and optimistic and loving man. I adored my grandfather, I was constantly on his lap as a small child. I never noticed anything funny about his face, I guess I thought all grandads looked like mine.”

Sadly, Sidney Beldam passed away from cancer at about 80 years old in 1978. But considering the man was given 6 months to live and ended up living for 60 years more surrounded by a large and loving family, I’d say he certainly had a full life. There is a picture of him and his wife in the 60s and they are absolutely charming!!

But anyway that’s me done rambling I’ve a massive crush on him. His story makes me genuinely happy to tell and I’m so glad you asked!

#I love love love this man sm he’s just described as this ray of sunshine!!#I want to put him in my pocket #And the story of him and his wife like actually kill me that is so cute #I’m so happy he was able to live a full life #Also yeah lads he is so fine ngl when I saw him in that book I was like WOW #he has such gorgeous eyes and I love his nose #and his smile #wwi #world war 1 #sidney beldam #history #wwi medicine #injury tw #medical tw #long post

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loganlermanstanaccount · 11 months

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Rigor Mortis (part 10)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 9, Part 11

summary: In the morning, Miguel reminisces.

warnings: smut! grinding, humping, alcohol, PIV, switch-y behaviour (what's new), aftercare, mentions of depression. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: soft melty mig >>>

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 4.5k

Oh! and I finally made the series' playlists (very open to requests) <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

between your bodies;

You wake up with a headache and a lump in your throat.

Bleary eyes; and you rub away sleep, rosy and warm around the edges. Everything smells like him, is your very first thought. It's the kind of thing that has you reeling, tossing and turning in unfamiliar sheets before looking up at a mottled ceiling. Light creeps in from curtains cracked open, rays spreading like wildfire on everything it touches. Miguel's bed is by the window, and you can't help but curl up what little light spills in with your hands; palm upwards, slowly balled into fists. It's warm, and your hand feels a little different.

Oh.

Like a bolt of lightning, memories of the night before run up your spine; dancing up and down between the sheets. Miguel's hand in yours, his skin pressed up against you, a room spinning in the kind of way that seems romantic. Seems romantic; you note. It could've been the alcohol, but you had felt something between you two, yesterday. Something… different . Your cheeks grow warm at the thought of last night; drunken revelations and so much light, it burns.

I like the way your eyes scrunch up when you smile. I like the way you look in the morning, squinting at labels and cereal packets. You've got the prettiest lips I've ever seen, Miguel.

You burrow under the covers as you recall it; the memory of Miguel between your thighs, his head in the crook of your shoulder. The way he had half-laughed, heady and heavy and thick with want, low groans pooling by the shell of your ear. You're not too sure if you meant it; really, really meant it; and you're scared of what that means. Casual sex was the agreement, and you didn't think you had the capacity for much else.

Sighing, you stretch your leg out from under the covers, dipping a tentative toe on the rug. Bare, except for a T-shirt whose hem kisses your thighs. Mig's t-shirt, of course, and you tug it down as you slip out of his bed. The aftermath, things tossed off shelves and awards that had clattered to the ground, lies in last night's wake. Guiltily, you root around to pick up his things.

They're more personal than the things around the house. You notice a plaque or two from undergrad, his diploma - biomechanics and chemical engineering with honours - and even a certificate from a middle school science fair. The image makes you smile: little Mig with braces and a distinct frown, handed a plastic trophy in front of a spotty crowd. 'First Place' it says, and knowing him his entry was less baking soda volcano and more miniature Hadron Collider . If he's anything like he is now; he was probably a mouthy little pain-in-the-ass, too.

You take a watch off of the floor, half hidden under his bed. A knee brushes past a clear box; that jostles and rattles around like nails in a metal can. From vague outlines, you can see a box of junk , in every sense of the word: scrap metal, wires, plastic tubing. A whole scrapyard under his bed, and you reach for it, curious. Something knicks at your hand in the process. Glass, from a broken pane of a frame slipped under the bed. Softly, you hiss, sucking at the cut that draws blood.

More careful, now, you push the frame towards you, sweeping up the glass as best you can. In the lowlight, you can't make out much. Carefully, you hold it by a corner - an intricate thing, all twisted metal and brushed bronze. From out under the bed, you see it, or rather, him: Miguel, a little younger, surrounded by a couple of unfamiliar faces. A taller man, a much older woman - and they both smile in the way he does, crows feet and with the kind of warmth that reaches their eyes. In his arms (Miguel's, but not your Miguel) is a little girl. She is small; wide-eyed, gap-toothed; looking up at him, as if the camera wasn't there. The adoration in her face makes you smile. His sister, maybe? His brother, Gabi, and his dear mama ?

Gently, you place it on the side table. You sweep up the glass into your hand, ignoring the sting that spreads to your palms. It's not a deep cut, but you head to the kitchen anyway, in search of warm soapy water and something to mop it up.

Slipping past the doorway, it is deathly quiet. Morning spills in through a window, illuminating a lone figure - broad shoulders, tan and bare save for pyjama pants, hunched over the dining table.

Miguel doesn't seem to notice as you get closer, finally able to hear slight noise and chatter from a tinny phone. Cup of coffee in hand, you watch as he scrolls, replaying the same video over and over. From over his shoulder, you can just about make it out: music that had deafened you at the time, loops with a pathetic whine. A video from last night, it seems, and you recognise the icon of Lyla's story. Bright lights, your dress sparkling and a pretty little laugh drowned out by Lyla's - he seems to replay the same couple of seconds over, and over, and–

“Mig?” He jumps, leaping almost 3 feet into the air, it seems. His phone shuts off with a clatter, slammed onto the table. Turning, he seems guilty, before flattening his face into something more socially acceptable.

“H-Hi. Morning.” He clears his throat, giving you an awkward nod.

“Morning,” Softening, you slink down to take a seat. He knows, of course: he knows that you know, that you saw exactly what he's been doing. But you're both going to ignore it, let it settle in the gaps between you - a gap that quickly shrinks, he notes.

The chair drags across the floor, almost catching at a rug on the wooden slats. When you seat yourself by him; closer, closer, oh-so close; you can't help but brush your legs to his, addicted to the way it makes him shiver. Payback, you think, grabbing at his mug and stealing a sip before he can say anything. For all the times he's fucked with your head.

Miguel knows better than to protest, crossing his arms resolutely. He sighs - not maliciously, but with a tinge of defeat. You're too pretty, and too close for him to think properly; to even muster up the energy to argue. And so he doesn't, opting to chew at the inside of his cheek.

“ Hey .” You say, hand coming up to cheekbone, stroking at it with your thumb. Miguel tries not to lean into it, to melt into the touch. “ Careful. Where'd you go?”

It makes him laugh, bitterly, ruefully - whatever you want to call it. Where'd you go? And you say it like you've got an inkling of all the shit that goes on in his head. He goes to the same place he always seems to be, these days. Somewhere that reminds him of you , of your nights together, of your nights apart–

“Did you sleep well?” You're asking, and it takes him a second to process it.

“Sure.” Shrugging, he lies, and you pretend to believe him. “Long night, I suppose.”

When he picks that moment to look at you, to bore into your soul, you take your hand away; feeling naked , feeling bare .

“What about you? Did you sleep well?”

And you hum, non-committal, in response.

“Can’t remember much.” It’s a bold-faced lie, and he knows it.

He chews at his lips, eyes dragged down to your figure. He’s shameless, lashes fluttering before he sighs - with the kind of tiredness that rattles at his chest - scratching at a 5 o’clock shadow.

He’s pinching at the bridge of his nose like he’s battling a headache - and losing miserably. Miguel; your Miguel, this time; looks so pathetic, with the countenance of a wet mop. It’s not a grimace, nor a frown, like always. It looks like melancholy - thinly veiled, bone-deep - and it makes your heart splinter.

You just… you just want to comfort him. To hold him in your arms and stroke his hair, to press kisses into the crinkles at the side of his mouth, his forehead: to be warm and soft and somewhere safe , for him.

It’s a compulsion you can’t fight, clambering over him to sit on his lap. His gaze flickers, pointedly trying to ignore you, but his hand rests comfortably on plush thigh. It sends a shiver down your spine; how tender his touch is, even when like this.

“I…” You start, tracing a hand to his scratchy jaw and gently tilting him towards you. “I remember enough.”

He can’t help it, hand travelling a little further up and eyes flitting to your lips.

“... Yeah ?” And it comes with an unceremonious squeeze at your ass, wetting his lips with pink tongue.

That gap between you shrinks even more as you press your chest to his, with a hand at his shoulder. God, his skin is hot to the touch; lean muscle that tenses under your palm. He gets closer.

“What are you doing today?” He’s trying so hard, forcing himself to look you in the eye - betrayed only by a pounding heart and a lingering look to your lips.

Coupled with the way he looks at you; kneading at your thighs, leaning into your gentle palm; it makes your throat close up.

“...U-Umm, I think–”

“It’s Friday, right?” He hums, head cocked as if deep in thought. “You’ve got… stats and lab prep, today.”

You frown. “Yeah, actually. How did you–”

“You’re always complaining about Fridays.”

“I didn’t yesterday.”

“I’ve barely seen you all week, sweetheart.”

“ And who’s fault is that? ” Muttering, you roll your eyes, trying not to show him the way it makes you melt.

“I listen.” He says, soft.

“...sometimes.” You finish, but it’s half-hearted. You know, he knows; he listens . He always has.

“I think…” You clear your throat. “T-Think m’gonna take the day off. I’m pretty–”

Tired. Exhausted. Ready to kiss your roommate if it meant he would look at you like that for a little longer.

“ – hungover .” He whispers, thumb stroking your hip as you snort; ready to bat him away.

Wriggling, his grip tightens, slotting you closer as if in a trance. You’re laughing, a sharp retort at the tip of your tongue, but his wry smile seems tinged with something else. It’s a something that makes your heart skip a beat – but it’s his next words that have you reeling.

“I’ve got the day off, too.”

You’re taken aback. “Don’t you…? I-I mean I thought you’re taking extra hours at Alchemax…”

“Nope.” Resolute, he shakes his head. “We’ve got appraisals or something, today. Upper management only. I thought I told you.”

Brows kneaded, you give him a look he’s well accustomed to. And Miguel; because he’s Miguel, of course; counters it almost immediately.

“Don't give me that … You didn’t even know I wore glasses until yesterday.”

“That’s not fair , Mig.”

“You don’t want to spend the day with me? Dios mio, hermosa.”

“Mig–”

Dramatic, he tips his head back, clutching at his chest. “Am I that bad? You can’t spend a couple hours with me–”

“Mig –”

“Just a couple, sweetheart, and then I’m out of your hair, and you can complain about me to–”

“ Mig! ” You exclaim, giggling whilst you nudge his head forward to meet your gaze.

“You called?” He flutters his eyelashes playfully, with a hint of a smile.

It looks good on him, you think; glad that he feels comfortable enough to finally let go.

There’s a gentle lull and he places hot palms at your thighs to hike you up even closer. You adjust yourself on his lap, watching the way he groans with his head in your hands. It makes you bold: the way he moves to clutch at your hand and dart under the lip of your shirt to press you closer.

A roll of your hips makes him purr , eyes fluttering as he rocks up in thin pants. Quickly hardening, he’s wearing a dopey smile - one you return as you press your forehead to his. He angles his hips just right, causing little moans to spill out from pretty lips. The hand at his jaw travels to the nape of his neck, tugging in that way you know that he likes. You know him, and that makes your chest warm: the way he purrs and rumbles as you touch him in a way only you can.

Roughly, he swallows, head tilted up to catch at your cheek.

“Do you remember what you said last night?” It’s whispered into skin, soft and barely-there. “What you asked me to do?”

Kiss me. Why won’t you kiss me?

Like something sharp and intense through your veins, the memory makes you shiver, leaning into Miguel so his clothed cock catches at your clit. Like this , you don’t want to look at him - you can’t.

Ask me tomorrow.

And so you shake your head, nuzzling into his side with a weak whimper.

There’s a pause so imperceptible you might have imagined it. If Miguel is disappointed - or relieved, or frustrated - you can’t quite tell. Unceremoniously, he latches on, taking large handfuls of your ass and sucking ugly hickies into pretty skin.

“You asked me–” He says it between wet kisses, sloppy and hungry and quickly deepening. “You asked me to fuck you .”

You gulp, hips rolling as you close your eyes.

“ Just the tip, you said.” He lifts you up slightly, rolling back plaid pants. He nips at your neck, all tongue and teeth and claws. “Do you remember now?”

He’s not even inside, teasing your bare folds with the wide head of his cock. Your head tilts to give him more access to that juncture of your jaw. A dry chuckle leaves your lips at his tone and countenance; asking if you remember as he does his best to make you forget even the simplest of things. And that’s the thing about Miguel O’Hara, saccharine-sweet, gorgeous -in-the-low-light O’Hara: he makes you feel so good, everything else falls away.

“ Fuck.” He heaves. “”J-Just the–”

Impatient, you shift your hips, slipping him inside with one delicious movement. You can taste it: pleasure , white-hot and building up just below your gut. Miguel separates with a wet pop, hands trailing up to rid you of your shirt – his shirt, you realise with a moan. Exposed, he eyes your pretty stomach and then the peak of your breast. He keeps you flush to his hips, right at the sharp cut of his v-line, tufts of hair leading to where you both meet. With the way his eyes flutter, you can tell: he wants to kiss you, slathering up your chest to collarbone, and then from collarbone to jaw. He gets close, pressing shaky kisses to the corner of your lips – threatening to break the promise you made to each other long ago. And God , with the way he pistons up into your cunt, you… you just might let him.

Then his hips shift, pubic bone at your clit in a way that brings pleasure to the burn. You’re stretched out, filled to the brim and then leaning back to press your forearms onto the grain of the dining table. Like this, his hands stay squeezing the flesh at the tops of your thighs; only able to watch as you take over. You use a bit of leverage to tilt your hips this way and that - eyes low, not leaving his.

“Feels good , Mig.” You’re whining, eyes locked onto his because you want to watch him fall apart - to watch as all his troubles melt away. “So good. Uhh –Always does. I remember… shit … remember this. ”

And you take his hand, wrapping your lips around his index and middle finger - thick and large - with the memories of how they felt inside you only making you wetter. Gushing praise as best you can, you slobber and slather over his fingers, studying every twitch and gorgeous groan that he gives. He pulls his hand away from you; gentle, but cursing nevertheless; alternating from slapping your ass to tugging at the stiff peak of your nipple. It’s your turn to stutter, hips jumping as you cum - an orgasm so hard he bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from spilling into you. There’s blood in his mouth, he notes as he studies the way you look: beautiful, always beautiful; framed in the gentle pink and purple from a rising sun.

Miguel slips out of you, painfully hard. Still heaving from your orgasm, you lean forward to press his cock between your bodies: bare and gorgeously framed in morning sun. Writhing, you kiss his neck, trailing up to the shell of his ear, whispering sweet nothings.

“Want you to cum, Mig.” And you do… oh God , you do. “You close?”

All he does is groan, nodding fervently into the crook of your neck. Diligently, you wrap him up in your arms, crooning and sweet, carefully rocking into him so his cock slides up and down your soft skin. For once, he doesn’t complain, holding you just as tight.

“M’gonna… o–ohh ffuck …”

“Cum, Mig. For me.”

You’re firm but gentle, pressing your tits up against him and making sure his cock gets that well needed friction. As such, you can feel it almost immediately; hot cum slathered over your tits and body - leaving so much glistening on your skin.

With a rough gulp, he heaves, eyes screwed tightly shut. You can’t help it, brushing away stray hairs from his face, leaving soft kisses in your wake. And maybe, just maybe, you hear him sob - muffled whimpering and whining with every slight shift of your body against his. And oh . It makes your heart melt when you realise, still carding your fingers through the nape of his neck.

He’s overstimulated. It’s too much.

Limp, he stays wrapped around you for a while, muttering nonsense into your skin.

“ Sorry. ” Shakily, he says – like he even has anything to be sorry about. “M’really— fuck. I just need a moment.”

You hum. It makes your heart heavy that he thinks he needs to be ready now , that he thinks he doesn’t deserve more than a moment to process his pleasure. You want Miguel to feel good, you always have. But with the realisation that you want him to be happy ; to feel safe, to feel loved; well…

…it scares you more than anything.

~~~

Aftercare .

Miguel admits, he’s not too familiar with the term.

It’s not something he’s proud of. With many a one night stand under his belt - even, occasionally seeing a girl more than once - he’s never been too good at it. He’s tried, definitely. Tried so very hard to stick around a little longer, to stay curled up in bed and guide his partner through their comedown. Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite come naturally to him - oft susceptible to a glass of water by the bedside and a gentle nudge to an Uber. That physicality: the cuddling , and kissing, the sappy, wholesome, relationship-adjacent thing? He’s never had that desire after sex, much too stuck in his own head for that.

So why does this feel… so good?

You’re taking care of him. He’s not stupid; knowing that your bedside manner is much better than his. You’re merely doing the right thing and helping him past such an intense orgasm: and that seems to come in the form of his head on your chest, limbs tangled up together on your beat up old couch. This doesn’t count , he’s convinced himself: all those rules and boundaries you’ve both come so close to breaking - a little cuddling doesn't even scratch that surface. And if it feels so good to have your hand playing with his hair, to ground himself with the steady thump-thump of your heart, then who is he to complain?

He’s just a man, he decides. A mere mortal, unable to resist that taste of heaven he’s been given - unable to say no . Absentmindedly, you’re humming some stupid song you’ve had stuck in your head for at least a week, now, eyes trained towards a cheesy soap on the TV. There’s a mug of coffee on the table - it tastes like shit, but Miguel is more than happy to gulp it down if it makes you feel better - hot and steaming as you tug the blanket so it covers him a little better.

Unknowingly, you’re lulling him to sleep - the very same sleep he’s been chasing for the past couple of hours. Tossing and turning at night, but barely 10 minutes in your arms and his body only seems to listen to you , for some reason. Traitorous bastard, he thinks, fighting to keep his eyes open.

You’ve cleaned the both of you up - even though he had insisted otherwise. Let me take care of you , he had slurred, and you just laughed ; that pretty, infuriating laugh, with that pretty, infuriating smile – the very same one he’s wanted to kiss off of you since the beginning. Weakly, he protested, following you into the kitchen only to make a nuisance of himself.

It’s like you're drunk, Mig.

In some ways, maybe he is. You had steered him away, and onto couch cushions. Which must have been quite the feat, he notes, able to control all 6”5 of his sleep-deprived, hefty limbs. But he supposes, yet again, his body doesn’t quite listen to him anymore. Only you.

Was it that good? Did I fuck the fine motor skills out of you?

He remembers groaning. He remembers trying not to be drawn in by that lilting giggle, covering his ears with a rough blanket. Most of all, though, he remembers the feeling of your body on his, slipping on top of him to dig him out of that heap.

Miguel? Baby, it’s a joke! I’m kidding, I promise.

He had poked his head out. Baby. He likes that, likes the way his name sounds out of your mouth. It anchors him to this mortal plane like a sharp hook, cutting through the brain fog and burying itself into his chest. You had clasped your hands around his face, steadfast despite his wriggling.

…Oh God, even worse. I think I fucked the common sense out of you instead.

He remembers wanting to kiss you. Your lips curled up into that stupid smile, clearly so pleased at a shitty joke. It makes him warm, thinking about it now. Or maybe, it’s just the blanket you’ve tried to suffocate him in.

“When did you sleep?” You ask, and he has to blink up at you to collect his thoughts.

“Late.” He says it simply.

That answer doesn’t satisfy you, and you’re poking and prodding at his face, gently pulling at slowly deepening eyebags.

“ No fucking wonder .” You mutter. “You’re turning into me. No more late nights, Mig.”

When he frowns, you stick your tongue out, gleefully watching as his grimace deepens.

“Or what?”

“Or we stop having sex.”

That makes him rocket u pwards, indignant. “ You can’t just– ”

“I can do what I want.” Slowly, your face morphs into what must be worry. At least, he thinks it does, not too familiar with someone worrying about him like this. “No more late nights, please”

You say it so softly his heart might break. He clears his throat of its cobwebs.

“That's not really up to me, sweetheart.” Thesis deadlines. Tutoring. Taking on more hours at Alchemax in preparation for a big event. Slowly, his plate mounts, and it takes everything in him to keep going.

“I know,” You settle his head onto your lap, now. Absent-mindedly, you wrap one of his curls around your finger, hand in his hair in a way that feels more intimate than the past hour, days, weeks spent together. “I just wish you'd take care of yourself better.”

It's not said to chastise him, and you don't sound disappointed ; not tinged with the same flavour of guilt that his mama has over the phone, or that Gabi has when he hits him with that deep sigh. It's pure, selfless, plain-and-simple worry. He doesn't deserve it, he thinks.

He looks up at you. Beautifully oblivious, your gaze is still pinned to the TV. It’s domestic, comfortable in the afterglow of sex. That’s what it must be: contentment and bliss settling over him like a warm blanket. The aftermath of being in your arms, of your body on his; purely physical , that follows the kind of euphoria that he imagines can only be found in a needle. Honestly, he’s still expecting a sharp decline, a rough comedown that tastes like regret, or despair, or deep, deep empty. It doesn’t come.

Always the pessimist, but Miguel can’t help it, really; he’s been chasing something just out of reach for too long.

“You’re gone again.” You say it so quietly he almost misses it. You give him a weary smile, hand clutching at the fabric that pools around him. He watches as you rearrange it by his shoulders, pinching the folds with a kneaded brow. Finally satisfied, you look him in the eye. “Like Ophelia. ”

He doesn’t sigh. He doesn’t scoff, or roll his eyes, or any of the half dozen ways he’s learnt to repress difficult emotions. Slipping under the water - the makeshift waves made of a ratty blanket - passive to his own suffering. You don’t say it, and he hasn’t even told you the half of it; but somehow, you see it . You see him.

He remembers the first time he met you. Thundering and clattering through his space; bulldozing every carefully placed wall he’s spent years putting up. And then he remembers the first time he actually met you; behind the sharp tongue and quick retorts, finding you watery and forlorn on the floor of your shared apartment. Beautiful, of course – always, always beautiful. But that time, the kind of beauty only found in a painting: tragedy captured in oils, careful brushstrokes muddied by time, by loss, by hurt. You’ve been hurting for a while, he thinks, well before any mention of shitty ex-boyfriends and missed lectures.

Miguel recalls late nights spent trying to still his heart, fixated on a sudden, betraying question that rattles around in his head. Are you like him? Do you understand ? Born with something missing, a tick-tick-tick of the count, radioactive and broken and–

Your hand drapes lazily across his chest, tapping and pointing at something on the screen. He hums, non-committal, the words out of your mouth barely registering. It feels familiar. It feels warm. It feels like nights spent on the couch trying not to laugh at your frustratingly witty remarks. He remembers holding his breath when your leg brushed against his; stealing careful glances to his side; trying not to stare at the way the gloom of the TV looks ethereal against you, snug to the slope of your features, cut this way and that.

But more than anything, he remembers wanting to kiss you. God. Maybe he always has.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #angst #mutual pining

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tamapalace · 4 months

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Bandai Introduces the Tamagotchi Connection with a 20th Anniversary Global Re-Release

The moment we’ve been waiting for is finally here! Bandai has officially announced the re-release of the Tamagotchi Connection with a 20th anniversary device! That’s right, can you believe it has been 20 years? We’re BEYOND ECSTATIC, and Bandai did NOT disappoint!

Physically the design of the Tamagotchi Connection 20th anniversary looks like a Tamagotchi Connection V3 with the iconic antenna, but it’s clear that Bandai has put together this model to give us a taste of what the Tamagotchi Connection was like! We’re not entirely sure on the programming, but it looks like it will take characteristics from the Keitai and Tamagotchi Connection V3.

The re-release of the Tamagotchi Connection for the 20th anniversary features unique programming that includes over 50 characters, 10 mini games, and 150 items! Your favorite characters will be back and raisable, and of course you can connect them together!

Lets talk packaging, reminiscent of the Tamagotchi Original packaging, the Tamagotchi Connection 20th anniversary ditches the early 2000’s plastic packaging in favor of a more eco friendly paper packaging with. Brand new Tamagotchi logo, and yes look at the beautiful Connection graphics on the packaging! Colors of packaging include blue stripes that faces into white.How cute are Mametchi and Memetchi in the upper left-hand corner?

The back of the packaging is super cute as it details the functionality of the Tamagotchi Connection which includes detailing the growth chart, samples some characters and some mini games, along with items. The packaging also mentions that there is a password for the item on the side flap inside the box, so perhaps we’re going to get some new passwords?

The packaging does call out that we will be able to shop for new items directly on the Tamagotchi, so the shop has returned. You’ll earn those Gotchi Points and then purchase some new items to spoil your Tamagotchi!

Unpack your CR2032 batteries, because the Tamagotchi Connection 20th anniversary is powered by the same batteries you know and love. The packaging also calls out that programming is in both English and Japanese. Perhaps it’ll ask which language on boot, which would make the most sense, similar to the Tamagotchi Uni.

Let’s talk shells! Bandai is releasing the initial Tamagotchi Connection 20th anniversary wave with 6 shells. Two of which are returning from 2006, these include Bubbles and Ice Cream. The new shells include Clear Retro which features a clear translucent shell and cute retro like graphics in white, orange, purple, and green around the display along with pink buttons. Then you’ve got Rainbow Sky which is so cute and features a shell completely painted in a red, yellow, green, and blue rainbow along with some clouds and hearts, purple buttons and the top of the antenna is blue.

Lastly, Bandai has brought back the True Friends pack, how creative is that? These two graffiti shells are unique as they are excuse to the true friends two pack, one is a blue graffiti shell, the other is a pink graffiti shell. They both feature Tamagotchi characters include Mametchi, Kuchipatchi, Memetchi, and Mimitchi.

There will be four shells exclusive to Japan that are all reminiscent of shells released in the 2000’s! That includes the iconic melon soda!

The Bubbles shell includes a password to download soda, the Ice cream shell includes a password to download ice cream, the Rainbow Sky shell includes a password to download an umbrella, the Clear Retro shell includes a password to download a waffle, and the True Friends Blue Graffiti and Pink Graffiti True Friends pack incudes a password to download a pencil!

All of the shells include the new logo to match the packaging of the Tamagotchi Connection 20th anniversary.

It is important to note that the wallpaper behind the screen on these will be a bit different from one another. Both Bubbles and Ice Cream uses the numbered background featured on the Tamagotchi Connection V1, whereas the new shells have backgrounds that are unique to their shells. That’s an awesome attention to detail.

Another thing to call out is that the chain on these devices is the same as the Tamagotchi Original, or Tamagotchi Connexion in Europe. This model does not feature the same chain as the Tamagotchi Connection with the chainlink design and ring.

Pricing! The Tamagotchi Connection is priced at $29.99, and the Tamagotchi Connection True Friends pack is priced at $57.99. This is a global release and preorders are already open on Amazon with an official release date of July 9th, 2024. Japan will be releasing them a bit later on August 3rd, 2024! It’s about to be an AMAZING SUMMER! The Tamagotchi Connection is already the Amazon #1 Best Seller in Toys & Games before it was even officially announced by Bandai! Don’t call it a comeback, call it a takeover.

#tamapalace #tamagotchi #tmgc #tamagotchiconnection #tamagotchi connection #connection #tamatag #virtualpet #bandai #news

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megalony · 8 months

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Home Invasion

This is an Eddie x Buck x deaf! Reader imagine based on an anon request and I hope you will all like it. I will be doing a follow up part soon too. Feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @topguncultleader @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream

911 Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: When Eddie and Evan are at work, someone breaks into their home and (Y/n) ends up being attacked.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When (Y/n) walked through the hallway towards the kitchen, a tender smile tugged at her lips and her footsteps slowed as she walked through the kitchen doorway.

Reaching her hand out, she dragged her fingertips delicately across the whiteboard pinned to the wall next to the door. The large whiteboard had many small, laminated squares of paper blue tacced to the top of the board in two rows. Each square had a diagram on with writing beneath it and there was a plastic pocket taped to the corner of the board with hundreds more squares stuffed inside.

The board was for Chris.

With his cerebal palsy, Chris was finding it hard to learn and perform sign language. He needed more ways to communicate with (Y/n) when his signs were shaky at best and it took him a long time to form one sentence using sign.

So they got a white board with hundreds of diagrams and words such as morning, hello, dinner, out, car and other vocabs so Chris could string a sentence together for (Y/n) to read. They also had a large laminate poster stuck next to the white board to help remind Chris of simple signs he could use.

Both Eddie and Evan had mastered their sign language courses the moment the three of them got into a relationship together.

(Y/n) could speak, but since she couldn't hear her own voice, she never knew if she was pronouncing words properly, if she was being too loud or too quiet or if she was muttering rather than speaking. Talking made her self-conscious and unsettled and she preferred to use sign language. But Chris was slowly coaxing her out of her shell because he was working on his words and pronouncing too so it was like they were learning together.

And if Chris spoke slowly and tried to keep his lips clear and fluent, (Y/n) was learning to read his lips. His cerebal palsy gave Chris a different way of moving his lips and pronouncing so for (Y/n) it was like learning a new language. But starting to understand Chris's speech meant he didn't always have to try and use sign language. As long as she could understand him and he could understand her signs, they would be able to communicate well together.

A twinkling smile lit up (Y/n)'s face when she looked down at the whiteboard and read the two words scribbled along the centre which was definitely Evan's handwriting.

'Love You!'

(Y/n) smiled to herself as she walked over towards the sink and grabbed herself a cup. She flicked the kettle on and leaned her forearms down on the counter, waiting for it to boil.

It always felt strange to be home alone without any of her boys. Both Evan and Eddie were at work and Chris was at school. (Y/n) never knew what to do with herself when the house work had all been done and she had nowhere to be and no work to be catching up on.

Watching movies weren't as fun without the boys fighting over popcorn and throwing it around the room. (Y/n) figured she could do some art while she had the house to herself with the tv on as a background image to keep her mind occupied.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and slowly trailed from the kitchen through to the dining room. Setting her cup down in the middle of the table, (Y/n) moved towards the cupboard at the far end where she and Chris had their craft boxes.

But just as she kneeled down and went to grab her dark blue plastic box, something caught her attention out the corner of her eye.

(Y/n) turned her head to the left and leaned forward, but she wasn't sure what she had seen, or what she thought she had seen for a fleeting moment.

Her brows narrowed but after a few seconds passed, (Y/n) let out the breath she had been keeping in and turned her sights back to the box in front of her. Maybe she had left the tv on in the living room and the changing colours caught her perceptive gaze. Maybe she had left a window open and the breeze was moving the curtains.

Box in hand, she stood up and moved back to the table and started to rummage through for her paints and a fresh canvas. Evan's birthday was coming up and (Y/n) wanted to make something to go along with the adventure course she and Eddie had booked for him to go on.

Terror ransacked (Y/n)'s body when, just as she had a bottle of paint in each hand, she felt something tangle in her hair.

A hand.

Sharp nails scratched into her scalp. Fingers curled tightly into her locks. Knuckles pressed harshly into her scalp and the force sent her head jolting forward. The movement sent a shockwave running down the base of (Y/n)'s spine and something burned at the back of her throat.

Tears burned in the corners of her eyes as her breaths started to run away without her.

Somebody was in the house.

Both her guys were at work and Chris was at school. No one else should be home except for (Y/n) and she had locked the door when she came home from taking Chris to school.

Someone had broken into their home. And (Y/n) hadn't heard them.

She wasn't sure whether she screamed or if she only made a whimpering sound but all the air pushed past her lips as her hands dropped the tubes of paint onto the table. She flung her arms out behind her and tried to scratch her assailant's arm and thrust her elbow behind her, aiming for whatever she could reach to unarm and hurt them.

Now (Y/n) was beginning to wish she had taken some kind of self defence class or at least joined Eddie and Evan when they went to the gym.

Her eyes snapped shut in panic and (Y/n) tried in the split second she had to brace herself when the hand tightened in her hair and she felt their arm pin down into her back. Whoever was behind her thrust her forward so hard and fast that her forehead bashed into the table, scattering the paints until they rolled onto the floor and (Y/n) could see stars twinkling behind her eyelids.

A roaring scream left her lips and she could feel her throat and lips vibrating from the action as her knees caved and she let go of the assailant to brace her hands on the table and hold herself up.

Tears burned down her face like acid rain and when she felt like he was going to smash her head into the table again, (Y/n) tried to push all her weight back and thrust her head back. She moved until the back of her head hit his chest and winded him enough for him to let go.

She needed to get her phone. She had to grab her phone and get out the house.

(Y/n) pushed herself up onto shaking legs and tried her best to bolt. Her hands grabbed one of the chairs and propelled herself forward while she tipped the chair behind her to try and trip him up and add some distance between them. She used the wall as leverage to push ahead and stop from falling when her knees started to buckle and her body felt desperate to collapse down to the floor.

Why couldn't she have been out when this happened? Why couldn't she be out for a walk or at the shops or even visiting her boys down at the station? Why did someone have to pick their house to rob and at the exact time that (Y/n) was home by herself?

She wasn't sure whether she said no or whether she just screamed something similar when the same rough hands clamped down on her arms and yanked her backwards.

She writhed from side to side, screaming as loudly as she thought she could just in case anyone walked past the house or the neighbours could hear her. It might make the burglar think she could hear him if she was screaming. (Y/n) had no idea if he would target her more if he found out she couldn't hear and could barely pronounce properly.

Her arms thwarted out but she couldn't block off the man's fist when he punched her in her lower chest, effectively knocking all the wind out of her and sending her down to the floor.

Where was her phone? Where had she left it? Surely it had to be close by now that she was in the living room.

Her heart plummeted down into her stomach when her eyes locked on the man as he reached out and grabbed the lamp from the side table. Was he going to try and hit her with that? With the right amount of force to her head he could kill her.

She rolled onto her stomach, scraped her feet against the floor and tried to push up again. Her body slumped over the arm of the sofa and she managed to curl her fingers around her phone before her eyes bulged in their sockets and her head started to thud.

He wrapped the lamp cord around her neck.

She couldn't breathe. The blow to her stomach had restarted her lungs which were gasping for air but now with a thin but strong white cord around her neck pressing into her trachea, she wasn't able to breathe at all. She scratched her nails into her neck deep enough to draw blood when she tried to pull the cord away from her throat and lean back into the man as much as she could to relieve the pressure.

Tears streamed down her face, her lower lip wobbled and her jaw clicked as she gasped. Every nerve ignited with terror and her head felt like it was swelling up with air and about to burst.

She wanted her boys. What would they do? Who was she kidding, Eddie and Evan were double her size and weight, they would have no problem fighting someone off and pinning down their assailant.

All (Y/n) could do was try and throw her head back enough to catch him off guard and keep pushing him back with her dwindling energy. She couldn't stop fighting, she had to keep moving. It didn't matter how much energy and oxygen she wasted. Moving was a better option than pretending to faint and hoping in vain that he might not choke her to death.

Her minimal force seemed to prove worthy when she knocked her attacker off balance and her fingers wormed in between her neck and the cord to allow her to pull it off her neck.

Sucking in a deep breath clouded (Y/n)'s better judgement and stopped her from bolting forward. One step and she would have been able to reach for her phone. But with her eyes blocked by white spots and her lungs heaving, she stopped moving.

Hands grabbed at her arms and a body pushed against her back, sending her falling forward.

She knew she screamed that time. Her body fell through the air and her arms coiled into her chest, hands smothering her face for protection when she landed on the coffee table. (Y/n) couldn't tell whether he had fallen into her but managed to stay standing or if he simply pushed her with all his might. Either way, (Y/n)'s shuddering body broke clear through the glass coffee table.

Her whole right side burned and bounced back off the metal legs and frame of the table. Glass splintered into her skin and imbedded into every inch of her right arm, her neck, forehead and her exposed leg.

When her head smashed into one of the metal legs, everything turned black.

***

"Eddie, Buck, my office please."

Eddie's head turned to the right and his hand tightened around Evan's shoulder when Bobby's voice hit his ears.

What had they done?

He didn't like the look in Bobby's eyes or the way he didn't wait for them, he simply turned on his heels and steam-marched towards his office, knowing they would follow in his shadow.

They hadn't done anything to warrant a private chat in the Captain's office. They weren't messing about or not doing their share of the chores around the station and they had done everything as normal on shift today. Neither of them were being unprofessional either. It was in their agreement with Bobby that they were still able to work together and be on the same shifts together, as long as they remained professional. Their relationship couldn't interfere with their work and they both made sure it never did.

Unease rattled through Evan as he grabbed his shirt from the bench and hurriedly slipped it over his head, folding his arms through the sleeves while he jogged to keep pace with Eddie and follow Bobby.

"Everything okay Cap?" Evan finished up the buttons on his shirt before he settled his hands on his hips. Neither he nor Eddie went to sit down because Bobby wasn't sat behind his desk. He was stood to the side of his desk, one hip jutted out against the corner with his hands tense and stretching at his sides.

If Bobby wasn't sat down, he wasn't very comfortable and that meant this wasn't a friendly chat.

"I've had Athena on the phone, there's been a situation at your house. You both needed to go home."

The pair shared a panicked, nervous look between them before they looked back at Bobby. What the Hell did that mean? What kind of situation? Did they have a fire, a gas leak? A flood? (Y/n) was supposed to be home today, was she alright?

"Uh, what… what kind of situation?" Evan wasn't sure he really wanted to ask but they couldn't go home until they had all the details.

"You've had a break-in."

"But (Y/n)'s at home. Was she hurt?" All of Eddie's muscles tensed up until they felt like elastic bands that were going to snap. He could feel goosebumps prickling across his skin and all the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood up on end.

"She was attacked, Athena said she won't let the medics near her, you both have to go now."

Before Bobby could usher his hands towards the door, Eddie was out the door and halfway down the corridor. His shoulders squared and rose up, his jaw locked so tightly his teeth were grinding down together and his hands were curled up into fists at his sides, desperate to pummel into anything within range.

Someone had broken into their home and attacked their girlfriend. Whoever it was needed to be found and kept away from Eddie before he killed him. (Y/n) wasn't a threat by any means, she was deaf and that made her vulnerable. Someone had gone and attacked her and neither Eddie or Evan knew how badly she had been hurt. They were lucky she hadn't been taken hostage or rushed down to the emergency care unit.

Evan didn't know what to say when the pair of them stormed out into the parking lot and Eddie jumped in the driver's seat of the jeep. He wasn't in the right frame of mind to drive, but Evan didn't have the heart to tell him to switch. He wasn't so sure he would be much better, when his mind wasn't focused he didn't pay attention when he was driving and he could space out. At least Eddie would remained focused and alert.

Evan clenched his hands together and leaned forward, pressing his knuckles against his lips to try and give him something to focus on but he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Do you think she's okay?"

"Don't." Eddie dug his fingers into the back of his head and scrunched up the short hairs in his fist, tugging until his nails scratched into his scalp. He wasn't having this conversation, not until they saw (Y/n) for themselves and knew exactly what they were walking into.

"She might be-"

"Buck! Look, if they haven't managed to get her to the hospital then she's awake and alert. That's a good thing, focus on that." Suddenly Eddie felt like he had told Chris off rather than having a conversation with his partner and when he glanced over, he saw the stern expression on Evan's face. And the flames burning within his blue eyes.

He reached across after a second thought and curled his hand around Evan's thigh, trying to apologise and give him some comfort at the same time.

Neither of them felt good when they pulled up in the drive. Two police cars and an ambulance were parked out front and the front door was swung wide open.

"Athena!" Evan jumped down from the jeep and bolted across the lawn to reach the woman he classed as a motherly figure. She was stood in the doorway, clearly waiting for their arrival with apprehension in her eyes and her signature sunglasses perched on top of her head.

"What happened?" Eddie pressed a hand to Evan's shoulder and side stepped round him to push his way through the door. He didn't like the look of all these officers floating about his home. There was a gurney laid useless behind the armchair and when he stumbled forward, he noticed the two paramedics knelt down on the floor, getting no where near (Y/n) no matter what they tried to do.

"The perp broke in through the back window, from what I can gather, (Y/n) must have caught him in the act. She put up a good fight. Your neighbour called when she found the front door wide open… (Y/n) won't let any of us near her."

Panic bubbled up in Evan's chest when he took in the state of their home, following Eddie into the living room.

The lamp was broken on the floor next to the sofa, a large dint in the shade and the bulb fractured on the laminate floor. Pictures were knocked onto the floor, pens and paint bottles were scattered in the hallway. And the coffee table was a mess.

Only the dark metallic structure of the coffee table was left standing. The glass counter was blown into millions of tiny shards littered all around the floor. Along with a broken mug, a tub of pens, a magazine and the tv remotes all merged in with the glass. But what caught Evan's eye was the puddle of blood right in the centre of the coffee table. Little crimson raindrops scattered across the glass and led a trail across the floor towards the far window.

"Oh fuck, baby!" Eddie crouched down on the floor, trying to be mindful of the blood splatters and fractured pieces of glass surrounding them.

He held his hands out in front of him and waited until (Y/n) lifted her head so she could see he wasn't some stranger trying to hurt her or move her against her will. He could see the paramedics had given up trying. They were sat in front of the tv with their medic bags at their sides, unable to do anything because they couldn't treat (Y/n) against her will no matter what injuries she had.

Tears stained her face but even more flooded her face when she looked up and realised the two people she had been crying for were finally here in front of her.

When Evan knelt down on her right, (Y/n) dropped her knees down to the floor and let her body fall into him. Her head tucked into his chest, her arms stayed cocooned against her chest and a horrid scream left her lips as she started to hyperventilate.

"Shh, oh sweetheart, shhh." Evan wrapped his left arm around her waist and curled his right arm over her chest with his hand cupping her chin. This thumb smoothed across her jaw and lips and his fingers splayed out on her cheek as he tilted his head down and smothered his lips against the top of her head. He knew she would be able to feel his voice vibrate against her skin when he hushed her. He gently swayed them back and forth, brushing his thumb soothingly against her lip and chin.

Her eyes snapped open and for a second her body pushed back into Evan when a tender hand rested on her knee but she realised it was just Eddie trying to get her attention. He needed her eyes open and focused so they could talk.

Eddie waved his index finger in front of his eye before he pointed at his chest.

Eyes on me.

He curled his fingers into a fist except for his index fingers and held his hands in front of his chest, moving his hands together and back like magnets repelling each other before he pointed at (Y/n) and spoke as he signed. "Are you hurt?"

When she nodded, Eddie's chest tightened and he knelt up straighter while he tried to control his expression and remain calm as if he were on the job. But call outs were never this personal.

"Let me see." He pointed at his chest before he pointed at his eyes and moved his finger from his eye towards (Y/n). He had to see what injuries she had so he could help her. She wasn't going to let anyone else near her and for now, she was wrapped up in Evan's arms which would make her feel safer and calm. And if it was Eddie who was patching her up since he was a medic, she would let him help her.

(Y/n)'s chest shook and hitched with each breath before she uncurled her arms from her chest and held them out towards Eddie like she was waiting for him to slap handcuffs on her. She didn't like the way his shoulders slumped and how he bit his teeth deeply into his lower lip with a grimace.

Before Eddie could reach out for her hands, (Y/n) lifted her shaking hands up to sign.

She pointed her index finger out and waved it up and down before she held both her palms out and moved her hands from her chest out in front of her in a forward motion, then finally pointed her finger at her chest.

He pushed me.

When she started to point and shake her hand, Eddie jumped when he heard Evan growl like an animal. Eddie snapped his head round to see what she was pointing at, thinking for a moment that the assailant was somehow back in the room with them. But then it dawned on him. She was pointing and looking at the coffee table. He had pushed her into the table.

"Check her arm, she's bleeding onto my trousers." Evan's voice was an octave deeper than usual and his breaths were coming out harsh and forced.

He didn't lift his head from (Y/n)'s hair and spoke into the top of her head while he continued to rock back and forth, something Eddie guessed was to calm him down more than (Y/n).

Reaching out, Eddie gently cupped (Y/n)'s wrists and pulled them to rest her hands down on his thighs so he could examine her.

"I'm a medic, I need your equipment. Now." Eddie clicked his fingers behind him towards one of the medics and waited impatiently for them to set the bag down by his leg.

(Y/n) had a deep gash down her arm just below her elbow which stretched down towards her wrist and Eddie could see little pieces of glass imbedded into her skin. He needed to tie a turniquet around her arm to cut off the circulation because Evan was right, the blood was pooling down onto his trousers and had been bleeding out for a while. She might have nicked a big artery or vein in her arm and they couldn't have her bleeding out.

Rummaging through the medic bag, Eddie found a deep blue turniquet band that he laid out on his lap before he looked up at (Y/n). He held his left hand out and made a grabbing fist before he stretched his hands out, stuck his thumb and pinkies out on each hand and shook them side to side.

Hold still.

Eddie slipped the band an inch higher than (Y/n)'s elbow and popped the button into the pin hole as tight as he could until the band bit into her flesh and she winced. It had to be tight to cut off the circulation.

Once that was done, Eddie grabbed a pair of tweezers from the bag and began plucking small shards of glass from around the wound. He was relieved only a few little pieces had imbedded into her arm but he knew a doctor would have to take a closer look so they didn't stitch her up with glass still stuck in the wound.

Evan rolled his lips together and began smoothing his thumb up and down (Y/n)'s jaw when she pushed back into his chest and began to cry harder. Her body shook when Eddie poured saline over the wound and cleansed it with an anticeptic wipe.

"There we go," He mumbled quietly when he packed gauze against the wound and wrapped a roll of bandage around her forearm.

With a deep breath, Evan moved his head down to brush his nose against (Y/n)'s cheek and his eyes followed her right hand when she motioned her finger up and down near her waist. She'd hurt her leg. He moved his hands to cup (Y/n)'s hips and he gently eased her back into his chest while Eddie held the back of her knees and slowly straightened her legs out so he could assess them.

Shuffling forward beside (Y/n)'s legs, Eddie carefully cupped (Y/n)'s face and tilted her head down so he could check the cut on the right side of her temple. It didn't look to have any glass stuck in it and it wasn't deep enough to require stitches. But just as Eddie smile and kissed her cheek, his smile faded and he pressed his fingers beneath (Y/n)'s chin and tilted her head back until the back of her head was pressed against Evan's shoulder.

"Did he strange you?" Eddie's voice shook and he was glad (Y/n) couldn't hear the tremor in his tone while he hovered his right hand over his neck.

Pulling back, Evan leaned around to look down at (Y/n)'s neck and tears welled in his eyes when he noticed the thin, discoloured line around her neck. And his eyes followed (Y/n)'s hand as she held it up, pressed her fingertips against her thumb then flicked her fingers out.

Lamp.

He'd strangled her with the lamp wire.

"We're taking you to hospital." Eddie pressed his index and middle finger to his shoulder and swiped his fingertips down his arm in a straight line, then a sideways line across for the hospital symbol.

***

Evan pulled his shirt over his head and ran his fingers through his hair before he turned around to face the bed. A tender smile formed on his lips and he moved to stand near the end of the bed to face (Y/n) who was perched cross-legged in the middle of the bed.

"I have to go to work now, baby." He curled his hands into fists, held his left hand out and moved his right fist in a circular motion above his hand before he brought his fist down to rest on his left wrist. The sign for work.

He watched (Y/n) push up onto her knees and crawl across to the end of the bed where he was standing. His lips curved up when (Y/n) looped her arms around his neck and buried her face in the middle of his chest. The sudden affection was more than welcome and Evan buried his face in the top of her head, breathing in her scent as his palms pressed down on her lower back. His elbows bedded into her waist and he moved to press his cheek against her hair.

He could feel the bandage on her arm rubbing against his neck and it made him shiver. Eddie had wrapped a fresh bandage around her arm every day for the past four days since the incident because (Y/n) had started to scratch the stitches absentmindedly when they itched and she was at the point of tearing them out. A bandage was the only way to stop her from making the wound worse.

When (Y/n) pulled back and tilted her head up, Evan moved his hands from her waist to cup her neck, his thumbs brushing across her jaw before he leaned down to steal a kiss.

He sucked her lip between his teeth and gave a sharp tug, relishing in the way her fingers suddenly dug down into his back.

Evan pulled back when (Y/n) scratched her nails into his back and nuzzled her nose against his before she unravelled her arms from his neck. She shuffled back a small pace so she could hold her arms out in front of her and Evan's face softened as he went back to cupping her hips instead. Waiting patiently for her to sign something to him.

Her hands held out in front of her with her index fingers pointed out and she raised her arms up to her chest, and then tapped her chest. Her hands then curled into fists with her thumbs stuck up as she rubbed her clenched fingers together. Then finally tapped the end of her finger into Evan's chest.

Can I come with you.

Evan's brows creased and his smile started to fade. Why did she suddenly want to come down to the station with him? He was going on shift, not going out to see the team for a night out. And Eddie was still on shift, he would be finished in two hours and would be on his way home to her.

"Why?" Pressing his fingertips to his temple, Evan then pulled his hand down and curled his fingers, leaving his thumb and pinky sticking out.

(Y/n) gulped loudly, flitting her eyes around until they settled on staring at Evan's chest as her fingers curled and she rubbed her hand in a circular motion over her chest. 'Please.'

"Why, baby?" When she didn't answer, Evan's jaw tightened and his shoulders hunched. He stuck his thumb and pinky out again with the rest of his fingers curled up and pressed his curled fingers against his chin and then pulled his hand away. "What's wrong?"

Unease rattled through Evan when (Y/n) simply repeated the same thing again, without looking him in the eye. Deep down she had to know Evan wasn't going to say no to her but she also had to know that he needed to know what was wrong. He wasn't going to ignore this or pretend she was coming down to the station for a visit when he could see the panic bubbling up in her eyes.

Curling his thumb into his palm, Evan kept his hand straight with his fingers tense and waved his hand from his chin in an outward motion before he pointed at his chest. "Talk to me."

A trembling set in throughout (Y/n)'s body when Evan's hands went back to holding her hips and he tilted his chin down to look at her properly. He hated the panic in her eyes but not as much as (Y/n) hated what she was about to sign. She didn't want to admit what was rattling around in her head but the more she thought about it, the more her body started to shake and tears started to trace down the bridge of her nose.

Sticking her pinky out, she pressed her hand into her chest, then stuck her index and middle finger into a crooked position before bringing her arms up and crossing her wrists in front of her.

Tremors set in her body by the time she curled her ring finger beneath her middle finger, left her other fingers stretched out and rubbed her ring finger around her chest.

Tears burned in the corner of Evan's eyes when he watched his girl cross her arms over her chest with her hands on her shoulders, then uncrossed them and held her hands up by the sides of her head into clenched fists.

'I don't feel safe.'

(Y/n) let her arms flop across Evan's shoulders and wrap tightly around the back of his neck when he pulled her into his chest. His hand pressed tightly into her lower back and his other hand moved to cup the back of her thigh. In one swift motion, Evan lifted her up from the bed and hoisted her onto his hips. Pinching her thigh until she got the hint and wrapped her legs around his worso with her heels resting comfortably between his hips.

He pressed his lips to the side of her head, sighing against her skin before he peppered hundreds of kisses to her temple when she quivered and started to whimper into his neck.

He should have seen this coming.

He and Eddie had taken the last four days off work to be home with (Y/n), neither of them wanted to leave her when the moment they came home from the hospital, she had a panic attack on the doorstep.

They had spent the last few days calming her down, helping with the panic she felt whenever she caught something out the corner of her eye. They stopped her scratching her arm, held her when she cried and wedged her between them during the night so she wouldn't wake during the night feeling afraid.

But it didn't dawn on Evan that (Y/n) would be this panicked about being alone. Eddie would be home in just over two hours. They both thought that was a small amount of time and (Y/n) might be okay being alone until he came back. Clearly they had been wrong. They should have thought about this more and prepared for this situation happening.

Evan nudged his nose against (Y/n)'s cheek until she got the hint and lifted her head to look up at him.

"I'll keep you safe." He spoke slow enough that (Y/n) was able to read his lips so he didn't have to let go of her. He tightened his hand around her thigh and leaned forward, burying his face into her neck with his lips sucking a mark into her skin.

He would keep her safe. He and Eddie would look after her and make sure nothing bad ever happened to her again. They hadn't been here when she got hurt the first time, but they weren't making that mistake again. And Evan knew they couldn't stay with (Y/n) twenty-four seven no matter how hard they tried, but they would do their best.

For now, Evan would take her with him to work and she could wait at the station until Eddie's shift finished and she could go home with him.

#evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #imagine #911 imagine #eddie diaz x reader #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x buck #buck x eddie #eddie x reader

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seat-safety-switch · 2 months

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Getting rid of things is harder than you'd think. Sometimes it's more work than it's worth, as it was so many years ago. When my landlord replaced the furnace in my house, he had to run a different kind of intake pipe to the other side of the basement. What did he do with the old one? Just kinda taped it up and shoved it off into the corner, as you do.

There's no reason to remove old parts from a house, really. As long as it's not getting in the way, it's less effort just to leave it alone. It's not like the house is going to the drag strip on Friday evening and has to cut out as much weight as possible. Just be chill about it, and spend the time you'd otherwise spend swearing in order to clear out five feet of unusable ceiling space watching TV.

This idea has some true merit to it. Unfortunately in my case, he forgot to remember that the other side of the intake pipe was also connected to something: the outside fucking world. Out there, it can safely be said, is Nature Herself, including many little denizens and friends. Even with the intake grate present, some of those little denizens had used the pipe to build a new home in my home.

I first noticed that I would hear an intense buzzing from time to time while throwing some old differentials in the basement storage room, where the old intake pipe runs through the ceiling. Strange, I thought. Must be the wind. Soon, it was getting louder. I noticed that the pipe was beginning to sag under some kind of weight, its outer shell deforming.

"Hmm," I thought, and hit it with a stick. Very angry buzzing happened, and the pipe began to vibrate in the ceiling. I considered hitting the pipe with the stick again, more out of an urge to confirm for myself the impending horror than anything else. My senses returning, I decided it would be best for everyone to simply leave the angry insulation-and-plastic tube full of bees alone for now.

I'm happy to announce to you that my friend, Beekeeper Bethany, dropped by to steal my tube full of bees. Did she take the tube with her? Absolutely not. That shit is too much like work. I'll probably get around to removing it one of these days, or put a cap on it or something. Winter's coming, that'll take care of the whole problem.

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chucky-vs-the-giant-tortoise · 4 months

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i’ve got you

JJ Maybank x sister!reader

summary: an anxious Y/N feels overwhelmed while partying with the pogues at the boneyard, and JJ does his best to calm her nerves.

warning(s): underaged drinking, panic attack

a/n: a big thank you to anyone who enjoyed my last maybank!sister snippet. i hope to write a lot more for JJ in the future, so feel free to leave any requests if you have any specific ideas of what you’d like to read!

also please let me know if i should make these shorter. lol. i'm never sure.

Y/N screwed her eyes shut, trying and failing to keep her hands from trembling as they dented her red solo cup. Her heart was beating so fast that her head could barely keep up, the loud music and sweaty bodies that enclosed her doing nothing to ease her mind.

It was a picturesque summer night out in the boneyard, which of course meant that the Pogues just had to have a kegger. Y/N had grown used to the routine by then, tagging along as they went out to buy the keg and an insane amount of plastic cups that Kie always complained she found littered all over the beach the morning after. Y/N typically helped in the prep for whatever wild evening lay ahead, and had even served as a DD the few times that the Pogues got plastered enough to willingly allow a 15-year-old to drive the Twinkie. However, despite her brother's constant pleading and nagging, she'd never actually attended one of their infamous beach parties.

At least, not until tonight.

Y/N had always been shy, the complete opposite of her elder brother and all of his wild impulsivity. She hated big crowds and loud noises, and even though she would occasionally drink one while out on the Pogue, she wasn't even the biggest fan of beer. But JJ had begged her to join them all day long, poking and prodding at her nerves in his attempts to finally get his baby sister out of her shell.

"Come on, Y/N. You really wanna spend the rest of your life cooped up in the chateau?" he'd said dramatically, throwing his hands up in desperation. "You really oughtta live a little sometime."

You really oughtta live a little sometime.

His words had haunted her well into the evening, and at the last minute she'd finally decided to bite the bullet. JJ was right, after all. While most kids her age were busy making memories and taking risks, she spent her evenings curled up with a book in her lap.

Sure, it wouldn't be the most comfortable experience, but what was the worst that could happen? After all, like her brother always said, stupid things had good outcomes all the time.

She made a mental note to correct JJ on that stupid motto as someone pushed past her, blowing chunks into the bushes only a few feet away from rigid form.

Y/N covered her nose, averting her gaze just in time to notice a familiar head of blond hair breaking through the mess of bodies whooping and grinding on one another.

"Holy shit!" JJ hollered wildly, dimples painfully visible in his state of drunken bliss. "Tom, that's some gnarly shit, man! Trust me, you're gonna feel that tomorrow." He gave the boy a pat on the back as he retched, though thankfully the steady stream of vomit had ended.

Y/N only stood and watched. It was clear that JJ hadn't seen her, but maybe that was for the best. The last thing she wanted was to ruin his night.

"Yo, Y/N/N!"

Too late.

JJ made his way over in sloppy strides, and Y/N turned up her nose at the stench of alcohol clinging to him. He pulled her into him with an arm slung over her shoulders.

"Hi, Jay." Y/N hoped her brother was drunk enough not to notice the tremble in her voice.

"Where'd you go, kid? I've been looking for you all night." He was leaning on her now, gleefully unaware as he slowly crushed her beneath his weight. Y/N groaned with the effort it took to keep her brother upright, struggling not to remind him that it was in fact he who left her to do some shots and never returned.

"Yeah I was . . . I was j-just--"

"Shit, I didn't know you were drinking. That's my girl," he slurred with a wink, pointing at the cup Y/N was damn near close to dropping. It was all getting too much for her—JJ's weight boring into her side, the overwhelming stench of beer, the screaming mouths and dancing bodies slowly closing her in. She felt like a caged animal, her lungs tight and chest heavy.

"Hey, you seen Pope yet? I lost him an hour ago—saw him walk off with some blonde chick with a tramp stamp. Oh, you need a top-up? You should go now, 'm pretty sure the keg's getting low."

JJ continued to ramble on as Y/N crumbled underneath him, her eyes searching desperately for somewhere to go.

"Aw man, I love this song!" Y/N gasped as JJ began jerking her around, forcing her to sway back and forth with him. "Yo, Kurt! Turn that shit up bro!"

Y/N felt blood rushing to her ears, her hands growing clammy as her nerves took over. You're fine, she told herself. You're fine, you're fine. But it wasn't working—she couldn't hear herself think over the music blaring from the speakers.

"Come on, loosen up Y/N! Let's dance!"

"No!" Y/N reached her breaking point, escaping from beneath her brother's outstretched arm. JJ stumbled, just barely managing to catch himself and get a good look at the fear etched into Y/N's features.

"What? Y/N—" He held out a hand that she cringed away from, breathing raggedly as she did.

"Just leave me alone!"

"Y/N!" JJ called after her as she ran off, not knowing exactly where she was headed but intent on getting away. She wound up crouching behind a small hill across from the bustling core of the party, far enough away that the music finally fell to an acceptable volume.

Y/N brought her knees to chest and buried her face in them, fingers tugging at her hair as tears spilled from her eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could she be dumb enough to let JJ convince her that this would be a good idea? Y/N forced her breathing to slow as her chest tightened, coughing in her feeble attempts.

Y/N had listened to a few songs run their course by the time she managed to get a grip on herself, her breaths steadying as she counted eight-second inhales and eight-second exhales. Still Y/N rested her forehead against her knees, so dead-set on staying calm that she didn't notice the sound of JJ's footsteps in the sand.

"Hey." Y/N gasped, her head shooting upright as she scrambled to back away from whoever had found her. "Hey, calm down. It’s alright, Y/N." She sighed in relief when she recognized JJ's outline in the dark, her brother crouched before her shrunken form. "It's okay. Just me."

"Oh," she mumbled. "Sorry."

"'S okay. Didn't mean to scare you." He awkwardly held out another cup to her, which she observed warily. "Don't worry, it’s just water. Figured it might help more than beer."

Y/N smiled, accepting JJ's peace offering gratefully. "You'd be right about that." She greedily drank it all in one gulp, only then realizing how dry her mouth had gotten. "Thanks, Jay."

"Least I could do, since I forced you to come her." Y/N sighed, noticing the guilt swimming in her brother's blue eyes.

"You didn't force me."

"Well, I might as well have."

"it's not your fault, JJ." He rested a comforting hand on her knee.

"Sure it is. I knew you didn't like this kind of scene and I dragged you here anyway." He ran his free hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut as regret consumed his intoxicated mind.

"It's okay." Y/N shuffled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. JJ ruffled her hair. "Sorry I can't be a party animal like you."

"Ah, don't sweat it. Makes my job a lot easier, anyway." Y/N giggled, shoving him lightly, and JJ couldn't help but smile. "So, what's the plan? Want me to drive you home?"

Y/N scoffed. "I don't even think you could if you tried."

"Oh, Y/N," He teased her with a smile, "you severely underestimate my driving skills."

"And you severely overestimate my willingness to die." JJ chuckled at that. "Plus, who said I wanted to leave?"

"You’re gonna stay?'

"Yeah, why not? I mean, I've made myself a pretty comfy hideout over here." JJ pouted.

"I guess . . ." He looked down at his sister with a smirk. "Or you could try the party again."

Immediately Y/N felt that skin-crawling uncertainity take over once more. She bit at her bottom lip. "I don't . . . I dunno, Jay."

"Look, I promise I won't leave you this time. We can just sit around the campfire—maybe try to find Kie or something. What'd'ya think?" He held out a hand to her. "We'll take it slow."

Y/N considered this for a moment, eventually taking hold of her brother's hand. "Okay."

"Sweet!" JJ tried his best to stand, but only wound up falling back on his ass. "I'm gonna need some help getting up, though."

Y/N laughed, hoisting her brother to his feet with a grunt, and JJ smiled as she allowed her hand to linger in his while they walked. The very same way she did when they were little.

Just like JJ promised, he found the two of them a space to sit by the blazing campfire and never left Y/N's side.

・❥・

Hours had passed before the kegger had begun to die down, their beer long gone and speakers long dead. The rest of the Pogues had finally joined the Maybanks around the fire pit, and the group listened comfortably as Kie plucked at the strings of her ukulele. "Y'know what, Jay? I wouldn't mind trying this kegger thing again."

JJ smiled. "You mean it?"

"Yeah, I mean it." She snuggled closer to his chest, absorbing whatever extra heat his body offered. "As long as you're there to hold my hand."

#obx #outer banks #jj maybank #jj obx #jj outer banks #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x sister!reader #jj maybank x sister reader #sister!reader #maybank!reader #the outer banks #jj maybank drabble #jj maybank fluff #outer banks fluff

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jasperthehatchet · 9 months

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Buttons!! I found all these in a button bag at the thrift store for like 3 bucks. They're perfect for some solarpunk clothing projects I wanna do

They're mostly wood, coconut shell and metal, and a few plastic ones and they're all so beautiful. I wanted to post them just cause I like sharing my treasures and shinies <3

[Image ID: The first image is of 8 coconut shell buttons, a large hexagon shaped one with a flower design carved into the darker side, and a large circular one with curvy lines carved into the lighter side. The rest are smaller circular buttons with no designs. One side of each button is dark brown and the other side is light brown. All buttons in this image are two-hole buttons.

The 2nd image is of three buttons. The large hexagon one from the first image, and two large plastic buttons, a little bigger than a quarter. One black button with an anchor and some rope carved into it and a simple dark brown one with a stitched design on the outer rim of the button. Both plastic buttons are four-hole buttons

The 3rd image is of 14 wooden two-hole buttons, all the same size (size of a penny). They are a variety of rainbow colors and patterns, some with psychedelic designs. Some of them have the same design

The 4th image contains four large wooden two-hole buttons with the same size and design. There are cherry blossom branch designs burned into the wood.

The 5th image has two rectangular wooden shank buttons (shank buttons have no holes, they have a plastic, metal or wood loop on the back). One is green with peas on the front and the other is red with an eggplant, both are designed like packets of seeds. Almost an inch tall and half an inch wide

The 6th image is a variety of metal shank buttons in various sizes. A set of two large aged brass colored ones with an intricate sun design, a small brass one with a different intricate sun design, a large aged silver one with wildflowers and a butterfly on it, a small brass one with simple leaf designs on it, a small copper colored button with a tree of life, a shiny silver one with intricate geometric designs (hard to describe) and a set of two small hexagon shaped silver buttons with a smaller hexagon in the middle and black swirly lines outside of the smaller hexagon (my favorite ones)

The final image is of a variety of simple smaller buttons. A simple green resin four-hole one with subtle swirls, a few different flat metal buttons woth no designs, two two-hole buttons that have a silver middle and a clear resin rim, a large two-hole copper colored button made of shell, a small brown plastic button with a single 3D leaf design on the front and a blue wooden star shaped button with two holes. End of ID]

I really hope this image ID is sufficient please let me know in the comments or reblogs if there's anything I should edit or fix 💚

#solarpunk #solarpunk fashion #solarpunk aesthetic #solarpunk diy #sewing #buttons #mending #diy #ecopunk #hopepunk

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evvyyypeters-fics · 30 days

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“You Will Never Break the Chain”

Kai Anderson x gn?reader

Warnings! ANGSTTTTTT, manipulation, cult stuff, Kai Anderson

Reupload of an original fic inspired by the song below (yes it is required to listen while reading, no I will not pay for emotional damage)

“Tell me, what’s your biggest fear?”

His eyes, dark pits that seemed to be endlessly deep, like a well where you can lower the chain and never fill the bucket with water, bore into me. His face was shadowed by the low light hanging over the small round table we were sitting at. His pinky was attached tightly to mine, his large finger encapsulating mine, not letting me go and yet somehow the touch was comforting.

I swallowed the pit of fear deeper into my stomach, my mouth dry as I spoke, my lips feeling slightly more chapped than usual despite having reapplied my chapstick at least 10 times before arriving at Kai’s house for this meeting.

“Truthfully?” I ask, mostly just stalling.

He nods silently, clearly becoming a little impatient by my small deflection of the question.

“I’ve already met my biggest fear.” I answered, my heart fluttering with anxiety as I read his expression as it brightened with a dark amusement and curiosity.

“Tell me more.” He says, a big grin painted his face despite trying to keep a stoic expression. His amusement and excitement were clear to me.

“My biggest fear…” I trail the words slowly, taking the time to swallow a tightness threatening to close my throat and keep the words choked. “...was losing the Kai I knew.” Now his eyes were wider, flashing open. There was a subtle glow to them and I tried to look deeper into them, thinking–hoping I could reach down and see the slightly timid, kind brown-haired Kai Anderson I had known since I was young, the one I had remembered before seeing him on the news with his blue hair and strong political rhetoric, wondering where it all went wrong–and what I might have had to do with it. What I could have done to change it all. But to my dismay, it seemed he was completely gone.

And that’s when the pit got deeper, just like the pit in his eyes.

“You still have me,” He says, an attempt to soothe me. But it only felt cold and frigid, like the porcelain details of dolls in the ‘good days’ morphing into the plastic, simplistic barbies that you see at every store. Mass-produced and cheap.

“I haven’t been lost, I’ve just…become better. More awake.” He says, my stomach churning. I was going to throw up soon, I knew.

“Enlightened.” He added, as if he had the word on the tip of his tongue and the word finally came to the edge of the cliff and toppled over. That’s how I felt the longer I spent time with Kai in this moment. Standing on the edge of a cliff, drunk and teetering over it.

I wanted to shake my head and scream at him, tears threatening to burn my eyes as my throat tightened again. I wanted to shake him and call out for the Kai I once knew to come back out, to remove the shell of a person he’s become from himself and reveal the real Kai I knew—hoped, was still hiding inside of it. But I kept my composure, and just complied. My face flat as I stayed silent. I refused to remove my pinky from his. I wanted to reach further. I would not give up on the Kai I knew.

I think he realized my game as we stared into each other’s eyes intensely for a moment, the only sound was the stagnant basement air like an ambience in our ears.

“You deserve more than that,” He finally chimes, cutting through the silence.

I tried to keep my face from contorting quizzically.

“What do you mean?” I ask, a slight offense to my tone.

“Your boss. He underestimates you, doesn’t he? You deserved that promotion. But strong men always win, they always get the big CEO job. Just like they get the big writing gig.” He says, and that’s when I finally begin to feel the chunks rising in my throat and really have to swallow down. How did he know any of this?

“How do you–” He cuts me off.

“I know everything, Y/N.” He says with a sweet smile, and he brushes my cheek gently with the thumb of his free hand, pushing it back to meet my hair and neatly tucking it behind my ear.

“I’m destined for greatness, just like you.” His words made my head pound from the sickness continuing to stir like a pot of soup in my gut, but the gentleness of his familiar touch made me melt. My heart swelled a bit again, and when I flashed my gaze back into his after breaking away, I swear for a moment I saw a glimpse of the man I once knew in that pit. Like I had almost seen the bottom of the well, a sparkle of the fresh water at the bottom after staring so long and hard.

“That’s why I think we would make a great team. You should join me, I need you. In my campaign.” He says, but I knew this wasn’t a real offer. It was a deal. A demand. But all I could think about were the words ‘I need you’ echoing in my head over, and over, and over again until I was practically hypnotized.

“For old time’s sake,” He smiles, something evil inside of it. But all I could think about was that Kai I knew all those years ago, he needed me then. He needs me now, in more than one way. And if I had to join his campaign effort to see a glimpse of him again like I had before, if I had to help him in his campaign to bring back that version of him, I would do it. Without hesitation.

We give each other a mutual deep stare, an agreement. A pact formed through that singular electrical current of our heartbeats intertwining in our wrapped pinkies.

That day is the one I will always remember as the one when I realized that I can never free myself from the chain attached to me that is Kai Anderson. It was welded to me the moment I met him, and would continue to drag me down into my grave.

Taglist (you can be added or removed at anytime):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @xrag-dollx @lacucarachapisser @alittleobsessedbitch

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gil-notskajla · 2 months

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Młoda ogrywa ochroniarza w karty. (na kasę) (typ zapomniał jak sie gra po reboocie) (jest bezlitosna) | twt | ko-fi

fanfic inspired by this by my talented moot!!! 🥺

we dont have any examples of braytech security outfit ive made quick design for cayde. Completely dark one seemed bit too gloomy and hostile so i added some red and white from symbols concept art. Braytech symbols make it clear he is affiliated with corp and ishtar band signifies his job at protecting sundaresh in particular. And in his pocket is bray id card.

For micah i made hoodie based on penguin outer shell. Those toys are like matryoshka with plushie actually being inside the plastic so if micah took mishaylova with her for comfort it would make sense penguin would be "peeled". Way more huggable than a plastic statue.

The cards they play have backs with what i wanted to slightly resemble ace of spades (gun) decorative lines.

Also i wanted to make it clear its Eventide in some way so i took some screens of Exoscience. I like Operator symbol and it's halo makes it look divine so i put it on micah's side as she is a Dreamer. And jupiter for cayde cuz i fckin love jupiter in the bg raaaahh!!!! its so awesome. Couch is stolen from neomuna tho, lol. We dont have any access to civilian areas on europa but since its golden age there shouldnt be much difference. Couch is a couch!!

#destiny 2 #cayde-6 #micah abram #micah-10 #exo #eventide #europa #exoscience #penguin #fanart #art #skajla #braytech #ishtar collective #it took me so long

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shepscapades · 2 months

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can the androids give good hugs or are they like. sharp n metal. very important detail ‼️

They are very huggable :3 the dbh wiki/the game isn't super clear about what exactly the androids are made of, but its at least mentioned that they're composed of some mix of silicon, plastic, and metal. My assumption is that the outer shell of each android is a semi-hard plastic with a silicon coating/layer on the outside(to mimic the give of skin) and that there's a metal skeleton with metal bio components on the inside of the androids. That makes the most sense to me, anyway!

So yes, very huggable :3 maybe a bit heavier than humans (though not too outrageously so), but pretty similarly soft! :D

#dbhc #dbhc ask #ask #anon #dbhc mechanics

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canmom · 2 years

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when robots got muscles

You can blame @centrally-unplanned for this post. She(?) wrote...

The ‘chrome’ designs pioneered by illustrators like Hajime Sorayama (Sexy Robot from 1984, for example) tended to be more in vogue at this time (or just…a hot girl, who is apparently a robot, trust me bro), you don’t see designs like this too commonly until later (ask resident robo-fetishist/animator expert @canmom for details on that timeline).

After a challenge like that how can I refuse? Although the question is ‘when did robots get muscles’, this turned into something of a historical survey of robot designs from the 80s on with a throughline of biomimesis.

(Originally this was just going to be an excuse to talk about Ghost in the Shell... but I gotta be thorough.)

This was all brought on from this picture from a 1989 fanart magazine...

by an artist going by ‘Facepunch Tatebi-kun’ (顔面強打たてびー君, Ganmenkyouda Tatebii-kun). I remarked that it was interesting to see these kinds of ‘robot muscles’ in a picture from 1989, since I thought that kind of design became popular in the 2000s.

On some reflection, I think I gotta revise that opinion! I think ‘robot muscles’ became a thing around the mid 90s in anime; in the West I think it took a bit longer. But you can also see precursors already before that.

So. One thing artists are super into is biomimetic robots. That is, robots whose form (and perhaps function) is similar to animals, especially humans. The word ‘android’ referring to a human-like automaton dates all the way back to the late 19th century, but the modern ‘android, robot, cyborg’ taxonomy apparently became established around the 40s.

There’s two types of humanoid robot that get a lot of play, especially in anime. One is the convincingly humanlike cyborg, which is the same size and shape as a normal human; the other is a what we call in English a ‘mech’, i.e. a big robot you can sit inside.

Of course, if your androids just act like humans all the time, then there’s not much point having them be robots. To really create the frisson of contrast between human and mechanical forms you have to show the mechanism somehow. This could be because the machine isn’t perfectly human-like, and has visibly mechanical joints - take a look at the works of @sukabu89 for very inventive depiction of this theme - or, the android could be damaged or undergo maintenance.

When you attempt to translate biological forms into a more mechanical design language, the traditional way has been to use hard, rigid shapes, since these make the contrast especially clear. In more recent designs, particularly as we started to see real robots with ‘artificial muscles’ such as the ones created by Boston Dynamics, we get another sort of design language to express ‘mechanical parts’, and robots start having more biological forms with exposed plasticy muscles.

So let’s tell the story. We begin at the end of the 70s.

the dawn of mechaguro

For an early example of ‘mechaguro’ (a term I’m applying very anachronistically!), when a robot gets smashed up, we have Alien (1979). This film did a ridiculous amount to define sci-fi design language, and of course the alien itself blends mechanical and biological forms, with its glossy black surface allowing it to seem to melt into the exposed pipes of the spaceship. But let’s focus on the character Ash, a secret android who is broken apart in the second half of the film.

When Ash is torn apart by the alien, his insides consist of weird white plastic beads and a milky fluid that seems analogous to blood. It’s not clear what the function of any of this tech is - it’s intended to be vague and mysterious. The outside is biomimetic but the inside is anything but. He has a kind of artificial skin which resembles a latex mask.

The Terminator films are another major touchpoint for 80s science fiction. Late in the film, Arnie starts taking damage which reveals the Terminator skeleton underneath his fake skin.

The stop-motion Terminator model is basically designed according to the principle of ‘replace human bones and muscles with hard metal bits’. So you have a metal skull, metal clavicles (which are pistons for some reason), metal shoulder blades, hydraulic pistons generally in the places where muscles are. e.g. in the above picture you can see pistons that stand in place of the sternocleidomastoid muscle, and in this picture...

...you can see metal scapulae and piston biceps and triceps and a piston. The shoulder joint by contrast built in a very non-human-like way. Also there’s random tubes everywhere lol.

That’s generally how androids are portrayed in the 80s. The ‘droids’ in Star Wars are similar; C-3PO is an arrangement of metal plates with gaps suggestive of underlying mechanical details and rudimentary joints and pistons.

In Blade Runner, we have the Replicants, humanoid robots - but by the premise of the film, they are essentially indistinguishable from humans. So when the Replicants die, we never really get to see their robo-innards.

and now, anime

OK, that’s the big four Western 80s sci-fi movie series; what of anime? Of course, androids in anime go all the way back to Astro Boy. But most of these early designs don’t really focus on mechanical details all that much. Super robot designs are more like tokusatsu suits than anything. There were certainly instances of impressive mechanical animation in the 70s, with early experts including Kazuhide Tomonaga on Space Battleship Yamato. Then there’s Hayao Miyazaki’s episodes of Lupin III Part 2 which featured proto-Nausicaa flying a prototype of the robots from Castle in the Sky. It would be some years before anyone could come close to matching these!

The original Gundam in ‘79 famously started the ‘real robot’ movement [Animation Night, so let’s take a brief look at how a Gundam fits together.

Generally speaking, the way Gundams are drawn in Gundam ‘79 is kind of rough. The methods to animate these rigid mechanical systems in super accurate perspective were just not yet established at the end of the 70s, certainly not on a TV budget. The actual joints on the Gundam are left very vague, but it broadly speaking seems to move like a human in armour.

But the OVA boom was about to begin, and while it would be a while before we saw the heights of Headgear/Production I.G./Gainax, things were going to change a lot. Mechanical design and animation was about to get much more sophisticated very very quickly.

In 1982, we have Super Dimension Fortress Macross, with robots that transformed into fighter jets. Its robots are designed by Kazutaka Miyatake, who cut his teeth doing mechanical design for Space Battleship Yamato and Daicon. The Macross TV series introduced the world to the animation of Ichirō ‘Missile Circus’ Itano. [AN64] A plane with legs... honestly looks kind of goofy, but Itano’s ambition to have a highly mobile 3D camera that could move in ways that would simply be impossible in live action marked a huge step up in how robots are animated. And this would get refined even further in the film Do You Remember Love.

In terms of design, we’re really moving our inspiration from ‘tokusatsu suit’ to ‘military hardware’ here. A Macross suit has to look like something that could transform into a plane, so its silly little arms and legs have to look kind of plane-like. In any case, we are definitely still in a world of hard and rigid robotics.

Dallos (1983-4) dir. Mamoru Oshii is known as the first OVA, if not the first successful OVA [AN115]. It features a variety of mining robots on the surface of the Moon, which are generally less humanoid, taking their design cues from JCBs...

...as well as humanoid robots with fairly clear joint patterns...

...and more humanoid robots too.

The eponymous Dallos, however, is a huge humanoid robot that looks like this...

Here we have a pile of mechanical shapes that vaguely calls to mind a human face. It’s suggestive of motifs we’d see later in works like Akira.

A year later in 1985, Megazone 23 really kicks off the OVA boom in earnest [AN 103]. It also has a robot, in the form of a transforming bike that can become a humanoid piloted mech...

You can see mechanical designs and shading have become considerably more detailed; its motion is a lot more complex as well with a ton of indulgent background animation shots. The actual details of the bike -> robot transformation are rather brushed over. But to sort of sum up the design language: we have organic but hard-edged shapes contrasted by inorganic but round shapes. (These terms ‘organic’ and ‘inorganic’ refer mostly to symmetry and a sense of ‘flow’ in the shape.) There are few right angles as such, but a lot of broadly boxy topology. The shapes are broken up by elaborate specular highlights in complex shapes, a motif of the later Kanada school.

OK, but that’s all variants on ‘rigid robot’ so far - what about the androids? What about the more directly biological designs?

Following the enormous success of Megazone 23 Part I, Toshiki Hirano got the chance to adapt his favourite lesbian cosmic horror hentai manga Fight! Iczer One into a rather more tame OVA which released from 1985-87. In terms of mechanical design, this starts to do some interesting moves towards blending biological and mechanical forms...

Of course it has a robot in addition to the requisite bishōjo and lightsabers. In contrast to the boxy shapes we’ve seen so far, the robots in Iczer-One have a much more curvy organic sort of design language. Still, there is not a lot of emphasis on the precise details of mechanical articulation outside of select shots. (It is however notable for the first ever Obari punch!)

Despite the change in shape language, these are still very clearly animated as metal plates and not yet muscles.

In 1984 we have a very important film (for this narrative, and in general), Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, the film that created Studio Ghibli. Here we have the ‘God Warriors’, giant humanoid weapons with the ability to shoot a massive laser out of their mouth. Rather than robots, these are very much biological in nature, having to be grown in a kind of cocoon. In the film version of Nausicaa, an incomplete God Warrior is released, leading to an iconic scene animated by Hideaki Anno in which the God Warrior attempts to blow up the oncoming wave of Ohmu.

The God Warrior’s melting flesh is gorgeously animated, bubbling and sloughing off in great big lumps as the skeleton pokes out from underneath. Throughout, Nausicaa is full of beautiful and impressive animation of both machines (mainly planes) and biological (the giant insects), but the God Warriors, as human-made lifeforms, bring the two together. However, this strand wouldn’t be especially followed up on for a long long time.

Right, but what about Bubblebum Crisis (1987-91)? That is, after all, the iconic 80s robot girl OVA. It’s inspired heavily by Western robot-related films like Terminator and Blade Runner; here we have ‘Boomers’ (never stops being funny) as androids that can appear convincingly human. Like the Terminator, the underlying metal parts can burst out. Here we have a metal frame designed to resemble muscles, and also metal tentacles.

The shapes of these robots are a lot more organic. The robot neck has tubes that sort of resemble the neck muscles, metal plates that resemble pectorals and abs and deltoids and biceps and so on. You’ve even got a direct riff on the Terminator ‘fleshy face falling away to reveal metal skull with glowing red eye’! Under the plates there are clusters of tubes which also heavily resemble muscles. Also you’ve got the classic ‘three small circles’ motif there.

Contrasted against them are the Knight Sabers, who aren’t cyborgs as such but fight in powered exoskeletons which fit the design motifs of robot girls.

These suits are quite form-fitting, with a rubber under-layer and metal shells on top. There is definitely some attention paid to how they’ll articulate around the joints. One very recognisable 80s motif is the sort of extending spike thingies you can see on her hat there; there’s also the jets that extend out behind the suit. And, you have that multi-layer shiny highlighting of course!

Still, the way the characters move in Bubblegum Crisis is still very squarely Kanada School poses; big movements, lots of held poses accentuated by flashing and line boil, not a lot of concern for conservation of momentum or anything like that.

For a contrasting strand we can look at the rise of the ‘Otomo school’ (if you will) of realism. Around the end of the 80s, a pool of talented animators were gathering around Katsuhiro Otomo. Their most famous work is Akira, but I’m actually going to begin with Robot Carnival (1987), a wonderful anthology of short films from 1987. This features a huge variety of interpretations of the concept of robots.

For example, for Kōji Morimoto, later co-founder of Studio 4°C, the robot is a kind of cobbled-together steampunk Frankenstein’s monster. It’s a very cool design with all sorts of asymmetries and exposed parts suggesting its cobbled-together nature. And although all the robot does in this short is stand up and then fall over, a great deal of attention is paid to the little details of its articulation and its movement through space.

Presence, directed by Yasuomi Umetsu, is notable for its steps in the direction of realism - Umetsu’s characters are hyperdetailed and in some ways over-drawn. The opening shots establish this is a world where lifelike androids are common, when an android gets his head kicked off and stolen by children. Here the robot-as-doll metaphor comes in, something that will be increasingly central in the next decade. The robot girl is essentially a human-sized doll in a room full of other toys. Her creator smashes her to pieces with a wrench; later her ghost visits him as an old man. We see the girl attached to a bunch of wires, but she bleeds like a human.

Cloud by Manabu Ōhashi features another humanoid robot, an Astro Boy-like child recognisable as a robot based on his segmented torso and legs and robotic ear... cones. Here the robot is a standin for human emotions, the boy’s struggles projected onto the constantly changing sky as he walks against the wind.

Strange Tales of Meiji Machine Culture: Westerner’s Invasion by Hiroyuki Kitakubo (later to direct Golden Boy, Roujin Z and Blood: The Last Vampire) is a sendup of mecha shows in which two very goofy looking steampunk robots operated respectively by Japanese and Western crews duke it out, laying waste to the city around them. The Japanese robot is basically a big wooden samurai...

and the Western (more specifically American) robot is, uh

sorta big barrel with little eyes on top? I’m not entirely sure what the deal is with this design!

That’s really not relevant to our story tbh I just think it’s a neat short.

Chicken Man and Red Neck, by Takashi Nakamura, features especially distinctive robot designs. The film is kind of a dream sequence in which a terrified drunk man witnesses the revels of the machines of Tokyo, transformed into robots; the robots are extremely shaped, moving through a world that is pretty much just pistons...

These robots call to mind the dancing demons in Fantasia’s Night On Bald Mountain sequence, or even Bosch.

Otomo’s own segments feature the Robot Carnival itself, a vast mechanical structure built as... well some kind of entertaining spectacle, but which now drives around the post-apocalyptic wasteland dropping robots which explode as bombs. It’s cute.

OK, to wrap up the 80s, we gotta cover Akira (1988) [AN34]! Akira has plenty of impressive mechanical animation of helicopters, hovercraft thingies, satellite lasers and of course the famous bike, but it doesn’t really feature robots as such - but what it does have is a blending of mechanical and biological forms in its climactic sequence where Tetsuo’s psychic powers go out of control. First, wires start to spread like the roots of a plant from his robot arm - less an actual machine and more something he assembled with his psychic powers...

He takes a bullet, and the mechanical wires and muscles start to blend together and spread out like a slime mold...

...which he can extend as essentially a giant tentacle.

When his powers fully go off the rails, he bulges out into big blobs of flesh which have both veins and wires running over them. These burst out of the metallic parts as well.

He turns into essentially a giant biomechanical baby.

Did Akira invent these images of blending biology and machinery? Probably not, but I’m not really familiar enough with manga of the time to say. What can at least be said is that Otomo’s absurdly meticulous style could really sell it. Otomo was truly a god of perspective and detail; Akira the film was an enormous, prestigious production that threw ludicrous effort and resources towards realising his vision (which doesn’t mean it paid its inbetweeners much more...). A lot of the animators who worked on Akira would go on to be prominent in...

the 1990s

So, the 1990s. If the 80s was dominated by the later Kanada School, the new movement of the 90s, at least as far as film animation goes, was ‘realism’.

But before we get onto that, let’s take a brief look at Gunnm (1990). Known as Battle Angel Alita in the West, this manga by Yukito Kishiro depicts a world in which most people are cyborgs; it was adapted to an OVA by Madhouse in 1993 and became wildly popular overseas. Its protagonist Gally, aka Alita, starts out the story as a wrecked cyborg body like this...

Looking at this design, you can see similar patterns as we have so far. We have metal clavicles, metal sternocleidomastoid muscle, metal pectorals, metal spine. There aren’t robot muscles, per se, but there’s a lot of attention to detail on mimicking biological shapes.

Before long she is rebuilt (twice in the manga, once in the anime). Her new body is like this...

...which is to say a skintight bodysuit in the middle, and metal arms. These arms, although designed in a way that indicates hard surface and with a hinge joint at the elbow, are designed in a way that mimics the flow of muscles in a human arm. By contrast, her sorta-love interest Yugo has a body like this:

which gets mashed to pieces in the finale of the OVA. There’s a striking mechaguro scene in which Gally catches Yugo, but leaves him hanging by a fraying arm, which snaps, leaving him to fall to his death. Compared to later iterations of the ‘robot arm torn apart’ device, this one’s relatively light on detail...

Cyborg bodies in Gunnm are used as a visual indication of character type. Gally has curves but also sleek robo muscles: she’s a Beautiful Fighting Girl, sweet but also extremely powerful. A huge ‘muscular’ cyborg with wide shoulders is likely to be a brute. Yugo here has much more plain, simple shapes with visible bolts, not precision pieces like Gally.

I don’t know how much of this originates with Gunnm. I’m sure the idea of cyborg girls was in the air long before, but this became an influential example on the tail end of the time of the 80s bishōjo. One device that is notable here is the idea of a ‘full body cyborg’, which is only human down to the brain (or perhaps not even that). Body swapping is a major theme in Gunnm, something that would be expanded on before long...

And if that was going out, what was coming in? Let’s look at Patlabor, which traces the evolution of the Headgear artistic collective and IG Tatsunoko into Production I.G.. This is about as down to earth as giant robot stories can get, with robots as just everyday machines used for work and by the cops. But where things really go nuts in animation terms is the opening to Patlabor 2 (1993).

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Here you can see some of the most impressive sequences of mechanical animation ever drawn. We see pilot Noa testing out the robot, and especially notable are the scenes of the hand flexing and of walking. Enormous attention is paid to the articulation of joints. The robot’s hand can swivel 360 degrees, unlike a human; however, like a human, the articulation of the fingers seems to be controlled by hydraulics in the forearm (whereas in humans, the muscles and tendons in the forearm control our fingers). When the robot’s foot steps, it flexes like a real human foot, with believable joints, and a sensible arrangement of pistons to absorb force.

It’s not imitating a human’s muscles, but the attention to the details of the robot’s mechanical design serves precisely to draw our attention to the ways it’s like/unlike a human - the robot’s hand impossible motion immediately contrasted with its pilot shot from the same angle. And the perspective drawing is absolutely impeccable. The robot is made of purely rigid structures, and the way rigid structures articulate is not at all how a human’s joints articulate.

The sequence above was animated by Atsushi Takeuchi. But across the board, the bar was getting pushed for mechanical animation. For example, observe this cut from Mobile Suit Gundam: The 08th MS Team (1996-1999), in which the robot tears off its own arm and beats up another robot. The precision of the way the joints are animated and the way the robots move in space is just completely on another level compared to what Gundam had been doing a couple of decades prior.

Anyway, we’re here to talk about robot muscles, and we’re just a few years out from that now!

The year that robots got muscles, at least as far as anime is concerned, is 1995.

You can probably guess the next part. In 1995, we get Eva and GitS. Let’s start with GitS, to continue the Production I.G./Mamoru Oshii thread. The opening sequence of GitS, animated by - who else could it be? - Hiroyuki Okiura - has to be one of the most iconic segments of video ever drawn. Here’s a merely 720p youtube upload but go and find the place you have GitS stored on your hard drive and watch it in proper quality eh.

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OK, yes, a lot of it is a naked lady floating around, sue me or whatever. But the sense of form. We see early on an appearance of ‘robot muscles’, here closely resembling real muscles...

We can see from the way this is drawn that it’s made of a combination of artificial muscles, solid segments, and flexible, fabric-like panels. One of my favourite shots at the beginning shows the solid segments of the skull clicking into place. Here we have a very clear contrast between the angular, hard edges of the mechanical pieces against the organic forms of a human body.

Elsewhere in the film, we see various incredibly cool bits of ‘wouldn’t be fucked up if a body did this‘, like the fingers...

Here, what we expect to be soft biological fingers is contrasted with unexpected rigidity, mechanical joints under a shell.

Also in this scene we encounter a robot body that has been stripped of her arms, legs and hips but is nevertheless still alive...

most extraordinary hacker in the history of cybercrime and you have your titties out and yet you still can’t get them to stop misgendering you, smh

For the Terminator, having its body smashed up and continuing to walk was a demonstration of its strength. Here, as would become perhaps an increasing motif, having a robot body is a source of vulnerability: people can do things to you that would kill an ordinary human but you keep going through it. Not surprisingly, ‘robot body maintenance’ is a recurring porn device. (One that GitS deploys in SAC s2).

But of course this all builds up to the all time classics of mechaguro scene at the ending where the Major attempts to tear off the hatch of a spider tank. Muscles ripple individually under the surface of her skin, her arms bulge in exaggerated contraction, and then her arms fully tear apart under the force.

Here, we’re showing her as mechanical not by contrasting rigid forms with biological ones, but by exaggerating the biological ones to the point of doing something extremely unnatural. Human muscles do not generally flex in such an individual way, nor are they strong enough to tear the arm apart, but robot muscles? Yeah, they could do that. This sets up the next scene where the Major lies unnaturally still, but can still exert control through hacking through her union with the Puppet Master.

Robots holding onto something so hard their arms explode has become... if not a recurring image, then at least one that was called back decades later in Violet Evergarden.

The final scene of GitS brings back the image of robot-as-doll, with the Major’s consciousness now uploaded into a black-market robot body that resembles a child in a dress.

This is further expounded on in Oshii’s second GitS movie Innocence (2004), with its Ballade of the Puppets in the soundtrack as Batou and Togusa (and eventually, the Major) are attacked by essentially an army of ball-jointed doll gynoids. The puppets’ movements are extremely unnatural and erratic acrobatics, constantly flipping all over the place; when hit by bullets, panels pop open to reveal the underlying brass skeleton. It’s a very cool image. (The thing that lets the sequence down is the extremely dated CGI and aggressive digital compositing.)

It also has Donna Harraway as a literal cyborg!

Now, the GitS movies didn’t drop fully formed out of nowhere, but draw on the work of Masamune Shirow. The manga has a somewhat different design sensibility than the movie, distinctive and shiny as all Shirow’s art. It is more rounded and organic, less cold.

So, the basic design of a cyberbody originates with Shirow. You can see it on this page (unfortunately from a flipped version, translation Dark Horse):

You might be able to determine from how the nurses are dressed that, yeah, the GitS manga is in significant part fetish porn. But really nerdy fetish porn, which is the best kind. This chapter is almost entirely dedicated to explaining how cyborg bodies are constructed in great detail, from the ‘sensory film’ (that’s what’s being applied in the opening to the 1995 film) to the hair implantation.

It’s interesting seeing how some of the more out-there designs of the manga, like Chief Aramaki, are transformed into the realist style of Hiroyuki Okiura. It’s Okiura, so it works great of course.

I don’t know if there are manga examples of such detail about cyborg bodies that predate Shirow.

Anyway, that’s just one of the two punches dropped in 1995. The other is Neon Genesis Evangelion. To the pedants: sure, the Evas are not actually robots, but they’re giant cyborgs that play the role of ‘robot’ in the story and they look like robots so I’m counting them.

Anyway, the thing about the Evas is they are incredibly lithe. They run, rip and tear and swing heavy objects around in a way that’s both weighty and distinctly biological. Their bodies are extremely flexible compared to prior mechs (look at how much the spines bend in that Iso cut from EoE!), but not without hard, rigid components such as the shoulder towers. Their jaws are bestial but feature mechanical-like components like interlocking hexagonal teeth and jet-like vents. They are in short a fantastic design that blends biological and mechanical features.

The impact of Eva on just about everything can’t be overstated, but as far as robot design, well. There certainly were works that leaned on the precedent set by Eva, as for example RahXephon, which also treats robots as something spiritual, prone to popping into a blob of weird little bubbles just like in Eva.

There’s a great deal missing from this account. I am very focused on anime because I’ve watched a lot more anime than I’ve read manga or played games from this period. So I’m sure there’s major foundational works I’m missing here!

the 2000s

When did the West start to catch up? eh that’s subjective - David Cronenberg was way ahead of the game! - but specifically in the sense of robots with mechanical muscles, I think the major points in the timeline go a bit like this.

In 1999, there’s the Matrix, which leans heavily on anime. This features a similar ‘robot takeover’ premise to Terminator, but here it’s biomimetic robots modelled after squids, with clouds of constantly moving tentacles that sweep behind them. After making a cool half a billion dollars, the Wachowskis decided to pay all their favourite anime directors to make short films. I’m not going to comment on every part of the Animatrix, since most of it isn’t really relevant, but I will point to this horrifying cut by Takeshi Honda in The Second Renaissance in which a robot woman has her clothes torn and then skin bashed off by a mob. The framing, motion, her expression of abject terror, and the ‘reveal’ of her ‘true’ nature, all viscerally call to mind a trans bashing.

On the manga side, a big one to mention is Gantz, a gory nihilistic seinen manga which ran from 2000-2013. The characters in Gantz fight in special latex-like suits which take on the appearance of muscles while engaging superstrength, but can also sustain damage that causes them to drip fluids from ports located at the neck and become fatal to their wearer. Gantz was adapted to anime by Ichirō Itano in 2004, but I haven’t seen it so I can’t comment on any notable animation.

Cyborgs are a favourite subject of games, but in the 2000s, games are really pushing art direction and biopunk stuff is in. Half Life 2 (2004) has its spider-crab like Striders and dropships and so on. Oddworld: Abe’s Oddysee (1997) bases its whole concept around the sheer variety of weird creatures that would inhabit its dystopian factory. And I gotta give a shoutout to Septerra Core (1999) - in case one other person has played that lmao

At some point after 2005, Boston Dynamics became a viral sensation thanks to their robot BigDog. BigDog is just welded steel and hydraulics, but its lifelike hopping movement style definitely brought to mind the idea that the future of robots is going to be in biomimesis.

So, 2007, here comes Crysis to melt your PC! This is an FPS with the not-uncommon premise of being a supersoldier fighting (country America hates) and also aliens, but its gimmick was that you have a special exosuit that wraps around your body with artificial muscles, making you much stronger and manlier or whatever.

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This is indicated by a visualisation that could be right out of a toothpaste ad, where tiny little balls drop into the character’s pores and somehow go straight into the bloodstream which is of course a void full of flying red blood cells. And so on. It sold the game, though! The ad there focuses almost entirely on the suit and not the character wearing it, who is basically an irrelevant soldier man. What it entailed in gameplay terms is that you have a mode switcher so you can have strength or armour or invisibility or whatever. But it’s cool military superscience, you see!

Anyway. Not like my preferred flavour of cyborg is any less stupid I guess x3

In the same year, Bayformers started. These films’ robots are honestly just visual noise, there’s so many moving metal shards going every which way that it’s next to impossible to discern any sort of underlying mechanical principle. A similar ‘overwhelming business’ visual effect would be applied the next year in Iron Man, kicking off the MCU. So mechanical muscles definitely weren’t the only expression of ‘hyper-advanced robot’ in Western visual media in the late 2000s.

I’m going to end my story with two more games: Horizon Zero Dawn and NieR Automata.

Horizon features a world inhabited by a large variety of robot animals, using the peak of AAA rendering techniques. The robots are designed to be biomimetic after both modern animals and prehistoric ones, and feature a combination of hard surfaces and softer biological muscles. For example, a robot horse:

The discipline of making designs like these now has a name: it’s called ‘hard surface modelling’ and it involves boolean operations and bevels and other techniques designed to create a balance of hard edges on a surface against the smoother parts. The design language of Horizon says that the hard plates are white, the soft parts are very dark and may be patterned like a cloth texture, and there can be small colour accents here and there.

I think you can definitely see the influence of Boston Dynamics’s robots (and recent military tech in general) in these designs, iterated on through a decade and a half of increasingly intra-referential concept art. They are visually very busy designs, but there are a couple of recognisable features that draw attention by being inorganic, such as the cylindrical fuel tank at the back. Vitally, the silhouette is very readable.

This robot T. rex for comparison serves as a world boss monster, and you can see it’s got a bunch of military looking attachments that look like radars and missile launchers and so on. As real tech evolved, so too did our idea of what a scary robot ought to look like.

So, that’s where this kind of design pattern has gone in mainstream games.

Now to finish, a brief comment on NieR Automata. Its designs draw hard on those of Ghost in the Shell. Visually it draws a strong contrast between the Machine Lifeforms, who have inorganic shapes (spheres and cylinders) and very visible and plausible mechanical joints, and the doll-like androids, who might as well be human (although A2 provides some contrast in an android who is damaged enough for the underlying materials to show through). The mechanical nature of the androids is communicated by the acrobatic way they move and the interface elements, and dead androids you find in the field - and later when they start losing arms and stuff, it’s a whole thing. But just like humans in Yoko Taro Games, they’re capable of dying in a puddle of blood.

(I guess if you take one thing from this post it’s that if you’re a robot, don’t expect to keep your arms.)

Robot muscles gives you a chance to give both the ‘anatomy porn’ of drawing something very precisely right, with the added bonus of giving you a reason to draw the muscles écorché, and the chance to make it weird and defamiliarised by splitting it with mechanical elements. In short... they look cool!

In this whole post I’ve basically not touched at all on illustration. I can point to a variety of illustrations of robot girls, but in terms of periodising them, I just don’t think I know enough. Though it’s safe to say that cyborg bodies in various states of construction or disrepair are now a mainstream of concept art - and that Ghost in the Shell is usually cited as an influence. I don’t know if robot muscles ever truly became the mainstream way to depict a robot, but it does feel like they’re increasingly common.

One artist I will briefly mention (besides sukabu), mostly bc I think they’re neat, is Haruyo Megurimu, who draws these very intricate designs of ‘necrotech’ which is sort of very biological robots extending out of human bodies - limbs extended on long spindly insectoid strands, jaws splitting open, that kinda thing. Can’t say who influenced them or anything but it’s a compelling extension of the idea into a particular corner of aesthetic space.

And that’s all I’ve got I think. There’s definitely big gaps like. More recent sci-movies. Western comics. Nevertheless, that’s an arc.

If you’ve read this far: thank you for indulging my autism.

#robots and cyborgs #character design #robots #cyborg #history #anime #manga #ghost in the shell

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