#slum tv

[lurafita]

Scrooch McDuck Magnus Bane

My nieces were over and we watched cartoons and for some reason, Scrooch McDuck made me think about:

Ludicrously rich Magnus who hires Alec as a housekeeper, and just moves Alec and his siblings into his villa with him.

He comes up with a flimsy reason for this (something along the lines of it being more convenient in case Magnus needs Alec at odd hours;

"What if I'm craving microwave popcorn at 3am and you are all the way over in the slums and can't make it for me, Darling?"

"Magnus, you are the CEO of the pioneer technology company in the world. You know how to use a microwave. You probably built this microwave. But that aside, you should be sleeping at 3am, not eating popcorn. And for the last time, I don't live in the slums."),

but it's actually mostly because Magnus is lonely and he just wants to have people around him.

[thehours2002]

i had to hold back a laugh in the library when i saw this headline

[lightdancer1]

One of the ways to make Dawn Summers hilarious and still true to her whiny bratty klepto self is to have her and the setting eschew subtlety and have the Order of Dagon making a shining being with Key symbolism literally be Yog-Sothoth the Gate and the Key. In short an immensely powerful elder god self inserts as Buffy Summers’ sister and it does not spark joy.

[surrealistictechtales17blog]

[vipetas]

ii. the radio's revival

It was odd. Ever since that chance encounter with the Radio Demon, he’s been gracing your doorstep more often than you had expected. You were just doing your job, after all, fixing that radio of his. But he seemed to interpret that as an invitation rather than the transaction that it was.

Whether he was cursed with inexplicable bad luck or if it was simply a series of coincidences, you couldn't say for sure, at least not in the beginning. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, and Alastor kept coming back, each time with a new contraption for you to fix, you couldn't help but come to a conclusion.

He was breaking things on purpose.

The sinister Radio Demon, with his daunting reputation and predatory grin, was breaking things on purpose. All for the sake of visiting your humble little workshop in the slums.

You couldn't decide whether to feel flattered or victimized. Hell, you couldn’t even begin to fathom what drew him back to your workshop time and again. Yet, as the routine continued, you also couldn’t deny that Alastor didn’t seem as terrifying as you once believed him to be. Gradually, you became accustomed to his presence. In fact, you even found yourself looking forward to his visits, often preparing a cup of coffee for him as you worked while he observed.

Today was no different. As you diligently worked on repairing an antique pocket watch, your attention kept drifting to the window, where sinners of all shapes and sizes strolled along the bustling street. Your keen eyes searched for a splash of red amidst the passersby, and your ears strained for the familiar sound of the bell above your door. Yet, neither sight nor sound came.

And as you affixed the final gears of the pocket watch into place, Alastor had yet to make an appearance. You glanced at the untouched, now-cold coffee cup, and despite your efforts to suppress it, disappointment began to seep into your heart.

Alastor strode through the dimly lit corridors of the hotel, his thoughts consumed by a singular objective: to find something–anything–that he could lay his hands on.

He knew it was silly. Preposterous even. For him, of all people, to resort to such childish behavior! But there was a restlessness gnawing at him, an insatiable craving for something he couldn’t quite name.

Ever since his fingers grazed against yours in that fleeting moment of contact, Alastor found himself haunted by the memory. It was as if a dormant ember had been reignited within him, sparking a firestorm of conflicting and inexplicable emotions. He couldn’t understand it, couldn’t fathom why a simple touch had stirred such chaos within his usually composed heart.

And frankly, he didn’t really care to dwell on it. To acknowledge the depth of his confusion would be to admit weakness, a notion he found utterly intolerable. Besides, there were more pressing matters at hand–like finding something to break, for instance.

Turning corner after corner, Alastor reached the hotel’s parlor, a space usually abuzz with activity. However, to his surprise, the room now seemed to be eerily deserted.

The armchairs sat empty, their plush cushions undisturbed by the weight of occupants. The grand piano stood silent in the corner, its keys untouched and gathering dust. Not even a whisper stirred the air, leaving the parlor feeling desolate and abandoned.

And then, he spotted it–the TV, perched precariously upon a nearby table. Alastor’s grin, stretched wide across his face, threatened to split his features in sheer delight. It was perfect–he had been itching for an opportunity to destroy that troublesome picture box, and this presented the ideal occasion.

Crossing the room with determination, Alastor's fingers curled around the edges of the TV, his excitement palpable as he prepared to deliver the final blow. But just as he lifted it off the table, a stern voice cut through the silence.

“Alastor!” Vaggie scolded. “How many times have I told you not to touch the TV?”

Alastor's grin remained firmly in place as he turned to face Vaggie, exchanging glances between her stern expression and the television in his grasp. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, and then, without breaking eye contact, he slowly loosened his hold on the television, letting it drop to the ground with a resounding crash.

The impact shattered the screen, creating a spider web of cracks that spread in all directions, while the plastic casing splintered open with a loud snap. Vaggie's jaw dropped in disbelief as she stared at the wreckage before her, her eyes widening in shock. Alastor's grin only stretched further.

“Oops,” he said, his tone laced with mock innocence. “My hand must have slipped.”

The commotion of the shattered TV drew Charlie into the parlor like a magnet, her expression a mix of shock and dismay as she took in the scene before her.

“What in the–Alastor, what's gotten into you?” she exclaimed as she approached, her footsteps quickening as her eyes darted between the broken TV and the Radio Demon standing nearby. “You can't keep breaking everything in the hotel!”

Without missing a beat, Alastor's expression morphed into one of exaggerated shock and wounded innocence. His hand flew to his chest, fingers splaying out dramatically as if to emphasize the depth of his offense.

“My dear Charlie,” he exclaimed. “Accusing me of such vandalism! Why, I would never dream of causing harm to anything in our esteemed hotel!”

Charlie raised an incredulous eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his theatrics. “Really? Because I distinctly remember you destroying the coffee machine just last week.”

A flicker of annoyance flashed across Alastor's face, quickly masked by his trademark grin. “Ah, well, accidents happen, my dear. Surely you can't hold that against me.”

Before Charlie could respond, Vaggie interjected with a pointed look. “And what about the toaster the week before that?”

“The toaster?” Alastor echoed, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he cast a sidelong glance at Vaggie’s direction. “Oh, that old thing was on its last legs anyways. I was merely putting it out of its misery!”

Charlie's sigh reverberated through the parlor, laden with frustration. Anyone within earshot could discern that even the seemingly infinite well of patience belonging to the Princess was beginning to run dry.

“Alastor,” she started, drawing a deep breath and folding her hands in front of her. “I know you mean well, but we can't have you breaking things every time you get bored.”

Alastor’s facade remained intact as he listened to Charlie’s lecture, although the subtle twitch of his ear betrayed the irritation that simmered beneath the surface. He had expected this reaction, of course; it was all too predictable. But that didn't make it any less tiresome.

“Oh, come now,” he responded as casually as he could. “You know me better than that. I'll have that pesky picture box fixed in a jiffy!”

“It's not just about fixing the TV, Alastor. We have enough trouble keeping this place together without you destroying hotel property whenever you feel like it.”

Suppressing an urge to roll his eyes at Charlie's admonishment, Alastor finally conceded, even as his pride bristled at the implication of recklessness. “Yes, yes, you’re right,” he said aloofly. “I’ll get this taken care of right away. You and Vaggie needn’t worry yourselves.”

With that, he gracefully knelt down beside the broken TV, his movements deliberate as he made a show of collecting the wreckage. Despite the situation, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of amusement at the melodramatic nature of it all. It was almost comical how worked up everyone got over something as silly as a broken appliance. After all, what harm was a mere television set in the grand scheme of things?

Especially when its destruction served as a small price to pay for the chance to see the mechanic again.

Cradling the TV in his hands, Alastor straightened up and began to walk away, purposefully moving past Charlie and Vaggie before they could launch into any further lectures. Despite the disapproving glances he left in his wake, Alastor felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him–he had finally obtained his excuse.

“...and remember, if you ever need anything else, you know where to find me!”

The words slipped past your lips like a well-rehearsed speech as you bid farewell to the now-proud owner of the repaired pocket watch. Standing with your hands on your hips, you watched them depart, a swell of pride filling your heart as their delighted reaction replayed in your mind. It was always rewarding to see the joy on your customers' faces when you successfully restored something precious to them.

As they left, you turned your attention to the windows, where the dwindling daylight seeped through. It was getting late, you realized with a sigh. 

With a sense of reluctance, you made your way toward the door. It was time to close up shop for the day, despite the lingering desire to stay open a little longer. As your hand reached for the lock, preparing to secure the entrance, a sudden commotion startled you.

The door swung open with such force that a rush of wind swept into the workshop, catching you off guard. Before you could react, you found yourself tumbling backward, landing unceremoniously on the floor.

“What the–” You began, lifting your gaze to confront the incredibly rude visitor. But your words caught in your throat as your eyes landed on Alastor, standing there framed in your doorway with a strained grin and a shattered TV gripped tightly in his hands.

“Alastor, what’s–” You started again, but in the next breath, Alastor suddenly dropped the TV, letting it fall to the floor with a careless thud. 

In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between you, rushing to your side with an urgency that left you dazed. “Goodness gracious, darling, are you alright?” He asked, eagerly extending a hand to assist you.

You felt a peculiar flutter in your chest as his gloved fingers gently enveloped yours, guiding you back to your feet. Despite the unexpected tumble, his touch was surprisingly tender, and you couldn’t help but be aware of the warmth that spread through your hand where it met his.

“It seems like you really need to work on your landing technique, my dear,” he then remarked amusedly. Yet beneath the jest, you detected a subtle tremor in his voice, and you couldn’t ignore the fact that he hadn’t released your hand yet.

As you looked up at him with furrowed brows, Alastor knew he should let go. He should, it was the rational thing to do, the expected response in this situation.

But his hand–it was on fire! Compared to the initial spark of electricity, whilst significant in its own right, this new sensation was simply overwhelming, threatening to unravel each delicate thread that wound the Radio Demon together.

Terrifying yet exhilarating, Alastor realized the immense power that such a simple gesture held over him. If he had known that such a dramatic entrance would grant him the privilege of holding your hand like this, he would've acted sooner. He would've found any excuse, any reason, to break down your door and claim your hand as his own long ago.

And at the same time, another thought crept into his mind, igniting a different kind of excitement altogether. He couldn't help but wonder about the myriad of other sensations your touch might elicit—sensations that surpassed mere hand-holding.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you stood there, the air crackling with tension. To say that you were confused would be an understatement. Alastor’s incessant visits, today’s sudden intrusion, the broken TV, his firm yet gentle hold–it was more than baffling.

Unable to bear the heaviness of it all, you dared to give his hand a light squeeze. “Uh, Alastor?” You ventured tentatively, offering him an easy smile. “You can let go now, you know.”

His response came almost immediately, but it wasn't what you had expected. “I know,” he said nonchalantly, tightening his grip instead of releasing it.

The smile faltered slightly on your lips as your confusion deepened. “Then… will you?”

“I don’t think so, my dear.”

“Why not?” You asked, the words escaping your lips before your thoughts could catch up.

Alastor's grip tightened again, his crimson gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “Because,” he began, his voice low and velvety. “I rather enjoy holding your hand.”

The simplicity of his answer caught you off guard. It was as if he were stating the most obvious fact in the world, with no need for further explanation. As you cast your gaze downward at your intertwined fingers, and then at the broken TV, lying in pieces by your door–that’s when the puzzle suddenly clicked into place.

“Oh…”

“Hmm?” Alastor hummed, his tone laced with genuine curiosity and a hint of amusement. As he waited for you to reply, he couldn't resist the temptation to let his thumb glide ever so gently against the back of your hand. The touch was feather-light, almost imperceptible, yet it sent a tingling sensation through your skin.

It drew your attention back to him, your unsure gaze meeting his intense one. For a moment, it seemed as if Alastor was extending a silent invitation for you to delve deeper, to peel back the layers of your interactions, to speak the words that hovered on the tip of your tongue.

And with a deep breath, you gathered your thoughts. 

“I... I was just thinking,” you began, your voice steadier than you felt. “Do you... have feelings for me, Alastor?”

The question hung between you, heavy with uncertainty and vulnerability. You weren't sure what to expect, but you were desperate for some clarity. 

“Feelings?” Alastor echoed after a pause, his demeanor carefully neutral as he attempted to evade the question. “Why, my dear, I have all sorts of feelings for you! Admiration, appreciation, curiosity–”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his evasive answer, a sudden surge of frustration bubbling within you. “Alastor,” you interrupted, cutting through his attempt at deflection. “I'm not talking about admiration or appreciation. I'm talking about... romantic feelings.”

The ever-present grin on the Radio Demon’s face faltered visibly, his ears flattening against his head. It was clear he was uncomfortable–how could he not be? The very notion of romance, of allowing oneself to be vulnerable to another, disgusted him to his core. Alastor prided himself on his independence, his autonomy, and the idea of relinquishing even a fraction of that control was utterly repulsive.

But more than that, it was the sheer audacity of the question that left him reeling. How dare you suggest such a thing? Yet, as much as he wanted to dismiss you outright, a nagging voice at the back of his mind reminded him of his own hypocrisy. After all, he couldn't deny the frequency of his visits to your workshop, the way his heart quickened at the mere thought of seeing you, or the inexplicable desire to hold your hand just a moment longer.

But romantic feelings? Perish the thought! Love was a weakness, a sentiment reserved for fools, and it had no place in his world.

Alastor finally let out a forced laugh, attempting to brush off the seriousness of the conversation. “Now, now, my dear, let’s not get ahead of ourselves!” He said in between chuckles, each one more strained than the last. “I’m simply not one for such sentimental nonsense!”

Your frustration surged even further at his dismissive response, the sound of his laughter grating on your already frayed nerves. Holding up his hand, which still enveloped yours, you pressed on, determination burning in your eyes.

“Then what are we doing here?” You asked pointedly. Alastor’s gaze flickered down to your intertwined hands, his expression momentarily unreadable. But then, as if flicking a switch, he reverted to his nonchalant demeanor.

“We’re simply enjoying each other’s company, of course!” he replied enthusiastically, his thumb brushing against your hand again almost instinctively. “No need to overcomplicate things, hm?”

With a deep breath, you realized that you had reached your limit with Alastor. The frustration simmering within you had finally boiled over, and you had no interest in playing this game of his any longer.

Without a word, you tore your hand away from his grasp, a sharp movement that caused Alastor to visibly flinch. But you ignored his reaction as you focused on gathering the forgotten television set, its sharp edges digging into your skin as you collected the wreckage.

Straightening up, you returned to Alastor's side, purposefully avoiding any further contact with him as you extended the damaged device toward him. Your gaze was steady, unwavering, as you delivered your ultimatum.

“I'm closed, Alastor,” you declared firmly. “Come back when you're ready to be honest.”

part i / part ii

thank you for reading!! and thank you to everyone who left such nice comments on my last posts. i was very surprised<3

there will definitely be a third part to this story. also, @christinebloodwrittings requested to be tagged<3

[feral-childs-word]

Blood

Fandom: DC

Yandere!batfamily x Male!reader

Description: Being a l/n has always been your thing but finding out your a fucking Wayne sucks especially how shitty and mentally ill your new family is.

Warning!: Angst, death, blood, neglect, curse words, made by a MINOR, not proof read, m/n going a little mental guys, anger issues (if you can call it ig)

A/n: I've reader neglected reader as a strong yet weak person getting easily manipulated and kidnapped with not that great with there mental health. But...what if we got reader who has anger issues but doesn't show them that often and is mentally not okay after the death of his mother? And on top of that being neglected only to be babied once being remembered.

Words: Who do you take me for? 🗿🗿

Welcome to blood series!- 1-Mother oh mother

Next ->

There was a once a time where you lived with your mother. Your oh so sweet mother the one who raised you from the slums of Gotham. The women with that soft smile everytime she enjoyed or saw something she liked. With those soft yet delicate hands that always helped you when you got injured from riding a bike or tripping on thin air.

As you grew older you noticed how tired she always was coming home from work with dark bags that clung to her soft pale like skin yet she always smiled. God how you wanted to help your mother that time but you were just 10 doing nothing but helping keep the run down apartment decent for when she comes home from work and going to elementary school trying to get good scores and good reports so your mother doesn't stress on anything and doing activities to get you by while your mother worked.

Yet here you are 16 and staring down at the stone which engraved your mother name and last name with the dates of her birth and death. The rain poured heavily down on you not caring about the umbrella. Your eyes didn't move and glance at the movements you heard behind you. You didn't flinch when a hand larger than your mother's hand gently placed on your shoulder.

Your fists dripped with blood for how hard you clenched how you wanted to slap the man's hand away. You hated being touched it made you sick it made you angry it wasn't your mother's soft touch no. It was some random stranger talking that you couldn't hear because your ears rung like when your tv goes static.

Why?

Why?

WHY?!

Why couldn't she stayed home that day? Why couldn't she waited until morning to get you that stupid cake for your birthday?

"It's your fault you know" The voice whispered it was agonizing hearing that awful voice that annoying child like voice. You wanted to bang your head on something, anything. You wanted to claw your brains out just so you could get rid of that voice.

"If you hadn't asked her for a cake she wouldn't have died that day." The voice giggles whispering it to your ear like a soft melody. Gods how that voice annoys you breaking you down bit by bit.

"ki-"

Who was that?

"k-"

Huh?

"Kid!" The sound of the man says making you snap out of your thoughts. Turning your gaze downward to the shorter man his glasses glimmered under the lightning that flashed his hands still on your shoulder. The umbrella covered both him and you under the heavy rain.

"There you are lost you there for a moment." The man chuckles softly putting his hand down though you didn't relax just stared at the man. "Ehem has I was saying we gotta take you to the station see if you have any family members that is willing to take you in." The man says which you now concluded it's a detective with his brown coat and hat.

You swallowed thickly your hands unclenching as you nod your head weakly to tired and worn out to fight or speak you just wanted sleep. The detective smiles and gestures to you to follow which you obey and follow the man but not without giving the grave where your mother was buried one last look and turned away going in the man's car.

Fuck being in a police station sucks.

The food is disgusting with now weird smelling the food it that they offer you. You rather eat the shitty school meals.

Your phone almost on low battery. The detectives ad Police officers refusing to drive you to get your things even your damn charger and they didn't have the charger you need.

This shit sucks the couches absolutely are uncomfortable they don't have enough fluffed cushions. Oh how you missed your bed and your cheek 5 dollar blanket your ma bought at 5 below when she got her paychecks.

Your leg bounced up and down looking up at the clock checking the time then down at the floor counting the different patterned carpet. Got how annoying that tucking of the clock sounded you just wanted to bash it until it stopped making that aggravating ticking noise. One more fucking hour enduring this shit your gonna loose it.

You leg bounced even more your hand tapping against your arm waiting for that damn door to open to have some news anything. Your head snapped to the sound of the door opening cringing at the small creaking sound it made. Your eyes landing on the same man that took you away from the graveyard and.....

No way....

This can't be happening...

Why is Bruce fucking Wayne here??

"Kid I want you to meet Bruce Wayne or should I say your father.."

SON OF A FUCKING BITCH

[uzurimisery]

the space between two bodies. / satosugu x reader / part 1

Warnings: happy ending, angst, cheating (not really this is explained in part 2), unhealthy relationships/coping mechanisms, suicidal ideation, depression, smut, no sorcery au

A/N: I started thinking about Gojo with anxiety and nihilist Geto and then what that looks like in a poly relationship with someone as flawed as they are

“We’re sorry but we’ve decided to go with another candidate now. We will retain your information on file should a more suitable role open up.” 

The email stared back at you, the words on your phone screen blurring as droplets of rain hit it as you read it over for the hundredth time. Today was just another shitty fucked up day in the endless string of shitty fucked up days that had become your life. The third consecutive month of unemployment in a row. At least previously you could get temp jobs but now each day that passed just ate away at you with how useless you felt. 

Pocketing your phone, you pull out a 100 yen coin and put it in the vending machine.

You didn’t even like your old job but Jesus it was like no one was actually hiring. And when you did get an interview, you’d get ghosted afterward. On the rare occasion they didn’t ghost you, you’d receive a rejection letter like this one. It was preferable, you supposed, that your existence and effort were at least acknowledged, no matter how much it stung. Still hurt like a bitch to be told you weren’t good enough. 

Anything would be better than this, fuck you’d take being overworked and underpaid if it felt like you were doing something. This endless cycle of gnawing uncertainty and applications, interviews, followed by rejections. Worse than that you were out of deodorant and trying to find some in Japan was a Herculean effort. 

Yeah, it’s been a shit go and you’re fucking exhausted.

Maybe you’d go be an English teacher like everyone else who moves to Japan. You wouldn’t need a co-teacher so the pay would be better if you were just starting out. Not that you wanted to teach again dear god that was less than ideal. Thank god you had settled status. The thought of having to deal with visa issues at the same time made you feel sick. 

Maybe you could work at a host club. You turned, staring at your reflection in the glass. Your boobs weren’t half bad as you pushed them up from the underside like a push-up bra would. Or sell feet pictures. The market was probably oversaturated at this point but maybe there would be some interest.

Wait Jesus had your hair looked like that all day? Fuck. No wonder that girl kept staring at you on the train she thought you were a lunatic.

Sighing you press the button for 4H. It wasn’t like you’d always been this way, sort of drifting in a sea of uncertainty abroad your boat of doubt with no wind to guide your sails. There was a period of time, maybe a five-year stretch after you had graduated from university where your life was on track. An entry-level job in your degree field, a long-term boyfriend turned fiance, wedding planning, and a great group of friends. Shit, you had it all. 

The fiance was the first to go. 

As it turns out, finding your fiance in bed with the girl he swore you didn’t have to worry about, his tongue halfway down her throat like he’s trying to do an endoscopy, is a terrible way to find out you’re being cheated on. When he noticed you standing in the doorway he had the gall to sputter some bullshit about how it was your fault it happened. You were too focused on your work, you didn’t give him attention, blah, blah, blah. It was you who broke the relationship up by working so much and being married to your job. And as he paid for the overpriced four-bedroom apartment in an area of Tokyo that you didn’t even like, you lost the apartment in the breakup. 

You couldn’t slum dog millionaire your life away on Shoko and Utahime’s couch forever eating tubs of ice cream and binging TV after that, so everyone told you, or rather forced you, to move in with Suguru and Satoru. Bouncing around from couple to couple. It did give you some stability and just as things go up so must they come down. 

The company you were working for was liquidated after an investigation by the federal government found years of tax fraud. Luckily they got bought out, and you thought maybe if you put in work you could still climb the ladder. But all those late nights in the office, conbini dinners, and unpaid overtime, you were just another name on a severance list.

It felt like waves were crashing over you, each one larger than the rest. Almost like you were tied to a dock during a hurricane, a tsunami, or some fucking natural disaster that threatened to drown you if you didn’t hold onto something but there wasn’t much to hold on to. You could hold onto the minuscule amount of friendships that you had at least. It was far too awkward and messy to keep up with anyone else other than your main four since the rest were so tied to your ex-fiance and his life. Stupid fucking lawyer. 

The four of you were close-ish. Less close since Shoko had gone on rotation at a university on the other side of Tokyo. It meant she and Utahime had moved nearer to it since Utahime was willing to commute. But Suguru and Satoru were still close with you and still dating.  Biting as that felt at times. 

You met Geto first in a shared philosophy lecture. One of those run-of-the-mill ones, but the content that really got the two of you talking was nihilism. It was the seminar groups after class you shared where he really saw you. Stripped away of pretenses and your nerves laid bare. Not just another face in a lecture hall but something more, something human. The deep indents of nails in your palms and the rubbing of your hands together under the table. He had seen right through you, recognized the darker parts of himself in you- it made you feel understood.

The machine made a mechanical noise and the lights flickered. Sighing you kick the machine lightly to see if anything happens, if life could give you this one thing today that you so desperately needed. Just like everything else, nothing goes your way and your stupid drink stays logged on the shelf. So like every reasonable person you kick the machine again. 

“Stupid fucking piece of shit machine,” you murmur a growing string of profanities under your breath as you repeatedly kick the machine

.

All you wanted was one of those ¥100 coffee drinks that were loaded with caffeine to keep going through your slog of a day was that so hard? Maybe it would be best if you just packed it up and called it quits. Move back home with your parents and be berated daily. Why aren’t you married? Why did you and Kosuke break up? When are they going to get some grandchildren? They aren’t getting any younger you know. Face the cutting shame of fucking up another opportunity, another chance. 

What was the point in trying anymore when you couldn’t even get a stupid drink that you don't honestly even want at this point out of a vending machine so you can go home and masturbate to audio porn before you cry yourself to fucking sleep? 

Suguru’s voice cut through the spiral of thoughts, your name on his lips. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you had an interview and you’d be home late?” 

Of course, he’d catch you like this. 

“Hey Sugs,” it came out as a groan as you kicked the machine again, a loud clang following as your drink hit the bottom of the dispenser. Bending down, you grab the can before turning and facing him. “I did.” 

“How’d it go?”

“Like shit.” Maybe you should work on your delivery. This flat effect is really making you should like a bitch. Are you a bitch? 

Geto’s eyes raked over you, infuriatingly calm and measured. He was always so carefully disheveled, the type of person to look effortlessly put together no matter the occasion. Stupid name-brand black sweater over a white button-down half tucked into chinos with a chain on the belt. His hair, shiny and perfect, was neatly tucked into his signature half-up-hald-down look to keep the strand out of his eyes, minus the one for style. Notably, he was wearing his glasses for once, sleek frames perks on a tall nose. Oh, he smelt nice too, his sandalwood and bergamot cologne hitting you as he stepped closer, extending his umbrella to cover the two of you. Fuck he was so handsome it wasn’t fair.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Geto replied softly.

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “ It is what it is.”

But the reality of it clung to you and drug you down, down, down into the depths of your psyche. That small, scared feeling you tried so hard to suppress started bubbling up again, twisting your insides into knots. It made you feel sick, so much like a lost little child in a world that had grown far too big and complex. Here it was, rearing its ugly head, in front of one of the top ten people you never wanted to see in such a shit state.

But that's all Gojo and Geto do at this point. They pick up the broken, crumbling pieces of yourself that slip between your fingers. You feel like a cracked vase leaking water all over the place no matter how desperately they try and patch up the ceramic. Each day the gap between you and them grows more apparent. They were both soaring and you were falling to the ground and rolling around in the mud. 

Geto had just done a four-page spread in Architects Digest, even though he was a pretentious motherfucker who hated the magazine. And Gojo… God, he’d just opened for Prada at Paris Fashion Week. They went viral on every social media platform a while back for how hot and gay they were. You’d been caught in the crossfire of your accounts being tagged and gained a social media boost, but that also meant a bunch of people DMing you telling you to take pictures of them. 

The most fucked up thing about it all was the gnawing feeling that chewing on your bones that you were being dragged around like an accessory to remind them how good they had it. A permanent third wheel they’ve been stuck with since university. Two talented lovers on the brink of permanent importance and their weird little friend who follows them along like a lost puppy. It wasn’t even true and that's why it hurt so much. You knew they believed in you, thought that you could be a successful artist, and supported you in it even, but the jealousy rotted inside you like a festering wound. You weren’t even jealous of their success, only just partial, but it was like you weren’t good enough to be around them. 

Maybe you were better off as wall decor in the life they were building together. Something quiet and serene that didn’t demand anything from them. Better that than the bitter, jealous mess you were every time you saw them succeed.

He starts, the same spiel he goes to when you get like this. “You can always-”

“No.” your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you don’t care. 

“I don’t know why you act like it’s such a bad off,” Suguru presses, his calm demeanor only pissing you off more.  

“I don’t want to work for you.” 

“Why not.” 

You snap. “Because I don’t want to, Suguru! Is that so hard to understand?”

Fuck, you wanted to storm off, go back to the house, and slam the door behind you as you went. But it didn’t matter if you stormed off, you lived in one of his guest bedrooms. Both of you were just headed to the same place. Sad little rescue that you were.

Suguru assessed, his eyes softened, breaking you down. He picked out every one of your insecurities as he stared at you. Microscopic inspection, each of your cells was being assessed for your state of being. Have you eaten? Was it enough? Had you slept? Are you even capable of taking care of yourself in this state? 

The weight of his gaze made your chest tighten, and before you could control it, try and reel it back in, tears welled up in your eyes. Blinking them back, you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat bobbing as you did. You hated this. Hated the way his care, his pity, felt like a knife twisting in the last remaining shred of pride you clung to. 

Pity was the killy of pride and you should accept that your pride was already decomposing in the septic tank in the backyard. 

Fuck up, fuck up, fuck up. All you ever were, all you’d ever be. Every loose thread of your shirt feels like it's cutting against your skin. The hem of your trousers drowns your feet like you're wearing your parents' clothes. Shabby. Uncouth. Inept. 

Wordlessly, you turned on your heel and fled, rushing out of the side street as the tears spilled past your lash line. You couldn’t do this anymore--no more questions, no more pity. No matter how hard you tried, how hard you struggled, clawed your way through the fucking dirt, you could never be like them. Never be good like theme, never right like them, never fit like them. They had these perfect little lives that they could boast to everyone about. When they spoke, people listened. People cared what they had to say. The world parted for them, it was the Red Sea and they were Moses, making space. There’d always be room for them to shine. 

But you were screaming into a void, your throat raw, bloody, and you were aching from the endless effort to be seen, to be heard. You wanted to be looked at like your own person, your own successes. Hard to be noticed for something that rarely happened. No matter how loud you screamed, how much you begged, your voice was just lost in the noise. 

You knew Suguru would follow. He always did. Even if you didn’t live in the same house, he’d have followed you. His voice was muffled by the pressure in your ears but you could hear him trying to talk to you. He let you get all the way home and inside the gate of the house before he grabbed your wrist and yanked you backward. 

Trying to pull away, your shoulder wrenched painfully as you trashed in his grip. 

“Calm down,” Suguru spoke firmly, pulling you into his chest. His sweater was soft, and your face smushed against the fabric as sobs wrecked your body, trembling like the earth in an earthquake.

It was hard to speak through the tears, so all you could do was try and slip out of his hold as you sobbed. You didn’t want this comfort. You wanted to run from your failure. From how suffocating life felt and that no matter what you'd never be enough. Worse than that, the sweet sickly feeling that trickled down your throat that when he held your life this, it made the world feel just a little bit more bearable. As if somewhere you could survive another day if he kept touching you. It wasn’t yours to feel and he wasn’t yours to hold. 

Suguru lets you wiggle around. You hit his torso a few times, your strength fading as you cry. When your sobs turned to hiccups and gasps for breaths, he gently cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that still spilled from your eyes. 

“Talk to me,” he said softly, barely above a whisper. The songs of a city nearly eclipsing it. 

What could you say? How could you explain this feeling? This horrible guilt, pain, and jealousy ate away at you every single day. The tears came harder now, speeding up as if to help drown you in your misery and take you out of it for good. Hiccuping you drew breath, sharp and quick, hoping to speak but nothing comes out. Words claw at your throat, digging it with sharpened points. It hurts the way they hang onto you.

“Is it all too much again?” His voice is so soft, warm like fleece pajamas fresh out of the dryer as he holds you so delicately.

This wasn’t the first time that one of the three of you had been so consumed by dread, suffocated by the weight of life itself. Suguru knew it all too well himself, from high school to know he held it tightly in his hands. It never went away from him, he just learned to live with it, let it fade into the background, and let a constant hum of despair serve as the baseline for the day-to-day. 

His thumbs brush over the apex of your cheekbones again and the tenderness shatters you, another wave of sobs tearing through you. They pull you under, out into the open ocean, and through their rip current.

“I just..” you start, it scratches your throat, thick with phlegm. “ I can’t do this anymore.” 

His voice remained steady. “Do what?” 

“Any of it. I can’t do it.” 

“You’re capable of it. You can do it.” 

Jarring, rough, whipping across your skin as the rubber band pulls too tight and snaps. You lash out, and it stings where it hits. The anger cuts through your skin like your fingernails leave crescent moons in your palms. 

“No, I fucking can’t!” It's ripped out of you as you stalk away like a wounded animal. “I can’t okay. I can’t do shit. I can’t keep a relationship without being cheated on. I can’t manage to get my own place. I can’t get a fucking job. I can’t sit here and pretend like I’m not fucking wasting away in my own misery watching you and Gojo and Shoko all succeed and be the only one of us still shooting for the stars and coming crashing down to earth every single fucking time. You and Gojo with your perfect little lives look at me like a charity case to be fixed.”

“We have never looked at you like a charity case.” His tone was firm.

“Really? Then what the fuck do you look at me like, huh?” You press the question circling back around. “Is it pity? Did the two of you see some poor stray that you wanted to take in and keep like a pet when we met at university? Is that it?” 

His eyes were hard, unreadable.

“It is that. You pity me.”

“Jesus, no! We don’t pity you- I don’t pity you! Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?”

“Yes, it is! There’s no reason for you to care,” 

“What the hell wouldn’t I care?” Suguru’s voice raised to a shout, frustration cracking his facade. 

“Because I’m just like everyone you hate!” Your chest heaves as you let out a flood of emotions. “ No ambitions, contributing nothing to society, just leeching off others.” 

“You’re not like them.” 

“I am. On paper, I’m exactly like them. The only reason that you’d keep me around is because it makes you feel good to watch me suffer or you pity me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t pity you?” His voice cracked with emotion, but you didn’t stop.

“Then tell me why you care!” It comes out so desperately. You're begging him for understanding, to know why he stays. To know why he lets you in.

For once he looked uncertain. His mask slipped, revealing the cracks in his facade. It’s been so long since you’ve seen underneath it you’d almost forgotten how he looked when he wasn’t pretending to be happy. 

“Or is it that you don’t care?” 

Something flashed in his eyes, flickerings of things you only saw when he looked at Gojo. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. There's a fear in his eyes, like if he acts in this moment something may crack and crumble like the foundation of a house that leaves him crumpled in a pile of wood. He doesn’t, or won’t, give you an answer. 

So you turn on your heel, the conversation over in your mind, and head to the front door. You’ll go up and pack a bag before heading across town and crashing on Shoko and Utahime’s couch before calling your parents and groveling to them. 

But as you reach the door, Suguru reaches you. His arm wraps around your waist and he spins you around and pushes your back against it. He’s got you pinned. 

“It’s because I love you.” It’s the faintest breeze that passes from his lips, like a car driving past on a hot day, sweat making your shirt stick to you. “I care because I love you.”

Everything is frozen in a still frame. Neither one of you moves, neither one of you breathes. A still moment that holds you tight, threatens to squeeze you so tightly your heart bursts. 

“What do you mean by that?” You swallow as you speak, like pebbles in your throat. 

Suguru blinks back tears, looking up and then back at you. “That I love you. Fuck! I’m in love with you.” 

Disbelief makes your voice shake. “No, you’re not not. You’re with Satoru.” 

“And? I can’t love both of you?” 

“No, you can’t,” Hypocrisy tastes acrid on your tongue. You know damn well you could never pick between the two of them, that this blighted jealousy you feel towards them is more the fact they have the other rather than their success. It’s something you don’t admit but it’s there. “Besides, you’re lying to me.”

“No.” His response was firm and immediate. The whole time you’d known them, their worlds had revolved around each other. They’d been the only thing for each other for so long. It was an unspoken truth that they were made for each other in a way that could only be sewn by the fabric of the universe itself. Something so profoundly and divinely created it had been written in the fabric of life at the moment of the Big Bang. 

“I’ve seen you watching.” Suguru’s tone is low, cutting, it vibrates through you as he has you pinned. 

A sick, icy dread wraps around your spine. It starts in your toes and crawls up your body. Your muscles lock in place as it climbs up until it's all the way in your head. Paralyzing fear grips you.

“I don't…” The lie is transparent before it comes to fruition. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s brittle, cracking on your teeth as it passes through them.

“Don’t play innocent.” Suguru’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. The tension between you tightens and winds up to pitch, but there's a current that punctuates it. One that feels heady and warm. One that excites you in the same way it embarrasses you. “I’ve seen you watching. I’ve seen you for years. The first time, maybe it was a mistake. But last week? Three weeks before that?”

Your mouth went dry, choking on the excuse that tried to bubble up. Like finely ground chalk powder coasted every surface of it. “I—”

He cuts you off before you can even try to defend yourself. “I know you get off on it too. Leave your curtains open while you touch yourself. Saying his name, my name.”

Horror twists inside you like a knife, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. You’d always been so careful, never acting when you thought they were home. Never want to risk exactly this happening. Your face burned like you drank half a liter of vodka in a go. Maybe you’d wake up and realize this was a nightmare. The humiliation was unbearable. 

“Imagine my surprise,” Suguru continues in a low chuckle, left hand slotting perfectly against your waist, “when I came home early one day and saw that.” 

The tears that had stopped in your flash of anger spill hot and fast down your cheeks. The raw, hot shame and embarrassment muddle you. It makes you want a sinkhole to open up beneath you and swallow you whole. You can’t meet his gaze, your vision blurry. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll move out.” you stammer out, the words falling in a chopping spiccato, desperate to create space between the two of you. You’d never be able to face him again. 

“Who said anything about moving out?” Suguru comes, pulling you closer to him till you're flush against his chest. He bends down, breath tickling your ear. You feel the sharp pressure of his teeth grazing the shell of it, a jolt going through your body. “You don’t get to leave now.” Pulling back, he meets your eyes in a half-lidded gaze. 

Both of you are playing the game again. Looking for something unspoken, some cryptic clue you need to decipher. He was searching for discomfort, disgust, anything to make him draw back and stop. You searched for understanding, dissecting how it got to this point. Every moment, every glance, every touch from him that you had ever overlooked. 

He always held a soft glint in his eyes when he looked at you. Something subtle, normally reserved for Satoru. It warmed the edge of his voice when he spoke and crinkled the corners of his eyes when he smiled. There was that softness for Shoko, but it was different. The one he had for you was a more reserved, pulled-back, and dialled-down version of what gripped him when he looked at Satoru. He had always viewed you this way.

The times you sat sandwiched between him and Gojo, your legs brushing against him, his arm slung around your shoulders to reach Satoru. Pulling you against him on the train, in clubs, at parties, the bump of your hips against his own. Compliments when you wore flattering, his pushing Satoru to dress you up. He liked it best when you were in shorter dresses and skirts with tights. 

Suguru had always wanted you, but you had failed to notice. 

Instinct took over before reason could temper it. You pushed off the door, your hands flying to the loose part of his hair at the nape of his neck. The strands feelt just as silky an shiny as they look between your fingers. Without hesitation, the space between you two diminishes. You aren’t sure who closes the distance first, but your lips lock hungry. Teeth knocking against each other as you both desperately cling to the other. It's rough and aggressive, both of you starved animals feasting on flesh. The taste of copper spreading in your mouth as he bit down on your lip making you whine. His breathing becomes your own, heady mix of desire and dark, primal urge..

His tongue pushes against yours, taking advantage of your now open mouth, wet and warm brushing against the back of your teeth, laying claim to your mouth. Geto was dominating in all aspects of his life so it was unsurprising that he set the pace and led you to where he wanted to be. He moved your legs up, patting your ass to jump, to then wrap around his waist as he pressed you against the door. You grind your hips against his growing erection as he holds you there, and you can feel the heat of him even through his pants.

Suguru pulls away panting. His eyes are half closed, lips blushed a beautiful red and damp with saliva. He moves in again, this time to your neck, where he bites down hard. You squirm as he sucks a dark and angry mark, his mark, on your skin. The bite of his teeth against your skin feels right. It eats away at the jealous monster inside you every second he’s latched onto you.

Fed up with the door, Suguru opens it and carries you through the threshold. He moves the two of you through the genkan, toeing off his shoes while you kick your own off, and into the living room where he drops you on the couch. There’s an air about him, so intense it’s nearly oppressive, as his fingers inch up underneath your sweater, sliding it off of you. It’s a predator circling their prey, the success of a hunt now that he’s got you on your back against the soft fabric of the couch. He’d been waiting for this far longer than you thought and it spurs you on.

Suguru moves in tandem with you, tugging off his sweater and button-up shirt, exposing his happy trail. The dark dusting of hair makes your mouth water. Once his shirt is off, his hands cover your chest through your bra, palming your tits like stress balls. It's unpadded and lacey, and it lets him feel as if your nipples get hard. He pushes the cups down, leaving them to rest under your breasts, and pushes them up slightly, accentuated by your being on your back.

His fingertips close around your nipples as he pinches and pulls at them. You knew how much of a sadist he could be. One night you watched him edge Satoru for an hour straight. Seen how hot he looked with Gojo in his mouth as he writhed around. A sweet moan escaped you as he played with your nipples and rolled his hips against yours. It makes your head feel fuzzy, thoughts focusing purely on him. His weight presses down on you, so heavy and right it makes you ache.

You lunge forward, propping yourself up on your elbows to kiss him again. It’s just as messy and hungry as before, years of built-up desire between the two of you saturating your every pore. It settles in your bones that pulses in time with your heart. 

Suguru doesn’t separate from you, but he slides your trousers and underwear off in one go as you kick your socks off. He tugs his own off hastily, boxer briefs following in turn. His public hair is trimmed, a close crop like you’ve seen it before. Like every other aspect of him, it’s neatly maintained, put into its place, and kept there. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he pulls your hips up by his head. Your back is half off the sofa as he places your legs over his shoulders and parts your core with his fingers. He blows cold air onto your clit that makes you squirm before he licks your clit. Moaning, you try to grind yourself against his face but his hands tighten on your hips, holding them firm. You’d get what he wanted to give you. Fight against it and get nothing, or accept it. 

He was slow to start. His tongue lazily explores you, getting familiar with your taste. It pushed against your clit, wide and flat, before swirling his tongue around it. The ball of his tongue piercing rubbed against the most sensitive part of you. Your hips jerk forward and he looks up, a warning in his eyes, but he doesn’t stop. Suguru curls his tongue again, this time moving it side to side, letting his piercing catch on your clit purposefully.  Every action he takes is measured as he picks up speed while latching his lips around it to add delicious suction. Two of his finger slide inside you, reaching far deeper than your own ever could. HE pumps them in and out of you, driving you closer to the edge.

You felt your pussy drooling, liquid gushing out and covering his chin. The muscles in your abdomen tightened with each passing second until you swore they'd cramp. It was all too much as you came, jerking and contracting in on yourself. Black spots dot your vision as your world shakes on this axis. 

Sugru watched as you came, pulling back from your pussy to stare at your face. His eyes never left yours as he rubbed soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. He could cover nearly all of you with how big his hands were, warm and calloused. Minus a cold spot on his left hand. 

His engagement ring. 

The silver felt like it burned your skin as he smiled at you and planted a kiss on your inner thigh. It glimmers in the low light, bouncing light off like a homing beacon. Bubbling sickness, bile rising in your throat, disgust palming at your skin. What had you just done? You’ve just violated a boundary so gigantic with Suguru. Let your own selfish need for intimacy lead you to this. He was engaged to your best friend. They were getting married next year.

You rushed to grab your clothes, panic surging through you. The world spins around you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you buttoned up your trousers, throwing your sweater on. Your hair is a mess and your skin feels clammy and flushed. The need to vomit is overwhelming. “This was a mistake.”

Suguru’s rising from the couch, trying to grab you, stopping you from moving but you dodge his hand. “A mistake?” 

Your left hand meets your mouth as you bite the nail of your thumb. It clicks against your front teeth. 

“Satoru won’t mind-” 

“A mistake Suguru,” You shake your head, bending down and grabbing the rest of your stuff. “Please. Just forget this.” Without waiting for his reply, you run up the stairs and slam the door behind you. 

You really are a bitch.

©️ uzuzrimisery

[holly-opal]

Prompt: Some random kid (Reader) finds Mr Puzzles' head and repairs it, pretty much causing him to become their adoptive dad (since their og dad left)

(This is platonic, of course)

You pulled the red wagon carrying the broken TV to your little cabin. It was just a regular day for you, walking around seeing if you can find something useful like food, tools, some baby wipes for showering, and maybe even some lost toys or technology that could use some fixing. Looks like today day is your lucky day. Just kidding, that day will be when you actually get parents. Since your real ones abandoned you and left you to die in the slums. You carried the TV to the table and let out a hefty sigh. Goddamn that TV was heavy. You examined the TV carefully, it looks like there are no internal damages, only the screen needs fixing. Thankfully, you had just the fix! With a little bit of glass and super glue, you can fix it. You carefully put the shards of glass in, put in a nice dash of glue, and- "OUCH!" You yelled out as you felt harsh stinging in your palm. You cut yourself. Tears weld up in your eyes as you went to get the bandages, you quickly put one on you and went back to work. And you were done! Sure you got a few cuts and put a little too much super glue, but at least it works! You picked up the TV and put it down onto the floor, you sat down and started flipping through the channels. You found a nice kids channel and began watching it. You were smiling and laughing all the way, it made you forget how miserable you were, living scrap by scrap, going to bed hungry every night, anf always worrying someone will try to steal your things or hurt you.

As you were watching tho, the TV suddenly turned into static, you groaned and tried to hit the TV to get it to work. It didn't really work. You almost got up to fetch your tools, but then you heard... Crunching noises. Squishy, gooey, crunching noises. You looked at the TV and saw that it was sprouting arms, legs, a torso, an entire body. It was tall as hell, taller than any adult you have seen. The TV stopped playing static and was replaced with a face, a wide colorful smile and crazy eyes. You screamed and ran out of the room. You went into the small bedroom and went into your cot, you hid under your blanket and hugged your teddy bear tightly. You were shaking and whimpering, you shut your eyes, hoping that it won't see you and will go away. Suddenly, you were picked up by someone and you screamed, you kicked and wiggled, but it was no use. The TV man was looking at you, his eye brow raised.

"Now now, is that any way to treat your guest? Running and screaming?" He asked you. You gulped and shook your head, he laughed and set you down onto the ground. You backed away from him in fear. The TV man put his hands on his hips and looked around. "Where is the engineer that fixed me? I want to thank them!" He asked. You called down a bit, maybe if you tell him that you were the one who fixed him, he'll be grateful and not eat you alive. You pointed at yourself. "U-Um... I fixed you actually..." You said timidly. He frowned, he cocked his head at you in confusion, you internally prayed you didn't make him mad. He scoffed and walked out of your room, you followed him out. He was looking around the cabin, it was very small, and it didn't have many things in it. He seemed disgusted at the sight of your house. "Where are your parents? There is no way a child could fix a TV by themselves. And this place is awful! This is no place for a little kid!" He asked. You rubbed your arm in silence, looked away from him, remembering how your parents left you in the dumpster when you were only three years old. You had someone to take care of you, but they left you too. Nobody seemed to like being around you. They always seemed to leave you behind like a discarded doll. Something clicked in him, and he understood everything. You were an orphan.

"I.... I see..." He said with a sad tone. You went up to him and hugged his legs, you didn't mean to make him sad. He patted your head and smiled, and crouched down to your level and gave you a big, wide smile. "My name is Mr. Puzzles. And you, my dear?" He asked. You smiled back, you shrugged. That seemed to strike a nerve with Mr. Puzzles. They didn't even bother to name you? He pinched your cheek in a loving manner and picked you up, he cradled you in his long ass arms. "Well you simply must have a name! Hmmm... Which name, which name... Oh! How about Y/N?" He asked you. You nodded your head and clapped in excitement, you always wanted a name, but you could never think of one. He laughed and spun you around in a circle. He put your down and crossed his arms. "You could come with me to my studio! You wouldn't have to live here much longer, because no offense, but this place is very dirty and broken." He said. You nodded in agreement. The house was very bad. You only stayed because it gave you shelter from the rain. You grabbed your bag and started putting your stuff in it. Your tools, teddy bear, clothes, trinkets you made, etc. Once you were done packing, he picked you up and put you on his shoulders. You giggled and held his head for stability. You got a new home! And a new parental figure! This really IS your lucky day!

[thearkman360]

How Batman: Caped Crusader wasted Firebug

(MAJOR SPOILERS for Batman: Caped Crusader & Batman #318)

Hoo-boy, this is gonna be a long one...

When I heard that Firebug was going to be used in Batman: Caped Crusader I didn't pay it any mind outside of "Oh, using an obscure Batman villain that's like Firefly who isn't Firefly" and when I watched the episode with Firebug I found him to be a funny little goober villain played by Tom Kenny, that might as well have been Firefly, and nothing more. I was a bit shocked by his death since it was very sudden but other than that I didn't care.

After this I decided to look up Firebug and discovered that he has this whole backstory and motive not used in the show. In the comics, Firebug is a veteran named Joey Rigger that targets and burns down apartment buildings in Gotham City not out of rabid pyromania but out of a sympathetic cause; the buildings are deathtraps! (well at least the first two, the third was just bad luck)

His baby sister was killed after ingesting lead paint chips from the walls of the apartment the Rigger family lived in, his father was killed after falling through some stairs and breaking his neck in a different building they moved into after Rigger's sister died, and his mother had a heart attack when the elevator she was in got stuck.

Joey was serving the military at the time when all of this happened, leaving him with a strong sense of guilt. After coming back home, now with demolitions expertise, he decided to ensure that nobody would ever be harmed by the apartment buildings again and that's why he burns them down as Firebug. His plan is to just destroy the buildings that killed his family and then go back to normal. He even sends anonymous tips to the police so that people can evacuate in time, though he first encountered Batman when he was saving people that were still stuck in the building. Not saying his actions are morally correct, the third building was literally just a bad elevator, but you can't really blame him.

Eventually, Batman foils Firebug from destroying the skyscraper that killed his mother and Firebug tries to suicide bomb himself, Batman, and the skyscraper but jumps at Batman, who dodges, and Firebug falls out of the skyscraper and explodes.

Firebug is a really interesting and sympathetic character. In a way he's a dark parallel to Batman; their families were killed by a part of Gotham City, they have expert training in their field, and put on a silly animal costume and try to enact vengeance on the part of Gotham that killed their families.

In Caped Crusader, he's Firefly with a name change. They have Flass and Bullock mistakenly call him "Firefly", he's a deranged pyromaniac, and he has nothing more than that. Why?! Why not just have him be Firefly? Firebug has had two successors, Harlan Combs (a suburban father that murdered his kid's babysitter) and the third Firebug was some asshole that bought Joe Rigger's shit from an auction.

In the Caped Crusader episode "The Night of the Hunters", Firebug targets the slums of Gotham and tries to burn them down. Why not incorporate his backstory and have these slums be where his family died? In the comics, Joey Rigger was depicted as African-American in his first appearance and then white from then on. I'm surprised they didn't have that be part of the plot. Joey's neighborhood was a slum overlooked due to its African-American population and that resulted in poor living conditions that killed his family. But nah, they just had him be bootleg Firefly.

TV show screenshot: Batman: Caped Crusader

Comic screenshot: Batman #318

[anticidic]

whenever I take a step back and think about how kids in bsd are given WAY too much power, it's kinda lowkey terrifying ngl

like you have Dazai, at 15, investigating the case of a kid and a lab experiment gone wrong and the aftermath of Suribachi. This 15 year old is sent into the heart of some REAL NASTY slums from what we saw from Fitzgerald's perspective, and it's like yeah, nbd. Dazai's gonna come into contact with people having some of the worst days of their lives, it's chill.

Then at 16 you have Chuuya in charge of the jewel trade. Could be worse, but still having a teenager managing the equivalent of illegal weapon shipments when he probably had to deal with grown ass men smuggling, stealing, and conning others with fake jewels probably meant Chuuya had his life threatened at least a few times

Then the whole of Stormbringer and Yokohama becoming a total warzone. Dazai willing to let the city burn in exchange for proving Chuuya's humanity.

Then the fact they were in various conflicts, Dragonhead, etc. basically full-on wars.

yeah ofc it's the mafia so they do what they have to do to get shit done, but just the thought of your average teenager who should be in school worrying about a pop quiz the next day is out fighting in a large-scale conflict where hundreds are dying all around them really puts things into perspective

I absolutely could go on because I obviously haven't touched on Yosano, Teruko, Kyouka becoming an assassin and then working for the ADA, Kenji also working for them. but yeah it's just mind-blowing tbh. The nice farm boy from a rural part of Japan is suddenly all over TV getting labeled a terrorist, like whoa.

[koiiiji]

support

tw ; angst, death mentioned, Sangho kinda emotional unavailable, slow burn

summary ; helping your closest friend (or someone more?) to go through terrible period of his life

you always stayed by Sangho’s side. supporting him at his intention to win international tournaments, covering his back in school if he was late because of the trainings. hell, even if he had arguments with his parents, you always were there after, to support him.

and you stayed there after his parents death.

Sangho still perfectly remember that day. he was out of house, training again, while Hwangyeon and Aria were still at home, about to wake up and expect their parents to come home from another business trip.

when Sangho entered apartments he expected to be welcomed by his siblings, who mistaken him for their parents, but no one ran out to meet him. the whole apartment was in semi-darkness, although it was already late morning and the sun was bright outside the window. Sangho thought that his siblings must have decided to ignore the usual rules of the house, that they should always make the bed and tidy the room. so he was ready to give them a little scolding for misbehaving, but then he saw the reason.

he saw Hwangyeon and Aria’s pale faces, staring at the TV screen. news were talking about plane accident. 87 dead. including Korean citizens. to Sangho it seemed that his heart sank into his heels, and his eyes went dark, it seemed that his knees were giving way and his legs felt like cotton wool.

and then everything is like in a fog - tears, tantrums, screams and panic. he clearly remember how his little sister sobbed on his lap, his brother refused to believe in the reality of what had happened.

when Aria and Hwangyeon fell asleep again, Sangho himself still was in a state of shock, when he reached for the phone to see a couple of missed calls and messages from you.

that night, you were by his side again, just there for him, reassuringly hugging his shoulders, and gently stroking his hair, silently giving him the opportunity to vent his emotions. he could be cold, stoic, older brother to Hwangyeon and Aria as much as he wanted, but at the end of the day, he was a kid himself. and now he had no one to go to, neither to his father for help or advice, nor to his mother for support and understanding. now he had to become a support for his brother and sister.

and he may refuse, say he doesn’t need it, but that night and the nights after, you became his support. not only you, but your parents also was there for him to help with the funeral arrangements, and even offered other help — your fathers were business partners, but Sangho’s male pride never allowed him to accept help.

the only thing he accepted was your constant visits to his new home in the neighborhood where they moved, because no longer could afford living in posh apartments, their parents once owned.

Sangho was never good at comforting, but his younger ones needed it. thankfully, you subtly sensed Aria's mood swings and spent hours comforting her, hugging and cuddling, gently rocking her and whispering something in her ear. Sangho was grateful for that. grateful to you for all your help and patience.

when you stayed at his new home with the guys while he was on trainings, how you helped Hwangyeon with his homework, and took Aria to zoos and parks to distract her from the burden and stress piled on her.

with time it seemed that his brother and sister began heal slowly, but also to perceive you as an older sister too, and lately Sangho has been inundated with questions “when are you going to marry noona?”

“yes, yes, hyeon!! she is so good, and she cooks very tasty, and she is also so smart, look, we learned this with her!!”

on one of those days, when he was returning late from another training session, to the slums that has now become their home, Sangho stopped at the doorstep when he saw your bike. it's so late and you haven't left yet, you usually didn't like coming home late at night.

opening the door with a soft creak, he took off his shoes and went into a small apartment, watching the picture that opened up in front of him — you were sitting on the couch, holding Aria sleeping peacefully on your chest while his brother was sniffing on the pillows near you.

this picture warmed his soul.

carefully approaching closer, he wanted to take Aria in his arms to put her to bed in her room, as you slowly opened your eyes, moaning softly from waking up and feeling numb legs, neck and arms. “mmh, Sangho? we've been waiting for you, but…”

“i know,” Sangho interrupted you, yet his voice is deep and warm. lifting his sister in his arms, he want to her room, carrying her to bed.

and you gently pat Hwangyeong's hair to wake him up, and take him to his and Sangho’s room too. “nuna? has hyeong returned already?” he mumbled softly, wiping drool from his chin. you nodded gently, lifting his head from the pillows and standing up, taking his hand.

after taking him to the room, you put him in the bed and covered him with a blanket. you were about to leave, when you heard a sleepy voice “you're staying with us, right? hyeong is so strict and cold… but he's kinder when you around..” you just smiled in response, quietly closing the door behind you.

in the gentle glow of the kitchen, where the warm light mingled with the soft shadows of the hall, you were just about to step outside when a sudden warmth enveloped you. strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back. you felt Sangho's breath against your neck. he buried his forehead into the curve of your shoulder, as if seeking refuge from the world outside. the weight of his presence anchored you, and you could sense the unspoken words hanging in the air between you. “stay,” he murmured, tightening his grip on your waist, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with vulnerability. “stay by my side… please.”

his grip tightened more, as if he feared you might slip away, and in that embrace, you felt the depth of his longing — a yearning not just for your presence, but for a connection that transcended the mundane. the kitchen faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in that fragile moment, a world where time stood still, and all that mattered was the warmth of his heart against yours.

[bk-4-trash-fire]

You all wanted this....

Stray part 2

Apologies for this taking so long

Work got me fuvked up

Btw I am working on doodles for this series

make sure to not spam my account please I don't want to block you

With our geo grampa having a crisis

You were checking up on the snow globe from ya head

It was your little way of checking up on your little people

Because if ya tried seeing it in any other way it exploded

Computers, tvs, tables, hell even on large scale machines

Nothing apparently couldn't handle the scale of your world enough for you to see it properly

But this will do...

And everything seems to be in order....

WELP DON'T NEED THIS NO MORE

As our lovely zhongli trying to find the best way possible to speak with his creator

He then hears the sound of shattering glass

Looking over at his creator he sees a cat

With half a broken ball in their hands....

Oh..

OH GOD NO

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Ok back with the fucking cat...

Caring for the glass ball wasn't your main priority

Because all you have to do is stick the glass in your stomach and pop a new one out of your back again

That was very much not communicated with you geo dragon

So now you have an old dragon on the floor desperately trying to put the glass ball back together

In the heat of the moment you take one look at the pile of glass and belly flop onto it

It's not a nice feeling but it's better than having to listen to that poor man worry over a glass ball

Your stomach glows as it absorbs the glass and soon you body shakes as it creates a glass ball

(think of a giant machine shaking violently as it tries to do its job)

And with a *pop* a new glass ball appears from your back

Once again zhongli is confused and at this point he's existence in a joke that never ends

Somewhere else in the slums.....

A portal is opened

And three unlucky souls are

A traveler

A bard

And the unlucky boy who just happened to be there at the worst time possible

But what happened before this?

10 minutes before this

Venti was having a good day

Great even.

Until the wind told him zhongli was trying to see the creator

That son of a-

He was supposed to be the first to see the creator

Following the wind he found a cave hidden in some brush

With an inhumane amount of stairs

Zhongli you bit-

Deeper into the cave he found a large yet strange machine

Ancient runes cover the machine in rows

Oh and the traveler was there

Wait....

Why is the traveler here?

They seemed just as confused about the machine as him..

But as the traveler was inspecting the machine one of the runes they touched began to glow

Soon the every rune on the machine as it power up for God knows what

As the machine violently shook venti could hear something screaming coming closer

Oh look it's bennett!

OH WAIT THE STAIRS

BENNETT NO-

A violent push is given to the two immortals as they are all accidentally thrown into the creators world...

Ok that's it

Have fuuuuuun :]

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Steve-O X Bimbo!Y/N HC’s!

Steve-O X Fem!Y/N

Warnings: Suggestive content, crude language, drug use, alcohol, lingerie, dick size jokes

An: Thank you for sending in requests! At the moment, my inbox is as dry as a desert, so please keep them coming! While writing this fic, the dynamic i had in mind was sorta similar to Michał Wiśniewski and Mandaryna if that makes sense :) I really love writing for Bimbo!Y/N so if you have a requests regarding that, feel free to send them my way!

The two of you couldn’t be more different: you, a multimillionaire heiress, and your boyfriend, the guy on tv who sets himself on fire and shoves stuff in his ass for a living.

To break it down, the dynamic between you and Steve is that of a rich woman and the little dog she keeps in her purse

And because of that, you really couldn’t be a better match for each other!

He’d never been one for the whole party girl, heiress type, but he was surprised at the fact that a girl as normal as you was brave enough to go for him in the first place, disgusting antics and all

But there was something about his edgy, manic bad boy image that you were all over!

Unlike what usually happens with celebrity couples, it was you dragging him around to every party in LA and showing him off to the paparazzi

I mean, how couldn’t you? Your boyfriend knew all these fun tricks!

Steve couldn’t complain about all the newfound attention and free flowing drugs, pulling out all the stops to impress you and your rich friends.

A couple people tucked dollar bills into his mankini as he shook off charred bits of hair from his last stunt while preparing for his next,

“Alright! Does anybody gotta stapler around here?”

Respectively, you tagged along to every Jackass premiere, wearing your sparkly little kitten heels and cute sequined mini-dresses while Steve stumbled in with one hand on your waist and the other gripping a fourty,

Likely shirtless, wearing a pair of sneakers and baggy jeans that sat a good couple inches below his boxers.

Still, that didn’t stop the two of you from going all out with the PDA in front of the cameras…

The rest of the jackass guys were shocked when you showed up, having written him off every time he mentioned that he was dating that Beverly Hills party girl from all the tabloids

Blinking in surprise at the two of you, an amused smile spread across Johnny’s face, “Wow…when you said you were datin’ Y/N, you really wernt kidding, O…”

Eagerly shaking Knoxville’s hand, you gushed about how excited you were to meet him,

“Ohmygod! This is sooo crazy! Stevie’s told me all about you guys!”

From out of your line of sight, Bam shot a glance at Ryan and made some comment about what street corner Steve picked you up on.

Your everyday life was so vastly different from his in so many ways!

Take the day you met at a cafe for lunch- one of those fancy places that he could barely believe he was eating at,

“Y’know, I’ve been livin’ off’a cold cereal and Hungry Mans for, like- forever…”

Unlike most girls in your position who’d find that a turn off, you just saw it as him missing out on good food, “Really?” You leaned in close next to him, pointing to a few items on the menu,

“Well, if you ask me- I think you should try this, ooh! Or this- and this is really good too…”

Steve’s etiquette isn’t exactly up to standard, so while you nibbled away at your fancy French pastry, he drank directly from his bowl of soup.

The paparazzi loves your relationship. Or really, really hates you- you couldn’t tell

“Y/N slumming it with Steve-O in West Hollywood Cafe!” One tabloid headline read, printed in bold red text above a photo of the two of you,

But what they didn’t show was the second that followed- you giggling and reaching out to wipe the corner of his mouth, and him smiling in that cute, boyish way he always did.

After a while of you gushing over him like he’s just the most perfect man, like- literally ever, his buddies began teasing him about you

Whether it was about how Steve didn’t smell like Newports and ass anymore and that the world must be ending or how, for lack of a better word, civilized you were making him.

Hell, even Knoxville got on him about his fancy new clothes you paid for,

“Well, it’s like she treats you like her toy or somethin’. I mean, she’s a beautiful lady- don’t get me wrong, but…”

Of course, this led Steve into a long, drunken rant about all the kickass hollywood parties he’s been going to- all the booze and drugs and bad behavior you could stomach,

(Not to mention the wild sex you had)

He vividly described the time he got so horribly drunk at Carson Daily’s place that he nearly took his eye out with his bidet

“And if you think that’s bad, you don’t even wanna know what I did to Nick Lachey’s sheets, dude…”

On the weekends, you’d usually drag Steve around a couple boutiques or the mall even though he couldn’t buy you fancy clothes given he was dead broke

But he couldn’t complain about his smoking hot girlfriend asking his opinion about what underwear she should buy at Victoria’s Secret,

“Ooh, look at this!” You held up the most gaudy cheetah print bra known to man, “Now we can match!”

Well, he wasn’t about to argue with that…And he knew the value of a woman who could appreciate cheetah print.

While you were in one store or another, you ran into an old friend and told your boyfriend that you’d be right back as she pulled you aside

“Y/N- what in the world are you doing with a guy like that?”

Well, you liked him- a whole lot in fact, but you knew that answer wouldn’t satisfy her. So, you thought of the next best thing,

“Well…” Leaning in conspiratorially, you whispered in her ear, “He has got the biggest cock I have ever seen. I mean- massive.”

Yeah, she can tell that to the tabloids…

When Steve later asked you about what the two of you were chatting about, you told him the truth and you could’ve sworn you saw him blush, “Wait…But I don’t-“

“Yeah, I know you don’t! But she doesn’t...”

[easternmind]

The weird and wonderful history of Kowloon as a digital interactive space - Part II

This article is the continuation of a previous post.

Any comprehensive history of 20th century Hong Kong is not complete without a chapter entirely dedicated to the architectural and urban planning puzzle that was Kowloon Walled City. Quite unlike any other slum in Asia or elsewhere in the world, the extreme conditions under which its inhabitants lived captured the attention of various international journalists and photographers whose reports of this accidental labyrinth, in turn, inspired some of the most remarkable artistic explorations of our time. In this regard, video games did not remain impervious to the powerfully stimulative imagery, as much a reference today as it was when its hardened concrete walls still stood tall.

Kowloon's Gate Suzaku VR - Jetman - 2017

Kowloon's Gate made a most unexpected comeback twenty years after the original episode via the crowdfunded VR project Suzaku developed by Jetman, a studio founded by and composed almost exclusively of ex-SME/Zeque staff. While it is not the remaster many had hoped for, essentially consisting of a walking simulation through some redesigned locations from the original, it does a commendable job in faithfully replicating its instantly recognizable, light-starved alleyways in competent high-definition. It is also the only VR-compatible entry from this list, granting it a degree of uniqueness over its counterparts.

Stranglehold - Midway/Tiger Hill Productions - 2007

Stranglehold is the result of a collaboration with Hong Kong movie director John Woo, developed as a direct sequel to his heroic bloodshed classic Hard Boiled, featuring Chow Yun-fat in the role of detective 'Tequilla' Yuen in his unending confrontations with organized crime. One of the game's most unforgettable levels, Slums of Kowloon, takes place during a particularly rainy day, seemingly in those last days when the zone had been emptied of residents and demolition work was well underway. The visual representation of the quarter is suitably evocative, its buildings in complete state of disrepair, the remnants of local businesses or places of prayer still discernible from under the piles of steel and cement rubble.

Resident Evil 6 - Capcom - 2012

For all its shortcomings, Resident Evil 6 partly succeeds in taking the first two episodes' concept of parallel storylines and realizing it to a much fuller extent. Its choice of different characters translates into entirely different campaigns, locations and playing styles. The very first scene in Chris/Piers' campaign occurs in the fictional Chinese city of Lanshiang, modelled after real-life Hong Kong. The mayhem in the main streets forces the player to take a detour into a location named Poisawan, which bears a striking resemblance to the Kowloon district. Though an unofficial representation, it is among the most skilled replications of the scenery we find in the vast photographic repository of the area. The degree of minutiae with which the district's haphazard electric installation is replicated, alone, suffices to demonstrate a true commitment to authenticity.

Paranormal HK - Ghostpie Studio - 2020

Few would dispute that Kowloon is, itself, naturally conducive to sentiments of dread and anxiety. Paranormal HK is a 2020 made in China production reviving the defunct neighbourhood in a gripping, blood-curdling contemporary ghost story. The player is the cameraman of a paranormal-themed TV show exploring the zone during the evening of the Zhongyuan festival, a scheme suspiciously akin to that of Akira Ueda's 2004 game, Michigan: Report From Hell. As a result of the thorough research work performed by its creators, as well as the impeccable usage of contemporary 3D graphics techniques to achieve accurate lighting conditions, players may momentarily experience the feeling of walking into a photo of the actual city as it existed in the mid eighties.

Sifu - Sloclap - 2022

Notwithstanding of its renaissance during the 128-Bit era, the beat 'em up genre is commonly associated with the arcade games of the late 80s and 90s, the period of time when it flourished and, arguably, reached its zenith. The simplicity of controls and ease of access sufficed to attract players to the arcade cabinet, while the frequently extreme levels of difficulty of advanced levels ensured a steady flow of cash for arcade room owners and game development companies alike. Nevertheless, the genre has but perished and, in many aspects, recent years have indeed elevated it to unforeseeable degrees of complexity. Sifu, by Sloclap, synthesizes the elation of digital hand to hand combat simulation with the real-life complexity of mastering a martial art.

As is the case of previous entries in this list, Sifu makes no admitted reference to Kowloon or Hong Kong. However, the designers left little to the imagination in what pertains to their inspirations when taking on the task of constructing the game's environments. Another notable coincidence stems from the fact that this production was made possibly with the support from a celebrated independent game funding group going by the name Kowloon Nights.

Stray - BlueTwelve Studio - 2022

Stray is one of the most revered independent video games in recent memory, and justifiably so. The long development process yielded many benefits, judging from the consistency and attention to detail that engrossed many an avid player. That the main character is singularly charming feline may have played an equally crucial role. The creators have made no effort to conceal the fact that the notorious Hong Kong district was a pivotal influence to the design of its nameless city. The first indication can be spotted in the game's earliest footage, in which a black cat traverses a street where a particularly conspicuous sign boasted the initials HK. Stray is less concerned with presenting a precise replica of Kowloon than it is about summoning the very essence of its atmosphere. Moreover, in an exquisitely poignant way, its ending lends an entirely new meaning to the term walled city. In the future, robots may well take the place of humans. Invariably, the Walled City is no more. Slitterhead - Bokeh Game Studio - Work in Progress

An sequence of unconscionable mistakes from the part of Sony Computer Entertainment's management galvanized Keiichiro Toyama to part ways with Japan Studio, as it once was, and establish his own game production label. Their debut title, Slitterhead, is described as a grotesque survival horror experience, a genre within which the author moves with matchless ease. Among the few certainties regarding this project is the fact that it will take place prominently - if not exclusively - within the Kowloon City province. A wide variety of aspects included in the preview footage leave the viewer optimistic as to this being one of the most accomplished portrayals of the district ever seen in a video game. Subtle yet telling signs already demonstrate the creator's in-depth knowledge of the quarter's architecture and history. Take, for instance, the suggestive image of the airplane flying mere meters above the top of the buildings. Although the growth of Kowloon was for the most part ungoverned, buildings did not rise above a certain height, even as inhabitants claimed for increased availability of space. This is due to the fact that airplanes landing at the nearby airport would be required to make their descent at relatively low altitude, performing a tight curve as they soared just above the enclave, thus preventing construction from expanding upwards. Another scene shows a child playing on the rooftops of the buildings, which once again is consistent with the documented habits of residents who, starved for sunlight and open space elsewhere within the city limits, had little alternative than to take the stairs all the way to the top.

Warehouse Kawasaki Arcade

I would be remiss not to make some form of allusion to Warehouse Kawasaki, an arcade built to replicate the Walled City with unthinkable detail. Though its ultimate purpose was for visitors to engage in digital entertainment, the venue was scrupulously put together. Point in fact, many of the objects used in the construction of the five floor amusement centre were imported directly from Hong Kong. Like so many other Japanese arcades, it closed its doors in 2019.

In recent years, a rather similar initiative was taken by the Chinese in their attempts to build unique mall spaces. The 文和友 malls in mainland China, found in Changsha, Guangzhou and Shenzhen, attempt to reproduce the walled city aesthetic. Local residents inform me that these are increasingly lacking in foot traffic, for which reason the majority of their stores are closed. Other digital replicas of Kowloon

A number of other videogames set in or deriving inspiration from Kowloon could not be featured in this article. A frequently cited reference in this context is the action/adventure game Fear Effect, one which I emphatically dispute. No doubt remains as to it being located in a futuristic version of Hong Kong, yet I could discern no parallels with the walled city, save for those scattered second-hand visual motifs that were no doubt imported from sci-fi classics such as Blade Runner or Ghost in the Shell.

The Utelek Complex stage of Deus Ex: Makind Divided presents a similar situation, where the overall atmosphere of the futuristic favela bears some resemblance to Kowloon, without meeting the specificity quota that would warrant a more comprehensive exploration.

The 2004 Shout! original Kowloon High-School Chronicle for the PS2 is a unique case, in that it borrows the city's name despite taking place in a massive, Tokyo underground dungeon that is later revealed to be a maze-like Egyptian pyramid. The odd choice of title remains unclear. Shadowrun: Hong Kong game (screenshot above) contains a very direct mention of Kowloon as the place in which an entire episode comes to pass. Another project still in development, Kowloon's Curse (screenshot below), is following the lead of many popular independent horror games in recent memory by using a visual design and structure that elicits memories of the late Playstation/early Dreamcast era. A short prequel episode was made available earlier this year, for free.

Additionally, I refrained from mentioning the Kowloon maps in Call of Duty: Black Ops or Counter-Strike: Global Offensive, as I perceive both games to be insufficiently relevant to merit study or contemplation.

A space that refuses to be forgotten

(China rooftop stage from The King of Fighters 2003)

It would be a gross overstatement to claim that Kowloon is a recurring location or level design motif in videogames. The relationship between digital games and the real life ghetto has been one of sporadic references. What makes the subject so engrossing pertains to the quality of the relationship, particularly that of a small cadre from among the titles featured in this article. Kowloon's Gate was one of the most relevant game creations of the 32-Bit era, a game deserving of reverence and cult following inside and outside Japan. Likewise, Shenmue II is the second instalment of a truly ground-breaking and highly advertised series whose production costs alone were unmatched until quite recently.

Moreover, this is an affair that is far from concluded. The unexpectedly high number of allusions to Kowloon in videogames released or revealed just last yet demonstrates that its aesthetic is still very much present in the minds and hearts of artists and designers working in the field. The walled city lives on as a digital demarcation that is certain to resurface time and again in years to come.

[nhl-stories]

midnight love – Anthony Beauvillier

Summary: Hannah was ready to accept her fate as second choice, but a newcomer just entered the picture

Author’s Note: Oh my god I've been working through this for so long and then bam that trade happens. And changed how I was going to end this so I'm a bit distraught.

Word Count: 3.9k

Album Series Masterlist

I can't be your midnight love When your silver is my gold

She wishes she had enough of a backbone to disappoint people, if only in self-preservation. But no, instead Hannah is spending another night as a stand in.

It’s not like these people aren’t her friends, but there’s a hierarchy; they’re Brock’s friends and teammates first, then Cora’s friends and fellow significant others, then at the bottom of the list is Hannah.

At least it’s just a team dinner, not some event where she has to explain over and over again that no, she is not Brock’s girlfriend, just a friend. Usually throw in a joke about taking advantage of an open bar or nice dinner.

His real girlfriend is prettier and more talented, just busy with her emergency medicine residency. Hannah is just a placeholder so he doesn’t have to go somewhere alone.

Don’t worry, Brock isn’t slumming it with the plain-looking girl who works in a fish market.

He’s with Cora: head cheerleader and prom queen in high school, first in her class in college and med school, Miss British Columbia who probably would have been Miss Canada if she wasn’t too busy studying to be a fucking doctor.

Hannah’s only a little bitter.

To be fair, she did it to herself. She spent her whole life as Cora’s less-than-impressive sidekick, she should have seen it coming.

Hannah should have thought twice before introducing Cora to Brock, should have known Cora would charm him and ask him out before Hannah could even tell her how she felt about him. And then it was a year and a half of worming her way into Brock’s heart down the drain.

Brock and Cora are good match. They look like a Barbie and Ken set and then they’re personable and kind on top of it.

Still, Brock can’t seem to take Hannah off a pedestal. It’s a little lower than Cora’s, but a pedestal nonetheless. Maybe if she jumps off, it will put her out of her misery.

“You’re Brock’s girlfriend? The doctor?”

Hannah’s head snaps up from stabbing the cherry in her drink, to see a new face. Anthony Beauvillier, her brain supplies.

“Oh no, just a friend filling in,” she bites back her initial reaction of a barking laugh, “You’re Anthony, welcome to Vancouver.”

“Thanks, so just a friend, what’s your name?”

“Oh, right, Hannah.”

“Hannah since you’re here and not a significant other, I can assume you know all the dirt.”

Hannah blushes under his gaze. His eyes are so blue she can’t seem to keep direct eye contact. So, they keep drifting to his hair, she hadn’t realized he had such soft looking locks since she mostly had seen him on TV with a helmet.

“I guess, what do you want to know?”

She tries to be coy; she definitely knows more than most. She’s so present but so unassuming she guesses she must be easy to open up to.

“Is it really a big deal that Petey brought around a girl?”

“There hasn’t been a lot of exciting off-ice news this season. But I’ve known him for almost 4 years and I’ve barely seen him flirt with a girl, so to bring a girlfriend is kind of big deal. Although between you and me I think he’s been hung up on her for a while.”

Anthony nods.

“The only thing before this was Quinn broke up with his girlfriend from back home and then just started showing up with a new girlfriend like a month later. But Samantha has been accepted into the fold so it’s not really gossip anymore.”

“You really do know the low down.”

“I can’t give you much on-ice info, but off-ice dynamics, I’m your woman.”

He gives her a crooked smile and starts to say something, when a hand grabs her elbow a bit too tight.

“Dinner is starting, I got us seats,” Brock tugs her towards the table that’s filling up.

“Nice talking to you Anthony,” she gently pulls her arm out of Brocks grip.

“Yeah, let’s do it again sometime.”

∫∫∫

“You smell like fish,” Cora says as Hannah sits down next her in the stands.

She pulls up her collar and gives it a sniff, she doesn’t smell anything, “I changed before I came here.”

“I think it’s just embedded itself into your skin at this point.”

“You smelled like a barn when we met and I still became your friend, even though everyone said you smelled like horse butt.”

“Well, the tables have turned and now you’re the stinky friend.”

“Fuck off,” Hannah laughs and flips her friend off.

Cora reaches in her purse for a tiny spray bottle of perfume, “I got you covered my fishy friend,” she gives her a spritz.

“Did I miss anything interesting?”

“I just got here, like 10 minutes before you. Had a last-minute surgery.”

“So, we were both working with guts before we came.”

“Yeah, and hopefully after this, number six will be rearranging my guts.”

Hannah laughs, but it’s hollow. They’ve been together long enough it shouldn’t still sting, but somehow it does.

Thankfully, there’s a big hit on the ice to shift their focus.

“The new guy is pretty cute,” Cora says when play settles.

“Anthony?”

“Yeah, you met him at that dinner thing, right?”

The tone in Cora’s voice makes it clear that she knows something Hannah doesn’t. That she’s toying with her food.

“Mm-hmm, he seems nice.”

“Brock said he was flirting with you. He was all worked up about it too, like ‘this new guy comes in and just charms the first girl he sees, what if Hannah was my girlfriend?’”

Hannah forces herself to focus on the puck traveling down the ice. She can’t look at Cora, let her see something she might jump on

The puck is blown dead, icing, and Hannah tries to keep her face blank when she turns, “He was just trying to meet the group and be friendly.”

“That’s what I tried to tell him. Why would he be trying to flirt with you?”

Hannah bites her tongue, she knows Cora means why would he be flirting with someone at a team dinner, when most women there would be taken. It doesn’t mean it’s any less hurtful. Like Cora isn’t digging her finger into the soft flesh of her biggest insecurities. 

“Brock’s just protective of what’s his,” Cora adds like that’s not another sharp jab.

A wave of nausea rolls over Hannah.

The boys win by one in a mostly winless season, which is good reason to go out and celebrate. Hannah is wrangled into one of Cora’s dresses, and doused in her perfume, and dragged to a club.

One out of three of those things is Hannah’s choice.

“You smell nice,” Brock leans over to whisper in her ear, reaching across her body to steal a gulp from her drink.

Her body involuntarily flushes, like it always does when Brock casually invades her space. So completely unaware of the effect he has on her.

“I smell like your girlfriend,” she hates the way her voice wavers.

“Where is she anyway?” He stares out into the crowd, arm casually thrown over Hannah’s shoulder.

“Dancing with some of the girlfriends,” she waves in the direction the group went.

“Not like you to not join in,” he gives her a smile that used to be reserved for her only.

“It’s been a long day,” she shrugs, “which reminds me, Cora said certain things that mean if I want a good night’s sleep, bring her back to your place.”

“So, I’m scoring off the ice too?”

Hannah gags, “second star on and off the ice.”

Brock laughs and gives her gentle shove.

“I’m gonna get a drink, need a refill?”

Hannah gives him a thumbs up.

She watches him walk towards the bar and Cora appear out of thin air to wrap herself around him. Hannah knows she’ll be waiting on that drink forever.

“Looked like you could use a refill,” a solid wall of warmth slides up next to her, a drink placed in front of her.

She should have been expecting it to be Anthony, but she’s surprised. A warm feeling rolling over her thinking about how Brock thought he was flirting.

“Thanks, Brock’s useless,” she holds up the glass in cheers and takes a sip.

Over the rim of the glass, she catches two blondes sucking face, having their foreplay in front of everyone.

“Do you want to get out of here?” She blurts without thinking of the implication, maybe not caring.

Anthony gapes at her forwardness before Hannah’s brain catches up, “Like to a quieter bar?”

“Sure.”

Hannah takes him to a dive bar, where they drink crappy beer in tall boys and play darts. She’s too dressed up for the location but it doesn’t matter, they only have eyes for each other.

“You worked on a crabbing boat?” Anthony asks incredulously.

The alcohol is already having her run hot, but the focus from Anthony- or Tito or Beau as he said people call him- feels like a direct sunray. She’s the listener not the talker. Yet, there’s something disarming about Anthony, makes her walls fall away, makes her want to talk as much as she listens.

“Yeah, it was a quick way to make a lot of money in a few months, and it was exciting. There aren’t a lot of crabs the past few years so I haven’t had a chance to go back. And I’m not very smart so I have limited options.”

“You’re talking to a hockey player, I’m also not very smart and have limited options.”

“That’s probably explains why Brock and I became such good friends, although he did go to some college,” she grins and throws her last dart.

Anthony doesn’t make a move to start his turn, “so you and Brock were never–“ he cuts himself off with a throw.

“More than friends?” Hannah supplies.

“Yeah,” Anthony visibly tinges pink even in the darkened bar.

Hannah can’t quite vocalize her answer, worried the timbre of her voice will give away all the thoughts and feelings she’s been hiding. She shakes her head instead.

“If Brock was being weird, I think he was just vetting you. As a teammate and if you were worth my affections or something. Not that you were actually flirting with me.”

“I was,” Anthony looks her straight on, no doubt on his face or in his voice.

Something snaps inside Hannah, bursting red-hot in her veins. She’s not going to sit back and wait this time; she’s going to lean into what she’s feeling and grab it tight.

She drags Anthony towards to the back of the bar, pushing him into the bathroom and pushing him against the door once inside. She feels a little depraved, but she drives through the feeling and kisses Anthony.

He’s quick to kiss back, tongue slipping past her lips, gentling her erratic movements. He grabs her hips gently, but firm. He’s a wave of cold water crashing into her molten lava body. Nature in symbiosis.

“I don’t normally do this,” she says between kisses.

He moves his hands up to her waist, he doesn’t stop kissing her, just moves down her jaw closer to her ear, “and this is what you want?”

He sinks in his teeth into the hinge of her jaw, she gasps.

“I want–“ her voice is shaky.

She doesn’t know how to say it or ask for it. She just wants the light of his attention, on her, his whole-hearted focus directed at only her, like no one else exists.

“Cause I want more than a bathroom hookup, but I’ll take what I can get,” she can feel his smile against her skin.

There’s a bang on the door then someone yells, “You don’t have to go, but you can’t stay here!”

It’s like being dunked in the ice-cold Pacific.

She gives him one more peck, “Another time?”

∫∫∫

They find themselves in another bathroom, this time in Demko’s house while the team has a party. Hannah on the counter and Anthony in a vice grip between her knees.

“Sorry, couldn’t wait until after the party.”

Hannah can’t hold back her smile. Hasn’t been for almost two weeks now. They hadn’t seen each other again, but had been texting. If Cora asks, she says it’s Brock being stupid. If Brock asks, she says it’s Cora being dramatic.

“I like it,” digging her fingers into his hair, it’s as soft as it looks.

 “But we can’t take too long,” she adds, though she doesn’t kiss like someone with an exit plan.

“I’ll take my time tonight,” he whispers against her lips.

Voices drift closer to the door when they finally decide to peel apart. Hannah fixes where she mussed his hair as best she can, before peeking to see if the coast is clear.

She makes her way through the kitchen to casually grab a drink and slides up next to Cora and her conversation with the other better halves.

She’s trying to ease herself into the conversation but her mind is elsewhere. In the future and whatever tonight is going to be and in the present glancing over to see Anthony trying to do the same.

Cora elbows her before leaning in, “Classic hot mess Hannah.”

“What?”

“Your very dumb, signature move,” Cora grins, “you forgot to wipe your lipstick off his mouth before you reintegrated back into society.”

Hannah tries to casually glance back at Anthony, he looks towards her at the same time and grins. His lips a shade too pink to be natural. Hannah mimes wiping her lips with the back of her hand, hoping he’ll get the message.

“You dirty girl, I’d recognize that nude berry on any boy’s lips, which honestly let me find you a new color, you’ve been using that for like a decade now.”

Hannah tries to smile through her worry, but Cora knows her well enough to see through it.

“I’m very proud of you for getting him while the getting’s hot, but if you’re worried about me telling Brocky babe or something, don’t worry, secret’s safe with me,” she zips her lips and throws the key over her shoulder.

The giddy nerves in her stomach start fighting the anxious nerves in her stomach.

A heavy arm drapes over Hannah’s shoulder, “There you are, Cora said she saw you but I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

That’s the thing, Hannah trusts Cora to keep a secret, she doesn’t quite trust herself.

“Almost feels like you’ve been hiding from me,” Brock laughs at the thought.

Cora joins in and gives Hannah a desperate look to join in as well, Hannah can feel her own laugh is too erratic, but Brock doesn’t seem phased.

“Babe, she’s allowed to have her own life, she’s not just our personal third wheel,” Cora pulls him into her own side.

“Technically Cora, you’re the third wheel to our friendship,” he grins and gives her a peck.

Hannah feels nauseous.

“Oh honey, you’re the third wheel to Hannah and I’s friendship, it’s been around the longest.”

They’re not even acting like Hannah is involved in this conversation, she takes the opportunity to duck out. She grabs another a drink and goes out to the unused balcony. It’s still too cold to hang out there at night, the air is the kind of wet-cold that you can feel in every breath.

“How long have you been in love with Brock?”

Hannah jumps at his voice, barely managing to keep a hold on her bottle of beer.

“I’m not really in love with him anymore,” there’s no use in lying if she’s that transparent.

“Is that why this all secretive?”

Anthony’s eyes are so big, endless blue that Hannah isn’t sure how to read. She wants to learn.

She has reasons lined up: she doesn’t want to effect team chemistry, doesn’t want to ruin her friendships if this goes south, doesn’t want to fall in love with another hockey player.

But all those reasons are logical and rational. And this is emotional in a way she’s not sure she can find room for in her body.

“It’s nice to have something that’s just mine,” she furrows her brow, feels like it’s not quite what she means.

“I’m not the smartest or the prettiest or the most anything, I’m just Hannah. But you act like that’s enough. I’m not just a consolation prize or silver you’re settling for because you can’t have gold.”

Anthony doesn’t say anything for a long time, Hannah feels like maybe they froze outside.

Then he takes a step forward, cupping her face with hands so warm they burn her cheeks. He kisses her slowly; Hannah doesn’t think anyone has ever kissed her like this. Like she’s something precious, worth savoring.

He pulls away and smirks, “I’ve kind of been wishing for silver my whole life.”

“Jesus Christ, is that a Stanley Cup joke?” her smile grows so big it swallows her face.

“Like I’ve said I’m not that smart or that clever either.”

Hannah just has to kiss that stupid smile off his face, not caring who can see them through the windows.

∫∫∫

Brock is pissed.

He acts like everyone doesn’t know what it’s about. Like they don’t notice the glares he sends Beau when he walks into the locker room or how his knuckles go white around a beer bottle when he sees Hannah dance with Anthony at club.

They all let him sulk for a week, without saying anything.

Teammates start to chirp him when it lasts longer.

It comes to a head when Brock goes to a team event alone and brings his mood home to Cora.

“You’re not even his ex or something,” Cora is pretending to be the slowest customer of all time at the fish counter while she complains.

Hannah sort of wishes it was a rush so she could usher her friend away, she’s so over dealing with Brock. The jealousy that she would have killed for a few months ago is starting to become overkill and Hannah kind find it in her to be bothered.

It’s funny that the first time she’s all Brock can think about, is also the first time she doesn’t give a shit about it.

“He’s never had to share you with someone else and now I’m like invisible or something.”

That make Hannah pause.

In all the years she’s known Cora she’s the never been self-conscious, never had a reason to be.

She has to bite back the spiteful smile, it’s nice to be reminded that Cora is a mere mortal too.

“I’ll talk to him, can’t have you feeling lesser than me.”

Cora scoffs, “Hey, don’t talk about my best friend like that.”

Hannah rolls her eyes.

“I’m serious bitch, I don’t know why it took so long for it to get through your head, but I’m glad someone finally makes you feel on top of the world.”

The next night Hannah and Anthony are at Brock’s door.

He opens the door and almost shuts it in their face, but Hannah catches the door with her foot and shoves Anthony through the door.

“It’s an ambush babe,” Cora squeezes Brock shoulders, trying to make him unclench an iota.

“I come bearing the traditional British Columbian peace offering, a fillet of fish,” she nobly holds out the wrapped package in her arms.

Brock almost cracks smile.

“Brocky babe, why don’t you help her prep the fish and I will fix Beau here a drink.”

Hannah drags him into the kitchen before he can argue or pout.

She doesn’t really need prep; she knows her way around the kitchen already and the recipe like the back of her hand.

She pulls out a knife and points it at Brock.

“I’ll let you be upset for the time it takes me to cook this fish, and then you’re going to snap out of it.”

She gets to work, “You love Cora, you love that she loves hiking and boating and your dogs. You love that she’s as passionate about her job as you are. You love that she moved the fucking earth to make your dad passing as easy as possible for you.”

Brock’s face is set in stone.

“So why the fuck are you so bent out of shape about me dating someone, to the point where your perfect girlfriend is jealous of me?”

“Of all the people in the world you had to go for one of my teammates? What if something happens and I can’t even think of passing to him or it makes things weird with my teammates.” Brock snaps.

“Cause you’re doing a great job of that right now, Petey says he’s worried you’ll throw a punch soon.”

“Were you just using me until you could land the right hockey player?”

“Not everything I do is about you Brock. Sorry I let you think that for so long.”

She throws some of the fish in the hot pan, it sizzles like her nerves.

“I’m sorry it happened this way, it’s the last thing I would purposely try to do. But can’t you tell how happy he makes me?”

She feels her tears start to fall, hot and heavy. They’ve been locked and loaded for years.

“You didn’t want me when we met all those years ago, and that hurt. And then you fell for my best friend like instantly, and that hurt worse.  You don’t want me that way, so you don’t get to be mad that someone else does.”

Brock looks like he might cry, too.

“I love being your best friend. I love your dumb jokes and you’re stupid fucking laugh. But I can find that somewhere else if you can’t accept this.”

Brock squeezes her tight, she can feel his tears on the crown of her head.

“I want what’s best for you,” he pulls away, “sorry I have a dumb way of showing it, is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“Pay my rent when you ask Cora to move in?”

Brock lets out one of his stupid fucking laughs, “maybe by next season you’ll also have a new place to live.”

Hannah shoves him away and plates the last of the fish, “the instant acceptance is appreciated, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

She goes to the dining room where the others are waiting with bated breath, pretending like they weren’t eavesdroping on the whole conversation.

“Hope you guys are ready for some tear-brined salmon for this very emotional and awkward double date.”

Anthony takes her hand when she sits down, she can’t help but kiss him. She likes the view off her pedestal.

[zombieheroine]

If you think about it, Hawks should be messy and problematic behind his happy-go-lucky image. (Yes this is gonna be an endhawks post, sorry.)

Because it is an image. It's fake. He's a double-agent groomed for the mission since childhood. The public-facing chatter and easygoing nature are crafted to hide that.

He was born into an abusive household and a slum hideout. He didn't know what was real and what was fake on tv. No way does he have any idea what a good family dynamic is like. He was definitely not securely attached as a baby, and no matter how much he learns and how he copes, that will always be with him.

He grew up in an institution. Without play, without peers, groomed with only a singular purpose. He's missing most of common milestones that would make him able to relate to others.

Just to underline that "missing important milestones" point: he's been working probably since mid-teens and went openly pro as soon as it was legal. No wonder he climbed the ranks so fast, he was an old hand at 20. "Too fast" right, no, it's just child labour.

Also, as much fun as the trope of him as an Endeavor fan with a huge nerd haul is, take a moment to think if he has ever had security about his surroundings or many personal belongings. He is a fan for sure, but his collection is probably just that ratty plushie, a coffee can label, a keychain from a cheap dispenser, and a collectible card he got by exchanging an Allmight with some random other kid, who thinks he cheated that off him.

He probably doesn't have much personal belongings in general. His apartment is just for sleeping and that's it. Pure functionality and disposable if needed.

He's never lived in a safe and cosy nuclear family or had peers who did. He wasn't socialized to mind things like family structure, having children, or boundaries between generations. He probably will fly out of the nearest window if an adult man raises his voice, but he most likely haven't had the time to really unpack that.

On one hand, all this means he'll probably be open to messing around with Enji if even the slightest opportunity araises, because he isn't held back by any sense of convention or a sense that relationships are meant to lead towards some end goal. He doesn't have parents to please or peers to keep up with. But on the other, he doesn't see the red flags and will most likely be surprised by each and every one as they smack him in the face.

Considering how spectacularly Enji managed to ruin the whole traditional family thing, a clean slate is probably for the best, but "not this" isn't much to go by. Hawks definitely doesn't know any better.

He's probably okay with stuff that is not fine and needs to firstly realize that boundaries are possible and then learn to set them.

He probably freaks out about stuff that should be inconsequential. Catch him secretly getting rid of new dishtowels they purchased together for reasons he can't quite explain.

Just. Where would have Hawks learned relationship skills? Nowhere, that's where.