You Have To Be Your OC's Number One Otaku Because If You Dont Who Will

I know y’all mostly know me for my ProSeka fic, but that is FAR from the only fandom I’m in.

Extremely far. So if you guys wanna talk to me about other stuff too, that’s really cool and fun!

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Power Rangers S.P.D. Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Elizabeth "Z" Delgado & Sam, Jack Landors/Sky Tate, Bridge Carson/Sophie, Elizabeth "Z" Delgado/Sydney Drew, Elizabeth "Z" Delgado & Jack Landors Characters: Sam (Power Rangers S.P.D.), Elizabeth "Z" Delgado, Jack Landors, Sky Tate, Sydney Drew, Bridge Carson, Sophie (Power Rangers) Additional Tags: god how do i tag this, Apocalypse, Brainwashing, Possession, Mercy Killing, Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

B-Squad is introduced to Gruumm’s Angels of Death from Sam’s future, and they have some very familiar faces.

This chapter is for @badthingshappenbingo​​ for the prompt “Mercy Killing!”

Whumptober Day 14: Used As Bait (Alt. Prompt)

Carrot and Stick

Akito gets kicked across the floor of the cabin so hard he feels his ribs crack. Despite the pain, he bears his teeth at the humans that captured him.

“What do you even want ?!” Akito screeches at the humans.

“Well, I’ll take one of two things,” one man holding a how says. “Either you lose your human skin and let us have some of those dragon scales…”

“Stupid idiot!” Akito snaps. ”We don’t shed our skin! Can’t tell the difference between dragons and Selkies?”

Besides, Akito’s too young to grow into full dragon form yet. He can cough out a few sparks and catch prey with the best of them, but being big enough to bite these guys' heads off isa couple of years away. Even his tail isn’t that long.

“Pity,” the man says. “Then kiddo, you should start crying loud enough for your mother to hear.”

“My mother?” Akito frowns. “Dummy, she’s nowhere near here, I’m an independent hatchling. Besides, if you think you can handle my mom, you should just set yourselves on fire now.”

The man stomps on Akito’s leg and there’s a horrible crack . “Kid, we know there was a large, brown dragon flying around here as recently as yesterday, and you were following her around, so start crying. ”

Oh. Ena. They think Ena’s a fully-grown dragon. Humans are really dumb. Why go picking on dragons if you don’t know anything about them.

But the bigger problem is that Ena’s not going to come rescue him. She’s just waiting until he can transform so she can leave him to fend for himself and fend for herself, the proper dragon way. 

Their parents were off and not set to come back for a few centuries to see if they survived to proper adulthood, Ena wouldn’t go out of her way to help him.

But Akito can’t let these guys know that. Because then they’ll just kill him.

So he hisses at them and curls in on himself, his tail barely fully wrapping around him.

The men all laugh. 

“Alright, kid,” the first man says. “Maybe another beast can convince you since what I’m trying to say is too advanced for you.”

Akito spits at him as he turns to leave, and several large dogs enter the cabin. They all bear their teeth at him and stare at him black beady eyes.

Akito bears his fangs back and spits a few sparks their direction, but it only stops them for a second. 

The dogs have razor-sharp teeth, but their ribs are poking out through their skin. They’re starving.

“Go away!” Akito shouts as they back him into a corner. Ok, this is fine. Just a big flame! Something strong enough to keep them away. “Go away!” Akito repeats, trying again to spout an actual flame to no avail.

Akito sucks in a big breath and breathes as hard as possible, and flames erupt over the dogs.

For a second, Akito thinks he actually did it, but then he realizes the flames are coming from the wrong angle, and Ena’s perched at the top of a large hole in the cabin.

“Ena!” Akito yells. “Look out, they want your scales!” There’s the sound of footsteps and men yelling, but Ena ignores them and swoops down to slash at the ropes tying Akito. Akito climbs onto her back just as the men reach the cabin, and Ena releases a breath of colorful flames in their faces.

There are screams, but Ena ignores them and flies away.

“Did they find the cave?” Ena asks. 

“No, they got me while I was hunting,” Akito says. 

“Seriously? No hunting alone!” 

“You’re always sleeping! I gotta practice before I transform!”

“You don’t need that much practice!” Ena flies to the mountain and then transforms back a ways from the cave. “Do you want me to carry you still?”

“I can walk!” Akito says. “I’m stronger than you as a human anyway.”

Ena rolls her eyes but makes special care to keep in step with Akito instead of going ahead like she usually would.

When they get back to the cave, Ena makes sure she’s ok, then immediately leaves.

Akito can hear the screams from the burning village from the cave.

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Persona 3, Persona 4, Persona 5, Genei Ibun Roku #FE | Tokyo Mirage Sessions #FE
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Amagi Yukiko, Takamaki Ann, Arisato Minato, Arisato Minako, Iori Junpei, Akagi Touma
Additional Tags: I just wanted to write for the Agi Users. I lov. Them.
Summary: Six sparks can finally ignite …So, um… I love the Agi users and this fic is for them :)

I'm awfully curious about this and I really need to know.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Caligula Effect (Video Game), Genei Ibun Roku #FE | Tokyo Mirage Sessions #FE Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Oribe Ayaha & μ (The Caligula Effect) Characters: Oribe Ayaha, Myuu | µ (Caligula Effect) Additional Tags: A lot of other people are there but it’s mostly just them, if no one else will make Aya content, then i will Summary:

Five years, Ayaha Oribe was under Aversa’s control.

Five years, Ayaha Oribe became the Ostinato Musician Reaper.

An angel protected her from torment, until her sister could save her from that pain.

Hey. Psst. In case you ever run into me in Gen rooms, say hi lol

⇆ any of your older ranger OCs in Desire! (Or how they react to Dru in general lol)

Just to be clear, I have an entire AU idea where Ash stayed in Sky’s life and beat Dru with a steel chair. I think about this all the time.

Sky has intentionally not told any of them about him— mostly because Addi will track him down and kill him while making it look like an accident.

So hypothetically if they were swapped into Desire…

Sage would be more focused on Sky himself— dragging him out of there and making sure he doesn’t die

Jamie’s coming up with a huge plan and probably synthesizing the antidote in the back of Bridge’s trailer

Addi is surprisingly calm. It is because she has already figured out how to kill Dru while making it look like an accident on the drive there.

Ash is obviously pissed and wants to beat Dru to death with a steel chair, but as the closest thing to a parental figure Sky has at the moment she’s trying her fucking best to make sure he’s okay and drag him away to Kat and get him fixed up.

Bonus: If Schuyler was there… oh, boy. As the child of an abusive relationship, he’s gotta sit there and go like “Ah, fuck, my son is making the same mistakes my mom and Lina did.” Like he’s going to feel guilty that he didn’t teach Sky the warning signs well enough and then cry into a pillow for two hours and then apologize non-stop for failing Sky (Sky: Dad, what???)

AUgust 2020: Angels & Demons

Challenge given by @augustwritingchallenge

Summary: Goro won’t ever get justice. Vengeance, though… Vengeance Goro could get.

“Don’t you want vengeance, Goro Akechi?” A hand shot out from the darkness. “I can offer you vengeance. All I ask is possession of your immortal soul.”

Pairing: N/A can be interpreted as ShuAke

Characters: Goro Akechi, Joker (Akira Kurusu/Ren Amamiya)

Word Count: 2305

CW: N/A

Notes: the tumblr version is unformatted. for that reason, i highly recommend you to read the ao3 version instead so yall get that sweet sweet tone difference.

i didnt include the “angel” part of the angels & demons but you know. potato potahto. also, big thanks to @yusuke-of-valla​ for giving me an AMAZING prompt. hope i did it justice

AO3 Link: HERE

=

She was buried quietly, without fanfare and without mourners. Goro remembered staying at her grave hours after sunset, clutching the single flower he brought for her between his fingers so tightly it had crushed the leaves and petals and stem into a mangled mess.

The sky was a dark inky blot by the time a woman with tightly bunned hair and a blue and white striped uniform came for him and said that since his last living relative was six feet underground, Goro would be put into foster care. Dark clouds swirled over the horizon, flanking the boom of oncoming thunder. Goro wanted to tell her that he had a living relative still, a piece of trash masquerading as a man. Shido. Masayoshi Shido.

But who’d believe a dirty bastard child over the nation’s darling upstanding politician? The son of a whore with not a single yen to his name against a “respectable” and reliable Masayoshi fucking Shido. Even as a child, Goro understood that he won’t get his justice. This biased, pathetic excuse of a system won’t ever give him his justice. He followed that woman into an orphanage and let the years pass being shuffled from place to place. No roots. No friends. No bonds. Just a pebble thrown into sea, meant to be swallowed and spat back out again.

Goro won’t get justice. Justice for the years he suffered unwanted, unneeded, and unloved. He won’t get justice for his mother whose only mistake was being too kind and loving something that deserved no love at all. Justice for the society that looked at his face and deemed him unworthy to be saved and left him to drown.

Goro won’t ever get justice.

“But I can give you vengeance.”

Vengeance.

That word, over and over again in his dreams, a promise, a vow, an offer and an absolution. Goro didn’t know when it started, exactly. All he knew is that at some point in the blur of his adolescence, a voice started calling out to him in his dreams. Hands with black-painted nails, perfectly manicured, beckoning him into the depth of an endless void. Pointed horns and red eyes. A smile and the glint of shiny teeth. And in his mind, the voice would ring out, “Vengeance. Vengeance. Vengeance.”

Justice is for children. Wide-eyed children with petty idealism and a gross misunderstanding of how the world works, of how cruel the world is, of how unwanted and unneeded and un-special they were. Vengeance, though… Vengeance for his mother’s life ruined by the selfish ego of one man undeserving of every breath he deigned to steal, his cruelty, his blatant disregard for the one thing that Goro had in this sham of a life. Vengeance for Goro. Vengeance to quell the pit of hatred and despair and the thrashing of wild listlessness and chaos.

Vengeance, Goro could get.

“Don’t you want Vengeance, Goro Akechi?” asked the voice in his dreams. “Son of a whore and a bastard child. You are playing an unjust game in a world that will never deliver justice.” A hand shot out from the darkness. Pale skin. Dark nails. And past that, further in, gleaming eyes. Blood red. Inhuman. “I can offer you vengeance. I can offer you Masayoshi Shido’s head on a pike, his legacy tarnished, the vision of Japan he was willing to burn the world down for handed to you on a silver platter.”

And in his dreams, Goro always refused. Denied and rejected and lashed out with violent words and the hurl of his fists that only ever seemed to pass through smoke. Even in his dreams, he was taunted. Taunted with something he can never truly have.

That time though, that night, on the eighth anniversary of the day of his mother’s death, on the day Goro stood alone over her grave crushing a delicate flower in his murderous, loveless hands, the creature lurking in Goro’s head won.

In that dream, Goro had reached out back into the darkness, hands shaking as he hesitated mere inches from the flawless hand beckoning him into a mad abyss. “And you’d want something in return, I presume?”

There was almost a chuckle in response to that. “But of course,” said the creature. Horns flashed for a brief moment, sharp and black and angled forward. Flames seemed to lick up the creature’s smile. “All I ask is possession of your immortal soul, Goro Akechi. Give that to me upon your death, and you will have all that you want and more.”

A soul. A soul to finally see Shido fall. To see his pathetic excuse for a father finally get his just desserts. A soul to get the justice -the vengeance- for his mother, for himself. Goro leaned forward, let his bony half-starved hand grasp the one shrouded in darkness, and spoke:

“You have yourself a deal.”

Because really. His soul was dirty, broken, and worth less than the mud on his shirt.

If that’s what he had to give, then he’d give it. Gladly. A hundred, a thousand, a million times over.

The figure in the darkness of his dreams grasped his hand, grasped it tightly, too tightly, until it began to hurt but Goro held on. Then the hand shaked his, slowly, deliberately, and a burning searing pain followed. Not in Goro’s hand but further in, his chest, his head, his heart. His soul. It burned and burned and burned a searing pain, like something was peeling his skin away bit by agonising bit. Still Goro held on.

“Stubborn,” chuckled the voice in Goro’s dream. The hand receded, the pain faded, until all that Goro was left with was darkness and the piercing red eyes. “We will get along well, Goro Akechi.”

The eyes vanished and left behind an echo.

“You may call me Joker.”

Goro woke up.

He was not a child, not a teenager fraught with dreams of deals and vengeance and darkness. He was Goro Akechi, a respected detective fresh out of the academy, praise and accolades and connections to his name. Loved by the common folk for his humble beginnings, an orphan who had to work and bleed and sweat to claw his way into the upper echelons of society, a beacon of hope that maybe they too can make their way up the ladder. Loved by the elite for his charm and wit and charisma, his flawless manners, his cadence, his posture, his mask. One of his masks.

It took years. Years longer than what Goro would have wanted, years longer than what Goro could have been patient with, but at last, he could begin the endeavor that kept him going through years. Bring down Shido. More than a quick death. More than humiliation. More than anything Goro himself could have thought of.

The thing that Masayoshi Shido valued most. Himself. His reputation. His power. His legacy. His control. Brick by fucking brick, Goro would tear it all down. Watch the ruins burn in ashes. Have Shido’s name cursed for years, for generations, for future historians to come. Have the entirety of this nation sneer at the mere mention of his name.

All it took was a soul.

The best damn thing Goro’s soul could ever be worth, honestly.

“I can do many things, Goro, but even I can’t delay a dedicated media crew,” came a voice in his head. Familiar, after years of hearing it. Joker stood at the doorway, insouciant, relaxed, leaning against the frame of Goro’s bedroom door with that irritating nigh-permanent smirk on his face.

He looked human now, which was probably the most unsettling thing about him. No horns. No face wreathed in fire. No clawed hands, no tail, no wings. Joker’s red eyes were a very human black, framed with glasses that made him look innocent and harmless when he was anything but. “Out of bed Goro.” Really, the only thing that belied Joker’s true nature was his smile. The glint of canines just a bit too sharp to be human, visible for only a breath before vanishing once again into this perfect veneer. A mask. “The new Detective Prince can’t be late for his own interview, Goro. Out of bed.”

The pillows were soft, the mattress inviting, the window positioned just so to let the right amount of sunlight in. Ultimately simple, so that when reporters and paparazzi invaded what little semblance of privacy he had left, all they’d see was a humble man living a humble life. The image Goro wanted to cultivate, that Joker advised him to cultivate. The perfect mask.

With a heavy sigh, Goro dragged himself back to the realm of the conscious with a false smile, practised so often it reached his eyes, crinkled them at the edges and lit them up how a real smile would. It was terrifying how he didn’t even have to think about it, how it was as easy as breathing. “My interview isn’t until after noon.” Goro can’t quite remember the last time he smiled genuinely. It was terrifying that Goro didn’t care. And though sleep clung to him still, Goro sat straight-backed, knees slung over his bed and crossed at the ankle. An image. A mask.

Joker gave him a smile. Well, it wasn’t entirely a smile. There was joy in it, sure, and more than a little excitement, but Goro had never quite seen another human being give that look. One of hedonistic greed not for power or wealth but for thrill, chasing something that can’t be caught and loving every second anyway. A dangerous thing, an incorporeal thing, an emotion or an experience or just the mere imaginings of something too alien for Goro to grasp.

“It isn’t. But wouldn’t you want to witness the death of the IT President that eats from Shido’s hand like a loyal dog?”

But then again, Joker wasn’t human.

For all Goro knew, this look was how creatures like Joker smiled. If they could even smile. If Goro could even smile. His camera-ready expression slipped into something other at the news. Lips stretched wide, teeth bared. It might have been a smile. It might have been him imitating the expression Joker’s face. It might have been simply Goro, delighted to know that the crumbling of Shido’s empire had already begun. Sadistic and feral and removed.

“I thought you said that Shido shouldn’t die,” said Goro conversationally, in the same tone one might discuss the weather. Despite how still and steady his voice was, he could not hide the excited tremor that ran through his body, the thrill of seeing his dream finally begin to take root and bloom into an ugly thorny rose.

If Joker noticed, he did not say. “True. I said Shido shouldn’t die. But I said nothing of the men working under him.” Goro was on his feet. Wordlessly, Joker handed him a simple summer outfit, a coat, his gloves. “The ultimate suffering for Shido is a life without power, without influence. A long life of being less than nothing. His subordinates though?”

“Weapons,” said Goro as he dressed himself. To be used against Shido. To have their lives be the sword and the bullets and the gun. To have their deaths be a wound.

For a split second, Goro could have sworn that flames erupted in Joker’s eyes. But when he blinked, it was gone, and Joker was laughing.“Right you are, Goro. They’re casualties in the war. Trash. Tools that have outlived their usefulness.” Joker led Goro out the bedroom, into the hall. Handed him a cup of coffee and a sandwich. “A threat to Shido perhaps?” Joker paused his stride just long enough to look into Goro’s eyes. “Maybe our IT President found something about Shido that he shouldn’t have.” They did not stop in the dining room for Goro’s breakfast.

“Did he?”

“Does it matter?” Joker asked.

“It doesn’t.”

Joker chuckled. The hallway light flickered with each breath and the shadows curled at his ankle. “We’ll create a story, Goro. The president dies from some… unseen force and you’re simply the good samaritan who wanted to help. You’ll get closer to the public, you get an in with Shido, and you get to watch the fall from inside the ivory tower.”

Goro took a sip of his coffee. Roasted to perfection. “And you will get my soul.”

They passed by the floor mirror in the living room. Joker’s reflection was not that of a man with fluffy black hair and a dark button-up. It was shadow and flame and a creature with horns and black-clawed hands. “And I will get your soul. But only after you watch Shido get dragged through something worse than hell. Such is the terms of our deal.”

All for the price of Goro’s soul.

“Well,” Goro smiled, sharp and fake and utterly convincing, “I suppose I’ll take my morning walk. I have an interview coming up, after all. I should clear my head.”

Joker laughed. Deep, hungry, triumphant. He vanished into black smoke and receded into the dark corners of the house just as Goro opened the door. He wasn’t gone though, not really. There was a fire in Goro’s chest, painful and freeing and damning all at once. A brand of malediction and a stain on the soul he already sold.

And when Goro saw a brown-haired man in nice clothes with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder suddenly collapse in the middle of the street, grasping his throat for invisible hands that slowly strangled life out, he heard Joker’s voice in his head again. Loud, clear, and malicious.

Vengeance.

Vengeance.

Vengeance.

Goro dropped his coffee and his breakfast and rushed forward, putting on a mask that fit far too well on his face. “Are you alright sir!?”

Vengeance.

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