#in his original design he's got just as much hair as his regular human form it's just adapted to his dog shaped head

[ragsy]

i'd have to fuck with his design a little bit to make it work but maybe i'll do dogman mandog dogmark for my next cosplay project...

[nothoughtsonlynat]

Resurrect Me (N.R.)

Warnings: swearing; death; Hell/the Underworld; cliff jumping lol

Word Count≈ 3.1k (yikes lol my bad)

Hecate一 the goddess of magic, witchcraft, the night, the moon, ghosts, and necromancy. Known to be an intricate mosaic of good and evil, destruction and beauty. Capable of granting wishes, summoning the dead, resurrections, teleportation, warping realities on unfathomable scales, mind control, energy manipulation, and any sorcery or magic known to the Gods. Second only to Zeus himself.

I am the human embodiment of Hecate. I am not Hecate; she merely resides in the depths of my soul and provides me guidance. We do not communicate through words; she speaks through dreams and gut feelings, and sometimes even through signs in the outside world. I have not mastered the powers she’s granted me, nor have I reached my full potential. In addition to the Goddess’ powers, I hold the basic Olympian powers, such as superhuman speed and stamina. I have no recollection of how I merged with Hecate or the life I lived before this point, and she has provided me with no answers, but I do not question her motives. 

Agent Phil Coulson came across me in my temple in Turkey. Apparently, he had discovered strange energy readings coming from the temple. When he arrived, I used the power of energy manipulation to blow the concrete off of me, and that is the first thing I remember一 emerging from underneath Hecate’s temple.

I joined the Avengers during the Battle of New York. Agent Coulson had recommended me to Fury when he was piecing together the Avengers Initiative. In the three years between my awakening and the invasion, I practiced my sorcery mercilessly and studied Hecate deep in the Greek countryside. I’ve stuck with the Avengers throughout the years, fighting every battle alongside them. Through the ups and downs, I’ve fallen head over heels for Natasha Romanoff. One would assume that with so much power, I’d be confident and have any mortal begging at my feet. That couldn’t be any more inaccurate, however. As I’ve said, I am not Hecate; I am simply the human embodiment of the goddess. And as a human, I turn into a blushing, stuttering mess whenever the levelheaded assassin is near. Consequently, there have been many years of pining, but I’ve yet to muster up the courage to ask the woman on a date.

In our most recent war, we’ve gone up against a mad titan一 Thanos. We lost terribly. Half of all living things inhabiting the universe were snapped away. I can’t help but ponder whether things would’ve gone differently if I had better mastered my powers. I potentially hold all the capabilities of the goddess of magic; aside from Zeus, I hold more power than any being to ever exist. I’ve practiced my sorcery every day for the past five years on the off chance that we ever get a rematch一 a chance to bring everyone back. I’ve improved significantly, but Hecate has been oddly quiet for the past few years. It’s driving me crazy. I know she’s still there, but she hardly provides an ounce of guidance.

And so, that is where I find myself now一 practicing sorcery in the room specifically designed to isolate me when I use dark magic. Everyone who has access to the training section of the compound knows that they should never enter this room. It is far too dangerous for regular mortals. As I warp the room’s reality, a dark mist envelops me. When it clears, the room has changed into a 50s ballroom. I look down to see an elegant maroon ball gown covering my body, and I scan the empty area. I hear a pair of heels clicking toward me, and I spin around, already panicking. In order for someone to be here with me, they would have to be an inhabitant of the location’s true reality. My eyes land upon the woman I’ve grown to love, dressed up for the event. She is wearing an extravagant light blue ball gown, and her hair is carefully done up. 

“Natasha? What are you doing here?”

“Why I came to dance with you, of course.” She steps closer and drapes her arms around my neck, swaying to the nonexistent music. Stay calm. Don’t panic. There’s no way I’m making her do this. I’m not even doing anything! Of course I’m the one making her do this, who else would it be?! Breathe in. Breathe out. My powers don’t control me. I control them. Just breathe. I can do this. I know how to do this.

As I focus on the magic coursing through my veins, a black mist envelops us, and the room returns to its original form一 a basic training room with black padded walls. I immediately take a large step back from Natasha.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Natasha?! You know you can’t come in here! I could’ve seriously hurt you!”

“I...I’m sorry. I thought you’d just be moving shit with your mind. I didn’t realize you could do...that, whatever that was.”

“That was reality manipulation. I didn’t know you were here and I don’t have full control of it, so you got caught up in it. Are you okay? Do you remember it?”

“Yeah, I remember it clear as day. I was still me and I was still in control, it was just...different, I guess.”

“Well, I literally warped your reality, so even if you felt in control, you might not have been.”

“You stopped it, though. I remember when that seemed impossible. You’re getting better.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I awkwardly scratch the back of my neck. “What did you come in here for in the first place?”

“This is gonna sound crazy, but Scott Lang is here. We might have a way to bring everybody back.”

“Wait, what? Holy shit. It’s happening. Okay, come on then!” I eagerly walk past her, grabbing her hand as I pass her, and we leave my training room. I realize that I’m still holding her hand as we make it to the meeting room, and I immediately drop it, clearing my throat. If I wasn’t so familiar with the sensation, then I would swear that my ears and cheeks are on fire.

<//>

We all step onto the platform in matching white and red time-travel suits. “We’re really doing this?”

“Hell yeah, we’re doing this,” Clint answers.

“Alright, then. We bring everybody back,” I say with determination. “Whatever it takes,” Steve adds.

“See you in a minute,” Natasha adds with a smirk. Before I can appreciate how beautiful she looks with the glimmer of hope in her eyes, we’re flying through a flurry of colors. Nebula, Natasha, Rhodey, Clint, and I land on Morag. We all say our respective goodbyes before Nat, Clint, and I get on a jet to head to Vormir.

<//>

“A soul for a soul.”

“What? That’s insane. Look, no offense, Mr. Bloody Tampon, but why should we just trust what you’re saying? Because you know their fathers’ names?”

“I didn’t.” I looked into Natasha’s eyes as she spoke and I instantly wish that I could replace the dull sadness with the bright hope that had filled them before.

“He doesn’t know my father’s name. If he’s some mystical being, then why can’t he tell me that?” I turned to face him as I asked the question.

“I’m afraid you are a mystery. I am meant to know everything about any being who seeks the stone, but I know nothing of your identity.”

“Hm. Seems like a load of bullshit to me,” I deadpanned.

“We need to do this. We need to bring everyone back. I’ve spent the past five years trying to reverse the snap, and now I finally know how to fix it. Let me do it.” As Natasha spoke, she grabbed both of my hands in hers.

“And I’ve spent every day for the past five years training to do this. I wasn’t just practicing sorcery and talking to dead people for fun, Nat. All I wanted was to do better一 to fix this. If anyone is jumping off that cliff, it’s gonna be me.”

“No. Absolutely not. Neither of you is dying for that stone. I’ve done horrible things these past few years. I’ve killed...so many people. It should be me,” Clint says, and Natasha and I turn to face him, but one of her hands remains in mine.

“No way in hell, Clint. And not you either, Nat. Both of you guys have families. You’re not sacrificing yourselves. I won’t let you. And you can’t stop me even if you try.” Nat gives me a questioning look as I mention her family and I speak in her head ‘I know about them, Nat. And they need you. She needs her big sister.’

“What are you saying?” I can hear the anxiety lacing Nat’s words, and it causes a pit to form in my stomach.

“I think you know what I’m saying, Natty.” 

“Then you don’t leave me much of a choice.” She shoots a Widow’s Bite toward me, but I stop it using energy manipulation without even having to lift a finger.

“You can’t beat me, Nat. Please, don’t fight me on this.”

“I call bullshit.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Clint running toward the edge while we’re distracted, and I teleport in front of him, throwing him backward. I use mind control to force him to stay down. I sense Natasha running toward the edge behind me, and I teleport in front of her. I use energy manipulation to keep her in place, and I grab onto her biceps.

“I’m really sorry, Nat. I hate that I’m doing this to you, but I can’t let you throw yourself off a cliff for some stupid stone. Your life is worth so much more than that. You’re an amazing person, and your ledger was cleared of its red so long ago. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.”

“This is sounding an awful lot like a goodbye.”

“You can be sarcastic all you want, but I’m not walking out of this one, Natty.”

“Don’t do this. The team needs you.”

“No, they don’t, Nat, and we both know it. They need you.”

“And what if I need you?!”

“Well if that’s the case, you’ll figure it out, just like you always do. Don’t let something like this hold you back. Goodbye, Natasha Romanoff.” I kiss her cheek before turning around. I start walking towards the edge, but it quickly turns into a sprinting pace as I hear Nat screaming for me to stop. Just before I reach the edge, I lift the mind control from Clint and I release Nat, just in case it doesn’t automatically lift when I die. I push myself off the cliff, turning mid-jump so I’m not facing the ground. As I’m falling through the air, I see Clint holding Nat in his arms as her screams fill my ears. I hit the ground and everything goes black.

<//>

“Hello, y/n. It’s good to see you again.” I sat up and一 what the hell is that smell? “Ah, yes. That would be burning flesh. Welcome to Hell, darling.”

“Uh...what? Who are you?”

“Yes, I suppose I should explain, hm? I am Hecate, Goddess of一”

“Yeah, I know what you’re the goddess of. How did I get here?”

“I thought you were smarter than this. You died, obviously.”

“And went to Hell? Damn.”

“Oh, relax. Hell isn’t what the mortals think it is. This is the Underworld. All of the dead reside here. The bad people get punished, the good people don’t. Simple as that. We don’t have a lot of time, so I need to explain. I am cursed; I cannot leave the Underworld. However, my human embodiment can, and that is where you come into play. You hold all my power, and I can see you’ve been practicing, but you’ve never lived up to your full potential.”

“Hey! Rude!”

“Don’t interrupt. I didn’t allow you to live up to your full potential, not until we met, anyway.”

“And I had to die in order for that to happen?”

“Yes. I’m giving you all of my power, but I can still stop you if I ever need to. I know you don’t want to risk hurting the people you love, especially the redhead, but you need to trust yourself. Trust your powers. Have a little faith. You are a goddess, remember. Don’t let people forget it. That purple thumb is nothing compared to you, even with his colorful rocks. Your family needs you now. You must help them.”

“That’s it? Why do they need help? How will I know what to do?”

“I will always be there to help you, Y/N. You can handle this. This is nothing. You are part of me, just as I am part of you. You are my daughter, after all. I should know your capabilities better than anyone.”

“Wait, daughter?!”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that part? Oh well, it doesn’t matter right now, anyway. You need to go.”

“Go where?”

“Home, darling.” 

The earth above us cracks open and I can hear faint sounds of fighting on the surface. I look at Hecate as she nods. Before I even realize I’m doing it, black mist surrounds my body and lifts me through the crack. I step out of the mist onto the ground and a staff appears in my right hand. I tap it once on the ground and my white suit is replaced by an all-black leather outfit that’s definitely made for a goddess. I smirk and make eye contact with the titan across the battlefield. His sickly creatures race toward me as they notice the new threat on the field. I summon an army of ghouls from the cracks in the earth. As the aliens and the undead clash, I teleport in front of Thanos.

“And who might you be, dear?” He acts confident, but I can sense his fear.

“I am Y/N, daughter of Hecate.” He tilts his head in a questioning manner. “Oh, did someone not study mythology? Hm, then let’s be blunt, shall we? I’m a goddess, ass-chin.” I throw my staff at his throat, but he catches it. He moves to swing his large sword at me, but I capture his arm in black mist. When he tries to move the other arm, I restrain that one, as well. “Well, that surely can’t be all you’ve got, hm? Pity, I thought it’d be more exciting than that.” If I were to look in a mirror at that moment, I would’ve noticed my ghostly pale skin, black eyes, and the raw power spreading through my veins like a black road-map.

“It’s not over yet, my dear child.” Before I can question the meaning of his words, an alien tosses him the gauntlet. It slides on his exposed hand, but I hold it open with dark magic. I look around and notice that the army of the undead is nowhere to be seen. My teammates are pinned down, even with the help of those who were snapped. There is a feeling in my gut and a voice in my head that tells me what I must do. I pull the gauntlet off his hand with black mist and slide my hand inside. I feel the power surging into my body. “What are you doing? That power will kill you!” Thanos sounds truly desperate.

“That’s cute. Truly, it is, but you can’t kill someone who’s already dead.” I close my hand and snap my fingers. His army fades to dust and he slumps to the ground before floating away with them. I drop the gauntlet to the ground and look around. Natasha runs toward me and throws her arms around my neck in a firm hug.

“Wha一what happened to you? How are you here? I thought you died!”

I wrap my arms around her waist and rest my chin on her shoulder before saying, “I did die. I am dead.”

She pulls away and looks at me from head to toe. “Well that explains why you’re so damn pale, but now I have so many more questions.”

“I am Hecate’s daughter, so I am technically a goddess, like her. I’m not sure if I was technically resurrected or not, but I can probably一”

She cut me off with a gentle yet passionate kiss. She pulls away and searches my eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” she admits.

“Me too,” I breathe out.

“Yeah, I picked up on that. You’re not very discrete.” I laughed and a smirk spread across her face. “As sexy as this whole ‘powerful goddess’ thing is, am I going to get the old you back? You know, the one who blushes whenever I look at her? The one who’s, like, alive?”

I smile at her and glance down at her lips as a thick black mist appears behind me. I step backward into it as her face morphs into a look of confusion. She disappears from sight as a wall of black fills my vision, and a surge of power spreads throughout my body. I fall to my knees and the black cloud disappears. Natasha rushes over and kneels in front of me. “Are you okay? What the hell was that?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think I’m alive again.” I lift my head and meet her eyes.

“Your skin isn’t crazy pale anymore, and your eyes are their normal color again.”

“Sweet.”

“Cool.”

We both crack up and I lean my forehead against hers as our laughter fades.

Tony interrupts our moment of peace. “This is all good and dandy, but does someone wanna explain what the hell just happened?”

I raise my head and look at my teammates一 my family. “I kicked the purple thumb’s ass. That’s what happened.” I can feel a warm presence in my heart, and I know that my mother is with me.

“Yes, yes, I noticed. I also noticed a bunch of demons. Care to explain that one?”

“They weren’t demons...they were just...the souls...of dead people. I can summon the dead. You knew that.”

“Uh, I definitely didn’t know that.” I laugh and shake my head at the eccentric man. 

I stand up, pulling Natasha with me, and bring her into another embrace. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Natty,” I whisper in her ear before pressing a delicate kiss to her temple.

A/N: I literally had this completely finished and edited over a month ago and I hadn’t posted it yet soooooo... idk here it is

[unliked-apologist]

hirako shinji headcanons

these were originally posted on Reddit. now they're here. enjoy.

He has lucky socks that he wears to fight Hollows. What makes them lucky is something that the other Visored find to be a mystery, since they look the same as his other socks, but if Shinji's fighting Hollows he's wearing his lucky socks. As a result, he's put on laundry duty a disproportionate amount of the time, because no one wants to deal with the tantrum he'd throw if someone mismatched his godforsaken lucky socks.

In the part of the warehouse that is his bedroom, he has a shelf of hair products. He rarely uses them, but sometimes he'll show up to dinner with a barrette holding his bangs out of his eyes, or a temporary streak of blue dye framing his face.

He loves it when someone brushes his hair out, especially when it's longer. There's just something so relaxing about the feeling of fingers tangling in his hair, guiding the knots out...he could fall asleep like that. He does, sometimes. When he's too wound up to sleep, or too antsy from days on the couch, Rose will sit down behind him and put little braids in his hair until he drifts off.

Shinji doesn't go shopping very often, but when he does, he splurges. From buying an entire piano without prior notice to hiring someone to install highlighter-orange carpets in the warehouse, the other Visored know better than to give him their savings and let him shop alone.

Despite the fact that he's a known paperwork procrastinator, he's very good at focusing when he wants to. He tends to hyperfixate on certain things - as Captain, he'd sit at his desk for hours at night, long after everyone else left the compound, and read through pages of everything from complaints to the Seireitei Bulletin.

He can play the piano. Not as well as Rose - which isn't saying much, since nobody can play the piano as well as Rose - but he's certainly better than average. He'd been in the human world during the birth and spread of Jazz, and would sit in front of an old piano every evening and work his way through Maple Leaf Rag. He taught himself to play.

Sometimes, the ties he wears make him panic. He wears them anyways, since he likes the way they look, but while the weight around his neck is usually comforting, there are times when they'll feel too tight and constricting and for a moment, he's not in the present but back in Seireitei, watching his friends' faces turn to Hollow bone. The tie-like cloth he wears once he regains his position as Captain is looser, and was designed to allow movement and air better than a regular human tie.

Shinji is stubborn. He'll focus on something and not let it go, until it takes over everything else. Once he has an opinion of someone, he rarely changes it. Some people deal with change well, are able to adapt to any environment. He is not one of those people.

(And maybe that's part of why he took his exile so badly. The human world is nothing like Soul Society, and part of him refused to believe that the human world was, in fact, his new home. He loves the human world, with it's strange inventions and funny quirks, but it isn't Soul Society.)

He's not a huge fan of tea. Partially because Aizen had liked tea, and there are indeed certain aromas of the stuff that will make him sick to his stomach, but mostly because boiling leaves in water had never really appealed to him. Sometimes he'll make a hot chocolate, when he's spoiling himself. He loves the tiny marshmallows, leaves them in his mug until all the hot chocolate is gone and then he'll scoop out the marshmallows with a spoon and eat them in one bite.

He's traveled quite a bit, especially in the early years of his exile. Harlem, Berlin, Paris, Madrid, New Orleans, even London - Shinji's seen more of the world than any of the other Visored.

Despite the fact that he's the strongest of the Visored, he isn't their leader. Not really. He bosses around Hiyori, and she throws things at him, and he'll order Kensei to make lunch when he's feeling particularly lazy, but he isn't the leader. He's distant from them, a little. Sure, he goes places with them and trains with them and eats meals with them, but it was his lieutenant that was responsible for their exile. He feels a responsibility for their situation that none of the others do.

All of the Visored have found ways to spend their time. Love and Rose loose themselves in manga, Lisa in swimsuit catalogues, Kensei in cooking and weightlifting. Shinji looses himself in his head. He'll sit on the old couch Hachi'd found on the side of the road two decades back, sprawled on his back with his feet and head hanging over the armrests. He'll spend hours like that.

Shinji is old. Older than Aizen and Urahara and any of the other Visored. He's one of the older Captains; younger than Unohana and Ukitake and Kyoraku, but decades the other Captains' senior.

He'd achieved Shikai quickly, had been hearing Sakanade's voice since before he got his hands on an asuachi. Bankai took him far longer. The average time Bankai training takes is a decade - Shinji was working with Sakanade for almost a century. He'd always got along with his zanpakuto, but harnessing Sakanade's power without loosing himself? That was harder.

He's bad at staying on one place. When he did do his paperwork, it'd never be sitting at his desk. He'd lay on the ground on his stomach, legs kicked up behind him; he'd sit on his desk with a stack of papers on his lap; he'd lay upside-down with his head near the wall and write with his papers against the wall and ink dripping on his face. In the human world, even if he does spend far too much time sulking on the couch, he'll shift from hanging over the back to sliding down until his head's on the floor.

He has terrible spice tolerance. Kensei cooks curry, sometimes, and Shinji'll just order out on those nights. Spicy food makes his eyes water and nose run and mouth burn, and he hates it.

For all of Shinji's moping and laying about, he really does enjoy doing things. He's the one to drag the Visored out for holidays and celebrations. He gets really into them, too; from specially ordering kimonos to hand-making everyone lanterns for Obon, he's throws himself into special occasions with a vigor that's very unlike his everyday self.

(The arcade in Karakura, a small decrepit-looking building next to a hair salon, has Shinji's name at the top of almost every high score list. On one or two of the games, Love's name is just under Shinji's. The arcade manager knows Shinji, calls out to him on the street: "Hirako! How're you doing?")

When Hiyori and Kensei are being a bit too loud, or when Shinji gets so antsy shifting positions on the couch doesn't settle him, he goes to the playground. He'll climb on the monkey bars and hang upside-down and talk to the kids around him.

Something that wears on Shinji especially hard is the secrecy the Visored need to maintain. Even around the humans, Shinji can't make too large an impression, can't make real friends. Sooner or later, they'd start wondering why Shinji doesn't age. The arcade manager's memory had to be removed, after a few years. When Shinji or the others leave their warehouse, they have to do their best to be unremarkable. When they slip up, sure, Urahara's there with a gadget to fix memories, but it's hard for Shinji to be unable to form a relationship with anyone outside of the Visored. For all of the ways his personality can be abrasive, Shinji really does like spending time with others.

Shinji got a Walkman as soon as they were available in stores. Even later, when cassette tapes were replaced with CDs, he still keeps batteries in his Walkman (even if he doesn't use it). If Rose collects instruments, Shinji collects music.

The other Visored find Shinji confusing. He personality contradicts itself. He spends days lounging on the couch not doing anything, but will suddenly decide that 'it's time for a family trip, guys, we're going to Tokyo'. They love him just the same, but wish he wasn't as high management.

(Shinji is old, yes, but there are times when he feels even younger than Mashiro and Hiyori.)

[littleeyesofpallas]

So i did a little thing on Kensei and his biker motif and that included his hollow form looking like he was made out of car parts. and i figure I might as well tackle Mashiro's hollow form now, since it's adjacent.

To start with, it should be noted that Mashiro has a whole thing going on with her right out the gate. Unlike the other Visored who all seem to have adopted some kind of passably human attire, Mashiro is out here running around in a super hero suit... The outfit itself pulls from some pretty clear influences:

The little stripey things down the chest are a look taken from Himitsu Sentai Goranger, the 1971 live action super hero show. In the team of five, each ranger has a number and a matching number of stripes down either side of the suit's front fastening zipper. Where as the ascot+jumpsuit is verymuch the definitive Kamen Rider aesthetic. It's also possible that her weird giant goggles and even her green hair are also meant to evoke the general look of Kamen Rider's helmet.

(it's really weird that her goggles just sort of sit on her head? they don't even appear to be connected to one another, let alone to her head... The only reason I even really identify them as goggle is actually because of her TBtP design replacing them with regular sunglasses, which retroactively makes it clear that they're definitely meant to be eyewear. (even if she never wears them, like some sort of digimon protagonist))

And, as usual, I've mentioned before(because i'm a broken record) that these are contemporary sources, as both shows came about in the 1970s, and are foundational works in the tokusatsu genre, and consequently the building blocks of the Power Rangers franchise. But I want to elaborate on that because there's a lot of cool trivia in there...

Both shows were created by legendary mangaka Shotaro Ishinomori, who was also the creator of the 1960s manga, Cyborg 009. Cyborg 009 also featured a team of uniformed, scarf wearing cyborg supersoldiers. In fact, Cyborg 009 is basically the first Japanese superhero team.(and remains an enduring classic, even as continual remakes and reboots in the past decade have butchered it....)

The uniforms, the 5 man team, the helmets/masks, the heroic scarf/ascot, the team poses(and the solo poses), the evil organizations and monsters of the week, the "<insert name> KICK!" all stem from this one man's body of work. So she's not just a throwback to one particular set of characters or shows, or even one person's body of work; her look really is quintessentially THE image of a Japanese superhero.

Anyway the original Kamen Rider helmet is designed after a grasshopper and thus has the big compound bug eye lenses --even as the later series drifted away from the bug theme, the iconic eye shape has stayed-- which is why Mashiro has the big goggles, as well as why her mask has the giant eye holes --Also the heart shape of the mask is a throwback to the heart shape of the Pink Ranger in Goranger.

As a grasshopper, the original Kamen Rider's finishing move was the now famously imitable RIDER KICK! And in every subsequent iteration, some variation on the Rider Kick has remained the Kamen Rider signature move. And this in turn is why Mashiro's hollow has a whole legs and kick focused thing going on.

Incidentally though, there's a whole thing about her demeanor that doesn't just echo the superhero look from the 70s; With her energetic and childlike demeanor, it seems like the indication is that she dresses this way very earnestly. She isn't just dressed in a way that makes her look like a superhero to us as readers, she looks like someone who is trying to dress like a superhero, even to other people in-world. On the one hand she probably reads most readily as a cosplayer, but I feel like the implication here is that she actually thinks she is/wants to be a super hero.

Also, not to dip too far into headcanon, but given the way the Visored were first introduced as a rag tag looking bunch of misfits, it really seemed like the implication was they all got their powers separately and sought eachother out only after struggling with their own inner hollows; Essentially just mirroring Ichigo's experience... That they, while human, started turning into hollows. They fought off the hollow process resulting in giving them shinigami powers. but they struggled with a growing inner hollow, until someone showed up and offered to teach them to control the mask.

Also, there was that real ominous throw away exchange where Mashiro brings up that the first time she pulled out her own mask it lasted 15 consecutive hours. and Kensei didn't believe her, as if he wasn't around when it happened, or isn't even closely acquainted enough to just know it as a personal fact... Obviously that's contradicted much later when the TBtP has her as his former lieutenant, but it has a few vague implications...

Mashiro: ね—ね— ベリたんてさ何でこんなことしてんだっけ?

Hey~ hey~ Why's Berry-tan doing this?

Kensei: 虚化状態を長時間キ—プする為の訓練だよオメ—もやったろ

It's training to keep Hollow state for a long time. You did it too

Mashiro: あたしやってないモン

I did not

Kensei: ンだと? ウソっけ...

What? That's a lie...

Shinji: ホンマや白は最初から15時間以上虚化できたからなァ一人だけ虚化保持訓練してへんねん

it's true. because Mashiro was able to Hollowize for more than 15 hours she's the one person who didn't do Hollow state training

As always there's just a lot to be reckoned with when it comes to any number of swerves that happened in the middle of the Arrancar arc, but given the implications of how the hollow mask really works, we're lead to believe the mask's overall power and effectiveness is one of two things...

Either, like the zanpakutou spirits, they're a matter of making peace with the reflection of the inner self.

OR it's possible that the mask correlates to a total lack of balance, and just embracing the selfishness

this would btw more readily address the initial conflict between old man Zangetsu and the inner hollow, as they're of course still one and the same, but Ichigo needs to accept and embrace the negative side of his inner self in order to make peace with both of them.

Anyway point being Mashiro's apparent lack of a need for training would suggest she's super in tune with her hollow? Given her childish and hyperactive personality, it might just be that she's so immature that she doesn't have much of an inner conflict. She wants to dress like a superhero? So she does. She's confused? she whines and asks annoying questions about it. She's frustrated or unhappy? She rolls around on the floor and throws a goofy little tantrum. She doesn't have shame or hangups or a part of her she wants to repress, she's exactly who she is.

Which makes me think that if they had just been a ragtag group that goes around recruiting new Visored when they find them, like they did with Ichigo(instead of just one group that had always been together, which was just a boring explanation) then I can't help but imagine that when they found Mashiro, she must have been running around in her human life actually being a superhero.

Oh right, and Kamen Rider is so named because he rides a motorcycle. So Mashiro's partyl based on a motorcycle riding hero, and the TBtP made Muguruma a biker gang leader. Which explains why they thematically fit on the same squad. But is hollow Muguruma supposed to be hollow Mashiro's iconic hero bike?

[matchasprouts]

Listen Closer - Chapter 2

[ your honour, i simply love him. also this may become my focus for a while so idk if The Walls and Ashes will keep getting semi-regular updates ]

First || Next || Previous || Last

“Do you ever think about making traps that aren’t iron maidens?” Amanda asked, looking up from her own work to watch Garrett attach a chain to a literal iron maiden.

Garrett glanced at her before scoffing and placing the collar on the chain down on the ground as he went around to the back of the maiden to check the pulley the chain was attached to. “I think about plenty of traps. Iron maidens are just my favourite. Would you rather I-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Amanda cut him off, already knowing he was about to spew some shit on medieval torture methods. “I was just curious. I mean, they work, so I’m not complaining. And it keeps you busy.”

Right. Because if he wasn’t building or designing a trap he was writing, and that would be falling back on what he was trying to unlearn.

When he went to respond, he was cut off yet again by his phone ringing. He answered it almost immediately, since the only people with that number were his Jigsaw associates. “Yeah?” he greeted, tucking the phone under his ear as he got back to work.

“Garrett. I am in the car, outside. I need your help,” came the voice of John through the phone, the way he spoke making Garrett chuckle to himself. “Be prepared to carry a person.” Oh! There was no scheduled game for today?

Garrett once again tried to reply, just for John to hang up. He let out an annoyed groan, but flipped the phone shut and tossed it on the table. “Don’t touch my trap,” he told Amanda, before pulling down his sleeves and jogging outside to help John.

He was ninety percent sure he heard her fucking with his trap as soon as he left.

---

“Who in the FUCK is this guy?” Garrett asked, struggling slightly to keep John’s newest victim standing, his limp body leaning heavily into him. Garrett was the strongest of the three of them, sure, and the second tallest but this guy was HUGE. He had to be at least 6’0, and carrying him was like carrying a brick wall.

John glanced at him, a vague amusement in his eyes but a neutral look on his face. “That, Garrett, is Detective Mark Hoffman. Normally I don’t go after cops if I had no evidence that they’re dirty, but he attempted to frame us, and I cannot tolerate that. Getting caught myself doesn’t matter. Keeping you and Amanda safe does.”

Aww, murder dad moments. Better than the dad Garrett used to have. “Right,” he let out a huff, readjusting Mark as he dragged him through the room, FINALLY dropping him into a chair in the middle of the workshop. “No wonder he’s a detective, the man’s a fucking giant.”

He stood in front of the still passed out detective, giving him a proper look over. He was big, like he’d already said, with short dark brown hair that had looked black outside. He had surprisingly well formed lips for a presumably cis white guy, and Garrett surprised himself with the thought that they looked awfully biteable.

Ah, there’s his gay instinct. He’d been wondering where it had gone, since it hadn’t fucked him over when he’d met that Adam Faulkner guy- who was definitely cute, but also now haunting him, which kind of ruins the appeal.

Moving on from that, Hoffman also had a little bit of scruff on his jaw, which Garrett quickly realized was what he’d felt on his temple while he was carrying him to the chair.

His little inspection was cut short when John began setting up the trap, strapping Hoffman to the chair with a shotgun strapped to his chest, the barrel directly under his chin.

“That doesn’t look very escapable,” Garrett joked, sending a short look to Amanda, who immediately looked away, at least having the decency to be embarrassed about her rigged traps.

“You would be surprised what human beings will do to escape entrapment,” John replied simply. “But this one is not built for him to escape from on his own. I’m going to make him an offer.”

He looked at his two apprentices, gesturing for Amanda to come over to them. “I want both of you to keep working on your games tonight, out of the warehouse. I know much about the detective, but not everything. I’m not going to risk him lashing out.”

Of course. John Kramer was nothing if not protective of his apprentices. Theoretically, Hoffman would fall into this category when the night was over. “Well, my iron maiden’s done,” Garrett said, glancing back at his newest device. “My game could take place soon, if not tomorrow. I know where the player will be.”

John nodded at this. “Good. Run your game then. If all goes as planned tonight, it will be good for our newest recruit to see one of you in action. Maybe he’ll learn something. Now go, both of you.”

Usually, Amanda argued when he dismissed her, but apparently she could see that he was serious, and simply packed her things and left. Garrett looked at Hoffman one last time before doing the same.

He could hear Hoffman begin to stir as he stepped out the door, and he found himself hoping that everything would go smoothly tonight.

Gay ass.

---

“Man, just carrying bodies is giving me a work-out,” Garrett muttered under his breath as he readjusted the woman slung over his shoulder, finally lowering her to the ground of the room her game would be taking place in.

As much as he wanted to do one of those big, multi-room games he’d seen John put on, he just didn’t have enough experience for those yet. So, it was a single room, with a single trap. Since it was small, he’d chosen someone with a small offense.

He’d even gotten to record the tape himself.

The collar let out a satisfying click as he fixed it onto the player’s neck, humming a soft tune as he gave it a tug to ensure it was one correctly.

There was a key for her to get in the middle of the room, just barely out of reach of the chain. She’d really have to get creative with getting to it. He checked the chain itself as well, ensuring it wouldn’t break off. He finished his check-up with a look at the hinges on the doors of the iron maiden, and the pulley attached to the chain.

The player was starting to stir, so he placed the tape recorder next to her and took his chance to leave. After all, if she survived, he really needed her to not see his face.

Soon enough, he took his place in the camera room, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the desk.

“Do you always watch your games like that?” he heard someone speak up, looking to the door that Hoffman had just come through. He tilted his head at the detective, before grinning at him.

“Sure do,” Garrett replied, turning back to the screens. “Well, I would, if this wasn’t my first game. Usually I’m tinkering with something while John’s games are running.”

The player had woken up by then, clicking the tape on and cutting off the conversation.

“Hello Cara. I want to play a game,” the tape said, the voice making Garrett smile. It had been hard work getting his distorted voice to sound similar enough to the original Jigsaw’s. “For years you have kept yourself in a closet of your own creation in order to help others rise above you, allowing them to steal your work.”

“Well, unless you want that closet to become your death, you will rise above that today. Before you is a box, and inside it is the key to your freedom. You will have to work to get it. You have ten minutes. If you do not get to the key in time, the closet behind you will become your coffin. Live or die, Cara. Make your choice.”

The tape clicked off after that, and Cara did exactly what Garrett guessed she would- run straight for the box and find out the hard way that the chain was just barely short of the required length to grab it.

“This is usually the part where they start screaming for help and panicking. I gave her ten minutes because I knew she would, and that’s when a lot of people tend to die. I wanted to give her a fair chance.”

That almost seemed nice, but it was a lie. Garrett liked watching them thrash around and panic. The more time they had alive, the more time they could slowly go insane.

Hoffman had moved closer at some point, now sitting next to him in a chair that he’d pulled over to the desk. This was the first time Garrett had seen him since last night, so he finally got a chance to look at his eyes.

For someone who wasn’t a fan of blue eyes, Garrett thought Hoffman’s were gorgeous. He very, very quickly looked away, turning his attention back to his game.

“Did you build the iron maiden yourself?” Hoffman asked, and Garrett scoffed at the question.

“No, unfortunately. I didn’t have enough time to build one from the ground up,” he answered with a soft, disappointed sigh. “I found most of it from a collector that built replicas of medieval shit, but never got around to completing it. I finished it off, added the extras.”

Hoffman gave a hum of acknowledgement, his gaze glued to the screen in front of them. “How is this supposed to help her? How did it even help you?” There it was. Since Hoffman hadn’t gone through a real game, he didn’t feel the same as Garrett and Amanda. He didn’t understand it like they did.

Garrett readjusted himself in his chair, tilting his head at the screen. “I don’t want to tear every person I see to shreds anymore,” he offered with a shrug. “I don’t feel like screaming for hours on end until my throat bleeds. I’d say it worked pretty well on me. Sometimes you just need that kind of release.”

“For her, she’s supposed to learn her worth. She’s not just the sum of what she can do for others, what’s more important is what she can do for herself. And she needs to figure that out. I don’t want her to die. Why would I? That’s not the point.”

He didn’t notice Hoffman turning to look at him while he spoke, so he almost flinched when he glanced over and made eye contact with him. They held each other’s gazes for a moment, before they both looked back to the screen.

Cara really was trying to get that box, having now resorted to removing her belt and attempting to loop it around the box. It took a few tries, but she finally got a grip on the box and pulled it over to herself.

She scrambled to open it, and Garrett glanced at the timer.

Eight seconds.

“She’s not going to make it,” he realized aloud. He hadn’t even noticed how quickly time was passing, but he didn’t feel anything when the timer went off, or when Cara screamed as the chain yanked back, dragging her into the iron maiden.

Her screams became wet and gurgled when the doors of the maiden closed on her. Blood seeped out of the cracks at the bottom of the door. He just stared at the screen.

“Huh. Maybe ten minutes wasn’t enough time. Shame. I was really looking forward to seeing her get better.” With that, he stood up, turned off the screen, and headed back to the room to leave the iconic jigsaw piece in her skin. Hoffman followed, and watched him do it. “Most important part, if they die,” Garrett told him as he cut the skin with a scalpel John had given him, closing the door again when he was done.

And then he turned to Hoffman, his head tilted to the side in a curious motion. “Will you be the detective on the case? I suppose this will be your first test of loyalty, hm? I’d hate to kill you. You’re very pretty.”

He gave Hoffman a pat on the shoulder as he left the room, leaving him to think on what he’d said. It wasn’t a threat, but it was clear that he would kill him if needed. But he genuinely did not want to.

A smile formed when he heard Hoffman follow him out of the room. It was nice to have another apprentice, and it was looking like they’d get along.

[aziraphalescloset]

Aziraphale at the Bastille Part 1

This costume is going to be a long process so I’m going to post about it in chunks. 

I think everyone who watched Good Omens who cares a whit for fashion fell in love with this confection of a costume: the angel Aziraphale in lace and frills and white satin pumps in a French jail, possibly about to be guillotined, until he’s rescued by a tall, dark demon.

(The left two pictures in the second image show the executioner, now wearing Aziraphale’s wasitcoat and frock coat, after Aziraphale miracled a costume swap.) Close examination of the costume reveals a couple of things: first, it’s actually kind of shabby-looking, and second, it’s out of date for 1793; by that time, men’s waistcoats and frock coats had become much shorter and more svelte, with smaller cuffs and coat fronts that sweep back, exposing more leg. Naturally, that’s what Crowley is wearing in the scene, though he’s dressed as more of a plebe than Aziraphale.

Now, Aziraphale looks a little shabby in modern times -- his waistcoat especially is very worn around the buttons and hem, presumably because it’s the same one he’s owned since Victorian times. But I’m not going to go to all the trouble of making this outfit and make it shabby, so I’m going to upgrade it when I make it in doll form.

Process photos after the jump.

First, I need a shirt. Again I’m turning to Thimbles and Acorns via Pixie Faire for the pattern for an 18th Century men’s shirt and stock. At this time, a man’s shirt served exactly the same purpose as a woman’s shift: it was a simple, comfortable, readily washable garment that separated the human (with its attendant grime and odor) from the clothes (which might be made of harsh fabrics and dyes). The tails were very long in order that they could tuck between the legs to act as a sort of underwear. In fact, the shirt was regarded basically as underwear; it was unseemly for more than the cuffs and collar to be visible, and the collar was always held closed with a tied neckcloth called a stock. The basic design of the men’s shirt remained unchanged for centuries. For those of you who are fans of the 1995 TV version of Pride and Prejudice, this is the garment that Colin Firth goes for a swim in, and for Elizabeth to stumble upon him, post-swim, still clad only in shirt and breeches, was really quite shocking!

Anyway, back to the matter at hand.

The Thimbles and Acorns pattern is fairly simple with a self-ruffle at the cuffs and neck. For Aziraphale I upgraded the cuffs to two layers of lace, and I added lace ends to the stock. I originally planned to use a very thin cotton batiste but it was just too transparent and was too stiff. So I’m using a white synthetic fabric of some kind, rayon or nylon or something. It’s a little staticky but it has a beautiful soft drape.

There is a lot of fiddly hand-sewing in these patterns to make facings that cover seams. This is the view through my magnifying lamp while I’m sewing the facing down over the front neck opening with its self-ruffle.

Finished shirt, without the buttons and button loops yet.

The next thing I did was adapt this pattern for Crowley. I have a Crowley doll that is a different type than Aziradoll. Aziradoll is an American Girl, which has a pretty wide, soft body compared to most such dolls. I found on eBay a used doll of a skinnier type, Just Pretend, Inc., with extremely weird pink eyes and red hair. It is roughly the same measurements as more popular skinny 18-inch dolls like Kids N Cats and Carpatina. So I modified the width of the shirt and made a few other changes to convert the pattern to Crowley’s size. No lacy frills for Crowley; it’s crisper self-fabric cuffs and stock. The fabric is just a regular acetate lining. It’s a little shiny, which seems suitable for a flash bastard like Crowley. Here’s a process photo of those self-fabric cuffs.

It’s still loose -- these shirts are supposed to be loose -- but fits the doll pretty well. Here’s a photo without buttons or stock.

Next step is breeches. Again, Thimbles and Acorns provides with this pattern for a George Washington military costume. I made the breeches almost straight from the pattern, using a really luscious-feeling crepe-backed satin. (The parts on the left are for a waistcoat, which I’ll post about another day.) The parts for these breeches are weirdly shaped -- these bear no similarity whatever to the cut of modern men’s trousers.

I discovered while making these that crepe-backed satin is a pain in the butt to work with. It seems like a very fine fabric, but it’s made of rather wide warp threads with very thin weft threads, and once cut it really wants to fall apart. It’s also desperately easy to accidentally pull a little weft thread and create what looks like a run in the fabric. My first assembly attempt ended in failure because the fabric started disintegrating around the tight corner at the junction of the drop front and the trouser leg.

I cut some new parts and substantially beefed up the interfacing around that seam. I also used a more stable cotton fabric for the invisible inner facings of the drop front and vents. It seems to be holding.

More assembly pics. Really interesting topologically.

Leg plackets. The detail in this bit is exquisite. If I ever need to sew a placket on any garment I’m creating from scratch, I’ll work from this pattern.

Drop front is sorted. It got a little off-center, I’m actually not at all sure how, but it didn’t matter in the end.

Adding the waistband.

Test fit. The next step after this was the sheer terror of buttonholes. I hate buttonholes. BUT I DID IT.

At least the terror of sewing buttonholes comes with the pleasure of selecting buttons. After a lot of agonizing (and, I’ll admit, some shopping), I eventually used some vintage pearl and mother-of-pearl buttons for the breeches. They’re Heavenly.

That’s it for shirt and breeches for Aziraphale. I’m working on the waistcoat, but more urgently, I need to replace those plain brown shoes with some gorgeous satin pumps. I also need to adapt that topologically weird breeches pattern for the smaller Just Pretend doll for Crowley. 

In the meantime, here are the two Ineffables lounging around in, basically, their underwear. How indecent!

[semi-imaginary-place]

I went on my yearly kubera binge over the last couple days reading approximately chapters 3-100 to 3-178, so here’s some thoughts.

Is still can’t tell what Currygom is doing by portraying so many unhealthy relationships. Is it criticism by showing all the angst they cause? Is is fetishism and indulgence? Does she think they’re neat??

Agwen and Kasak’s relationship is so broken oh wow. A big part of the problem is that Kasak never explains things and like you know... communicates. He just leaves things unsaid and implied but implied in front of everyone except Agwen.

Agni and Brilith love each other, but love isn’t enough for a relationship, you also need things like mutual goodwill, trust, regular effort, and communications. The two of them might love each other but they are missing some of the other fundamental aspects of a working relationship. Agni didn’t believe Brilith when she truthfully said that Ran attacked her. This shows the lack of trust they have for each other but also one of Agni’s biggest character flaws, that he always thinks he’s right. Agni is decently intelligent and has good judgement. He also trust absolutely in the truth of his insight. And Chandra notes of this, that while his insight is usually right, it isn’t always right. And the same goes for his judgements, he’s usually right but that isn’t the same thing as always being right. But Agni always puts his evaluation of the situation above that of anyone else’s.

Speaking of character flaws, one that Maruna has repeatedly demonstrated is how he underestimates his opponents or perhaps it is better to say he always believes he can win. Instances that I can think of off the top of my head are his various fight with Ran first in the Kubera illusion tunnel thing on Konchez, Ran again while they’re on they’re time traveling adventure, the first meeting with Asha in the timeless space, and his recent fight with Raltara.

I’m happy that we are getting a Maruna focused arc now haha awww the chicken is finally learning empathy. His denial is so funny like when he thinks of Ran. Given how he hadn’t figured out how to return to human form in the current N23 time, my guess is that he doesn’t reach 5th stage until the very end of this little adventure. And given how Agni could still use insight on him, he must not have taken the slow way to get back to the current time (ie. wait ?? billions of years). I’m still not used to his 5th stage human form, the round ears keep throwing me off.

Ok I also got to say that garuda clan 5th stage sura forms are just my aesthetic. where its like mostly human but some parts aren’t, and there’s a mask with long flowing hair and wings?? YES.

I’m not so fond of some of the side stories, there’s too much of like oh yeah and these people totally had romantic feelings. boo romance, give me more universe wide chess games. I will admit finding out that having a catgirl fetish is hereditary was pretty funny. those sexy sexy cat yaksha ears...

I think I finally understand the Teo-Menaka situation. (also that Gandharva’s original and truest form is a baby makes so much sense given how he acts like a baby). Baby Gandharva took the name “Gandharva” from Menaka who was suppose to have it and Menaka risked herself to save him. Menaka then made a deal with Kali to take on Gandharva’s sins and when she died Kali took her soul and made it into Taraka to act as a mother to Yuta. Teo and Taraka are killed at similar times and original Teo soul is used to form a new Taraka free of their role as mother. When Teo is revived, it is with Menaka’s soul. And thus they live like this for 7 years. Until again new Taraka and new Teo are again killed at about the same time. Menaka’s soul then takes on the sins accrued by Teo’s original soul while living as Taraka and is eliminated by Gandharva. oh and Leny has original Airavata’s soul and Chandra planned to get her killed using the knowledge he gained from his insight of what current Airavata-Kinnara told Leny. And Ann has Saha’s soul.

The universe in Kubera is highly ordered and structured and I think its enforced morality systems are flat out wrong. Various things a being does during its life can incur “sin” and at death a human may be punished in hell, go to paradise, or reenter the reincarnation cycle. It is a sin to kill a human, but not a sin to kill a sura despite both being living sentient and sapient beings. And at the beginning of the universe, It was only sura, whose souls would not return after death with ancient humans being reincarnated and gods reforming after a while. For that matter, sura were designed to lose from the start. A species that only gets weaker each generation and to whom death is final, the system was design against them from the start.

The series is honestly really cishet-normative. There as a couple being with nonbinary sexes/genders like Pingara and Hura, but the fact that nastika who can all change their sex at will all identify as either male or female in gender binary brainrot. And then to these being with fluid existences, they only form romantic relationships when one partner’s sex is male and the other’s is female???? and its considered highly deviant if both are in male form???? bullshit. (this is from the old version of the Finite when people comment on Vasuki living together with Taksaka before Vasuki took on female form to avoid succession of the Anata clan). Oh and then male forms are on average stronger than female forms? Why would you hardcode in misogyny into your universe???? ... So Currygom’s a conservative... truly a shame.

god Kubera’s lance can steal names as Kinara used it to steal original Airavata’s name. Kubera then used it to take Ananta’s name, but he could not hold two names and the name “Kubera” shattered and its power split between all the various humans named Kubera. The name “Ananta” somehow got attached to “Kubera” and so shattered with it, leaving the god kinda nameless. Sagara and Asha as well as others then worked on gathering the fragments of “Kubera”/”Ananta”

I really like Laila... when she finally stabbed Chandra I was cheering.

And shess was totally going to kidnap one of Ran’s kids to exchange for Leny.

From what Currygom has shown so far, Personality is determined by the interplay of soul of memories/experiences. When Teo’s soul changed her personality also changed, not a lot but with Menaka’s soul she was more of a worrier, trying very hard to excel at everything from swordplay to managing the city, while with Teo’s original soul back she’s a bit more laidback. Siera’s soul did not change but his knowledge of the universe radically did in a short period of time and with it his world view and this drastically changed his personality. This is just my speculation here but perhaps each soul determines the the possibilities for personality and experience determines which one it will be?

Ran is becoming closer to a sura. We do not know how long Ran spent in the white space with Maruna not that time has any meaning there but with their short lives, it certainly wasn’t something a human was designed to experience and we can see this in the difference in how Maruna and Ran deal with the experience. Yet, experiencing that and living through it, Ran approximated what life is like for a sura. We can see the results of his experience journeying through time in him attacking Brilith. Ran by then has gained more... oneness with his sura powers and his personality has changed. But because modern human bodies are not suited for holding large amounts of experiences, the sudden injection of many experiences destabilizes the person and we see this with both Brilith and Ran. A lot of the confusion and sudden shifts in demeanor is probably from this. Him lying about using the eye of punishment was probably his mind trying to reconcile what pre-time travel Ran knew about the Eye and the fact that Maruna is now 5th stage

[solitariusdeluna]

Opinion time: Whether or not Coyote Starrk is deserving of his rank as the PRIMERA

Spoiler alert: he’s completely deserving. 

As the title of suggests, this is going to be a very very very long part rant part facts piece about why Coyote Starrk deserves to be the Primera Espada, contrary to what sp many in the fandom think. Brace yourselves, fam. 

So it’s no real surprise that way too many people have taken it upon themselves to question if he was ever worthy of being the first Espada and that’s simply because he’s super underrated and hardly got any screen time except when he duked it out with Kyoraku. 

Let’s begin with the guy himself. I mean he’s not your regular baddie now, is he? And that makes him rather original in the bleach universe tbh. For a “villain” and given his stature, he’s not all that antagonistic. Like at all. Not even a tiny bit. Out of all the characters in bleach, he’s practically the only guy who actively doesn’t give a sh*t or even care about the HUGE battle that he was taking part in. 

And it’s because of that very sentiment that people often mistake him as being lazy and just wanting to get it over with so he can go nap since well, that’s like the only other scene that we saw him in. By design, he’s also quite the understated character and given his position as the first Espada, he’s meant to come off as the underdog. 

Especially when you consider that Barragan is the second Espada. Okay, and we all know that Barragan is supposed to be that ALL POWERFUL RULER OF HUECO MUNDO! We’re supposed to think that Barragan is supposed to be number one then and when it turns out that Starrk actually is, it’s supposed to subvert your expectations as to what makes a powerful character within this army. 

But going back to his design, even if it looks less flashy than most, I think he has the best design among many in the series. He’s definitely quite the looker, i mean look at those cheekbones! And that wavy brown hair and his striking grey-blue eyes and his tall stature. He’s not flashy but he’s definitely handsome. 

He’s also the forgotten Espada, unfortunately. Because despite his position as being numero uno. He really doesn’t show up quite a lot in the Arrancar arc and his fight with Shunsui actually doesn’t take that long either. Not only that, he doesn’t get a volume cover, and he’s also one of the only Espada, it’s only him and Aaroniero that don’t face a single bad guy in the story. 

And this is just one of the few reasons that people seem to think that maybe Starrk didn’t really deserve his position at the top. When compared to Espada like Barragan and Ulquiorra who have very extravagant attacks and abilities, Starrk in comparison comes across as a wee bit plain. 

So when think cero attacks, they’re so over the top and cool, right? But even though Starrk can practically wield his ceros in manner that none of the other Espada or arrancar can, no one seems to notice. I mean he just has to stand there and it just happens, all on its own. No pick up your finger and point like pew pew pew the way Ulquiorra does, or just rage shoot it out of his entire hand as though he’s shoving someone into oblivion the way Grimmjow does. 

As noted by Shunsui, unlike other Arrancar, he can apparently fire a Cero without a "fighting pose", meaning he can fire it without any warning from body gestures. Starrk can do it without any gestures. He can fire it from various points on his body such as his chin or chest and he also charge and fire it rather quickly without any warning, leaving even less time for his target to react. 

Starrk’s got guns. Big guns. and they’re pretty badass too especially when you consider the details on the sides and all. But when you compare them to a skeleton with a crown that can dissolve you to the bone, well... it can pretty much be hard to justify why starrk is numero uno while barragan is number two. 

Now yeah we all heard the age old argument that all over the fandom that Barragan is actually meant to be number one and is only number two because Aizen put him there to insult him and wanted to deflate his big fat ego plenty. I can see that and it might make some sense but it totally and completely isn’t doing Starrk as a character and a fighter any justice.

Now in spite of his relatively short amount of panel and screen time and given that his abilities are not as impressive as some of the other Espada and by impressive you know i mean showy as heck, I’m gonna lay the facts why Starrk is deserving of his rank at the top of the Espada ranks even if he was not the most memorable character ARGUABLY. 

Point#1 Let’s talk reiatsu:

Going off the main canon reason we have to go off the ranking of the Espada is that they are ranked by their reiatsu. Starrk has an abnormally large amount of it compared to almost every other character in the series. His reiatsu was so vast that it killed mountains amounts of hollows and that’s even after he split his power into, an entirely second person, Lilynette. And unlike every single other arrancar and that goes for mister surprise bullshit twist zero espada yammy, Starrk’s zanpaktou is not his power. That was more of a prop for him as wiki states; Sheathing his sword, Starrk, calling Lilynette over, reveals he and Lilynette are one: while other Hollows split their power into their sword and body, they split into two bodies instead, and once they are one again, their full power will be released. 

Now whether it was starrk or lilynette that was the original body -- which is going to be a case of the chicken or the egg type of deal tbh. but my headcanon in this regard would be that their hollow being was a huge collection of souls amassed over time and it existed for ages upon ages. but then starrk and lilynette’s souls seemed to be the strongest out of the whole bunch so basically that’s why it’s them who’s the representative power of that original hollow they were a part of and now with starrk being the stronger one of the two since he’s the older one. 

But getting back to Starrk’s zanpaktou, lilynette is his source of power and basically his zanpaktou. While every other arrancar turned their power into a blade. According to bleach lore, the size of a person’s zanpaktou is relative to their reiatsu. Going off of that, starrk has managed to condense his reiatsu into the smallest form that it could be and that is that of a human child. But also again the two them combined even after being split up, are enough to kill mountains of hollow. That’s how powerful they are. 

special note: when starrk decided to follow aizen, he did it out of his reasoning that, hey i know this guy isn’t going to die because our killer power so yeah, why not? let’s do this. 

Anyhoo, since their reiatsu is absolutely and utterly crushing for any hollow that comes within their proximity. hollows that aren’t particularly powerful but still okay. still. no one else can do that so suck on that, haters! Not even this guy:

the self proclaimed and all powerful king of hueco mundo aka barragan louisenbairn. who just so happened to be sat in a court of hollows, like a whole bunch of them. and yet, none of them were getting killed. none of them. not with his reiatsu alone. so. yeah. 

moving on.

Point#2 Starrk’s battles:

So this is where the real meat of the argument of why he’s deserving of being the primera espada comes in. Putting aside the fact that starrk wasn’t the least bit interested in the whole battle thing and didn’t have the blood lust or duty bound attitude like the rest of the espada -- and that’s because he’s pretty much indifferent to things in the first place. We know that he’s unmotivated which comes across as very lazy to most people aka that whole omg starrk is a fucking lazy bitch thing that most of the people in the fandom go on about...

He’s not lazy. He’s unmotivated. There is a difference. It comes with his nature of being very apathetic and uncaring. I personally like to think that he doesn’t care to exert energy into things that don’t really matter.  But I digress. 

At the start of his fight, starrk is very clearly not even trying and he says so himself a bunch of times. Even though kyoraku was trying to pretty much kill him and get this thing over with, starrk not once retaliates in kind. Which makes this INCREDIBLY UNUSUAL for a bleach fight and villain. And a top tier bleach villain at that, and that’s what makes him interesting. He’s not your regular sort of villain. If one can even call him that really. 

Anyhoo, let’s stop and actually consider the caliber of opponent that starrk is up against. It’s one of the oldest captains of the gotei 13 and a disciple of old man yama-jii himself. So that’s something in itself, okay? 

Let’s take a quick detour though:

And bring back barragan into the picture, mostly because he’s the one who’s supposedly meant to be the primera espada right? (psst, wrong. like really.) Barragan is all about the pizzazz and show and bling bling. I mean look at him, he’s pretty much decked out in the best gold complete with a little crown on his head too. 

Barragan is powerful, there’s no denying that. And he knows it. That’s the contrast between Starrk and him though. He knows his power and his unrelenting about his use of it. Because he wants people to know that he’s strong unlike starrk who just doesn’t give a flying monkey’s arse. And when barragan activates his release form we get a tremendously awesome and stunning display of power in the way in which he manages to reduce Soifon’s hand into nothing but it’s bare bone. That was frightening and it was one of those moments that was meant to stay with you as a observer. Because it oozes the sentiment that, this guy should not be trifled with. 

The difference is however, unlike starrk, barragan is not consistent. Barragan’s fight goes downhill right after that kickass moment of him dissolving soifon’s hand muscles away. and that was the best part of that fight.

detour over. 

Okay, now back to starrk (the one and only and deserving primera).

Starrk in his battle with Kyoraku manages to stay consistent. Something that Barragan failed to do. Barragan is just not on the same level as starrk for a number of reasons.

1. Starrk has a personality that is just not seen among all the other arrancars. He’s cool. He’s calm. And he’s collected. But he’s also incredibly intelligent and ridiculously observant, on a level that we just don’t even see in the series. He was quick enough to observe that Kyoraku was actually ambidextrous despite his trying to hide that as best as he can. He was also able to figure out that Ukitake’s zanpaktou was able to do after seeing it three times in action. 

2. He is strategic. That’s exactly why he was able to figure out how to best beat Rose and Love WHO BY THE WAY WERE ALSO CAPTAIN LEVEL OPPONENTS SO STARRK FOUGHT NOT ONE BUT FOUR CAPTAINS -- Again, suck on that, haters! Ahem, anyhoo. A battle is won not only by force and power but also by strategy. But also in one’s ability to keep a cool head and be quick enough to able to adapt to the situations as they arise. Which starrk was able to do throughout his encounters with those four different captains. 

3. He is not an Urahara/Askin type of character, those guys are more known for being able to continually use their wits and are something of deus ex machina in their own right in that regard. The type of characters who you know are really really powerful but are downplaying it or hiding it so much. 

4. From the start of his battle with kyoraku to the time ukitake (the other discipline of yama-jii and old timer captain of the gotei 13)  turns up, Starrk didn’t take a single hit. He doesn’t get hit, once. And that is just badass, especially given the fact that he was going up against ukitake, kyoraku, rose and love. In his resurreccion, starrk was able to keep a level head and access the situation all while dodging every single attack he was thrown with. And despite kyoraku’s tendency to fight dirty and sneaky. Still, starrk managed to dodge, everything. Starrk’s ability to control the battlefield with his ceros and simultaneously dodge everything these two old and very high level captain class characters throw at him is pretty much nothing short of impressive if you ask me. But wait, there’s more. 

5. Once ukitake and kyoraku are taken out of the fight, starrk goes up against Love and Rose. You know, the hollowified and presumably strengthened tremendously because of that fact captain level guys that were exiled to live in the world of the living. So that’s back to the point I made early which is pretty badass in its own right and NO ONE ELSE HAD TO DEAL WITH MIGHT I ADD! He was dealt with the TOUGHEST fighters around. Clearly. But you know what was cool? Starrk was literally toying with them, the entire time. He did take a hit because of Love when barragan died but it was like him just laying there and being something of a comedic moment and he wasn’t the least bit hurt. He wasn’t even being serious the entire time and then his awesome bomber wolves wiped them out -- even though it’s still highly doubtful he was fully into the fight even then but. that was that. 

Speaking of those awesome bomber wolves;

His resurreccion’s other special ability aside those mad cero shooting skills and he summons his army of spirit wolves and that was his moment to shine pretty much. These wolves decimated Rose and Love with ease and starrk didn’t even have to move from his spot. not once. 

Now if we go back to barragan though, he was pretty much freaking out and got half his skull clearly wiped out of his head when he got hit and he was pretty much losing his mind. But that’s because of his personality and that pompous being he is that ended up holding him back. Compared to starrk who remained in control and completely so, the entire time he fought with all these strong opponents. 

BUT CONVERSELY;

Okay, so he held his own against four captains but then he didn’t fight a bankai and ended up losing to a shikai. When we take that into consideration, well, yeah. that does sound really bad. not gonna lie. Being the first espada in Aizen’s army killed by a shikai.

Except, we have to take into account with everything that was mentioned thus far, Starrk was winning the fight with ease. He was in control of the entire battle from start to finish, hardly took any damage even though he went through kyoraku, ukitake, love and rose. He was always on top of his game throughout and he wasn’t even into the whole fighting thing okay. that’s the main point here. 

He was crushing it. Starrk was winning it. Especially after he wiped out Rose and Love. Until Kyoraku emerged from the shadows and took a stab at him. It was in this battle that we learned more about Kyoraku’s personality when in battle and we find out that he’s pretty much not afraid to be sneaky and low-ball his opponents. And that’s because according to me, he’s pretty much got that mindset that “all is fair in love and war, baby.” 

Kyoraku’s unapologetic and that’s pretty awesome of him. Plus, given that he was up against starrk and he noticed how things were going, he decided to up things and go all out without using his bankai. Which he was actually considering by the way, but Ukitake was all no, man. don’t you dare at him so he didn’t. But this was why Kyoraku decided to literally...

...stab starrk in the back. 

And just end this once and for all. And there was no way starrk could have gotten out of that scenario because it played perfectly into kyoraku’s hands. And even Rose and Love didn’t expect it, because in the world of bleach, it’s just not etiquette to come crashing into someone else’s fight -- which was exactly what Kyoraku does. 

Love and Rose were just superbly outmatched and kyoraku saw an opportunity and he just goes ahead and stabs starrk in the back. And it was that stab that finished it. Game over. 

It takes starrk right out of the game. Because from that moment onwards, starrk’s head just wasn’t in the fight anymore. It was so dirty and he didn’t like and he was supposed to be the bad guy. 

Tut tut, kyoraku. 

Anyhoo, Starrk didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to fight. He gets a little bit into it and takes out Love and Rose. But when Shunsui stabs him in the back and rattles him. It caused Lilynette to step up and sacrifice herself for his sake but from then on it was just what was the end all for him at that point. He was thrown into an emotional tailspin that shook him to his core, ended his reasoning and that entirety of calmness he had throughout his battle. 

That was seriously heartbreaking to watch too. He lost the other half of his soul and one can only imagine the type of pain that brings about. It weakened his resolve and when your opponent’s resolve to fight is weak, well then, of course you’ll be the victor and that was exactly what happened. 

Shunsui won. But he won dirty. 

But if you consider that he went up against two of the oldest and high level captains and two hollow strengthened captains and still held his own until he was dealt that unfortunate blow, starrk is pretty damn well deserving of his rank as the primera espada. He is not the primera because barragan was slighted by aizen. He’s the primera because he held his own pretty darn well despite not feeling it at all.

 And that’s the end of that, friends. Show respect for starrk. He’s the primera and he deserves it. 

#PROTECTSTARRK2020

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

HGPC 17 - 21 | Koi to Producer 2 - 6 | Appare 5 - 8 | Fugou Keiji 4 - 6

...only just realised I was missing some tags. They should be there now or soon.

HGPC 17

Why do I get the feeling the Sawaizumi family will be held hostage one day…? (Maybe I’m just being negative?)

The episode title mentions Chiyu by name, so I wonder why the translation didn’t…

Customer service! You can’t get away from it, even in COVID times…! (Impressive!)

Hmm…you can actually read part of the booking for the Smiths in the book if you know the kanji.

I thought the Smiths would speak in English, but they actually speak in fluent Japanese if the word “susume” was any indication.

Ah, Sukoyaka sweet buns! (from the other episode about the festival)

HGPC 18

Don’t burn down your house with scented candles, kids!

Also remember to use your knees when lifting heavy boxes! (<- says a charity store volunteer, who does this stuff on the regular)

These days the mascots usually have a human form. I wonder if this is implying that particular direction…? (I woke up today and was craving a certain oneshot I’d read during my scanlation days…if it is, it would fill that niche nicely.)

I wonder if the kids will recognise this Ashita no Joe parody…?

HGPC 19

“…since you were young?”

Oh! Element of Wind again!

Koi to Producer 2

This almost feels like Victor is assigning a school project to Protag-chan…it’s a bit sad, really.

It’s nice they let Protag-chan have a personality.

It’s fine if you can’t read the katakana, but Gavin’s name is Haku in Japanese, so it throws out the immersion somewhat…also, I know I shouldn’t be complaining – I’m the target audience here – but do these guys look kinda similar or what…? (partially kidding)

High school sweethearts, huh? “Childhood friends” is my favourite angle of a romantic relationship, but it gets so overused by harems it comes around to being boring…!

I-Is this Stand My Heroes…?! (LOL…?)

Can we not with 1st person cam…?

As cute and dorky as this stuff gets…how does Gavin never get found?! Does nobody ever look up in this city?!? (I thought Evolvers were meant to be a secret…?)

GPS tracker? That’s no better than large corporations using your location data…Isn’t that creepy…?

Hold on, when did she get his phone number? You would assume it was before this entire chase after the boy happened, but still…?

LOL, the English on the board.

This anime is gonna cause me some frustration, but it gives the good stuff in roughly equal measure. It seems to omit the fact you interact via phone with your bois for intimacy (in the game).

Koi to Producer 3

LOL, that’s so clearly Gavin…

By googling, you find out Uptown and Queens are in New York.

Ohmygosh! Did the creators know I love the trope where only people with superpowers can move in certain circumstances?!

Uh…his name is Kira in Japanese? Did someone read the katakana wrong?

Pictured: Depressed bishonen eating bad pudding. (…That joke sounds better in my head. I forgot what meme I was meant to be parodying there, but I had a meme in mind.)

Lemme guess…this man (I dunno if it’s one of the previous bishies with an identical face or a new one) is looking for MC-chan. *sigh* Update: Yep, just Victor again. To be honest, I don’t like anyone who calls harsh words “their sign of love” – love should be honest and upfront. That’s how it becomes heartmelting.

Koi to Producer 4

Okay, in order, it seems to be hexadecimals, Javascript (you can tell from the “const”), some kind of profiles which are apparently for human lab rats (which seem to have some kind of nonsense filler text), a DNA model and DNA bases (ACGT).

The text on the screen says something along the lines of this being an official broadcast of this man’s arrest and this man was a genetic researcher. Obviously, if I wanted to put more attention into what it meant, I would, but I won’t sweat the details this time (because it doesn’t seem to impact the plot).

The guy’s name is Minor because minor key (geddit?)…that’s my guess.

I started playing the game due to this anime, if you didn’t know, and I unlocked an expert in ch. 2. I thought he was Minor, but turns out his name is Spine (an older man).

The diary, true to form, contains details about either one case or several cases, two involving children. The bottom of the 1st page says “if it’s fake, I’ll laugh”.

Hey, I once told Crunchyroll I wanted an anime about hacking (so is this a dream come true? I reveal all in the next sentence!). Hackers don’t congregate like this…they’d be too conspicuous, even with the secret hideout!

The code in the top left appears to be…C? I think? (Note they declare “unsigned int”.)

Kiro sometimes reminds me of Masayoshi (SamFlam)…it puts a derpy smile on my face.

*blah blah blah I’m Key* - Wuh…? F*** you, Kiro!!! (There is such a thing as piling too much cool stuff on to a character, y’know – I’m guilty of it in my own writing.)

3684 isn’t a very safe password (says someone who once aspired to be in cybersecurity).

What bugs me is that Simon is a perfectly fine name…it’s just a bit boring. Kiro/Kira I get (a bit), but Lucien/Simon…? *shrugs*

Ohh! Based MAPPA! Thank you for making this adaption look great!

Koi to Producer 5

Oh, I got an SR in the game recently and it has a line like, “Only a fool stays up all night to do others’ work. Victor talks like that a lot…

The sign so obviously says “Renka”, meaning “love flower”. “Loveland” really is a step down from that…

Where’s Gavin’s guest badge…?

“Happiness Noodle Store”…?

“…the end of our first year…”

If this weren’t a Chinese work by origin (or Japanese work by translation), I’m sure Protag-chan would have gone after Gavin, despite being told the contrary.

Kanya = Minor. I’ll take a note of that.

One of the books behind Minor says “Gale Start”…hmm…

That GPS tracker is still unintentionally creepy, IMHO.

Koi to Producer 6

…oh. (dejected) Probably a beach episode or something.

What the actual heck was going on with Lucien…? It’s like he was having a tiny stroke there…

Lucien’s power is listed as “???” in the game. I thought he was an aura-reader when he said “show me your colour”, but that shield thing he did means he might just have various psychic powers…? *shrugs* We’ll find out eventually.

Running in heels is hard…

LOL, that’s so clearly recreating a CG from one of the cards.

This is the 2nd time this has gone pseudo-isekai. As much as I like to joke about it…I fully expect someone to be sent to another world at this point.

I couldn’t possibly see Victor on any kind of game show, come to think of it.

Appare 5

This guy’s middle name is “Rich”! That’s silly!

A boombox from the 19th century…makes sense, somehow.

I only just (?) realised Al has a tiny tie on his usual outfit.

Back to the beginning already…just start!

Appare 6

…I just realised Appare mouths “I got it!” in the OP.

Al Lion (sic…?)

Isn’t Sofia in that train…? Update: She might have been, she might not. Hard to tell when they don’t confirm.

This series seriously could’ve done with a dub…Even with weird hokey Hetalia accents, it would be good stuff.

These bunches of people at designated points…reminds me of the book I was reading while in Japan. The Long Walk by Stephen King (part of a compilation). It still gives me shivers down my spine when I remember it.

This “leave in the middle of the night” thing reminds me of the Amazing Race.

“Valley of Despair” is made-up, but Death Valley exists. It’s one of the hottest places on earth, hence the name.

LOL, Kosame scores himself one (1) prarie dog and two (2) Hototos.

I thought Appare was being inconsiderate at first…but he’s being considerate, in his own way.

Oh! I didn’t realise, but Saito Soma is Al.

Appare 7

“It’s not one plus one, but one times one!” – LOL.

Hybrid engine? In the 1900s? Hmm…

LOL, I think Al just did a hadouken.

This stuff’s like an animated Galaxy Brain meme! It’s amazing!

I managed to successfully predict – without watching ahead – Appare would catch himself with his traps.

Kosame with his hair down…is rare. Not exactly attractive because we have to care about the racers rather than lust after them (and the artstyle actually prevents me from doing so, because it’s deliberately quite cartoony), but it’s rare.

Appare is surprisingly childish…that’s what makes him more than a Sheldon Cooper, I think.

The spelling of the place is actually “Ely”, if Google-sensei is any indication. C’mon, subbers! You’re American (most likely)! Can’t you put in the legwork (or the Google-fu) to discover what place in Nevada this is?!

Subbers make characters say “shit” a lot in this show, hmm? (contemplative)

Now this evil guy here *points to screen*…that’s hair I like.

Appare 8

I just love this OP…don’t you?

I like how the steam/gas boat/car has Chinese numerals on its dial.

Kosame means “small rain”, so “heavy rain” is obviously to contrast that.

The Hototo joke never gets old.

I thought I just saw someone leave the saloon…

Nice hair + terrible face = bad equation.

I can almost imagine the wee-oo-wee-oo-ooooooo…wah-wah-wahhh…(You know the one sound snippet, right? The one theme from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly - or whatever movie it is – that maybe involves a tumbleweed rolling across the screen, and then a huge shootout? If you don’t know it, play a sample on this Wikipedia page!) playing in the background.

It’s convenient the prarie dog didn’t appear when Hototo (old) had his revenge spree.

I noticed there’s a bit of a mark under Kosame’s left eye…it suggests that he’s been crying (or maybe it shows tiredness from the race…?), but it’s not that noticeable.

So that’s the real Gil…and tose were his henchmen that threatened to hang everyone bar Kosame. Got it.

(notes to self) So, for charting a course with Appare Ranman!, it’s Los Angeles -> Death Valley -> Ely -> Denver -> ??? -> New York. Got it.

Fugou Keiji 4

“Daisuke-sama” isn’t “Lord Daisuke”, it would be “Sir Daisuke”, I think…but “lord” has a proper translation in Japanese.

The truck has a Shinagawa licence plate. Anime really does like Shinagawa, huh? (Based on ID: INVADED and this.)

I think it’ll be interesting to see Kambe handle this without HEUSC.

The board for Sanchome (which is equivalent to a suburb…or a county, I guess?) has posters saying stuff like “take your dog poop home” and “let’s protect the environment!” (technically, it says “let’s protect the region/area!”, but that doesn’t translate right. There’s even a flea market. Still, those posters don’t have any big hints…not that I know of so far.

I kind of forgot that dude was the gardener for Kambe’s house…er, mansion.

I noticed a poster in the kouban says haru (spring) on it. That’s probably the same one that Haru’s name is signified by, assuming that’s not in combo with another character or few.

Oh great…the sister is an overbearing one.

Ahh…he doesn’t like natto. So that’s the problem. Daisuke is childish (like Appare)…Note I don’t like natto either, but I wouldn’t run away from home (or similar) because I was fed natto.

I noticed Kambe uses shinseki (which doesn’t refer to close family). “Relative” is a correct translation of that word, I just wanted to check that word was the right one for the context.

There’s a green tea bottle by the sink…I don’t think I’d mistake that shade of green for anything else.

LOL, I didn��t think we’d actually get to see Kambe with his hair “down”, so to speak. It’s…an interesting look, for sure.

Oh my gosh! It cost him (Haru) $15!!! (LOL, cheapskate…says the cheapskate…*suddenly droops and stops laughing*) Update: Sorry about the sudden downer there. I was having what the kids these days call a “woke moment”…at least, I think that’s how they use that term.

…I’d watch that crime drama. It’s funny.

Just realised Kato has an older model of phone than Kambe does.

This episode was kinda like a Tokyo Sonata kind of thing, huh? The sensational in the middle of the not-so-sensational…”sensational” for this show, anyway.

Those kids look like the ones from Erased.

*lightbulb goes off in brain* What if the dog went to Kambe’s…?

Can Suzue actually hear HEUSC while Kambe is using it…? $2.46 though…that is cheap, in comparison to the ham.

This was the cheapest episode so far (about $550)…probably because it was an insight into Kato’s life, more than Kambe’s.

Fugou Keiji 5

The flag seems to be based on Cameroon’s (which is in Africa, not America) and the “Arita Kinen” seems to refer to Arima Kinen, meaning this episode is set around Christmas-ish. Credit goes to Kambe Zaibatsu on this show.

I-It’s a Humvee!

Polyadoll (sic)…?

The Poliador guy speaks perfect Japanese…(?)

The star! It’s a key thingy!

I thought Kamei was the 1st Division dude with the reddish hair. Turns out it was the blonde…? Update: Redhead is Hoshino.

Ummmmmm…he was reading porn…? Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh…okayyyyyyyyyyyyy…

…oh, the costs for Kambe’s tuxedo are on there. So’s the cost for repairing the bike Suzue rode.

Fugou Keiji 6

I never knew there were so many money proverbs to be used as episode titles…

What is Kambe doing with his hands…? He’s not even using the computer.

Imura seems to use a Windows 10 with Cortana on the taskbar.

HGPC 20

What’s with all the Naruto running this episode…?

HGPC 21

(no notes, sorry!)

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Unchanged

Summary: Three hundred years after he was first turned, vampire Gold meets up with an old -very old- friend. The times have changed, but she never does...

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling moodboard prompt, available here. 

Rated: T

CW: Vampires, blood

=========

Unchanged

Although it was fifty years since he last saw her, he would recognise her anywhere. She'd had different hair colours, different styles, and of course, her mode of dress changed with the seasons to allow her to blend in perfectly with her hunting ground. She was never the same woman twice, and yet, Gold could always know her in a crowd.

They knew their own, of course. Like always called to like, something about their difference being a beacon to their own kind, almost like a light shining out stating that they were a kindred spirit, and guard could be lowered a little around them. Not lowered entirely, after all, they were predatory creatures, territorial. But there was no need to hide their true nature around their own kind, and the ability to talk about their true lifestyles once in a while was very freeing. 

Even without that natural attraction to other nightwalkers, Gold would still know Belle anywhere. He'd heard it theorised that they would always recognise and be drawn to their sires, but he'd never known the connection be as strong as his to Belle in any other of their kind. 

He stopped inside the doorway of the bar, watching her for a moment. She was playing the barfly tonight: hair in a messy bun, backless shirt showing bra straps and mini-skirt showing miles of sweet, creamy thigh. The expensive cocktail on the bar in front of her was naturally undrunk, no doubt bought for her by the enamoured young man who was obviously falling under her spell. What a shock he would get when he learned the true meaning of having a drink with Belle. 

She seemed to sense his presence then, turning to the doorway and giving him the sultry smile that he had first seen three hundred years ago, the smile that had led to his doom. Although, he was used to it now. He didn't consider it doom quite as much. Not if he had Belle as a constant in his unchanging immortality. 

They didn't see each other regularly. Sires never did take much care of their charges after turning them and teaching them the basics of vampirism. It was not a desire for companionship that drove them to turn, more a need to keep their population alive, unable to reproduce by far more pleasurable human methods. As long as there was a steady supply of humans being turned, then they would cancel out those of their kind that they lost to sunlight, or hunters, or other regrettable accidents. 

Belle summoned him over with an imperious nod of her head, the young paramour instantly forgotten as she laid eyes on him, and she turned her head to present her cheek for a kiss. It was always the way that he had greeted her, even back when he had been a human falling under her spell as thoroughly as the man at the bar. 

"Why is it that we always meet in drinking establishments?" he asked. 

Belle shrugged. "I find them to be easy hunting grounds. The haze of alcohol makes everything seem so much better, makes everyone seem so much more beautiful whilst they don't realise just how vulnerable they are."

She flashed him the barest glimpse of her fangs, primed and ready for the kill. Oh, she was certainly on the hunt tonight, and there was something bright in her eyes that Gold recognised from many encounters gone by. She was not just hungry for blood. 

Gold felt a familiar stirring in his own loins. It was a long time since he'd taken pleasure in another's cold skin. Humans were all right for such things, but they were always too warm for him, and they always smelled so delicious that he was inclined to get distracted. With Belle, he knew that he was guaranteed a wonderful experience that he could make last for as long as they desired - and oh, they had made it last in the past. 

"Besides, I miss the taste of alcohol." She twirled the stem of her cocktail glass between her fingers despondently. "Sometimes the only way to get a decent drink is second-hand. I don't miss much, but I do miss that wonderful burn."

Gold did not know how long Belle had been a vampire. He'd always accepted that she'd been there at the beginning of time and would be there long after the rest of them had given up the ghost. She had never talked about her origins with him, chastising that it was rude to ask a lady her age. 

He was sure she had been a high-born lady at some point, although whether that was her true life or just one of the many aliases she had formed for herself over the course of her immortality was another thing entirely. 

Speaking of...

"And what should I call you tonight, my dear? You seem to change identity as often as you change your knickers."

"Ah, now there you would be mistaken, for as you know, I long since gave up wearing them." She ran her tongue over her lips, inviting him to kiss her, but not here, not now. There was a hunt to be chased first. "For tonight, let's call me Lacey."

Lacey. The name suited her. There had never been a name that didn't suit her, although he would always come back to Belle. It was the name she had worn when she had turned him, and he would always remember it as the name of his sire. Whether or not it was her real name, the one she had been born with all those centuries ago, mattered little. To him, she was Belle, and always would be. 

"How've you been keeping, my darling?" she purred. "It's been a long time since we met, but sometimes the years pass in the blink of an eye. It always makes me happy to see you."

She didn't say that she would like to see him more often. Neither of them needed that closeness. It was in their nature to be solitary creatures, lone wolves, so to speak. Ironic since the wolves themselves would always pack together. Every few decades was enough for them to reacquaint themselves. After all, they had long memories, and long lives. Too much time spent in one place with one person would quickly become a bore. Time meant different things to vampires and humans. It lost its regular meaning, and yet gained so much more. 

“Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Same life, different places.”

She laughed. “Have you been exploring, my dear? My, my. You were always a homebody, I never thought that you’d be one to see the world.”

“I find it doesn’t do to get too familiar with any part of the world. That way, people start to get familiar with you.” Gold shrugged.

“I see. And are you averse to such… familiarity?” 

Her hand was creeping along his thigh, her expression one of completely false innocence. 

“There are some forms of familiarity that are… permissible.”

Belle squeezed his thigh. “I’m very glad to hear it. Perhaps later tonight we can renew our familiarity.”

“I’d be perfectly amenable to that.”

On the other side of Belle, the young man she’d previously been indulging with her presence seemed to have given up the ghost, accepting that the woman who had seemed so interested in him before had no designs on him whatsoever. As he left the bar, Belle smiled wickedly. 

“How much of a head start should we give him, do you think?”

“Well, there are two of us,” Gold pointed out, pretending to give the matter some serious thought. “We do have the advantage. It would probably be sporting to give him ten minutes, at least.”

“Ah, but we really don’t want to lose him.” Belle tutted. “He was going to be such a nice meal, as well. Nicely ripened. I’m not sure that I could forgive you if he were to slip out of our clutches, you know.”

“Well, I suppose that we could always follow him at a leisurely pace.” Gold got up from the bar and held out his arm; Belle took it and hopped off her stool, leading him out of the building. The chill in the air felt wonderful after the stuffy inside space, and Gold turned his face up towards the full moon, basking in its glow.

“Careful there, my dear. People will be mistaking you for a werewolf.”

“We can’t have that, certainly.”

They continued to walk down the streets arm in arm, occasionally catching the scent of the human they’d pegged for their prey this evening. There was no rush, he wasn’t running from them. 

Yet. 

Belle smiled as they came upon him, and she let go of Gold, sidling up towards the poor, unsuspecting human. 

“Hey sugar,” she drawled. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You left without saying goodbye, you know. Naughty.” She pouted, bopping him on the nose with one fingertip as she slipped her arms around his neck. The human looked extremely confused, especially when he glanced over to where Gold was standing, completely nonchalant and watching the whole thing. 

“You know, we never got to the best part,” Belle purred, and then her eyes were brightening and her fangs were sliding down, and the man was running away with a scream of terror. 

Belle sighed. “I do so hate it when they run. These heels were not made for pursuit.”

Gold just chuckled as she kicked off the shoes and began to jog along beside him. “Don’t you find something wonderful in the thrill of the chase, though?”

“Well, it does make the reward so much sweeter in the end.” She turned, giving him a wicked grin. “I’ll see you at the finish line, then, Gold. Don’t worry. I’ll save enough for you.”

She ducked into a side street, and Gold took the opposite route, a move that they had done so many times before when hunting through the big cities together.

It was good to know that Belle never changed.

[songsofacagedbird]

Hello, I’m Katie, this is my sunshine daughter Balo, and you’re watching Disney Channel! Jokes aside though, I’m so excited to bring Balo back and while not much has changed (truly this is nothing more than a continuation where I only omit plots my partner doesn’t want to revive), have a new intro / bio anyway because... I felt like it ok.  I’ll be good and not ramble too ungodly long though so without further ado - another one of my excessively long intro posts:

TWs: Child Abuse / Abuse, Alcoholism (not Balo’s, but her dad’s), Eating Disorders (anorexia nervosa)

Is that BALIAN “BALO” DRISKELL? Wow, they do look a lot like CANDICE SWANEPOEL. I hear SHE is/are a SEVENTEEN year old JUNIOR who originally attended LUXOR Academy. Word is they are a(n) REGULAR student. You should watch out because they can be NAIVE and SENSITIVE, but on the bright side they can also be OPTIMISTIC and BUBBLY. Ultimately, you’ll get to see it all for yourself.  [KATIE, 23, EST, SHE/HERS]

Last Edit: 8/26/2020

★ basics;

Full Name: Balian “Balo” Grace Driskell Age: 17 Birthday: February 7th, 2003 at 08:06 am Sexual Orientation:  Balo really doesn’t label it (although I like to say bisexual, biromanitc to make my own life easier), she always just falls for who she falls for regardless of gender. If you ask her exactly, she’d probably say MOGAI though. Relationship Status: Kinda dating Caitriona but it’s unofficial Occupation: Student Nationality: American

★ classes;

Communications

French

Geometry

U.S. History

Fashion design

Visual Art

Pilates

★ extracurriculars;

Arts Club (Member)

Balo also used to be a Cheerleader (Flyer) and part of the Gymnastics team but due to her leaving / concerns about her health, she was required to step down, much to her devastation.

★ background;

Place of Birth: Rochester, New York Hometown: Saratoga Springs, New York Health Issues: Eating Disorder (Anexoria) Traumas: Abuse (Constant/Ongoing - from her father)

★ physical;

Faceclaim: Candice Swanepoel Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Blonde Height: 5′11” -- not at fc height because I don’t wanna change her height with the new fc Weight: 120 lbs - give or take Tattoos, Birthmarks, Scars, etc: Nothing I find a need to link at the moment.

★  zodiac;

Tropical

Sun: Aquarius Moon: Aries Mercury: Capricorn Venus: Capricorn Mars: Sagittarius Jupiter: Leo Saturn: Gemini Uranus:   Aquarius Neptune: Aquarius Pluto: Sagittarius Lilith: Aries N Node: Gemini

Placidus Orb

I ASC: Pisces II: Aries III: Taurus IV: Gemini V: Cancer VI: Leo VII: Virgo VIII:  Libra IX: Scorpio X MC: Sagittarius XI: Capricorn XII: Aquarius

★ relatives;

Father’s Full Name: Lance Driskell Father’s Status: Alive Father’s Occupation: Restaurant Owner Mother’s Full Name: Cassandra “Cassidy” Driskell Mother’s Status: Alive Mother’s Occupation: Waitress at a local diner (not Lance’s place) Siblings: 1 older sister and 2 older brothers

Driskell Children Oldest to Youngest:

Ivan Marsden (22, attending school in England)

Grace Driskell (19, in California for school)

Zander Driskell (LINK TO HIS INTRO)

Balo Driskell

Here is a link to the Driskell family page if you’d like to know more about her family.

★ misc;

Hobbies and Talents: Balo’s a sketch artist and painter who tends to focus on realism, in particular realistic humans and animals. It’s her true passion and I have an inspo section for her sketchbook here! She’s also quite flexible and skilled at gymnastics, part of why it’s bothering her she can’t participate currently because she loves it and she’s good at it - making her removal from the team eat at her even more.

Pinterest Section  // Musings Tag // Playlist

- Balo’s kind of a literal ray of sunshine who believes (almost) everyone is truly good at heart. While she tries to see the best in everyone, no matter what, she truly can’t see it in her father, a fact she feels extremely guilty over it. - She loves art, sketching and painting especially, and she always dreamed of being some sort of artist. While her mother encouraged it every chance she got, her father is truly a different story. - Balo is very easy to manipulate and I encourage it constantly. - She truly just wants to love and befriend everyone, while it’s not really too hard to make her cry, usually you’ll see Balo running around with a smile trying to brighten everyone’s day. This is an issue because she’ll put everyone around her before herself every time, your happiness is a priority before hers. Again, making her easy to manipulate. (So I welcome manipulating Balo and love it when it occurs, please feel free to do so at any point) - Her best friend / favorite person in the entire world at this point is Logan Keller, mention him only if you really wanna see this girl light up like a 4th of July fireworks show. (They’re still in touch, for those of you who remember him from when Jia was playing him here!) - Balo recently got out of extensive inpatient for her eating disorder so while she’s doing a lot better, she’s really doesn’t want it to be the main topic of conversation either. She's okay and back at Luxor and she feels that’s the most important thing at the end of the day.

★ bio; TWs: Child Abuse / Abuse, Alcoholism, Eating Disorders (anoxeria, weight loss, and complications from both)

“'Cause I know that nothing good comes easy, if it did, I wouldn't be me.”

If there was one quote that fit Balo Driskell’s life to a t, that would be it. Nothing was truly easy in the Driskell’s home, she was the youngest of three children - an amount that her mother never wanted to have, and would do whatever it took to stay at after this point. Anytime her father walked in after work, the stench of alcohol clung to. She could smell it on her breath every time he yelled, each time he threw things, anytime he hit her. One could have easily convinced the young girl that all families were like this, that everyone covered up bruises and pretended they were much happier than they actually were if it wasn’t for her mother.

Perhaps Casandra Driskell never wanted her children, but she loved them with her entire heart. She’d sneak her children money, things they weren’t allowed to have - guitars, paints, canvases, sheet-music, legos, and whatever else her father deemed banning fit at a moment's notice. She wasn’t always around, working a job at the local diner, but when she was she did everything in her power to protect her children. It was never enough, though.

Lance Driskell still hurt his children close to daily, whether it was smashing Grace’s guitar over her head the moment he found it, pulling Balo down the stairs by her hair, or lashing Zander with his belt - there were quite a few times where a Driskell had to go the hospital and the family had to lie through their teeth to keep people from looking too closely at them at their mother’s urging. If it was investigated the three children would be separated, they would lose their mother, or at least that’s what they were told - and none of them wanted that. It became common for one child to intervene for another if they could, Zander especially taking the brunt of the punishments for his sisters.

It was part of loving someone in the Driskell home, trying to keep everyone else safe no matter the cost it had on you.

Her childhood wasn’t all bad, however, there were quite a few silver-linings in the dark cloud called the Driskell home. She had a close friendship with her siblings and her mother, and she has plenty of fond memories with them. Christmas was always peaceful, as her father always took that shift at his restaurant and refused to celebrate the holiday with them - a time where he couldn’t taint the joy inside of the Driskell home. She could paint when her father wouldn’t catch her in the act, something she loved doing (and she still does every chance she gets), and she had Logan. Logan Keller was her next-door neighbor and her best friend. If you saw one of them, the other probably wasn’t too far behind. In many ways, he was her person - someone she felt like she could go to with nearly anything (she could never discuss home with him at this point, of course, but everything else she could and she did). 

And then the Driskells moved away and it was like the world was ripped out from under her feet - leaving her spiraling and looking for some sort of control. Her new friend didn’t help matters much either, constantly encouraging her to “shed the weight” they swore she gained. She soon found this sense of “control” in the form of her eating disorder, careful attempts to keep herself as thin as she could, of restricting her food every chance she could.  It wasn’t healthy, far from it, but it fulfilled the desire to have some semblance of control over her life.

Sending the children to Luxor had been an easy decision for Cassandra the second the children were able to attend, a way to ship them off to safety while not being too far away from home. While it pained her a first to be away from her mother, eventually she began to understand. She was safe while at school, and at the end of the day, that was what mattered the most to her mother, right? It wasn’t hard to get into the flow of life at the school, staying at school and only coming home for the breaks that the school refused to keep students during. It broke her heart when Lance shipped Ivan to England and told him not to come home (a thought that still pains her to this day), after the boy served his use, and it only grew harder when Grace graduated and moved to California. But she was happy at Luxor, in spite of everything.

And in a way, her love for the school only grew after the merge. Now there were twice as many people to befriend and support, and in the process, she realized something she had been missing had been under her nose for a while. Logan was attending school at Luxor too, and all of a sudden, she had her person in her life again. At the time she felt on top of the world, regardless of the circle beginning to stir up issues.

And then, suddenly, she was knocked right back down to the ground.

First Logan was kidnapped and forced to deliver the message, and then he was forced to go home for personal reasons. The support she had so quickly grown used to having was seemingly being ripped out from her yet again. While he was still in touch, continuing to be her rock, her eating disorder only continued to spiral out of control. And no matter how much she tried to pretend she was fine, it was getting to the point there was no way to really do so. Balo was sick, and now everyone could tell. It was concern from her teachers that helped fuel the chain of events that resulted in getting her help, no matter how much she tried to assure everyone she didn’t need inpatient therapy and that doing outpatient would be fine. After several months of inpatient followed by a bout of “readjustment to the real world” time at home, she’s back at Luxor and as sunshine-y as ever.

TLDR / quick important notes bio recap for rereads: - Balo’s home life is far from perfect. Her father, Lance - is an abusive alcoholic, and while her mother tried her best to protect her children - she also covered things up without hesitation. It wasn’t uncommon to see a Driskell in the ER with a lie and people willing to back up the story. - The lack of control in her life is what led to her eating disorder, in hopes of regaining a (false) sense of control. - She’s been attending Luxor since freshman year, although she recently had to leave for a few months to attend extensive inpatient treatment. And now she’s back to her normal sunshine-esc antics, trying to love everyone, feeding all the strays at Luxor, and trying to spread smiles everywhere she goes.

★ wanted connections;

Friendships

Someone to manipulate her, please I beg you

Um, pretty much anything? She likes everyone cause if you do something to hurt her she does mental gymnastics to come to the conclusion you are a good person and it was an unintended side effect so...yeah. Doesn’t mean your muses have to like her though (I have a lot of fun when they don’t actually, so… don’t worry about hurting the sunshine daughter. Okay?)

Anyone who knows her from the gymnastics and/or cheer teams, as she was on the teams through Freshmen & Sophomore years, and until October of her junior year.

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

Well I acc had an idea: the reader is confused about who she likes (Raph or Leo) but both of them confront her (like individually) and she has to like “choose” between them and it’s kind of like angst. U can choose the outcome and the ending. Or if this sounds boring (sorry lol😂) then can u do a Leo nsfw? ❤️❤️❤️ I know whatever u will do is awesome🥰🥰💓💓

Here you go Nonny, a little angst with Raph and Leo, sorry it took so long to write. I hope you like it!

Tension was thick in the lair, hot smoldering tension and itwas about to come to a head. The aftermath wasinevitable and it would changeyour life forever.

It started several weeks ago on a regular night down in thelair, it was Mikey’s turn to pick the game for the week and his little overachieving ass picked twister. The youngest was the most flexible of the fourbrothers which made him usually the winner of this particular game. But you hadbeen doing yoga, stretching yourself to your limits because you knew theprankster would pick this game and you were going to win tonight. Boy,xser wereyou wrong.

Donnie laid down the custom made matte he had devised so fourgiant mutant turtles could play without tearing it up with their immenseweights. It had taken him a few tries but this one had held up to the taskpretty well. The genius admired the thing each time he set it up mentallygiving himself a high five. He had modified it of course; no longer theoriginal colors but gave the dots their mask colors and updated the spinnerwith their faces for the prompts. What a clever turtle he was.

Mikey hopped around on the other side of the mattestretching and smiling like he had already won puckering his lips in playfulkisses. That sweet muscle bound terrapin was in for a surprise. By the timeDonnie had set everything up, Splinter had set himself down in his chair takingthe spinner in hand. He was always the designated spinner because his bodycould no longer bend in the ways that was required to play the silly game.

Your enthusiasm matched the orange banded turtle and youcopied him stretching your muscles loosening them up. You bent over touchingyour toes getting your head as far through your legs as possible beforetoppling over when you saw the familiar feet of Leonardo and Raphael. They wereso close you could feel their combined heat through your leggings. Youswallowed the sudden lump in your throat and slowly stood back up turning toface the two towering alphas.

You could see both their eyes trail over you, lingeringlonger than usual. It was making your feel a little light headed, and you couldfeel the blood rush to several specific places in your body. Damn it, why didyou have to feel this way. The game momentarily forgotten you set your hands onyour hips trying not to look intimidated but you knew you were failingmiserably.

When it came to Leo and Raph you always seemed torn betweenthe two. Despite all four of the brothers being ridiculously attractive youfound yourself drawn to the two big alphas. Strong, alluring and dominate youfelt like snack to the two large males, and you just couldn’t help yourselfwhen it came to them. Like a moth to the flame you were doomed to burn andthere was nothing you could do to stop it.

“You look a little more loose than usual, think you’re gonnabeat knucklehead at twister today?” Raphael chuckled pushing a stray strand ofhair from your face and behind your ear with deliberate care.

The unexpected touch of his green knuckle sent goose bumpsrushing across your skin. You tried desperately not to let him see how histouch affected you. That would mean you might need to come to terms with yourfeelings for them and choose if something came of it.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Leo eye the red bruteas if disapproving of the small contact he just had with you. Could it be, wasthere a hint of jealously in those blue pools?

As if taking his cue from Raphael, Leonardo moved a bit infrom of his muscle-bound brother and placed one hand on your shoulder and theother on your hip. With little effort on his part the leader in blue spun youaround facing the matte once more and leaned down his mouth ghosting over yourear.

“You’ll have to get past me if you wanna win this game.”

Leo’s voice was usually calm, collected like a steady river,but today something was different. There was a dark tone to it, like it camefrom deep within his diaphragm vibrating up his chest promising somethingsinful in its wake. You even felt his large hand on your hip squeeze gently andthe combination of both left you pressing your knees together trying to tamethe fire that had suddenly ignited.

Both of them were playing at something, teasing, testing,whatever it was it was working, and you had to get your body uncontrol or thiswas going to be a very short game of twister for you. The way they were actingmade the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Something had shifted inyour relationship unexpectedly and you were trying to figure out if it was agood thing or a bad thing. Being in close quarters with the two eldest turtleswas going to be difficult enough but being pressed up against them flesh toflesh was going to be delicious torture.

Shortly after Splinter had announced the start of the gameyou found yourself in the middle of the four turtles, bent over, practicallyunder Raphael straining to keep your left hand on a purple dot and your rightfoot on an orange. This larger matte was not helpful for your human form. Yourface was inches from Raphael’s groin and the heady scent he was giving off wasdriving you up the wall. It made the fire slowly growing at the apex of yourthighs burn hotter, you could actually feel the moister start to pool on thesoft fabric of your underwear.

“Left hand on Leo.” The amused voice of splinter came overhead giving the next move and you groaned. Blue was on the other side of thematte which meant you needed to be in a more compromising position then youalready were.

As Donnie tried to move his long arms to the next dot theygot caught up under Mikey and the genius tumbled to the matte with a defeatedgrowl.

“Sorry Donnie, maybe next time.” Mikey chuckled moving nexteasing his way around Raphael’s shell placing his left hand on an open bluedot.

Next you moved, inching under Raphael a little more,stretching your arm out getting your finger tips to the blue dot and grinned,you did it. The large body above you started to move and you turned your headwatching the corded muscles running up his side flex smoothly under his greenskin. You even heard him made a guttural sound in his chest stretching hislarge body as far as it would go just to reach his intended target.

With a sigh of relief, the large brute settled and then youfelt another weight shift and slid effortlessly over the back of you. Thebreath in your lungs caught feeling the plastron belonging to Leonardo glideover the thin fabric of your shirt and the scent of him invade your senses. Hewas nearly on top of you and you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Excuse me.” He whispered pressing down a little more thanhe needed too making you grunt trying to support both your weights.

They were both so close, both their scents engulfing you,the heat making you quake, you didn’t know how more you could take, you werepositively soaking now. Suddenly the atmosphere changed and you could hear Leoscent the air followed by Raph and the sound that came from them both wasunexpected and rough sending a jolt of energy straight through you. Could theytell how unbelievably turned on you were by just your scent? They were animalsin every sense of the word, so it was more than possible.

When you noticed their breathing pick up and their hipsshift, it confirmed your suspicion; the strong scent ofyour arousal was affecting them. Shit.

“Is anything the matter?” Raphael growled through clenchedteeth in almost a whisper, his arms beginning to tremble from exertion and fromhis growing need.

Jesus Christ was it getting hot in here? Because you werehot and were starting to sweat. When the next color was called out you foundyourself slipping. You tried to adjust your palms but it was too late and fellflat on your face. As you came forward you knocked both Raph and Leo’s handsfree making their combined weight collapse on you making the already awkwardsituation worse.

When the three of you fell to the matte Michelangelo flippedto his feet hands high in the air in triumph, “Winner and still champ oftwister..MIKEY!!!”

With a muffled cry you batted at Raphael’s large shell whichwas currently crushing your head. Now aware of your need for air the red bruterolled to his side giving you your freedom and much needed oxygen. Leo on theother hand wasn’t too keen on releasing you from beneath his weight.

Most of your body was trapped under the leader and youtossed your head to face him snapping your teeth in playful warning.

Leo laughed with a rich throaty sound remaining immobile.“What can I say, I like you under me.”

Ignoring his cocky attitude you very carefully pulledyourself free and stood giving the leader in blue a smack, “If I didn’t need topee I’d kick your shell!” Moving quicker than you planned to you made a beeline for the bathroom locking yourself inside quickly. When you reached themirror you could see your cheeks flush and could feel the heat that didn’t helpthe pink color of your flesh. Cold water cascaded over your face soothing theredness bringing your rising temp to a halt. Did that just happen? What thefuck was that?

Giving yourself a few minutes to get your wits back aboutyou, you reached for the handle and pulled it open but found the opening blocked.Devilish ocean blue eyes stared down at you and without warning a mountain ofmuscle hit you scooping you up and pressing you to the wall.

“L-Leo, what are you doing?” you stammered as his beak foundyour throat attaching it immediately, kissing and nipping at your skin. Youwere about to protest when his hot tongue snaked out swiping at your flesh tasting,growling into the hollow of your neck as he did.

“I love you.” Leo’s voice was shaking with uncertainty. “Ihave for quite a while. I just didn’t know how to tell you and from what Ismelt today you want the same thing. I want you to be mine.” Not waiting for ananswer his lips slanted over yours claiming yours in a ravenous kiss. His handshoisted your legs around his hips and ground himself into your spread legsletting you feel the hard length confined inside his pants.

Lost in his over whelming passion you opened your mouth whenhis tongue demanded entrance. Leonardo tasted divine like mint tea andsandalwood and you couldn’t seem to get a full breath into your lungs. Leo wasall consuming, taking what he pleased and you were on the menu. But his possessivenesswas making you feel too overwhelmed like you couldn’t breathe. With all your strengthyou pushed at his plastron disengaging the kiss.

Confused he stared at you his breathing uneven and his lipsmoist from your kiss, but he could read your face and let you down talking astep back. Leo was many things but he knew when to stop.

Gathering yourself you clutched your heaving chest and ranfrom the bathroom and clean out of the lair. This was all too much and you hadto get away, you had to go home. You needed to think.      

After reaching your apartment you immediately headed intothe shower to cool yourself off. It took almost 20 full minutes before you feltyourself begin to relax and the burning ach in your core to subside. Your headwas fully under the stream and your eyes lidded watching the water drip fromyour face. What were you going to do? Leonardo was almost too excited about theprospect of having you, he was cocky most of the night and was pushing all thebuttons you had. Raphael on the other hand didn’t confront you, didn’t press ortease too much, at least not as much as Leo did.

Turning off the shower you dried off and slipped into your pajamasconsisting of black cotton shorts and a tank top. With a heavy sigh you pushedopen the door to your living room you suppressed a shriek of fear seeingRaphael’s unexpected shadow sitting on your couch.  

“Ya left in a hurry and didn’t say good night, are youalright?” His low voice resonated across the walls of your small living room.

You tried to stay calm and stayed in your bathroom doorway;you didn’t want your hormones getting the best of you again. Just his ominouspresence in your apartment was already beginning to terrorize you. “Yeah it wasgetting a little too hot down there, I had to get out.” You calmly confessedcrossing your arms over your chest.

“Why was it getting hot?” even through the darkness youcould see the bright white of his teeth as he smiled from his seat on yourcouch, his three fingered hand drumming absentmindedly on the arm of the couch.

“It just was.”

Pressing his hands down on the cushions of your couchRaphael stood to his full height and with three strides of his long legs was infront of you. “I think you left because you have feelings for Leo or me, ormaybe the both of us, I don’t know? But I could smell it on you; it was virtuallyseeping from your pours.”

Another step and he was just a foot away invading in yourpersonal space, and you could smell him again, damn it. “S-so what if I do? Areyou going to be cocky about it like Leo was?”

His large green head shook closing his eyes inunderstanding, “Nah, I just wanted you to know that I love ya too. But if youwant Leo I understand and I won’t get in the way. Fearless can get on my lastnerve but I love his uptight ass way too much to start a fight over you.”

Dumbfounded you stared at the usually violent turtle, calmand stoic; he wouldn’t fight his eldest brother for your love. Why did that hityou harder then you thought it would? Why did that make you want to kiss himeven more? He wasn’t possessive nor did he take you by force.

You gazed up into his green eyes watching them shift backand forth to your own, like he was waiting for you to tell him to leave, totell him you wanted his brother more then you wanted him. But that was theopposite of what you were feeling, you wanted him to stay, you wanted to kisshim, you wanted him.

With great care your hands lifted to his green cheekscupping them lightly pulling him down to you. If you weren’t mistaken you couldhave seen fear in the red brutes eyes, something you had never seen across hisweathered masculine features. When you could feel his hot breath on your faceyou tilted your head slightly and ghosted over his scarred lips. When he didn’tpress forward you smiled and closed the gap taking his mouth with a chaste kiss.

You could feel the breath catch in his throat and when Raphaelmoaned into your mouth you felt shivered dance up your spine. Slowly you felthis hands encircle your waist deepening the gesture further, rumbling when yourtongue dipped into his mouth to taste him. His scent, his taste, everythingabout the red brute was intoxicating, he was rough around the edges but you hadfound he could be gentle too. You were used to angry, hostile Raph, ready to protecthis brothers at all cost, not sweet and tender Raph. You were in trouble butyou didn’t’ care, not in the slightest.

You yelped a bit when his arms lifted you off the ground andheaded for you bedroom and your vacant bed. The fire you had extinguished withyour cold shower was back with a vengeance and when he laid you on your bedsettling himself between your open thighs you whimpered in delight feeling hishard length pressing into you.

This felt right, this was what you wanted, but how were yougoing to tell Leonardo?

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

@sundayswiththeilluminati replied to your photoset 

“Accidentally came up with two separate Good Omens fanfic concepts...”

Here's the real question though: does anyone ever try to sell/buy magical books at Aziraphale's bookshop, and what does he do with them if they do? Are magical books Not Allowed as per heaven, or does he end up running a sideline in magical texts since all of them are hilariously basic to him and he can part with them without guilt?

Your answer is provided in the form of a fanfic in which only the latter half relates to the question, but all of which I had far, far too much fun writing.

--

There is a disagreement between Heaven and Hell, as there are wont to be, about which side is responsible for unleashing magic among humanity. The suggestion that it was part of God’s design from the start - that it was in fact of neither angelic nor demonic origins - has been made exactly once, by Aziraphale, who only made this suggestion as a counter to Crowley’s suggestion that magic came about in humans for a reason to do with that flaming sword which Adam and Eve spent so much time about. Crowley then mockingly dismissed Aziraphale’s suggestion by hissing “ineffable” a few dozen times, as they were both a few bottles deep at that point and actually more concerned with heckling each other (and, more simply, with each other) than they were with unlocking the great secrets of Godly intent and Her design. 

This is not to say that Heaven and Hell, and of course more specifically Aziraphale and Crowley, have not meddled prolifically in the affairs of wizardry. It would be easy to blame Crowley for the existence of the Chamber of Secrets, for instance; and he may have taken credit for it but it pressed might confess that a basilisk is quite a bit too nasty for his tastes, that castle is full of children, and he just thought it would be nice for one of the Founders to appreciate snakes - they get such a bad rap, snakes, so undeservedly, and wouldn’t it be nice if they got to be the mascot of one of these Houses too? A bit of appreciation for snakes, really, is all he swayed Salazar Slytherin toward. How was he to know that the bastard would take it so far? And it ended with snakes getting a worse rap because of Slytherin himself, too. This last matter is how you are assured that Crowley had any hand in it at all, because the undercutting of his own intent is a typical Crowley design feature. 

(Crowley would also like to make the assurance that he had nothing in any way to do with Gilderoy Lockhart, even though Gilderoy Lockhart’s habit of claiming credit for things he did not do is also typical Crowley. Gilderoy Lockhart did not have Hell breathing down his neck demanding temptations be done, and frankly it is Hell itself who ascribes credit to Crowley for human inventions and he who simply nods and agrees and then goes to see what humanity has done to itself this time. Gilderoy Lockhart is no demon; he is, by Crowley’s standard of demonic, which is a very mild standard of demonic, much worse.)

Hogwarts’ moving staircases are to Crowley’s actual credit, however. That the sweets shop Honeydukes is built atop a direct secret passage to Hogwarts, allowing discerning students to eat their fill any time, is to Aziraphale’s.

-

To back up for a moment to the broadest scale - setting aside, for a moment, a particular angel and demon - neither Heaven nor Hell sees magic as an affront to themselves. Both know what they do is miracles, not magic, a subtle distinction in that magic has many more limitations than miracles. And even then, Heaven and Hell often conflate the two terms anyway. No one ever accused either of them of holding to strict logical consistency. 

Heaven is unsure whether magic was meant to end up in human hands, given the difficulty they often have over wielding it and the way it spills out of magical children like their bodies cannot contain the power they hold, but God’s intelligent design also includes both wisdom teeth and the intricate and delicate bones of the shoulder, so by that reasoning magic cannot be refuted as something that was part of Her original drafts. Hell does not care, because humans are easily tempted in their most basic forms, and the ones who carry small wooden sticks that assist them in thinking they can channel the full power of magic can even more easily be swayed to catastrophic choices, by virtue of how they are almost never found without those sticks upon them, ready and willing to attempt something that will likely go wrong. Demons are very fond of wizardry. 

Most of the wizarding side of British society is thus of demonic (read: Crowley’s) influence. This includes the rates of magical currency (29 knuts to a sickle, 17 sickles to a galleon) while Hogwarts does not teach any kind of maths courses (Arithmancy is absolutely not maths); rats becoming a popular pet in a society that to function is required to be full of owls; the practice of storing sole copies of prophecies in glass orbs on unstable shelves (Agnes Nutter was an innovator simply by writing hers down on paper); the given name of Harry Potter’s middle child; the entire sport of Quidditch; and some pervasive erroneous beliefs about unicorns.

(Crowley very much likes unicorns, ever since he watched one, survival and God’s plan be damned, book it as far from Noah’s boat as it could. He was thrilled to find that more than the one left on the boat had survived the flood, because they are beautiful and stupid and that is a combination that Crowley holds certain affection for. They are also quite soft and drool a little less than horses and have the added capacity to gore someone with a headbutt. The value of their hair, horns, and blood - though not drool, which is a shame, because Crowley could do a bustling business trading in unicorn drool - means that wizards seek them out, and that means that Crowley seeks to vex them. It is very wily and evil of him to keep the humans from those powerful magic healing properties, of course.) 

(One of his methods of diverting the casual unicorn-seeker was through the creation and spread of falsehoods about the kind of people whose presence unicorns tolerate. A few stray remarks, some influence applied to make sure it is believed, about “purity” being required to approach unicorns, and the wizards did the rest, deciding it seemed like girls were more able to approach unicorns. Thus already roughly half of the populace is discouraged from attempting, and the rest given weird hang-ups about it. Of course, this is all ridiculous, because Crowley, as a demon, ascribes to gender only when he wants to, and would be described by no one as “pure” in any way. Crowley did once attempt to describe himself as “pure evil, and unicorns only sense purity, so that counts” but he was promptly called a bitch by Newt Scamander and banned from the Leaky Cauldron again. He did not care, because drinking is only really fun with Aziraphale, and the fact of the matter remained that he still gets to cuddle unicorns when no one else does.)

-

There is a mild, subtle war fought between Heaven and Hell over most instructive books on magic. That is if “mild” and “subtle” could be taken to mean that there is one generally book-loving angel who very much disdains these particular books, and one generally book-agnostic demon who very much loves them. 

Wizarding Britain does not have a robust publishing industry. Wizarding Britain does not have robust anything, excepting their robustly ineffectual and expansive bureaucracy, but Aziraphale finds their literature particularly shameful. Surely some of this is owing to the limits of the courses offered at Hogwarts, where language and spelling is whatever of the form of your homework essays, as opposed to the much more valued content of said essays, that a professor chooses to comment on. (In a certain era, much of the spelling tutelage for a generation of Hogwarts students came from their Potions essays, because Severus Snape took a certain glee in marking up as much as he possibly could and watching the faces of students as they found their parchment returned to them covered in red ink even though the substance of their essays was sound.) 

This may also be a consequence of the way British wizarding society has a certain cultural stagnancy. The way things are done is the way things are done. (In this manner it reminds of Heaven and Hell and their inability to keep with the times on Earth. This is also another reason that demons like wizards, because they don’t have to keep up with new technology like “personal phones” and “computers”.) Hogwarts curriculum does not update with any regularity and looks much the same as it did 400 years ago, variation arriving mostly with the competency of the professors. 

And magic is what is valued, so magic is what books are written on. And while wizarding Britain has its innovators - it has humans, so inevitably it has innovators creating new spells, potions, and devices - they are not so encouraged and valued. And often they do not bother to write books. 

As a result, the bulk of the book movement through wizarding Britain is Hogwarts textbooks, which are rarely updated. The edition numbers occasionally change, as do a sentence or two of the interior, but Aziraphale lacks interest in any of it. He lacks an interest in all of this sort of magic. He cannot perform it - as a celestial being he can do far more anyway - and it cannot be learned - unlike coin tricks and sleights-of-hand and rabbits - and there is nothing exceptional in the writing or rarity of any of it. The wizarding books that Aziraphale has interest in are settled firmly in the great library of Hogwarts, and not for sale, though Aziraphale has made offers. He had then considered theft but decided that theft from a school was a certain step too far. 

(The one wizarding book that Aziraphale both cares about and possesses is a first-edition The Tales of Beedle the Bard, who is not Aziraphale’s favorite bard. However, Aziraphale does find “The Tale of the Three Brothers” to be an interesting look at the wizarding perspective on death. It is an inaccurate one, of course; Death does not grant boons, not even ones that will become curses to sooner send their holders into his hands. That is the parlance of demonic temptations, and Crowley will freely admit, though he has gotten numerous commendations for the Elder Wand over the centuries, that like Slytherin’s basilisk, the humans took the whole thing a bit too far.)

At any rate, Aziraphale’s bookshop was prominently placed on the map of wizarding London when he offered to purchase some certain unique volumes from Hogwarts, and this has been a curse of his own making, as more usually happens to Crowley. The wizarding population of London had, since the opening of A.Z. Fell and Co., admittedly always considered it one of theirs, in the same way that the Muggle population eventually came to consider it a front for the mafia, but the uptick of attempts to sell wizarding books back to the shop, or wizarding books just being left amidst the stacks, definitely corresponded with the one time Aziraphale made official contact with wizarding Britain. These magical books are a blight upon his bookshop and he would have miracled himself into being forgotten by Britain’s wizardry some time in 1847 were it not for the Arrangement.

That being, Crowley likes the books dropped at Aziraphale’s shop, often books on Hogwarts’ reading list, which are the most often sold, because it is very easy to accomplish simultaneously temptations and miracles with them.

Since the mid 1800s, it is known, amongst the poorer population of wizarding Britain, that there is a particular drop point in Diagon Alley where, if you are in need enough, you can find almost any relatively-common book that you were not able to afford but was necessary for your education. “In need enough” and “necessary” are miracles with much wiggle room. For instance, in 1992, the Weasley twins did not strictly need NEWT-level Charms and Transfiguration textbooks for their courses at Hogwarts, but they needed them to properly innovate on their pranks. 

Providing magical knowledge for free is, of course, very demonic, given the capacity for destruction by the untrained wizard, especially if that knowledge is far above their years. It is in fact incredibly necessary that it be for free, else parents or guardians would stop them. 

Truly, another genius ploy from the wily serpent. 

Almost as good as the bit with the unicorns.

[helpinghanikan]

Not Yourself

Avengers (and Matt Murdock) x Reader

Sum: Mind control is a serious threat in the same world that aliens, Gods and helmet defying hair exist. No one is safe from it, not even you. 

Steve Rogers:  

           Entire situation starting some minutes ago and ending in slow motion half a lifetime later. Siren blares like a whale on helium and twenty times faster. Four sets of hands slapping to their pairing ears in the small all glass office room.

           Siren bleeds between your fingers and into your brain. Filling it like black water in a coffee mug until it spills all the way over. It drips from your ears and onto your hand, taking control. Becoming the tendons, bones and muscles that go to the service pistol on the small of your back.

           There are too many reasons to explain why you were taken compared to the other three in the room. Maybe because you were standing and therefore closer to the speakers, or you just didn’t cover your ears well enough and fell victim to it, or you could have been the original target all along. No matter the reason, your Glock 7m was in your grip and pointed before any security outside the office could react.

           Between your three coworkers two rounds left the clip. Metal destroyed seconds after shattering glass you didn’t blink at. Red, white and blue Vibranium ripping through whatever is between it’s path to the back wall.

           Gun ripped from your grip you can expect a few broken fingers. Owner of the savior shield is there after the first security.

           “Oh, oh no…” Shock was setting in, arms stuck in the slightly bent position.

           The noise escaped from the office. Hands hitting ears and shots hit the corner speakers. Black machines and wires joining in the broken glass and small splats of blood. Raining down on your coworkers still struggling for breath.

           Arms are around you from behind, over your forearms and towards your center. A half-hug, half- hold pulling you into the solid body behind you.

           You weren’t Steve’s first loved one that was the victim of mind control. Bucky forcing him to learn that, in the moment of hesitation, is when he’d have to take control. Practically carrying you out of the office, past medics running in and refusing to let go. Sending a look to anyone who dared give an indication of taking you away.

           “You’re okay, it’s not your fault.” Whispering your name like a mantra, just so you wouldn’t forget it.

         Tony Stark:

         You can count on your hand the amount of times you’ve been in a Stark suit. The first time you just wanted to see what it was like, being told immediately to get out when you asked why the heels were necessary. Second during a home invasion; one moment your looking around the corner and the next your covered in metal and padding.

           This time you weren’t aware of the suit until you were standing before it. Brief memories of your bare feet slapping through the workshop. Breaking the unspoken rule of wearing shoes in work shop, stepping right onto dead wires and pieces of junk that you were lucky didn’t cut through the bottom of your foot.

           That entire day would be remembered best as “blurry”. Bed, breakfast, Tony, and then you’re at the spa. Piper is there but you were too focused on some article about you to notice any of the details. It’s why you didn’t think much when your usual masseuse wasn’t the same as regular. And then there are the smallest of bells and suddenly…Bed.  

           Now you stood in front of a prototype from some years ago. Made without a reason in mind and just for something to distract Tony when sleep was impossible. Just slightly more upgraded then it’s predecessor; a wee bit faster and just a wee bit stronger. By this point in time it was practically obsolete. Unlikely your lover would notice it was gone.

           None of the other times you’ve been in a suit you had flown it outside. Just stood in it stationary, during the home invasion it returned to the work shop, but that was quick hovering. Without practice it was an extreme case of stomach dropping, vertigo and just a scream inducing roller coaster. Everything was calm from your angle, just a journey you weren’t prepared to go to on but, hey, there you were.

           “Ma’am, I don’t think Boss is gonna like this.” FRIDAY says next to your ear.

           “It’s fine,” Because it was fine. Everything was fine.

           “He’s calling now,” FRIDAY says. “Putting him on the line.”

           “That’s fine,”

           “Hey there, Sweetheart, what ya doing?” It’s not common that you were the one in trouble while Tony acted as the voice of reason. It never seemed to be a position he was comfortable with.

           “I don’t know,”

           “Looks like you’re out for-.” He’s cut off by the closest building.

           There was this general assumption that you already knew how to fly the suit. Not even mildly interesting enough to have the need of it and never bothered to really play with them. With your body going into auto pilot there was little chance you’d make it so far.

           Starting high in the sky and starting a slow descent over the course of a few minutes. By the time you got out of the city you two stories from the ground. Clipping the side of a two-story house, spinning like a slapped top past the road way and into some poor families backyard.

           The poor husband of the house was nudged (Shoved) awake by the wife. Both hands shoving his forearm, practically out of the bed. A storm of “Did you hear that?” “What was it?” “Go check” “Neil, go check.” She asks with each shove to emphasize her distress. She’s gone by the time he wakes fully, door to the kid’s room open and her standing post in case the danger gets past him.

           Bat in hand he stomps through the house. Hoping that the sound of a large, tired and annoyed father would scare off anything that might have gotten into the house. Instead there is nothing, completely dark and empty house with only the squeaking of upstairs floorboards from wife-y and child shifting their weight.

           Next stop, outside. Where there was a new crater that was absolutely not there before.

           A lot of weird stuff has been happening within the last few years. From aliens to gods that were no longer prayed to, that a suit of hard metal was embedded into his yard only made sense. From his position above the suit he could hear the muffled screaming from inside.

           Some point between the house, spinning and the back-yard crash you woke fully. Impact and alarm system working together. One of the many security measures includes a complete shut down of all systems when landed. Only when close enough to the ground so there weren’t too many injuries or death from the system. Instead just entrapping the thief in the shell, keeping their body trapped under the metal until each piece is removed by outside help.

           Between the dark blue and the stars there is a head. Designated husband making the (arguably stupid) decision to take hold of the face mask. Although shut down, the hiss was still present from the change of air. Both of you blinking to each other, just as equally confused.

           “Where am I?” The first of many questions you would bombard this guy with.

                       Thor:

         A hand is in your hair and it’s not his.  

           Asshole’s yell of “EVERYBODY OUT” was still rattling the windows. Whatever was in those claws pricking the back of your neck was effective at keeping you calm. Your work buddy being the last person to leave, concerned by your lack of effort to escape.

           Hopefully you were in a different head space. Staring towards one of the many windows like your favorite show was on. Arm around your shoulders, holding your face with a possessive thumb rubbing your jaw line. His free hand was in your mess of hair, distantly there was tugging but you couldn’t place it.

           The world you were dragged into was one of both magic and medicinal. Where the prettiest fucking thing in this world was suddenly a bird on the branch outside the window. Everything else in the world was your peripheral vision that didn’t matter. The equivalent of a bus passing by that’d you never see again.

           Thor had this way of being a room, as though the colors were all just drawn towards him. Even to those that didn’t initially believe in other realms, or were still in denial about it, would give at least a glance to him. It wasn’t because of the look but just his aura that was more mass then the rest of the humans. Other Asgardians had this same presence, Loki seemed to be too well aware of it.

           Although everything in the world was static you knew the feeling of Thor the moment he came into your space. Even those it wasn’t Thor’s fingers in your hair you still hummed just from the presence of your man. Unaware of how so much more pissed this made him.

           The static is so much louder than before. Volume raising and lowering at random, yet your little birdie still hung around on the branch. Poking at his little feathers and hoping side to side. His head twitches at your direction and hops a little, silent tweets. Going ‘Sup?’

           Through the static and the magic world, a whisper is said somewhere both above and behind you head. “Walk” it commands. A wonderful idea, one that has your legs moving without a single worry.

           Your little birdie has stopped messing with his feathers. Tilting his head left, right and tweeting loudly this time. Cute little chirps to full on screaming as you get closer. ‘What are you doing?’ he screams but you didn’t speak bird. When you don’t respond he hops from the branch. Flying upwards and leaving a shaking stretch of wood in its place.

           Finally, the static stopped when the floor did. Swimming in air through the world, air as the water in the deep end of a bottomless pool. Arms stretching out, trying to reach through the entirety of the “water” you were swimming through.

           Your relief is incredibly brief. Static coming back harder than before, like someone throwing a brick into the pool you were swimming in. This came in the form of a log of an arm slamming into your back and being hit chest first into, what can only be described as, a bag of bricks.

           It pulls you from the pool, staring into blue eyes and a glass building behind them.

           Although pulled from the pool you are still soaking wet. Static making the blue eyes into a nothing leading into the more nothing behind him. Draining and flooding at the same time until all you saw was white.

         Bucky Barnes:

           You’d never be able to take Bucky in a fight, even in play he’d always end up on top.

           This time, with his hands holding your wrists high, you were laughing under him, claiming he had an unfair advantage and pressing against him to roll him off. No, you were snarling at him. Even with the impossible metal grip around your wrist you refused to drop the offending knife.

           Before this dinner was lovely, a rooftop restaurant rented out as a favor from Stark. Appetizers were some small fishes deep fried served with sauces. Although delicious, and you were having a genuine good time, the sting of a headache was appearing at the base of your skull. Waving off Bucky’s concern, blaming it on a withdrawal symptom of caffeine.

           With the appetizers taken away and an expresso sat down you laughed and talked. Hand sometimes going to the back of your head. Pressure and your little bitter friend doing next to nothing to help with the pain.

           Main course is set, and your steak knife had become extremely fascinating.

           Your waiter dropped the pitcher of water in fear when your suddenly stood. Chair hitting the floor behind you, table flying next.

           Bucky caught on the downward thrust. Pulling your wrist high as your eyes were almost completely vacant. Not focusing on anything but eyes wide open. He knew that look too intimately.

           Your free hand curled into a fist. Pressing into his face which he also grabbed and held. With little experience fighting your legs tried to kick at his crotch and legs, looking for more damage then to escape his hands.

           Heels were such a good idea at the beginning of the night. Small enough you’d trip on a street grate but a wonderful excuse to have to lean against him in walking up the stairs. Now they were being dragged off your feet, slipping from the foot. Leaving attached by the strap around your ankle while Bucky pulls you towards the restaurant. A waltz neither of you wanted to dance to.

           With the tangled shoes and a misplaced step your legs give out. Bucky went with you, leg on either side of your hips, hands keeping yours pressed to your chest. This was how your wrestling matches would end. Pinned to the ground, Bucky demanding you beg for mercy before you get a kiss. This time you bite towards his face like a feral dog.

           It takes the waiter several seconds of gob smacked staring before calling the emergency line.

         Natasha Romanoff:

         A torture in the worst kind. It would take roughly eight regular steps to make it from the bedside to the kitchen counter. Your back was to her, moonlight from the window to stare to showing the colors of your pajamas and the black gun lifting against your head.

           Natasha cuts those eight steps down to six. A few seconds full of slapping bare feet and a silent plea to make it in time. At the end of those seconds an unholy bang rips from the barrel and into your ceiling. Two strong but slim hands hold your hand above your head and straight into the black dot in the ceiling.

           Upstairs neighbor have a beagle. A decently behaved dog that started howling at the top of his little lungs. Startled by the shot that thankfully missed anyone in the building and doing what he can to protect his family.

           Millions around the state collectively cry out with the beagle upstairs. Shots, stabs and jumps happening only seconds before you wake in fear. Blood covering miles of the state when you collapse into Nat’s arms. Unable to move, so confused from a nightmare you hadn’t woken from and couldn’t run away.

           Nat didn’t say anything, letting your weight take both of you down to the floor. Dragging you into her lap and shhh-shhh shushing you while you tried to understand.

         Bruce Banner:

           It wasn’t insulting to say that not a lot of people noticed you. Even before the big guy you were always a step behind and to the right of Bruce. In meetings, in pictures and in lab. Still you were the backbone for Bruce’s every day. There wasn’t an email, text, or phone call that didn’t go by you. The only time this wasn’t the case was during his self-imposed exile, the glare you gave when reunited…oh boy.

           This was why the assault was both confusing and made perfect sense. A seemingly simple mugging that ended with your purse gone and more than one cut covering neck and arms. It never occurred to anyone you’d need extra security. People would recognize Bruce before you.

           No cameras, wearing masks and average height, average build. It would take time to find them. Not that it’d be that hard to cancel some cards and your lipstick could be picked up on the way home. Eventually you just forgot about it, but started the habit leaving the compound with at least someone.

           The click-click-click of your fingers flying through the keyboard suddenly stopped. Bruce didn’t look up as the smaller click of your mouse would follow after. Your usual pattern was gone as you rifled through things without reason. Bruce watched from over his glasses, still poised at his microscope.

           Your desk was a second home. Not a drawer on it that you didn’t know the exact contents of.

           “Looking for something?” He asks, expecting you to retort with ‘I know my desk, Bruce.’ And more struggling.

           Instead you just struggled. Finding one of many flash drives stored in the back of the top right drawer. They were pretty cheap, you demanding a certain brand simply because you could.

           Your click-click-clicking continues for several more minutes.

           Bruce stands a few feet behind you. Watching your fingers go faster then they really should. Even when you were in the groove and could pop out reports without stopping of several hours you didn’t go this far. It wasn’t so much that you were typing fast, but that you weren’t touching the mouse. Like some action movie hacker, you didn’t touch the mouse yet everything on screen was moving documents and opening files.

           It takes a few seconds for a genius like Bruce to realize you were just pretending to type.

           “Honey?” He asks, hand going to your shoulder.

           You had minor self-defense training. Really you were little more than an over-glorified yellow belt in judo. One of the things taught was to get someone’s hand off of you. Grabbing his, fingers digging into his palm, and turning it in the wrong direction.

           He pulls it back and you continue with “typing”.

           There were two kind of emergency buttons in the lab. One for immediate and loud approach, storming guards and sirens and lots of yelling. And one for a subtler approach. For a situation when the threat is monologuing, or a raid would cause a worse reaction.

           He clicked the second one. You didn’t stop “typing”.

           The agent slides into the lab as your typing stopped and the flash drive was practically slammed into the computer. Going back to typing as though it would fool anyone.

           You knew the agent that shared the look with Bruce. She had a little sister she used to walk to school and volunteered to walk you home after the mugging. She steps up behind the chair, looking over your head to see the files being downloaded.

           “Hey, I’m about to go on brake, wanna get a cup of coffee?” She asks going into the protocol for ‘out of mind’ situations.

           Ever since the New York incident protocol was updated to cover mind control. Company policy was to just pretend like everything was normal and fine, try and get them to a secluded place where less damage can be done. From there they are to be neutralized and brought to medical for examination.

           Without a response Bruce hits the same subtle button.

           First agent says your name, placing both hands on your shoulders.

           The office chair wheels backwards into First agent. Right into her gut that she shoves to the side. Just as aggressive as you had put it in, you ripped out the flash drive. Spinning on low pumps to the lab door and right into Second agent’s chest.

           Second agent you didn’t really know. Used as a “intimidation agent” being over six feet and visibly armed. Their main job was to follow or stand in the corners of visitors the higher ups didn’t like.

           An agent you didn’t have a relationship with was also a part of the mind control policy. One agent can try and handle it but there would have to be two to ensure the rules are followed. Sense he didn’t see you as a life partner or even as a friend, there was no hesitation on his part to grab the wrist holding your flash drive. Or cussing at you when your teeth latched onto his arm.

           Like the professional she is the taser under your jaw unhinged your teeth. Falling backwards into her open arms, flash drive hitting the lab floor.  

           T’Challa:

           You’re pacing back forth in front of the two way. Everything about your movements were just wrong; your shoulders were square, feet hitting harder on the floor, eyes whipping back and forth for enemies that aren’t there. Your lips stay in a straight line, only opening to snarl when your fist slams against the two way.

           “She became incredible hostile on the plane over,” Mrs. TSA said in the corner of the room. “Flight attendant said she asked for the Princess and tried to get into the cockpit when she was told where they were headed. She was pinned by your security after getting violent.”

           The Dora Milaje in question stands at attention on the left of Okoye. She was charged to protect you both in Wakanda and on the plane over. There was a long conversation between you and Okoye about just how far their protection would last. Although decent at blending in at political functions or fancy-ass parties, they might stand out at your day job.

           There was still a bruise under your left shoulder blade where you were pinned. It took some awkward weeks, but you eventually had created a relationship with your guard. The plane rides becoming more than just awkward glances to each other. T’challa knew this; it just showed how mad you must have become to have your own guard have to take you down.

           “Did anyone talk to you before the flight?” He asks in their mother language.

           “Only the attendants, she received a drink from the one she had attacked.” None of the three were turning their heads to talk to each other.

           You had stopped screaming for Princess Shuri when you were left alone in a room. With nobody to hear you there was no point in asking questions. Instead your energy going into escape; bashing against the mirror, ripping the door handle and even throwing the chair against the wall as though it would break through.

           They didn’t have to ask why you’d be demanding for Shuri when the King was right there. Shuri was arguably more valuable than T’challa was. Although your relationship hadn’t reached that point yet, if he were to die there would be a replacement within a few years. Shuri on the other hand, a mind like that would be impossible to replace within this lifetime. Far more valuable than all the Vibranium in the world.

           Something was inside you, and you were screaming to be let out.

           Pietro Maximoff:

         Pietro sleeps like the dead at night. One of the few heroes who understood the importance of a good night’s sleep. He’d sleep like a starfish, laying diagonally across the bed, blanket half off and already snoring when you’d come in. Having to slide yourself into the small areas he wasn’t covering. You had to be careful where you slept, too close to a spooning position and he’d roll right on top of you. Nice with a bigger guy, one that’s raw muscle and bones? Not so much.

           That night you were sleeping in a curled ball towards the bathroom door. Pietro on his back, arms spread and leg open. Warmth from your belly button to sternum sat you up in bed. Hands crawling over the sheets to your hands and knees, touching your man’s chest to ensure he really is there.

           Like many nights when you couldn’t sleep you straddle his stomach. Backside above his crotch and pressing forward so when his eyes would eventually open he’d be staring at you.

           Although a hard snorer Pietro knew what the weight of his woman felt like. In his half-sleep daze, he moans at being awoken yet his hands still slide up your thighs. Starting at your knees and ending at your hips. Waiting for the next phase where you starting kissing him lightly until he starts to talk.

           Hands cup his face. Slight smile on his face at his scruff being toyed with. Expecting the first light kiss between his eyes.

           Instead your hands slide down just an inch and squeeze.

           Strangulation is so much harder than any movie have described. Taking more than several minutes to keep the air from getting in. And it’s best to be done on someone smaller than you, someone you can pin down and keep down to get your task done.

           You were singled out to send a message of fear instead of an assassination. To show that they can even reach the Avenger’s bed partners.

           Pietro, like most sensible people, grab your wrists.

           He tries to speak but all your weight is being leaned into his throat. Only noise to come out were gagged and barely there. Reaching your shoulders and shoving as hard as he could. Spit hitting your face while he begins to cough out in desperation.

           Faster than hell but not that strong he tries to pull your wrists away. A point of mockery that you were slightly stronger than him after starting a workout routine with Wanda. He really didn’t seem to care, joking that it was nice you could pin him down. But that was almost exclusively to the arms, his legs could still destroy you.

           Feet pressed against the bed he tries to buck you off. Hands gripping your shoulders and rolling you both off the bed. Pietro lands on top of you, fall and landing against the carpet knock whatever was holding you out. The machine’s signal was weak and extremely fragile, broken with a gun shot the next night after a mission.

           Because of this you wake up to Pietro pinning you to the carpet. He was panting but not a look of anger on his face. The same look you had when falling in the shower and hurt your shoulder.

           “Pet?” You asked, wrists held together in front of you.

           He wouldn’t talk until Wanda confirmed there was nothing in your head. Wearing a turtle neck and scarves for the next few days. Refusing to tell you why.

                     Peter Parker:

         You were one of hundreds hit by this aura blasted across the airwaves.

           Last thing you remember is being in your living room. Occasionally glancing up from your homework to whatever random reality TV was on. One moment a woman is screaming at another and the next you’re standing on the edge of your building.

           It was lucky the villain of the story didn’t consider launching their message over streaming serves. This dwindled the victims list down significantly, but every hero in the city was on overtime, catching and stopping those about to step off their buildings.

           Four others in your building stand alongside you. Staring over the buildings without a single thought in your mind. Foot out, weight forward and you come back to yourself.

           It was the same story with the other victims. Aside from the rushing wind, the world is silent for several beats. Like a nightmare of falling but this time you can scream. A hundred people screaming in unison louder than a jet engine through the city and into the next state.

           Screaming didn’t stop even when the falling did. It was like hitting a wall, breath knocked from you, grabbing around the man suddenly holding you.

           The same way you had the nightmare of falling and couldn’t scream, waking up and not being able to breathe. Watching the ground and buildings go past, arms gripping the hell out of whatever was carrying you.

           “Babe, babe, air.” You’re back where you started. Arms and legs still wrapped around your savior and refusing to let go.

           “Sorry, I’m sorry.” Your feet are flat and immediately your butt hits the roof falling back onto it.

           It’s the hardest part of being a hero. Every fiber of him screaming to hold you while the sense are screaming about those leaving the roofs and bridge. His hands are on your shoulders, squeezing harder than he should. “I’ll be back,” You’re nodding but still staring to the roof. “I promise.”

           He did come back, eventually. Not until after you found out the death toll.

         Stephen Strange:

         Wong had long since given up keeping you from the library. You playing with the books was really the equivalent of a toddler going through their father’s stack of work papers. The paper’s themselves wouldn’t do anything but you could rip or break them. So long as Strange was in there with you, he didn’t seem to care.

           With Stephen already inside Wong didn’t look up as you pass. He wouldn’t have caught the slight blue ring in your left eye, but he might have noticed your too straight back or the bike still running outside the sanctum.

           For a doctor Stephen has incredibly poor posture. Leaning forward over the table; practicing and memorizing a text he already knew by heart.

           “Accidentally tear another page and I’m locking you out.” He says with flipping of a page. Expecting your retort of what you’d lock him out of to come next. When the only thing he gets back is silence it’s a fair assumption that you had left out of boredom.

           It was like a hyper realistic dream. One where anything can happen to you and you’d feel nothing physically. Your bare feet walking over a stone floor without feeling the chill. Hands on either of Stephen shoulders, the stupid robe was thick and layered. Overly so, you had complained about it more than once while trying to strip it form him. Eventually giving up and moving the cloth that was needed to continue.

           His collar had enough give to pull from his neck, showing the junction between his neck and shoulder. His head tilts out of habit as it was one of the few places of skin you got quick and easy access to. Like those time before your lips kiss the space, a quick peck followed by a longer suck.

           He doesn’t look away from the book. His surgeon training keeping him focus on one thing even the distractions are physical. One hand still squeezing the shoulder, the other going to your hip. You had taken this as a challenge before, leaving hickeys before he would even acknowledge you. Mouth opening against his shoulder, teeth gently scrapping along the skin.

           That Cloak hasn’t liked you from the get-go. You still didn’t know how the thing worked; at first thinking it was like an AI or robot that saw you as a threat to it’s owner. But now It seemed to be actually sentient, the floating stopping for a second when you had asked where the circuits were, you likely offended him (her, it). Now you knew that thing was just jealous. Physically getting between you and Stephen when you’d embrace, you swore he had tripped you more than once.

           It had never tried to kill you before.

           Whiplash wasn’t that far off of a thought when you’re ripped backwards by the neck. Cloak covering your face and pressed behind your head like a Venus-fly trap. Grabbing and gripping the red that took over your entire vision, the fabric too strong for your nails to dig through.

           Most small fire-arms now a days have a firing pin lock or a drop-safety. Thankfully yours was one of them; landing on it’s side after you dropped it from being attacked.

           The black metal was a nasty scar compared to the stone floors and walls. A machine that might as well be painted “don’t belong here”, in the isles between books and tables. He didn’t even know you had one, never thinking about what really was in the safe under your bed.

         Matt Murdock:

         Purple, a concept Matt remembers from his childhood. Specifically, a balloon he had seen once, lasting only a few seconds but becoming a constant indicator. Later on, another kid at the orphanage proclaimed “the purple syrup is the worst” when they happened to be with the nurse at the same time. To this day he still associates any liquid medicine to be purple.

           It’s also the dress you were wearing at that restaurant.

           Over the shit head’s shoulder, you see a couple walking by. One of thousands that you’ve seen over the past four days walking through areas you’ve never considered going. This one, though, they backtrack to the window. The woman practically pressing her face against the glass, hands on either side of her eyes to combat the streetlight glare.

           The man was already inside the restaurant, woman following quickly behind.

           Karen was a slim woman, but on a mission, you wouldn’t be able to stop her. Walking past Matt, and side stepping the host before he could ask “Do you have a reservation?” Matt could only follow in her wake, knowing the art of walking with a goal and pretending not to hear the “Sir? Sir?”

           Karen says your name before reaching the table. “Where have you been? We’ve all been freaking out.”

           Matt is by her side closest to you. Everything was wrong about you right now; the shampoo you used was different, smell of your apartment wasn’t there and someone else, the man across from you, had had his hands on your arms and back. Enough that his cologne was now in your skin.

           “Is this lovely one your friend, Dear?” Shithead asks, looking up to Karen.

           Matt’s hand goes where it belongs; to your shoulder. A gentle slide from the shoulder blade to over your dress strap so the entire shoulder was in his palm. Your opposite hand covers his, it was what you did. Your way to tell him “You didn’t scare me”, after the first few times he had done this made you jump or tickled enough to let out a noise.

           “Dear,” That voice, Mr. Kilgrave’s voice. “You don’t know these people, you’re not his.”

           Who the fuck is touching you?

           “Sir, please let go of me.” Your childhood lessons of manners first, profanity next kicked in at this unknown man touching you. Your shoulder pulled back, chair scrapping against the carpet to make some distance between you and the wall.

           The blond woman steps closer to you, saying your name.

           How’d she know it?

           “I’m sorry, I really don’t you. Either of you.” You look to Mr. Kilgrave, eyes asking him what was going on.

           “I want them to go, you want them to leave, too.” He says.

           Wow, people can just be so rude. This guy touching you, girl getting way too close…

           “This is a private dinner; can you leave us alone?” You snap, manners starting to bleed out.

           “We’re not just going to leave you.” Blondie states.

           The guy just stared for a minute. Moving past your table and taking Blondie’s arm. “Karen, she’s telling the truth.”

           It’d be another few seconds before Blondie relented, turning and walking away with hard and quick strides. The guy didn’t look back at you. It was likely because he was blind, based on the cane.

           “Enjoy the date,” Mr. Kilgrave says. Lifting his wine glass in a cheers position. “It’s romantic.”

           You raise your glass to meet his.

           It was a very romantic date.

                                         ------------------------

Carol Danvers:

          It’s a wiggling whisper in your ear that takes you out of bed. A sudden, absolutely overwhelming urge to explore keeps your from caring about gently moving Carol’s arm. Sliding right out, walking barefoot across metal and out the door with no handle.

           Out of all the alien ships you’ve been on (count 1) this was easily the biggest. You had gotten a quick tour of the ship by the captain. A green woman who had introduced her as one of the Skrull, she was kind and answered whatever stupid question that came out of you. Mostly concerning what celebrity or politician her people could disguise themselves as. At no point did you ask about security or guard shifts or even if there were cameras in space.

           Even so you seemed to know exactly where and which corners to duck behind. Same goes for the Skrulls, never had you asked how durable they were, but it was almost hilarious how easily they were taken out with a punch in the right place.

           Trying to remember what exactly happened and all you can manage is typing furiously without ever looking at the keyboard or the screen. Instead your eyes are half-closed, head rocking back and forth worse then any boring class you had ever been in. A few times your head hits the back of the chair and you’d snap right up, getting a glance of information and pictures of pure light and color.

           The dream ends so much more violently then it had started. With grabbing and barely attempted fighting that might have been better placed in a very low brow bar. Ending completely with a too hot arm around your neck and quiet asking for you to “please, please stop.”

                                    --------------------------

Shang-Chi

It was revenge for his father’s crime that you were chosen.

It was days ago that a street performer had hypnotized you. In that time Katy had made a reservation for their friend group. Celebrating an anniversary that demanded a high-end place with a view of the city and prices that would add up to half your rent.

Breaking glass from the kitchen triggered the hypnotism. Shang didn’t notice when your hand slid from his leg. Standing from the table Katy mentioning that you all “just got here, and you already had to pee?”

You didn’t respond. Instead walking away from the table to the view over the city. Standing side by side with couples who had made their own way to the view.

Shang stood to follow. Assuming to understand your mind and ready to provide you company.

Instead of getting a romantic embrace and a smile Shang get’s a horror show. Watching his significant other push themselves up and over the railing. Screams from the couples around louder than his feet when he sprinted towards the railing.

It’s amazing the glass railing didn’t crack when Shang’s knees slammed into it. Doubled over to reach far as possible where you had fallen. Catching your forearm in a hold that would leave a bruise in the morning.

This was where you came to. Staring down the several stories with nothing beneath your feet. It’s understandable that you started to scream.

[the-worlds-the-limit]

Verses

Here are all the verses available!

All Muse inclusive Verses

Past Take a trip into the past of any muse.

Human For (most of) the inhuman muses. Now with a human look! (Descriptions for each will be given)

Future A glimpse into the future of any muse.

Bureau A verse where every muse lives in one big, underground base. Think the one in hellboy but suited to the muses, and just as a big home.

Sonic Muse inclusive Verses

Movie Sonic Movie-Verse. They generally carry rings, powers are hidden, and live on their own rather than living in cities or such. - Bio and Eclipse happened to just be experiments in the normal world, no Dark Arms. Turns out messing with Mobian DNA can actually make some wild things. They escaped together and have been on the run ever since. - Radar is a robot that was actually Robotnik’s, though her learning AI learnt the opposite of her purpose and escaped, taking out any trackers and deciding to live on her own. - Spike does not have sour candy, a piercing, and his dad has passed away by now. - Geode and Delta don't change. Delta stays with his family.

Lisa

Viral Resident Evil-verse. Assecla is nonexistent, and Lisa is instead an escapee from the Raccoon City incident. Albiet a half-Licker escapee. The control of her mind is still shaky like the original verse and she will attack rather viciously when out of control or threatened.

Fargone Bad end-verse. Assecla is more violent, and Lisa’s mind is gone from the moment Assecla got into her. Assecla has full control.

Mithuil

Darkness Bad end-verse. Mithuil has become the very thing he hated in his rage against those that killed his young mistress. Sadistic and spiteful, this Shadow Mithuil is dangerous.

Light Angel-verse. Mithuil is a holy beast, sent to kill off demonic creatures and things of darkness in general. He’s a tad more happy but annoyingly righteous.

Human Mithuil is an mildly-ordinary looking human with a mask on his face like that of his original verse form. His skin is pale white like his short hair, he wears a suit, and his eyes are smoking with blue mist.

Geode

Metal Robot-verse. Geode is a robot designed for mining. He has a drill on one hand, and the other can swap between a regular hand and a rock-firing cannon. But any old junk can be used to fire really.

Voxel

Corrupted Fanfic/monster-verse, fanfic coming later. Voxel has issues with controlling his own Corruption levels and ends up turning into a draconic-looking version of his Annihilate form. He has venom that can kill quite easily and can inject on command, but he’s more likely to use his tail than his mouth. If he ingests it makes him very sick. As in vomiting small amounts of blood, in bed for a week sick.

King Bad end-verse. The Legendary shapes died before he even went Annihilate. The world and Treeangle pieces are all corrupt. But now he’s so full of power, so completely in control, who will step up to stop him?

Human Voxel has a mixed dark skin tone, wearing the same clothes and a very gelled pink hairdo. He has two spike ear piercings and tattoos going up his arms resembling the parts in the original verse.

Halu

Captivity Zoo-verse. Halu has been captured and put into a zoo specialising in rare and endangered animals. Whether it’s lucky he isn’t in a government facility remains to be seen. His enclosure can only swam around so many times. His enclosure is a 10 metre deep pool, with adjustable ‘caverns’ that are swapped about regularly to keep him entertained. There are windows in the walls of the pool, and a small pebble beach for the keepers to stand on.

SCP SCP-verse. Halu is captured, being a rather anomalous creature, however little that may be. Thankfully, he’s classified as safe, so anyone can go and visit his pool with little hassle. His room is the same as his zoo cage largely, with an added 20 metres of depth and a square pontoon of 2x2 metres is in the centre, with a retracting bridge to the door rather than the beach.

Human Halu wears a waterproof leather vest, and leather leggings. He retains his gills, and the fins on his calves and forearms. His eyes and mouth are also the same. He has pale, slightly scaly skin and light blue hair.

Quet

Space Sci-fi-verse. Quet never left space and joined a small colony ship. The humans on there still mystify this much more friendly reptile. He wears a typical sci-fi esque bodysuit. Humans really are space orcs.

Parsec

Disposed Dethroned-Parsec-verse. Parsec was thrown off by a usurper who claimed he would create a better empire than her, and in turn, he was crueller. She has now ironically become the spearhead of the resistance against him that formerly helped him take her down, and is slightly more welcoming to humans in her new position.

Human Parsec looks largely the same, with waist length white hair, and face decals resembling her mask. She is missing one eye, which has become covered with an eyepatch with the design of her original-verse eye on it.

Nocte

Huntsmould Re-purposed-verse. Nocte did not get thrown into the Abyss, rather, when being carried away, they froze and wriggled free to tear a Husk that had gotten loose apart. The Pale King saw use in the innate ability to be able to sense and hunt down Infected useful, and clad them in a Kingsmould-esque armour and claimed them to be a Huntsmould. The public fear them for worry of being seen as infected. Takes place mainly before Hallownest’s fall.

Linn and Tamson

Beached Death Stranding-verse. Similar situation to Mama/Målingen and Lockne, owing to their original verse’s story. They tend to just stay on the very edge of where Bridges and the UCA are. More out of want to be just alone with each other. They help anyone passing through, provide a place to stay, and grow their own food. Their abilities are swapped for being able to sort of just see someone’s Beach if they both touch the person. They retain the connection as in the original verse though.

[ask-joeydrewstudios]

Another Reality (Part 1)

(Hello, Mun! I’ve been wanting to write a fanfiction for this AU for awhile, but once I heard the blog was shutting down, I finally decided to start. As a result of my lateness, this fanfiction is not finished. I guess I’ll be sending the rest to your other blog, if you’re interested. This is literally the first time I’ve ever submitted something online, so if I did something wrong, I apologize.)

(Where do I begin? Mun, I’d just like to thank you for all the laughs and heartfelt moments this blog has provided. It was a creative, unique idea to have a “happily ever after” AU, and continues to be. I haven’t been here since the beginning; I only got into the Bendy and the Ink Machine fandom about a year ago, and found your blog a few months later. But I can say that this has been, by far, one of my most favorite blogs here on Tumblr. I love your original take on all the characters, and their unique designs. You are an amazing artist and even more amazing human being. I wish you the best of luck in all your future projects, both fandom related and not.)

(Now back to the fanfiction. I’d been entertaining the idea of the studio employees of this AU ending up in the game studio. I decided to write that, but only for Chapter 1. It gets pretty “angsty” later on, but I tried to mix in some humor as well. I’ve never written anything so dramatic before, so we’ll see how it turned out.)

((Note: This fanfiction was written rather hastily, so I’m sorry if the pacing seems too fast. The way I headcanon the AU studio is that it’s a mix of the studio before the game was remastered and the studio after it was remastered, meaning the ink machine is in a small room at the far end of the main hallway, like the original, but everything else is like the remastered version.))

Joey Drew glanced over at his dozing head animator, Henry, before quietly laying down his pencil, setting aside the papers he’d been writing on. Slowly, he pulled open his desk drawer and withdrew his book of dark magic, careful to make as little noise as possible. He had no wish for Henry to discover him in the act of practicing spells; the cartoonist, while not actively trying to prevent him from performing said rituals, did not necessarily approve of them, either.

The head of the studio adjusted his glasses as he flipped through the pages of his book. He’d been so busy lately with the cartoons, which were quickly gaining popularity, that he hadn’t had time for practicing his spells. Joey had finished most of his work for the day, and decided he was deserving of a quick break.

Henry had come in about ten minutes ago, stumbling slightly as he’d opened the door, rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses. Joey shook his head, looking over at the young man, now fast asleep in his armchair. That boy needed to take better care of himself; he’d been working for almost two days straight on the latest cartoon, ignoring Joey’s and his wife’s protests. Henry’s work habits had improved much since he’d married Dianne, but clearly old habits die hard. Well, Joey thought, At least he finally had the common sense to go lie down.

Joey turned his attention back to his book. He had had this book for so many years now, and still he felt he hadn’t untapped all the secrets it held, hadn’t explored all the rituals it had to offer. Thumbing through it, Joey waited for something to catch his eye. He stopped when he reached the page with an intricate summoning circle sketched on it. Joey always found himself coming back to this particular passage, but had never made the time to try it out. Grinning, Joey opened one of his drawers and took out some candles, matches, and a large ink pot. He had the time now.

The text said something about it being a gateway. The book was written all in Latin, and was extremely old and had suffered some water damage, leading to many of the words having faded away. Joey could only just make out the incantation. Taking up his ink pot, Joey began to copy the circle down on the floor of his office. The ink he was using was not the regular ink found at the store. It was cursed ink, the kind used to bring Bendy, Boris, and Alice to life.

Joey deftly finished copying the diagram, years of experience guiding his hand. He was just reaching for the matches, when a shout he knew all too well reached his ears.

“JOEY!”

Sighing, Joey set down the match box and got to his feet, groaning slightly (being old was not fun). Couldn’t Sammy try to be a little more quiet? He checked to make sure Henry hadn’t woken up at the sudden outburst. Thankfully, the animator was still sound asleep. Joey quietly crossed his office and opened the door, shutting it gently behind him.

Angry shouting awoke Henry from his slumber. He recognized the shouter to be Sammy (When wasn’t it Sammy?) ranting about Bendy, and something about Susie. Henry sighed. He hoped Bendy hadn’t tried to prank Sammy again. Pranking Sammy was an exceedingly bad idea, but the prank backfiring and accidentally getting Susie was even worse. From what he was hearing, that was exactly what happened. He could hear Susie trying to calm her boyfriend, and could just detect Joey’s soft, measured voice through the noise.

Henry rolled his eyes and tried to block out the sounds. He let his eyelids droop shut, but not before something caught his eye. Peeking an eye open, Henry looked down at a summoning circle on the floor. Really, Joey? Had Joey actually been performing a ritual right under his nose? Henry sat up, reached for his glasses on Joey’s desk to get a closer look.

The circle seemed more complex than the other ritual circles Henry had seen, with various designs crisscrossing each other. Henry knew next to nothing about demonic rituals, other than what Joey had told him. Actually, now that he thought of it, he probably knew more than the average person did due to his boss.

Henry decided to let it be, and proceeded to take his glasses off and begin to snuggle back into the cushions, when he heard a whisper. Frowning, Henry replaced the glasses on his nose, staring intently at the circle. Had it just said something? Henry listened closely. There was definitely a whisper emanating from the circle. The animator got to his feet, knowing he should tell Joey. The whispers grew louder. Henry couldn’t make out what they said, but the voice sounded familiar. With a start, he realized it was his voice.

Henry stood silently for a moment, too confused and surprised to move. As he stared at the circle, the ink seemed to spread. Henry blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes. No, the ink was definitely moving. It was spreading across the circle, swirling around. A tunnel began to form, steadily elongating till Henry saw a light at the very end.

Something about this tunnel held Henry in some sort of spell, and he could not bring himself to tear his gaze away. His own whispers echoed in Henry’s ears, unintelligible but urgent. Without thinking, Henry stepped toward the dark puddle. Warning bells sounded in his head, yet he could not bring himself to heed them. He stood on the edge of the circle, gazing into the abyss. His foot rose slowly, almost of its own volition. It kicked something, sending it into the tunnel as it did so, but he didn’t care. His foot sunk into the ink, bringing the rest of him with it. Distantly, Henry heard Joey’s voice calling for him, but he didn’t turn to look.

  “I’ve had it up to here with that demon brat, Joey!”

Joey glared at Sammy coldly. The head of the music department didn’t seem to know how to stop shouting. Susie was trying to hush him, bringing an ink stained finger to her ink stained lips. Bendy had set a pale of ink up above the music department, attempting to drop it on one of the musicians, most likely aiming for Sammy. From what Joey had heard, and could clearly see, that ink had instead poured on Alice’s voice actress.

“Either you teach him a lesson or I will!” Sammy glared daggers at Joey.

“What do you mean by that, Lawrence?” Joey met Sammy’s glare coolly. He admitted that Bendy could be troublesome sometimes, and deserved a good chastising, but he wasn’t about to let Sammy start threatening his son. Sammy seemed to realize his mistake, for he sputtered for a few seconds, searching for something to say.

“Sammy,” Susie intervened, her voice gentle but firm, “I think Joey understands your feelings on the matter and will see to it that Bendy is suitably reprimanded. Now, please, shut up.”

Sammy looked startled for a moment and looked down at his girlfriend, who was giving him a stern look through her stringy, ink-drenched hair. Joey sighed and nodded his thanks to her, which she returned. It was commonly known around the studio that Sammy would do anything for Susie, and that was an admirable trait. Sometimes he pushed it a little far, though.

“I’ll go talk to Bendy as soon as I, ah, take care of some business.” Joey assured, turning back to his office door, pausing before he opened it, “And Susie, you may of course go home and clean up.” Susie smiled her thanks.

Joey nodded then turned the knob and entered his office, to see an ink tunnel having formed where he’d painted the circle, and Henry right on the edge of it. Joey could only stare for a moment, before calling out to Henry, who was actually stepping into this mysterious tunnel.

“Henry!” Joey leaped for the animator, but he was already falling down the tunnel, and into the brightness at the end. Sammy and Susie both burst into the room, alarmed by Joey’s cry.

“Joey, what- Holy heck!” Sammy’s eyes landed on the tunnel, and he took a step back, “What in blazes is that?”

Joey was staring intently at the tunnel, unable to speak for a few moments. What had just happened? How could it have happened? He hadn’t even begun the ritual! Joey was suddenly aware of whispers coming from the tunnel, reverberating in his ears. He stumbled away from them, backing into Sammy and Susie.

“Joey, what’s going on?” Susie’s nervous eyes searched Joey’s face for an answer, an answer Joey didn’t have.

“I-I don’t know.” His gaze was fixated on the tunnel, “I didn’t do anything. I only painted the circle. This shouldn’t have happened! Henry…” Oh goodness, what had he done?

Joey glanced desperately around for his ritual book; it would have the answer to how to bring Henry back. It had to. When he didn’t see it, Joey was immediately filled with dread. It had to be here. He frantically searched under the armchair and by his desk, but it was nowhere to be found, which meant only one thing: it had fallen into the gateway with Henry.

After a brief moment of panic, Joey came to a decision, “I’m going after him.” He stepped toward the ink, a deep sense of calm and resolution suddenly washing over him. Henry was like a son to him, and Joey wouldn’t be exaggerating if he said he wouldn’t know what to do should anything happen to him. He was the reason Henry had fallen down this ink tunnel, and he would be the one to bring him back.

“You can’t just jump into some ink tunnel not knowing where it leads.” Susie protested, “We need a plan.”

“The plan is to go in, get Henry and the ritual book, then find a way back.”

“That doesn’t sound very well thought out.”

“There are no other options!” Susie jumped slightly at the harshness in Joey’s voice. Then, seeing the desperation in the older man’s eyes, her tone softened.

“Alright.”

“ ‘Alright?’ ” Sammy interrupted, looking at Susie in disbelief, “We’re seriously letting Joey jump into a freaking hole in the floor?”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

When Sammy remained silent, Susie turned back to Joey.

“Go.” she said, simply.

Joey nodded, prepared to jump in, before turning to his employees, “No one is to follow me, understand?” Susie nodded, and Sammy glanced between the two of them before nodding slowly. Joey turned back to the ink tunnel, and, before fear could overtake him, he jumped.

  What the heck just happened?

Henry lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the studio. He had been falling down a tunnel of ink till he’d flown up and out of the tunnel, landing painfully on his back. Now here he lay, too stunned to do little more than blink. After a few moments, Henry remembered he had arms, and he used these arms to push himself up to a sitting position, while adjusting his glasses. Turning round, Henry saw the strange tunnel he’d just fallen through, on the floor just a foot from him. Henry had had many strange experiences in his life, but this definitely was the strangest. Even that one time Bendy had turned him into a cartoon didn’t seem so weird compared to this.

Henry got shakily to his feet, surveying his surroundings more. He was at the entrance to the studio, but Henry immediately realized it had changed. There were no sounds, no one speaking other than the whispering portal. The studio was never this quiet. There was a large amount of ink dripping from a section of the ceiling, creating a large puddle on the floorboards. That hadn’t been there this morning. What was even more peculiar was the glowing ink on the walls and floor. That definitely hadn’t been there this morning.

Henry studied this strange ink, first looking down at the large amount that seemed to have been painted across the floorboards. At the end of this long stretch of ink was written in large letters “DON’T TURN ON THE MACHINE”. Henry could only assume whoever had written this was referring to the ink machine. His eyes roved over the writing on the walls. Two sections were devoted solely to tallies. One part read “TURN BACK”, painted over a Bendy poster, and another read “I’M SORRY BUDDY”, over a Boris poster. In the room that led off from this hallway, Henry could see a large sign for Joey Drew Studios, with moving film reels behind it. Over the “Studios” part was written “NOTHING”, so that the sign seemed to read “Joey Drew nothing”. Henry couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around all he was seeing. All the writing was so ominous. Why would anyone write this in the studio? Was this even the studio he knew? Where was he?

Panic began to set in, and Henry found himself turning back to the ink tunnel; if it could send him to wherever this place was, then surely it could send him back home. As he prepared to walk back through, Henry spotted Joey’s book of dark magic lying on the ground. He remembered something had fallen into the tunnel before he did, but he hadn’t spotted it until now. Henry picked it up, and held it close to him. Suddenly this book of devilry was the most precious and comforting item in the world.

Henry took a deep breathe, about to step into the gateway, when he saw something falling through it, rising up toward him. No, not something, someone. Joey!

Joey flew threw the tunnel, arching through the air before slamming into Henry. The two men crashed to the ground, the ritual book flying from Henry’s grasp. The pain Henry felt at the collision did not override the relief and joy he felt at seeing Joey.

“Joey!” he cried, pushing his glasses back into place.

“Henry!” The older man struggled to sit up, enveloping the animator in a tight embrace the moment he did. Henry returned the hug with equal warmth, letting all of his fears melt away, even just f

or a moment, to allow himself to feel safe and comforted.

Joey pulled away from the hug first, adjusting his askew glasses, “Are you hurt?” he asked, eyeing Henry up and down.

“No. Are you?” Joey didn’t talk about it very much, but he was growing old, and falling through a tunnel and smacking into someone else before hitting the floor probably did not do his aging body any wonders.

“I’m fine.” Joey assured, attempting to stand before wincing and sinking back down, “Or at least I will be.”

Henry nodded understandingly, seating himself beside Joey. The two men sat in silence for a few seconds, allowing their nerves to settle. At last, Joey turned to Henry, his icy blue eyes wide and earnest, “I’m sorry this happened to you. I didn’t think this would - or could - happen. I should have been more careful.”

Henry smiled wanly. Joey had done a lot of what could be considered bad things in his life, such as summoning creatures from ink, but he’d never done anything with malicious intent. He always owned up to his mistakes and always tried to make amends. Sure, he was a little too careless sometimes, but it was hard for Henry to hold a grudge against the man who had given him his dream job, who was always there for him, and who he considered to be like a father to him.

“I forgive you.” Henry said, simply.

Joey searched Henry’s gaze, and, apparently concluding he’d meant what he said, smiled back.

The studio owner then eyed their surroundings, his brow furrowing, before spotting his book. He went to get up and grab it, but Henry beat him to it, and handed the book to him. Joey flipped through the pages impatiently before stopping on a page with a sketch of the ritual circle Henry had seen just minutes ago in Joey’s office.

“This’ll be our ticket home.” he said, pointing to the diagram.

“Can’t we just walk back through the tunnel?” Henry asked.

“The portal probably only works on one end, and since no one knows how to bring us back on that end, we’ll need a second ritual circle to get us back to our studio.” Henry frowned, and experimentally tried to put his hand through the tunnel they’d come through. Sure enough, some invisible barrier prevented him from doing so.

“Now all we need is ink…” Joey mused aloud. Henry knew they couldn’t just use normal ink; they needed ink directly from the ink machine. Henry glanced over at the message on the floor. “DON’T TURN ON THE MACHINE”.

“What do you make of these messages?” Henry asked, gesturing to the glowing ink surrounding them.

Joey frowned, “What messages?”

“These ones.” Henry said, gesturing again. Joey looked about them a moment before turning back to Henry, a puzzled expression on his face.

“I don’t see anything.”

Now Henry frowned, “How do you not see anything? They’re literally glowing.”

Joey continued to look confused, which irritated Henry. He didn’t like being the only one seeing the messages, seeing as how he didn’t know what that meant.

Joey’s head tilted slightly as he considered his apprentice, “What do these messages say?”

Henry explained to him all the markings he was seeing, and the older man stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“Interesting…” he murmured to himself. Henry didn’t understand why Joey found it so “interesting”, but decided not to ask; he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Joey seemed to remember the whispers coming from the tunnel, and he turned slowly to face them, a look of surprise on his face.

“Is that-”

“Me? Yeah, it is.”

Joey stared at Henry silently for a moment, before turning back to the portal.

“I wish I could understand what you’re saying.”

“So do I.”

Joey stared wide-eyed at the gateway for a few more seconds, before snapping back to the matter at hand.

“Well, regardless of the warning not to, we need to turn on the ink machine in order to get home.” Joey rose slowly to his feet. He rubbed at a spot on his back, and grimaced.

“That’ll smart for awhile.” he said, half to himself. Turning to Henry, Joey smiled slightly.

“Let’s go.”

  Sammy could not believe what he was seeing. Many a strange thing had happened in the years since he’d begun working at the studio, but this definitely surpassed them all. Well, apart from that one time Bendy had turned him into an ink monster for a few days, but other than that, this was definitely the strangest thing that had happened.

Susie and he stood as far away from the ink tunnel as they could without leaving the room. The whispers were still audible over here, but were not nearly as… tantalizing. Something about those whispers sounded familiar, but Sammy couldn’t place why. They also seemed to have a sort of lulling effect, and Sammy and Susie had to repeatedly stop themselves from advancing toward the gateway. At last, Sammy decided to just turn his back to the tunnel; the whispers were less prominent this way.

Darn it, Joey. He cursed to himself, Why do you have to go mucking about with this stuff?

Susie noticed Sammy’s consternation, “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Susie gave him a knowing look, and Sammy crossed his arms. He would never, ever, say it, but he had come to actually like his boss, even though he could be a total idiot sometimes. And he’d always respected Henry for his work ethic and for the fact that he always minded his own business. The music director grudgingly admitted to himself that he cared for both of them, something Susie could understand without him having to put it into words.

“Hey, Mr. Drew!” Wally’s voice snapped Sammy from his thoughts, as did the janitor’s hurried footsteps, “Mr. Drew, there’s a pipe leak- sweet cheese!” Wally ran into the office and immediately backpedaled when he saw the tunnel, hugging the wall.

“Wh-What is that?” The janitor turned to Sammy and Susie, steadily inching closer to them.

“It’s a hole in the floor.” Sammy said drily, too disgruntled to explain.

Susie rolled her eyes at Sammy and explained the situation to a flabbergasted Wally, who had made his way over to them and stood close to Susie.

“Henry fell into this… tunnel, and Joey went to go rescue him.”

“… So, we’re just waitin’ now?” Wally asked, his eyes flicking from the tunnel to Susie and back again.

“Basically.”

Wally nodded slowly. Sammy sighed. As if the situation wasn’t bad enough already, now they had to deal with Wally. Could this day get any worse? Bendy rushed into the room. I’ve got to remember to stop asking that. The ink demon looked scared, and Sammy figured he was probably seeking Joey for protection, which he often did when Sammy was mad at him.

Bendy squeaked when he saw Sammy, made to leave, then paused when he noticed the music director wasn’t even looking at him. Cautiously, Bendy stepped into the room, squeaking again when he saw the portal on the floor.

“What happened?” he asked, his pie eyes wide, “Where’s Papa Drew?”

Susie smiled gently, crouching down so she was at eye level with Bendy to give him the news.

“He and Henry fell into that ink thing!” Wally cried. Susie turned to glare at him, while Bendy’s usually smiling mouth drooped into a frown.

“When are they comin’ back?” he asked. Sammy watched as Susie searched for an assuring answer, stuttering a bit. He decided to interject.

“They’ll be back soon.” Sammy looked down at the ink demon. Bendy looked up at him, no longer afraid of his wrath. Sammy had to admit he wasn’t really angry with him any more; too much had happened in the past several minutes.

“You’re welcome to wait for them with us.” Susie said.

Bendy nodded and seated himself, facing the portal. Sammy and Susie shared a glance, each silently asking the same question: What do we do if they don’t come back? Out of the corner of his eye Sammy saw Wally move, but was too absorbed in his thoughts to turn and look. If they don’t come back- No. I won’t think about that right now. Sammy found his hands moving to his pockets, reaching in for his cigarettes and lighter. Smoking usually helped calm his nerves.

Sliding out a cigarette and placing it in his mouth, Sammy flicked open the lighter, bringing it up to the end of his stick.

“Um, Wally, what are you doing?”

Bendy was looking behind Sammy and the music director turned to see Wally right on the edge of the ink tunnel. Oh, shoot! “Wally!”

The lighter fell from Sammy’s grasp, flipping closed, the cigarette falling to the floor as he dove for the janitor. Wally was descending into the ink and Sammy clutched his arm. Wally’s weight and the pull of the portal was too much, though, and Sammy was soon diving in as well. Dimly, he heard Susie shouting his name, felt her hands on his upper arm. Then they were all lost to the ink and whispers.

  The deeper into the studio they went, the more uneasy Joey and Henry became. It was all too clear no one else was here, and hadn’t been for quite some time. However, two of the rooms off the main hallway had lights on, one of them being Sammy’s upstairs office. Music suddenly began to play from behind the door. Joey and Henry had shared a nervous glance before Joey had timidly said, “Hello?” No one answered, and the music soon stopped. They’d tried to open the door, but it was locked. Ink dripped in worrying amounts from various sections of the ceiling; Joey was surprised the ceiling was still holding up. If all this wasn’t eerie enough, Henry discovered more hidden messages. Over the directory was written “DEATH IN EVERY DiRECTION”. There was a message just beyond it, that Joey could see quite clearly. “DREAMS COME TRUE”. That was his slogan. Why had someone written his slogan on the wall in ink? Who had done it? Henry told him there was another secret message just above it that said “NOT ALL”. “NOT ALL DREAMS COME TRUE”. What did this mean?

Obviously this universe’s version of the studio was radically different from the one Joey had founded. But why? If there was an alternate studio, there must be an alternate version of him. Joey couldn’t imagine any version of him would let the studio fall into ruin; the success of the studio had always been his top priority. And what about these messages Henry was seeing? Perhaps, Joey mused to himself, Only Henry can see them because Henry wrote them. That would make sense, if it was written in magical ink. But then Joey found himself at the same question of “Why?”. Why would Henry write these messages? Who was he trying to warn, if the only other person who could read it was another Henry?

Joey shook his head. There were no concrete answers as of yet. He needed to focus on the mission at hand: getting home.

The way to the ink machine was different than their world. The area off the hallway leading to it was blocked off by what looked like a garage door. That’s not good, Joey thought, We’ll need to open it to access the switches for the machine. Instead of this hallway directly leading to the machine, it turned right, and there was a chart at the far end of the hallway labeled “Ink Output Schedule”. Joey saw that it had been signed “T.C.”. He could only assume that meant Thomas Connor. Did this studio have all the same employees as theirs? What had happened to them? Had they all quit?

They turned right, stepping over a large pipe that extended across the floor. And soon they beheld a large room, split into two levels, with them on the upper part. Chains extended down from the ceiling to the lower level. Here on the upper level was a lever, and some sort of power generator. To the left was a trunk and a shelf. A railing was placed on the other side of this level, probably to make sure no one fell. The ink machine was nowhere in sight.

Joey just stared in awe at his surroundings. He wasn’t sure why this whole area was necessary, or where the ink machine was, but it was fascinating seeing his studio designed differently.

Henry murmured something.

“What’s that?” Joey asked, absently.

“ ‘THERE NEVER WAS A CHOICE’.”

Joey frowned, turned to look at the younger man, “What?”

Henry pointed to the floor, “Another message.”

Joey instinctively looked down where Henry was pointing, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to see anything. He’d have to remember all these messages, so he could come to a conclusion later as to what they meant.

Henry walked over to the railing, looked down at the room below.

“I don’t see the machine.” The young man eyed the chains and the large hole in the floor, “Maybe it’s attached to the chains.”

Joey didn’t see the reason behind the chains needing to hold the machine. He guessed it was so that it could move to the different levels of the studio, though Joey didn’t think that was necessary.

The studio owner glanced about him, “How do we get to it…?” He eyed the lever, then the power generator.

“This lift could use a few dry cells.” Henry voiced Joey’s thoughts aloud.

“There’s one over there.” Joey went and grabbed one off the shelf. Henry checked the inside of the trunk, and withdrew another. The two men carried their loads over to the power generator, sliding them in place. Joey grabbed the lever, yanking it down. Instantly, the chains began moving as they worked to bring something up.

“Let’s see what’s hiding down there…” Henry said, quietly.

Sure enough, it was the ink machine, but not the ink machine they knew. This one was designed differently, with a pipe running down it, and an altogether sleeker look. Steam issued from either side, making Joey jump slightly. He pressed himself up against the railing, trying to get a closer look. He wondered how efficiently this ink machine ran compared to the one back in their world. Was it a newer model? Joey wanted nothing more than to study this alternate machine.

“Uh, Joey?” Henry’s voice jarred Joey’s thoughts, and he backed away. Right, right, getting home is our main priority.

The two of them headed out of the room, Joey casting glances back over his shoulder.

When they arrived back at the main hallway, Joey saw the roll up door that had closed off the area with the switches had been opened up, and the door to the breakroom had opened as well. But how? There was no one else here. At least, no one they’d seen. I’m beginning to think this place is haunted. And as the thought crossed Joey’s mind, he realized this notion wasn’t entirely not plausible.

“Come on.” he said, motioning to Henry. It wouldn’t do to dwell on things that could not be explained, as of yet. Henry glanced at Joey, before following him into the new hallway.

  This section of the studio was just like their world’s studio, except for the occasional hole in the wall. Henry was glad to see not everything was changed, but it was eerie at the same time. How could two studios, so similar, be so different?

They turned right, past the desk and chair nobody ever used, towards the old break room, which was where one of the switches was and where Joey performed the ritual to curse the ink. Henry stared at the far wall, reading yet another secret message. “DON’T BE SCARED”, it read. Don’t be scared of what?

A plank of wood fell from the ceiling and clattered to the ground. It wasn’t so much the the fall itself but rather the resounding noise the plank made as it hit the floor that caused Henry to wince. Joey looked surprised, but other than that made no reaction. Henry looked back up at the writing on the wall. It was as if whoever had written it had known the wood would fall. Add that to the list of strange things that had been happening.

Henry reported the message to Joey, who paused, before nodding, telling him to keep him posted. Hopefully Joey will be able to make better sense of these messages than I can.

They reached the intersection, and Henry turned right, heading for the break room, but something caught his eye in the room to the left. He turned to look just as Joey gasped, a small cry escaping him. Henry looked into the other room and saw Boris - dead - strapped to a raised table, his rib cage splayed open with a wrench jammed between them and his eyes crossed out.

Henry could only stand there, staring at the corpse. Horror filled him, overtaking his mind. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. Boris was dead. Boris was dead.

The two men stood frozen for a few moments, until Joey stumbled forward, inexplicably drawn to the dead wolf. Henry wanted to do something, to pull him away, but his limbs refused to move. Joey approached Boris, staring up at the body. His legs could no longer carry him, and he sunk to the floor, kneeling before the corpse, his ritual book falling from his grasp. A horrible noise escaped him, and Henry realized it was a sob, a terrible, heart-wrenching sob. And suddenly Henry could move again, and he was running to and kneeling beside his boss. A golden message shone on the floor, but Henry couldn’t care less what it said.

Henry’s arms wrapped around Joey, offering what little comfort they could. Joey didn’t seem to notice, his watering blue eyes trained on Boris. Henry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back his own tears; one of them needed to stay strong.

The two men remained in silence for what seemed an eternity, before Joey spoke, his voice low, “Who… would do this?”

Henry didn’t have an answer, and he didn’t trust his voice to speak without shaking.

Joey had finally wrenched his gaze away from Boris and was staring down at his hands, “How could I let this happen?”

Henry took a deep breath before speaking, “It’s not our Boris.”

“But he’s still Boris. There’s a Joey in this world, and he let this happen. He…” Joey’s voice broke as he covered his face with his hands.

Biting his lower lip, Henry gently withdrew his arms from around Joey, shifting himself so that he was partially facing the older man.

“Joey,” he said, softly. Joey didn’t look up. Henry breathed in slowly, calming himself before he continued, his voice stronger, “Joey, this isn’t your fault. Whoever did this, whichever Joey let this happen, is not you.” Joey continued to sob quietly into his hands.

Henry realized that no amount of comforting words would make this moment any better. Joey had just seen the disemboweled corpse of his son. Yes, this Boris wasn’t their Boris, from their world, but it was still Boris. It didn’t matter whose fault it was. Boris was still dead. His son was dead.

Scooching back beside Joey, Henry wrapped his arms about him again, and this time Joey leaned into him, giving himself to his anguish. Henry held him tighter, letting his own tears fall.

And so the two men remained, whispers echoing about them, the Boris corpse oblivious to the tears being shed for it.

  Susie fought to keep herself from shivering. She was still drenched from the ink Bendy had poured on her, and the chill of this… other studio combined with the wetness set her teeth chattering. Sammy noticed this, and wrapped an arm about her, not caring that he was getting ink on his own clothes. Susie smiled at her boyfriend gratefully.

The three of them (her, Sammy, and Wally) gazed about this strange new studio. Neither Joey nor Henry were in sight; Susie hoped they were alright.

Sammy was glaring viciously at Wally, “Well, Franks, I hope you’re happy. We’re trapped in some alternate studio, with no way of getting back, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“Hey!” Wally cried indignantly, “It’s not my fault! I didn’t know the tunnel was gonna start whisperin’ at me. You guys shoulda warned me!”

“Let’s not argue.” Susie said, already sick of their bickering, “We need to find Joey and Henry.”

Sammy cast one last glare at Wally, before turning to Susie, sighing, “Let’s go, then.”

The trio had tumbled out of the portal a mere minute ago, with Wally landing first, flat on his face, Sammy landing on top of the janitor, and Susie forming the apex of their strange little tower. It had taken them some moments to regain their bearings and to disentangle themselves from each other, but they’d been quite surprised by their surroundings once they had. Now they advanced through the silent hallway leading toward the ink machine, becoming more wary with each step.

“Joey?” Susie called softly, her voice seemingly too nervous to speak louder, “Henry?”

Sammy paused when they reached his office, opening the door. It wasn’t much different from his office back in their world, with a desk taking up most of the space, a radio, and a shelf, except this shelf contained bacon soup. Nobody at their studio enjoyed bacon soup except for Bendy and Henry. How old is this stuff? Susie withdrew a can from the shelf, checked the expiration date, her eyes widening when she saw the soup had expired almost three decades ago. How long has it been since anyone worked here?

“ ‘He will set us free’?” Susie turned to see Sammy reading off a paper on his desk, brow furrowed. The music director turned to look at his girlfriend, “Did I write that?”

Susie didn’t have an answer for him. Since there was another studio, it was conceivable that there could be other versions of themselves. For some reason, the thought made the voice actress uneasy; she wasn’t sure she could handle meeting another version of herself. This studio was already so different from theirs; wouldn’t its employees be different, too?

Gently, Susie laced her arm through Sammy’s, led him out of the small space. Wally surveyed the room more closely once they’d stepped out, his eyes alighting on the small radio on the desk. Before either Susie or Sammy could protest, Wally had turned the dial. Music blared from the radio, making them all jump. Cursing, Sammy shoved past Wally and shut it off.

“Can’t you ever use your brain, Franks?” Sammy scowled at the janitor.

“I wanted to see if it still worked.” Wally said defensively, “I didn’t think it would be so loud…”

Sammy gestured to the radio, “The volume is turned all the way up, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh.” Wally looked sheepish, “Well, maybe Joey or Henry heard it.”

Or something else did. Susie shook her head, trying to ignore the fanciful notion.

The three continued to progress down the hallway, noticing the ink machine wasn’t directly at the end as it was in their studio. They were just nearing the break room when soft footsteps could be heard in the section opposite it. The three of them halted, and Susie licked her dry lips, tasting ink, before calling timidly, “Joey?”

“Susie?” Henry’s low voice made Susie sigh in relief, and she walked forward just as Henry turned the corner, Joey right behind him. Susie’s smile faltered as they neared, seeing their faces. Henry’s eyes were red rimmed, his mouth set in a tight line, as if he was trying to hold himself back from crying. Joey clearly had been crying, and his puffy, red eyes proved that. His breathing was shaky, and as he came up to meet her, Susie could see tears still sliding down his cheeks.

“Are you alright?” she asked of them immediately. Neither of them could meet her gaze.

“We’re fine.” Henry looked up at Sammy and Wally, before turning to Susie, “Why are you here?”

“We fell in by accident.” Susie explained.

“She means Wally dragged us here.” Sammy added, earning a harsh glare from Susie.

Wally crossed his arms, “I didn’t ask you to try and save me.” The voice actress tried to communicate to the two of them with her eyes that now was a very bad time to argue. Sammy caught her look, and seemed to finally notice that Joey and Henry were upset. He frowned, nudging Wally slightly before he could continue the squabble. The janitor looked confused at Sammy’s sudden silence, before he too saw the reason behind it.

Henry sighed, rubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses, “Well, we need the ink machine to get home. We were just about to start the ritual when we heard the radio turn on.”

The animator made to turn back the way he’d come, but stopped to glance at Joey. The older man hadn’t said a word, had barely even looked at them. He seemed lost in his own world, which wasn’t unusual for him. But the utterly morose look on his face wasn’t like Joey at all. He looked like he was within moments of an emotional break down.

“Joey,” Henry’s voice grew quiet as he addressed his mentor, “do you want to wait a bit?”

Joey turned to his apprentice, before drawing a long, quivering breath, “No. I want to go home.” Henry nodded, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder before walking off in the direction of the ritual room. Susie shared a confused and concerned glance with Sammy and Wally. What could Joey and Henry have seen to affect them in this manner? Susie had a sinking feeling she was about to find out.

(That’s it for now! I hope you all enjoyed this. It might be a bit too depressing for the end of the blog, but oh well. I never was good at writing fluff. Farewell, Mun! I’ll be seeing you on your art blog.)

(( Oh wow, I think this is the longest one submission i’ve ever gotten xD I like how you write the characters, you’ve got their personalities down pretty well, and even though a few people have done the ‘AU characters end up in the canon universe’ idea the whole ‘people reacting to the dead boris’ thing never gets easier to read :^) it hurts every time. if you continue to write this please feel free to @ my art blog, i’d love to see more! thanks for the fic!! <3))