#and i made more sick lore for him

[shakescr4zyy]

DON'T BE RUDE AT HIM,, HE'S VERY SENSITIVE!!! /hj

he js looks like a sad ugly puppy in that scene so uh,, yea,, but yk he's a lil man /silly (i wanna put him in a microwave so he explodes /pos)

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Vegetta heard that some members of the server are scared of him and he was like "Why? I'm not even a tryhard, I was the last person to get slime armor" and I'm like... Vegetta people are already scared of you, WHY would you respond to that with "But this isn't even 1% of my true power''

[hauntingblue]

ENIES LOBBY TIME!!!

Sanji's face here.... he Knows he is going to fuck him up

THAT IS SANJI??? 😨

Holding them in my hands again....

Sanji struck a nerve there akdjaoajkq

Increible trio btw.... look at the evidence

............ me next please 🙏🏻

That is love right there I can see it

What if we all killed ourselves (except usopp is telling her the opposite ajahkdhsakjd)

I need sanji to go insane like this more often.... after the timeskip it doesn't happen as much and I love to see him suffering

This is so funny.... there is no denying to her face card

"It's not like she actually wants to die" well yes she does, but no because you know she doesn't really. It is in a quantum state right now

Luffy is such a menace akdhaksjkaak

TELL EM!!!! THAT'S MY GIRL!!!!

Look at franky worrying about robin.... do not fret luffy is coming and he will NOT lose!!!!!

This is zoro remarking how usopps fear of being left behind makes no sense.... this is so good.....

This is so endearing but it also breaks my heart....

Who is that sultry binch... (I don't recall this attack AT ALL and i'm sure we never see it again)

They botched his bbl.... 😔😔😔

Luffy's face here... he was convinced she wanted to go with them but was compelled to do otherwise but no.... he thought wrong and he can't fight to her.... I've just been staring at this page for minutes like damn.

Nevermind.... this is something your mother would say "you want to die??? Just wash the dishes and you can do whatever you want later"

"If you wanna die, or whatever...." this is so good like he knows what he is doing.... he Knows.... look at her face. After knowing how luffy and ace were as kids this just makes more sense (oda didn't think about this i'm sure but damn does it fit) also the slight manipulation.... look at all of us we're already here and look how we all miss you already... you know that post about luffy being selfish but his selfishness is jusg kindness to others... yesh

Thinking about robin's cinderella lifestyle.... why did her mother leave her with that aunt and why didn't some archeologist take her in?? Because she doesn't complain about anything just like she doesn't respond when that mother accused her of hitting her child without reason... that's so fucked

Alright this is funny (and also true)... I'm sorry fellow women....

*Justin Bieber voice* I like your laugh... dereishi shishishi

SHE'S GONNA ASK HER MOM TO TAKE HER TO THE SEA WITH HER??? LIKE SHE DOES AFTER WITH LUFFY??? MY GOD!!! I just bursted into tears like I got punched in the nose I can't keep going ajdhakajk

I lied i can keep going... but head in my hands over this....

Find out how my emotional stability survives this arc in ennies lobby part 2. coming soon

[anothermonikan]

Have I told you guys about the fucked up dreams I've been having recently? I've been having some fucked up dreams lately. yeah <3

[5hrignold]

glep being like thousands of years old has me wondering if that’s a critter thing like they either can be immortal or live to an absurd amount of time like that or it’s just a glep thing like it would be the case for him regardless of species

[mask131]

So... Wicked is coming back in style. And as such I need to make a little informative post.

Because since as early as my arrival onto the Internet, in the distant years of the late 2000s, a lot of people have been treating Wicked as some sort of "official" part of the Oz series. As part of the Oz canon or as THE "original" work everything else derives from (literaly, some people, probably kids, but did believe the MGM movie was made BASED on Wicked...) And as an Oz fan, that bothers me.

[Damn, ever since I watched Coco Peru's videos her voice echoes in my brain each time I say this line.]

So here's a few FACTS for you facts lovers.

The Wicked movie that is coming out right now (I was sold this as a series, turns out it is a movie duology?) is a cinematic adaptation of the stage musical Wicked created by Schwartz and Holzman, the Broadway classic and success of the 2000s (it was created in 2003).

Now, the Wicked musical everybody knows is itself an adaptation - and this fact is not as notorios, somehow? The Wicked musical is the adaptation of a novel released in 1995 by Gregory Maguire, called Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West. A very loose and condensed adaptation to say the least - as the Wicked musical is basically a lighter and simplified take on a much darker, brooding and mature tale. Basically fans of the novel have accused the musical of being some sort of honeyed, sugary-sweet, highschool-romance-fanfic-AU, while those who enjoyed the musical and went to see the novel are often shocked at discovering their favorite musical is based on what is basically a "dark and edgy - let's shock them all" take on the Oz lore. (Some do like both however, apparently? But I rarely met them.)

A side-fact which will be relevant later, is that this novel was but the first of a full series of novel Oz wrote about a dark-and-adult fantasy reimagining of the land of Oz - there's Son of a Witch, A Lion Among Men, Out of Oz, and more.

However the real fact I want to point out is that Maguire's novel, from which the musical itself derives, is a "grimmification" (to take back TV Tropes terminology) of the 1939 MGM movie The Wizard of Oz. The movie everybody knows when it comes to Oz, but that everybody forgets is itself the adaptation of a book - the same way people forget the Wicked musical is adapted from a novel. The MGM movie is adapted from L. Frank Baum's famous 1900 classic for children The Wonderful Wizard of Oz - and a quite loose adaptation that reimagines a lot of elements and details.

Now, a lot of people present Maguire's novel as being based/inspired/a revisionist take on Baum's novel... And that's false. Maguire's Wicked novel is clearly dominated by and mainly influenced by the MGM movie, with only a few book elements and details sprinkled on top. Mind you, the sequels Maguire wrote do take more elements, characters and plot points from the various Oz books of Baum... But they stay mostly Maguire's personal fantasy world. Yes, Oz "books" in plural - because that's a fact people tend to not know either... L. Frank Baum didn't just write one book about the Land of Oz. He wrote FOURTEEN of them, an entire series, because it was his most popular sales, and his audience like his editor pressured him to produce more (in fact he got sick of Oz and tried to write other books, but since they failed he was forced to continue Oz novels to survive). Everybody forgot about the Oz series due to the massive success of the starter novel - but it has a lot of very famous sequels, such as The Marvelous Land of Oz or Ozma of Oz (the later was loosely adapted by Disney as the famous 80s nostalgic-cursed movie Return to Oz).

So... To return to my original point. The current Wicked movies are not directly linked in any way to Baum's novel. The Wicked musical was already as "canon" and as "linked" to the MGM movie as 2013's Oz The Great and Powerful by Disney was. As for Maguire's novel, due to its dark, mature, brooding and more complex worldbuilding nature, I can only compare it to the recent attempt at making a "Game of Thrones Oz" through the television series Emerald City.

The Wicked movies coming out are separated from Baum's novel at the fourth degree. Because they are the movie adaptation of a musical adaptation of a novel reinventing a movie adaptation of the original children book.

And I could go even FURTHER if you dare me to and claim the Wicked movies are at the 5TH DEGREE! Because a little-known-fact is that the MGM movie was not a direct adaptation of Baum's novel... But rather took a lot of cues and influence from the massively famous stage-extravaganza of 1902 The Wizard of Oz... A musical adaptation of Baum's novel, created and written by Baum himself, and that was actually more popular than the novel in the pre-World War II America. It was from this enormous Broadway success (my my, how the snake bites its tail - the 1902 Wizard of Oz was the musical Wicked of its time) that, for example, the movie took the idea of the Good Witch of the North killing the sleeping-poppies with snow.

[creoastra]

The lore behind this drawing is that I always ate up @/ectoblastic’s idea/au that after Danny moves in with Vlad in TUE, he raids his wine cabinet to cope which leads him extremely drunk and sick in the end (we’ve all been there tho 💔)

This is now the second detailed piece that includes a background where Danny is having a horrible time involving his own blood-ectoplasm situation that I’ve drawn.

[The first one that I made I ended up putting into the college portfolio that won me a scholarship of 72k to SAIC ;) ]

Elaborating on that tho, the scholarship was not actually enough for me to be able to afford to go to the school, so it’s not really the brag that I was trying to make it out to seem

Art college is so freaking expensive man. I ended up choosing to go to one instate just because the tuition is that cheaper

But my school starts in like two weeks and I have never been more excited!!!!! I can’t wait to actually go to art school!!! I’m gonna learn (hopefully lol) so much :33

I’ll post the original drawing eventually lolz, it’s not actually that good

[aenramsden]

The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

[akunya]

hello ive always loved your fics since nijien days and now more into love and deepspace, specifically sylus (the pipeline is universal, i’m afraid) so now, i beg for stalker sylus who is obsessed with everything you do, will fuck you in an alleyway please, cnc and mindbreak, thank you 🙏🏻

"window watching."

pairings: sylus x m!reader

summary: sylus can only take so much of your teasing before he breaks. unfortunately for you, his methods aren't so nice.

tw: NONCON, stalking, obsessive behavior, size diff., frottage, sph (if you squint), praise. implied kidnapping, handjobs, choking, coercion, dacryphilia etc.

notes: see how i didnt add stalker to the front of his name? i genuinely think he would stalk the shit out of you and it doesnt need to be an au, lol.

in all seriousness, i hope you enjoy it. i'm getting back into the swing of things... probably a bit ooc and doesnt follow the game lore (too much, that is).

im uploading this while sick, so i apologize for any mispellings/mistakes/etc.

please let me know what you think!

stalker sylus who cannot, at first much to his dismay, keep his eyes off of you.

everywhere you go, every time you think you have a sliver of privacy: he's always watching. whether its mephisto or one of the twins, he needs to know what you're doing at all times. taking note of what stores you visit, what time you usually come home, who you talk to. it becomes an urge he cant quite satisfy.

at first, he only watched out of boredom. yea sure, he needed you alive, so keeping note of your location was just another one of his duties. someone as naive and reckless as yourself was bound to get into trouble.

but gradually it gets worse.

"where are you off to now, kitten?" mumbling to himself, the man swipes across his phone screen, watching surveillance cameras with a bated breath as you walked home. your figure was a bit blurry, but that didn’t stop sylus as he watched intently. it was nothing truly unusual. around this time, you'd be already cozied up in bed, but it seems like work made you stay overtime tonight. "idiots.." sylus's brow furrowed slightly at the thought of you overworking yourself.

before you, he didn't care much for romance. friendship, trivial things: he thought those were what made a person weak.

but now?

every little thing you do drives him mad. the way you carefully fold your clothes after finishing your laundry to make sure your room stays clean. how you always greet the cashier at the nearby convenience store with a smile, thanking them for bagging your items. how long you take a shower for, which coffee shop is your favorite, even down to the type of shampoo and conditioner you use daily: sylus had it all down to a science. he practically knew everything about you.

even then, a question still rang through his mind. why would you waste your time with all of these other men?

he knew about that strange doctor who's gaze lingered on yours a little too long for his liking. sylus felt his fist clench when he would watch you talk to that painter too, jaw clenching in annoyance when he would see you walk home or to work with that blonde boy.

he shook his head, trying to snap out of his own thoughts. this wasn't about them. right now, this was about you.

it was another evening with you winding down after a long day of work. a tired sigh leaves your lips, and sylus’s cock throbs watching you undress as you slowly slip off your shirt. was it normal to be staring at another man like this? watching from cameras could only do so much, so this time, the villain found himself on a roof adjacent to your window. thankfully, you were too stupid a majority of the time to close the blinds, so he had a nice view of your nightly routine.

...which was mostly boring to watch, if he's being honest. you walked around shirtless for a moment, putting away your work gear and leaving your shoes by the door. it was a whole lot of nothing for a good 15 minutes, leaving sylus to rethink his choices for the night.

sitting on the cold bricks of the adjacent roof, he couldn't help feeling just a tinge of shame. "how pathetic, watching afar like some sort of pervert. i should just go in there and.." he scoffed, eyes narrowing in what seemed to be.. annoyance? the leader of onychinus hated chasing his prey like some sort of weakling. he was better than this. he deserved to have you in his arms, no matter what you thought or said.

however, his words abruptly came to a stop when your fingers trailed to the hem of your pants.

dark red eyes stared deeply at your hands as they softly pushed at the fabric of your boxers. languid fingertips played with the fabric, yawning as your thumbs hooked against the waistband and began to pull. further and further, pulling ever so slightly to show off a bit of your happy trail, the base of your cock threatening to peek for unwanted visitors to gawk at. sylus could feel himself leaning closer, the distance between the roof and your window suffocating as more of your skin was exposed.

almost, that is, before an imaginary light bulb in your head went off and you quickly took your hands out of your pants. "shit, i forgot to pick up dinner on my way home. i should do that now before i go to bed," you thought to yourself, whisking away from the window and grabbing a plain shirt to throw on. reaching for your keys and wallet, you opened the door and left your apartment as usual, unbeknownst of the dangerous man watching your every step.

sylus's own hands were nearly trembling. the ache and tent in his pants didn't help either, feverishly getting up and following you as you made your way into linkon city. he didn't have to ask mephisto or the twins to follow you - thankfully, the rooftops gave sylus a clear view of the streets below, and he could spot you out from anywhere. the man didnt bother to speed up either, knowing which store you were going to (you were very predictable, after all).

he also knew that there's a convenient dark alleyway just before you would turn the corner to go to the establishment. unfortunately, this vital piece of information slipped your mind, leaving you completely unaware and unguarded as rough hands yanked you into the darkness.

"mmph-!" you tried to scream, the hand covering your mouth muffling your pleas. even though you worked out and were pretty fit because of your hunter lifestyle, your strength was nothing compared to the man hovering above you, wriggling to no avail.

"shh, kitten. you wouldn't want anyone to hear us, would you?" the older man mocked, relishing in the fear and befuddlement in your eyes. it took a second for you to process that the other man was none other than sylus himself, smirking as you squirmed in his grasp. red eyes bore into yours, filing you with fear that rose every second. why did he have you pinned in some dirty alleyway like a thief? surely it wasn't money he was after.

the leader moved his hand from his mouth to your neck, holding you in place as you gasped for air. "s-sylus? what are you doing here?!" crying out, your body couldn't struggle anymore, so you opted for your hands gripping his wrist and trying to pull it off of your neck. "what does it look like im doing?" he scoffed, leaning in close to your ear.

"im here to see you, of course."

brow furrowing, you looked at him in confusion as you took in your surroundings. "a dark, dingy alleyway?" you thought aloud, looking him up and down. sylus fixed his posture as he looked down at you, your size difference becoming more obvious by the second. "oh, did you want me to come and knock on your door instead? i apologize, sweetie. you should've told me you wanted the big bad leader of onychinus inside your little headquarters." his grin infuriated you as you rolled your eyes.

before you could think of a clever rebuttal, sylus wedged his knee in between your legs, parting them open as his thigh pressed against your crotch. "i-i dont.." you muttered, voice raising in pitch to pair with your nervousness as he kissed your neck. he didn't bother answering your silly questions, simply smiling before biting into your shoulder. you hissed in pain, trying to push him off even more than before.

"you don't what, love?" his voice isn't serious at all for the situation you're in. cold skilled hands fiddled with your zipper, freezing for just a moment before gripping onto your girth. the sensation made you cry out again, unable to hide your face from your attacker, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. sylus coo'ed at your feeble attempts to push him away, unbuttoning and pulling out his own cock to hold against yours.

looking down, the size comparison of his cock against yours made your face feel warm. ""aww, look at you sweetie. you're all bark but no bite." the older man laughed again, fingertip circling the head of your cock as he teased you. you loathed the way you shuddered at his snide remarks, the sound of the bustling city just feet away making you panic again.

you raised your voice, "sylus, this isn't funny anymore, seriously! cut it out!".

the wordless tension spoke volumes.

sylus didn't laugh or comment on your refusal. instead, his grip on your neck only grew tighter, choking you against the wall as his other hand started to make a fist around both of your cocks. "do you see me laughing?" his tone was firm as he squeezed harder on your throat. you couldn't say anything back, choking out a sob as he slowly began to jerk you both off together, a low moan slipping from his lips.

"ive wanted this for so long, kitten. so fucking long." muttering, he continued to grind his hips against yours, the unwanted pleasure making your head spin. "i've had enough watching from afar. i think its finally time i get what i want, right?" he kissed the tip of your ear, toying with the cartilage between his teeth.

unable to believe what was happening, you could only cry out more strings of "please", "stop", "no": all music to sylus's ears. "you don't really want me to stop, right? look at how much your cock is leaking onto mine.." he chuckled lowly again, grabbing the back of your neck to force your gaze downwards.

he wasn't wrong, either - dribbling precum and throbbing the entire session, your dick looked just as eager as sylus's, twitching with every flick of his wrist. it wasn't your fault that sylus was way more experienced compared to you. whining, you shook your head again, trying to close your eyes shut so you wouldn't remember any of this. the outside world was so dangerously close, and anyone could catch you two at any moment. how disgraceful it would be: a well known hunter being caught rubbing cocks with the renowned leader of onychinus. you frowned at the thought, whimpering as sylus went back to kissing your bruised neck.

"you could come with me, yknow. back to the n109 zone, i'd take such good care of you." sylus whispered as he felt himself inch closer to his own release, hand pumping furiously between you two. hot tears streamed down your cheeks, your brain awry with the overwhelming sensations of pleasure and pain. "you could have anything you wanted. you wouldn't have to work another day in your life." he groaned, balls tightening at the thought of his own perverse fantasy, imagining you kept in his bedroom all day just for him to use.

"d-don't, sylus please -" you hiccuped, forehead resting on sylus shoulder as he toyed with you. "im gonna cum," sobbing as you held onto his biceps, not wanting to sink any further against the dirty alleyway wall. with so much teasing and dirty whispers from the other, you couldn't think straight, practically panting in sylus's ear as his hands jerked you both off closer and closer.

growling, sylus slotted his lips against yours, a surprisingly gentle kiss before muttering under his breath. "be a good boy and cum for me then," using your fluids as lube, the squelch of his tight fist jerking off your cock made you spill. moaning loudly, your nails dug into his arm as thick ropes of semen poured out, mixing with his load that came seconds after.

silence filled the space between both of you as you tried to catch your breath. your eyelids felt heavy, leaning onto sylus for full support as he rubbed your back. you couldn't quite process what just happened, brain feeling much too fuzzy for any thinking right now.

perhaps it was a mix of exhaustion from your normal workday and your encounter that made you pass out on the older man's shoulder. nonetheless, he was not going to let this opportunity go to waste. pressing onto the comms headpiece in his ear, sylus spoke as quietly as he could not to disturb you.

"luke, kieran, bring one of the cars to my location. i have a little kitten coming home with me today."

[mochamadeleines]

Sweethearts and Sweet Dreams <3

“Nothin’?”

“Mhm.”

“Whats behind your back then?”

You sway in place, trying to suppress a knowing smile. “I dont have anything behind my back.” (6.4k words)

tags!! - 18+ modern au! Husband! Joel Miller, Wife! Reader, you guys are happy and in love!, mutual obsession if u squint, lots of exposition im so freaking sorry, pervert Joel if u squint, praise kink joel if you squint, dumbification if you squint, written for those with daddy issues lowkeeyyyyy, written with game joel in mind but could be hbo joel no problem!, lowk i combined the two in my mind, mentions of shy old man joel, housewife! reader (by choice), unspecified age gap but reader is like. thirty? and joels Like...55??, talk about joel taking medication for his anxiety, p in v sex, dirty talk, public sex, outdoor sex, joel has a kink for dresses because i said so? service top joel if you squint, pet names, a pinch of jealousy and possessiveness for fun, playful banter, mentions of maria and tommy and their baby with a made up name Lol, mentions of ellie and sarah (rip), mentions of readers past abusive relationships, talk about joel struggling with substance abuse/addiction and being hospitalized.....Im sure u can theorize why </3, lots of lore ill get into in another fic MAYBE *smirks*, flip flop in perspective, sometimes showing what joel is thinking or what reader is thinking blah blah

authors notes!! - hi there!!! im mocha and this is my first joel fic ever + my first fic posted to tumblr!! im really nervous cuz i havent written anything in months and ive never written joel before so please let me know if you like it!! id love to write more of this au for u guys if theres a demand for it...Thank u for reading!! also barely proof read im ngl. ive been staring at this fic all day im sick of itttt. p.s i dont usually write smut i also kinda do idfk Is this bad or am i tweaking

You step out of the house, morning sun soaking into the roots of your hair and the driveway beneath your feet. Theres a package youve been waiting for. 

You cant contain your grin as you wiggle it out of the hot prison that is your mailbox.

“What the hell are you doin’ out there barefoot?” Joel chastises you from the front door, leaning his elbow on the frame. Joel, your lovely husband of two years. Been together for five. And because of how hard he works, you have the privilege of being a stay at home wife. Some people think that sort of life is stifling, but youve never felt so free. No more jobs you hate, no more financial struggles. Just you, Joel, and your cat, Cement. He likes to pretend it isnt a totally hilarious name for a pet.

You were his first relationship in almost a decade, so it was a lot of work helping him unpack his anxieties about dating, and a lot of work for you to feel safe and unafraid. Honestly? Youve been mistreated by enough men to land you in the psychward.

But Joel never yells at you, he never breaks things when hes angry or threatens to hurt you. He might raise his voice every now and again, but its never because of something you did. Sometimes the stress of life is just too much. 

He works hard, he loves his daughter- daughters- and he would do anything to keep you happy. Whatever you say goes, he says. Even now, you hardly argue. Of course you have disagreements, or off days thatd lead to one of you being especially moody, but the both of you do your best to communicate.

Behind that rough exterior, is someone who just wants to be needed. 

You first met Joel at a youth center you volunteered at, he taught guitar, you taught arts and crafts. Joel says it was your smile and sense of humor that charmed him. It was his singing and southern accent for you.

Your favorite thing about Joel is how soft he gets around you. He says its because you make it easy to be soft. 

Joel was a shy lover at first. He would get nervous just kissing you, or holding your hand. While most people become intimate very early on in their relationship, you and Joel didnt do anything sexual for the first five months of you dated. Sure, you almost did, plenty of times, but he would get so overwhelmed and cut things short. You broke two of your vibrators during this era of your relationship. Embarassing.

You remember your first time very vividly. Joel had worked back to back doubles trying to meet a deadline, and on the final day, after having barely spoken to you for almost a week, you had shown up to his house, unannounced. You were wringing water out of your jacket when he swung the door open. 

“How-” Joel blinks a few times, stepping forward to examine the rainfall. “How long you been out here?”

“Not that long,” You lie and pick up the container you brought off the porch chair. Part of you had a hard time mustering up the courage to even knock on the door. Droplets of water cascade down your chin. “Hi, sorry. I know youre tired.”

He shakes his head, voice soft and warm. “S’fine. Now c’mon, youre gonna get sick.”

Youre seated at the little dining table next to the kitchen now, trying to let the sound of the rainfall ease your nerves.

Joel was quick to grab you a towel, and does the honors of drying your face and hair with it. “Why didnt you jus’ call me? Woulda gotten out of the shower faster if i knew you were gettin’ soaked out there like this.”

“I dunno, sorry.”

“An’ whatd i tell you about apologizin’ all the time?”

“Sor- Uh. Right. Okay.” You tighten your jaw. No more.

Joel moves behind you, now squeezing water out the ends of your hair. “Whas’ that?”

“Oh!-” You peel back the lid, showing it to him. “Old fashion cake donuts are your favorite right? I remember you saying you liked eating them with your coffee in the mornings so…I made these. Youve been working a lot lately and I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Joel gingerly grasps the container from your hands, looking into it. Theyre a warm golden brown, outside evenly fried, and the sweet scent of them hits his nose right away.

“I was just gonna leave them on the doorstep and call you to tell you they were there, but I wanted to see you.”

His adam's apple bobs as he swallows the dryness in his throat. Youre too good for him. 

“Thank you very much.” He presses a kiss to your damp hair. “Now, lets get you into some dry clothes.”

Joel gives you a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers to keep you modest while your clothes wash and dry. 

You wait patiently on his bed for the hot chocolate he promised you before you showered. Theres nothing to watch on the tv, so you just turn it off and reach for the lamp on his nightstand instead. 

He comes in quietly, and sets the mug down beside the lamp. You finally come into focus, clear as day even under the low lighting.

“You uh.. You look nice.”

You blink. “I look nice?”

“In my shirt.”

That gets a smile out of you. 

Joel tips his head towards the mug. “S’hot so, give it a few minutes. Dont want you burnin’ your mouth.”

You nod. “Okay.”

Hes sat beside you now and the two of you sit in silence for a while. Its not awkward, just the kind of silence where both of you want to say something but just.. Cant.

Joel unravels first. “Missed you, y’know. Just been tired.”

“I know.” Your voice wobbles, and Joels jaw tightens like hearing you sound so sad stings him. “I missed you, too.” 

He slides his hand over yours, giving it a squeeze. Its okay. 

“Hey Joel...Can I stay the night?” 

“Sure. Id really like that.”

While you drink your hot chocolate, you and Joel catch up. You both talk about work, and about your new found interest in baking. Joel teases you about your lack of cooking skills, you do the same. Youre both useless. 

When its time to climb into bed, neither of you can actually fall asleep. Joel rolls onto his side, away from you and the window. You follow, curling up like a little cat against his back. The sensation is nice for the both of you.

You speak up after a little while.

“Joel?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you for letting me stay.”

He scoffs, voice thick with exhaustion. “Like I'd force you to leave after you brought me such a nice present.”

You let out a little giggle, “So if i didnt, youd kick me out?”

“Id think ‘bout it.”

You gasp, gently shoving at his back. “Thats mean…!”

“S’really not.”

“Oh yeah? And what if I poisoned them?.”

“Then itd jus' be a regular day of your cookin’ then.” Joel reminds you, lighthearted. Too many times where you left the shells in your eggs or burnt toast or left the bacon on the pan for too long.

“You cant get mad at me for my dark past when you made a perfectly good sirloin taste like horse leather.”

“Ugh. Dont remind me. That was like putting a one-hundred dollar bill into a paper shredder. How do either of us stay alive again?”

“Uh. Digiorno?”

“Digiorno.”

After a few moments, Joels rolling over again, and hes guiding your head to settle against his chest. Your arms wrap around him, and his arms around you. 

“Joel,” You whisper. He hums. “Im cold.”

“S’cause youre not wearin’ any pants.”

“And whos fault is that?”

“Still yours.”

“I was left out in the rain like a sad, sopping wet cat. One that was left in a box all alone with no family…” You pretend to sniffle. “Dont you feel bad for me?”

Joel sighs, not saying anything more except making sure the part of the comforter behind your back is tucked into your side so the cold air doesnt get in. When hes done, you do a little shimmy up his body, and throw your leg over his hip. Oh no.

Hes alert now. Very alert. Be normal. Joel hesitates, licking the dryness off his lips. “Uh. Feel better?”

“Mhm.” You push your face into his throat, cat-like, before settling down again. Hes like a radiator.

Actually scratch that, he cant be normal. 

“Darlin’.” He rasps, patting your back to get your attention.

“Mm?”

“Your leg. Move it.”

A few beats pass. “Why?”

“Because…” Wow,  he didnt think hed get this far. You shift forward and Joel lets out a quiet exhale through his nose, one that couldve been masked by the rain if you werent so close.

“Are you-”

“No! No. Its- Its not what you think-” He cant see your face in the darkness but he knows you feel the semi-hard struggling through the confines of his pants. Lame.

“Joel,” You say, soft. Your hands slide up his arm to cradle his jaw. Lightning flashes into the room, giving you a glimpse of Joels tight expression. He whispers your name back, just as soft.

“This is normal.” 

Its normal, it is! Except for the fact that you guys havent had sex yet. The stress of being intimate is too much, kills his boner in a blink. The longer he waits the worse the anxiety gets.

“I-I know.”

You place a hand on his chest, feeling it pound away like crazy through all the soft muscle.  

“Youve been taking your medication, right?”

Has he?

The silence of him thinking is proof enough. “Joel-”

He sighs, rubbing his eyes through the darkness .“I know, I know. Shoot, Im sorry. I just forget sometimes.”

“Its okay.” The pad of your thumb strokes the tops of his cheek, and you press a tender kiss to his mouth to soothe him.  “...Want me to remind you?”

The softness of your lips has him a bit dazed. “Huh?”

“I said, do you want me to remind you? I can- You know, call you before you leave work. Make sure you take them.”

“You know I wake up at five-o-clock in the mornin’ , right?”

“I know.” 

In a whisper, “Okay.”

Joels rough palms trail down your back and stop at the curve of your butt, finger tips delicately tracing the skin above your shorts. You shiver.

Barely above a whisper. “We dont have to go all the way.”

He says your name again, laced with worry. He doesnt want you to feel pressured. 

You pull your leg off his hip and push yourself up, settling your hands on either side of Joels head.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yes-”

“-And you cant get all in your head about it. You stay here, with me. You stay present.”

“Okay, okay.” He nods, a bit defeated. “I will stay present.”

“When you...When you say you dont wanna have sex, what is it that youre thinking exactly? I know you said you just get really nervous but I feel like youre not being totally honest.”

Joel stays quiet, idly rubbing your sides. Maybe you are a cat. Just getting to feel any part of you is soothing. “I jus’ want you to feel good. ‘Fraid ill do somethin’ you dont like.”

“You cant assume how I feel, Joel. Being intimate.. It takes time to learn what the other person likes.”

He sighs. “I know.” Youre always right.

Adding on, “Like I said, we dont have to go all the way,” You lean further back, situating yourself on his hips. He lets out a shaky breath when he feels the pressure of your ass through his sweats.

“But, I want to start somewhere. I want to feel you.” 

“Fuck- Um-” Hes shaking now, letting you grind your hips down onto him. Joel cant seem to control the way his hips instinctively push up to meet yours. Youre both becoming of a mess of little gasps and hot breaths and tiny whimpers already.

You hunch forward, guiding his hand under your your shirt- His shirt- letting him feel up the supple skin of your stomach, then the area where your ribs are, then your-

“And I want you to feel me,”

Surprisingly, you did actually go all the way that night.

Your sex life was a bit of a rocky start, but after Joel got over most of his anxiety, you learned quickly just how goddamn insatiable he was. Five years in and he still regularly makes you sore. 

There are a couple things you learned about him and his sexual interests. He loves to take you in his truck, in your kitchen, in your bathroom, on your couch. Other, riskier places. Anywhere that isnt your bed apparently, not that he isnt fucking you there either.

Joel is handsy, so handsy infact it embarasses you to no end, especially when youre infront of others. Thats usually how it starts, too. First he kisses you, then gropes your hips and your ass, and the next thing you know, youre cumming on his fingers. Then hed bend you over, or get you on your back, or make you ride him. Is it really riding if hes just slamming up into you until your brain turns into mush?

He likes that too. Making you not think.

Youd be lying if you said its only ever him. Sleepy morning handjobs before work, whining to him over the phone and touching yourself to his voice, arching your back into him while you're washing dishes, sucking him off after hours in his office.

And while most men prefer lingerie or little costumes, Joel likes dresses. Dresses that are discreet so he can take you in the backyard when he comes home early and sees you gardening. Or when youre both at a friends house and hes had a little too much to drink and finds himself alone with you. Dresses that make it easy to play his favorite game with you. I touch you, and you make sure we dont get caught by being too loud. Joel really is the worst sometimes.

Now, you only ever wear pants when its cold, or to bed or sometimes when youre lounging, like today. Youre in some shorts and a tank top. Otherwise, its dresses all year round, usually retro styles or ones meant for spring. Joels not picky though, he loves any dress on you.

Even if you wear an extremely modest, white lacey sleep dress, looking like some kind of vintage ghost, the man would still keep you up all night. And he has. He said you looked like a princess. You guess you kind of did.

The entire thing is like an unspoken arrangement between you both. He doesnt tell you to wear them, you just do.

And he works hard to spoil you, so why not buy as many cute dresses as possible? 

You got a cute dress today too, on the same day Joel has off. You think its going to be a new favorite of his.

The big polymailer stays hidden behind your back. Be casual. “Uh- Nothing!”

“Nothin’?”

“Mhm.”

“Whats behind your back then?”

You sway in place, trying to suppress a knowing smile. “I dont have anything behind my back.”

“Lemme see then. Show me your hands-”

“Hey, Mrs. Miller!”

Both you and Joel turn your heads to the voice, and only one of you has the energy to fake a a smile. Your neighbor is stopping in his driveway, having come back from a jog it looks.

“Hi, Lee.” 

Joel really, really, really doesnt like Lee. You dont like him either, but youre not one to cause problems. Lee on the other hand, is. Hes a bit younger than you, and a lot younger than Joel. Hes one of those tech dudes with a massive ego, thinks that youll be swayed by his money and his “charm” and youth as if youre some sad housewife in need of saving. Gross. 

And another thing, Lee doesnt even actually live here! Hes here ever so often to visit his dad between, you dont know, tech expos? You forget. Joel believes he started showing up more often to see you. 

Youre walking towards the porch again. Joels looking especially unhappy to see him today, knuckles pulled taut into a fist. His lips stay pressed into a thin line, careful not to let anything slip out. He usually lets you do most of the talking, as much as it pains him. 

Joels really not a fan of the way Lees eyes take a trip up your bare legs. Little shit.

“Out with no shoes again, Mrs. Miller?”

“You know me, Im uh- Im weird.”

“The weird ones do it best.” He smiles, all teeth. It gives you the creeps. His attention is on Joel now. Its like watching a puppy try to one up a wolf. “Right, Joel?”

“Uh huh.” Whatever that means.

“Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, Mrs. Miller.” Lee crosses into your driveway and you glance briefly at Joel, as if to make sure he isnt going to start growling at the other to stay away. Youre clutching the package to your chest now. 

“Have you ever been to a support group for uh- you know, the spouses of addicts?  I have a friend from work and shes really struggling.” 

Lees tone is sugary sweet, but the fake kind you put in diet soda except that stuff is way better. Joel sighs from the door. You stand there, dumbfounded on the porch steps because what the fuck is he going on about. 

You clear your throat, keeping your voice firm. “No. Ive never needed to.”  

Joels voice cuts in like a knife. “Been clean for almost twenty years now.”

“Yeah but, you know,” He shrugs, squinting a bit under the morning sun. “Relapses happen.”

Joel and Lee are at a stand still, and the moment Joel lets the arm leaning on the frame drop to his side, you know youre in for a lot of trouble. You move quickly towards the door. “We have to get ready for a- uh- a thing? but Im sorry about your friend.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Miller. Im doing my best to support her.” And before he turns away, he just has to be slimy to you. “If you need someone to talk to, Im here for you.”

“No, that really wont be necess-”

Joels slinging a strong arm around you to yank you back inside before shutting the door. 

“Motherfucker,” He hisses to himself, stomping through the walkway and into the kitchen.

“How-” You rub your eyes, letting them adjust to the light inside of the house. You put the package down onto the bar counter that opens up the kitchen and follow Joel to the fridge. “How does he know?? I thought-”

“Been living in this house for decades now,” His expression is tight, brows knitted together while he chugs a bottle of water. “People talk. ‘Specially if I'm being rolled into an ambulance on more than one occasion.” Joel frowns. “Fuck- I shoulda punched him in the fuckin’ face- Do you see how hard he tries so hard to flirt with you infront’a me?”

“I know, love. I was there.” You take the bottle from his hand and set it to the side, then wrap your arms around him. “Try not to let it get to you okay?”

Joel sighs into your hair, giving your body a squeeze. “I know, I know, but jus’ hearin’ him tryin’ta use my baggage to make a pass at you…S’fuckin’ evil.”

“I agree, but I dont want his blood on the driveway.”

“So get it on his driveway instead, got it.”

You giggle and tip your head up to kiss him. The tension eases from Joels shoulders, and he cups your cheeks, letting his worries melt away into your mouth. When the pads of his fingers start to slide under your tank top, youre leaning back. Youll be here for a while if this goes any further.

Joel mindlessly chases your lips, looking a bit pouty now that its over.

“Im gonna start getting ready for the barbecue, okay?”

“This early?”

“I like being punctual.” 

“My brother wont give a damn if were late.” He noses your jaw, pressing a kiss here and there. Your knees are beginning to feel weak. The bastard is trying to distract you.

“But I do. The farmers market opened today, and I promised Maria I'd get her fresh strawberries before we got there, remember?”

“Alright, alright.” He grumbles into your shoulder.

Joel lets you go, watching you round the bar counter to get your package and disappear upstairs.

-

Ever since you came down to a freshly showered Joel, and got into the car with the gift bags you prepared for Maria and Tommy, Hes been staring at you. One wrong move and the drools gonna start pouring out of his mouth.

Your hair is in its relatively natural state, freshly washed and shiny from the oil you put in it. You put on some light makeup, and went a bit heavy handed on the blush to look sunkissed, and topped it off with a flavored lip gloss Joel especially enjoys. 

Now, the dress. Its a pink floral mid-length dress, with a low cut sweetheart neckline and a corset style backing to cinch your waist and push out your chest. The material is thick and pretty, and there are two other layers under the skirt to keep its shape. You have on a pair of little pink pumps with little bows to match. 

The drive to the farmers market is fairly peaceful, the windows are half down and theres music playing at low volume on the radio. You and Joel have different tastes in music, but one genre you can always agree on is alternative rock. 

The weathers beautiful, sun high in the sky, and its not too hot or humid. The day really is perfect. Youre gonna soak up some sun when youre at the barbecue. Hopefully, they made lemonade again too.

Joel has been mostly quiet throughout your shopping. While it would worry some, youve been with him long enough to know that he just has a lot on his mind. What hes thinking about? Maybe youll learn when you make it back home at the end of the day.

You gasp, strolling through the grass to a stand with a mountain of apples. Granny smith, Macintosh, Pink Ladys, Honeycrisp, the works. He grunts, trying to keep the things that are already in your basket steady. You came for strawberries and are going to leave with much more than that.

Joel nudges you softly. “Remember, this is quality stuff, meaning itll go bad faster. Dont get too much.”

“Okay, got it.” You beam, and then begin inspecting the Pink Lady apples first, trying to find the ones with the best color.  He keeps the basket within reach so you can drop your picks in.

"These were Sarahs favorites."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, it was funny 'cause we started arguin' over these or Red Delicious. I think Red Delicious is better."

"Thats so cute! Hmm. Should we get one for her? A Pink Lady?"

"Uh," He thinks on it for a moment, unsure, but the smile on your face helps him make a decision. "Sure, why not."

You drop two perfect Pink Ladys into the basket, moving onto the next pile.

“Hey, Joel.” You grin, holding out a wrinkled granny smith apple. “This one looks like you”

“Ha ha.” He deadpans, and grabs it from you to put back. In turn, hes reaching for the runt of the pile. A pathetically small one sitting near the bottom. “Now this one looks like you.”

“Does not!”

“Does too.” 

The next stand has golden kiwis, and youre practically dragging Joel forward to try them. You ask for one, and the man at the stand slices it into halves, giving you a plastic spoon to go with. 

You let Joel smell it first. “S’good.”

“Lets see if it tastes good.”

You sink your spoon into it, humming when you see how soft and easy it is to scoop out. In your mouth it goes!

Its tastes sweet, a bit mango-y and fucking delicious. You bounce in place, spoon feeding Joel next. “Oh yeah,” He smiles, smacking his lips a bit to really let the taste settle on his tongue. “Were takin’ some of these.”

You take one, then two, then three and four then five and as you reach for the sixth one, Joels stopping you with a gentle hand. 

“Darlin’.” 

“Right.” 

For the next few stands its just you and Joel trying various kinds of fruit. Starfruit, blueberries, some mangos, and then youre going back to the truck.

“I think my favorites were the mangos and golden kiwis. I hope Maria and Tommy have enough space in their fridge for all of this.”

“They moved into a bigger house, I reckon their fridge s’probably bigger, too.”

“What time is it?” 

You let go of Joels arm so he can switch the basket from one hand to the other. 

“‘Bout…” Hes squinting at his watch. “12:34 in the afternoon.”

“Oh! Guess we got the shopping done sooner than I expected. Hmm. Should we stop somewhere in the mean time?-" You snap your finger when you remember something. "They opened up this cafe that has cats in it! We can drink coffee and play with them for bit! The next fourty-five minutes will go by super fast."

“Youre gonna make Cement jealous.”

You bat your hand dismissively. “Hes not gonna caaare.” 

“Oh yes he will. And remind me again why we named our cat Cement?

“Uh, we were both drunk and had gotten him the day before without a name picked out?”

“A whole year later and we still kept it. Worst pet owners ever.” Joel chuckles, opening the passenger door for you like he always does. 

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

The giant basket of fruit goes into the back seat next to the gift bags before Joel slots himself into the drivers seat. 

You fumble with the radio a bit, trying to see what else is on but ultimately landing back on your preferred station. Theyve been playing a lot of Linkin Park recently. Hell yeah. Joel buckles himself in at last, and pulls out of the parking lot. 

“Marias gonna teach me how to make baked chicken,” You hum, gazing outside the window.

“You sure youre not jus’ unteachable?”

“Ha ha,” You lightly shove his shoulder, making him smile. “I thought you loved the meat sauce pasta I learned how to make.”

He settles into his seat more comfortably at the stop light, elbow rested on the window. “Got me with that one. Think I like ground turkey over beef, though.”

“Yeah? Me too. The beef tastes better but the turkey is lighter. Stops me from feeling all sick.”

“Agreed.”

Youre looking out the windshield now. Where did all the buildings go? Youre out of the city. 

“Uh, Joel?”

“Mm?”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere to kill time.”

“Yeah but where?”

“Youll see.” 

Your brows pinch together. “I see a whole lot of nothing except for trees."

“Almost there.”

Joel makes a hasty left turn onto some campgrounds. Your stomach starts to twist into excited knots. Is he gonna show you a baby deer or something? Bunnies? He used to be a park ranger for this area, and would tell you stories about all sorts of baby animals hed run into.

The car comes to a stop, and he turns the engine off. Silence.

“So…Were out in the woods to kill time?”

“Mhm.” Joel unbuckles his seat belt and twists into the back to grab the spare jacket he usually keeps there, then gets out of the truck and comes around the back to open the door for you. 

He holds your hand to help you get down from the passenger side, and as soon as both of your shoes hit the ground Joel is on you. 

You dont know where your hands should go, youve kissed Joel a thousand times and yet you still get so flustered when he catches you by surprise. You keep your hands on his shoulders for now, letting him press wet kisses to your neck and shoulder.

“This is new right? The dress?” He gives your ass an appreciative squeeze through the fabric. “Thought you looked so pretty when you came down stairs in it.” 

Your heads spinning. Something about your dress? 

“Woulda been okay if you let me have you earlier.” He pulls away, examining your flushed face cradled by his hand. Every part of you just fits so well in his palms. “Then I thought, why not have you now? We got time to spare.”

“Joel- We- Someone could see us-” You sputter, and Joels already shaking his head with a knowing smirk. He pulls you around to the bed of the truck, popping it open, only pausing to spread open the jacket he grabbed, just having just thrown it in there when he came around to get you.

“No ones gonna come lookin’ for us.” He turns you around, pushing you down onto your front. “As long as youre quiet.” 

Fuck. You really hate this game. At least, you like to tell yourself that.

Blood rushes to your ears while Joels rough palms lift up the skirt of your dress, exposing your ass and thighs to the cool air. He whistles from behind you. 

“Red lace panties?” His fingers dont shy away from tracing along the fabric covering your cunt. “This new too?”

You crane your neck over your shoulder to look at his face. “Uh.. Surprise?”

Joels smiling now, fingers dipping under the lace. “Thas' awfully sweet of you.”

His touch slips and slides around your growing wetness, then trails down to your clit. Your voice wobbles a bit and fuck- fuck hes going too fast. “Joel- Ah-” You whimper and try to push yourself up to look at him but his hand is steady on your spine, keeping you down. 

Smug, “Go on, sweetheart. Keep sayin’ my name. Jus’ like that.”

A whine escapes you when he pulls away, “Nooo.” You push your ass back, as if to entice him. You succeed, because hes skipped his usual routine of fucking you with his hands and is now unbuckling his belt.

Joel rolls you onto your back, and peels your underwear all the way off, bunching it up and shoving it into his back pocket. Your face burns just watching him.

“Think i'll hold onto these for a lil’ while.”

His hands push the back of your knees towards your chest, exposing your heat. Youll never get used to the way he just seems so interested just watching your cunt squeeze around nothing. 

“Thats-” You swallow, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. "Joel.”

“Relax." He coos, "Seen it a thousand times already, and ill be seein' it a thousand more. Get used to it, honey.”

Your attention flickers down to where his dick is about to meet your entrance. Joels nudging you down onto your back again and pulling the top of your dress down to expose your chest. Its when youre distracted that he actually moves to push himself in.

Both of you groan together, and Joel could never get bored of fucking you, not when your cunt just pulses around him everytime hes inside you.

Joel wastes no time fucking you once he eases all the way inside. Youre trying your best to keep quiet. Shit is no easy task. Its like Joel is trying to get you guys arrested.

He props himself up with a hand near your head, and lets the other keep one of your legs pinned open. The moans start to claw out of your throat. “Joel- Joel-” 

“Shh. Thas’ enough.” He growls through his teeth, fucking you harder. “Youre gonna- Gh- Get us caught-”

Something rustles between the trees, making you both freeze. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching Joel straighten up to look around.

After a few seconds of squinting, Joel can see a few foxes moving about through the trees. Thank fuck. His shoulders visibly relax.

Hushed, “E-Everything okay?”

“Yeah, jus’ some animals.” 

And like that, hes back to it. His dick is going to make your eyes permanently stay rolled into your head. 

Joel is always just so handsome when hes pounding into you. His forehead gets shiny with sweat, and his jaw is tight from clenching his teeth, keeping himself quiet so he can focus on your moans. His face is noticeably redder against his usual farmers tan too. Really, hes just so attractive.

A flurry of yes and harder and fuck spills out of your mouth and into your palms. Not too loud, you try to remind yourself.

“Joel- S’too much-”

“Nah, thas’ not it.” He huffs, humorous. “You can take it. Y'always do. In fact, you love gettin’ your cunt bullied by me, aint that right?” As if to get his point across, he thrust in all the way to the hilt, making you keen. You forgot how to breathe, lungs drawing tight in your chest.

"Fuck," You manage to squeeze out.

Your palms push weakly at his shoulders, trying to ground yourself somehow. His head drops to the junction of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.

“You good?” He checks in, breath hot on your skin. As if your crying isnt enough.

“So g-good, Joel- Fuck- Youre so good.” 

With a little nod, Joels pushing himself up, switching to slow and deep strokes, really digging himself into you, and trying to find that spot he likes to call home.

He massages your chest, then squeezes your sides and your hips and finally, his thumb finds your clit. Immediately, you jolt. 

“Oh fuck-” 

“Quiet.” And he says it to keep the charade going, even though his favorite thing is hearing your sobs.

His thumb rubbing incessantly against your that sweet little nub of yours. You choke, and Joels chuckling, watching the way you squirm, body not knowing whether it should lean into his touch because its too good or away because its too much.

It starts with this firey feeling under the pad of his thumb, then deep inside your stuffed cunt. Youre going to cum. 

Your hands fly to your mouth again, and you get all wide eyed from the sensation. Its cute. Your muscles pull taut, legs locking around Joels hips. Youre wailing into your palm when it happens.

“Good girl,” His voice soothes you through it. “Very good.”

He pets away the fly aways sticking to your sweaty face when its over. Your eyes drop shut while you catch your breath. 

Joels moving again now. He rolls his hips a few times, and thumb is building the foundation of another orgasm in you. Youre shaking badly.

Your words slur too, “Cant- Too soon- Joel- Joel-”

“Another one.” Joel says firmly, but breathless. 

Youre gasping, not sure where to focus your eyes. The trees around you look like theyre spinning. Your attention is back on Joel, whos looking rather satisfied watching you squirm and cry. If thats how wants to play, then fine.

Your hands slide up Joels biceps, and rests on the nap of his neck to bring him down. “Juh-Joel,” You pant, cradling his face with both hands. “Youre so good- The best-”

Oh, Joel likes that one, you can tell by the way he looks away briefly. Shyness. Excitement runs up your spine. Joel loves being told hes doing well. 

“You are- Nghh-” You swallow the drool in your mouth, trying to get the words out clearly. “The best husband I could ever ask for.”

Joel wheezes, head dropping into the curve of your shoulder. “Please.”

“S’true,” You nod rapidly, fingers curling into his hair. “Youre so good to me and-and youre mine and- Joel-  Im yours.”

“Jesus-” He groans, soaking up the feeling of you pressing kisses to his face and up his jaw. 

“Hhah-  No one else can have me, okay? No one- Not even-”

The name doesnt even come out of your mouth before Joels coming to a stop to slip his arms all the way around your middle. With the new leverage he has on your body, hes drilling his way into you. You fucking squeal, rules now long forgotten. Youre a useless ragdoll in his arms and he wouldnt have it any other way.

Your lips are shiny with spit and left over lip gloss, and he can still taste the mintiness in his tongue. Every now and again your eyes drop shut, but his dick just punches into your guts a little harder. Look at me. 

Your brain is mush, just the way he likes it, and youre perfectly pliant in his arms, babbling over how good you feel. Hes kisses along the valley of your breasts now, stopping to suck the flesh of your nipples.

Youre just so pretty. Even when you have bedhead, or youre snotty from a cold, or youre all dirty from working in the garden  youre still so pretty. Including now, all sweaty with you lipgloss all smudged and your mascara starting to run. Youre perfect. 

Joel grunts loud, jaw clenched tight as he gets lost in the feeling of your insides. His perfect little wife.

When he cums, hes doubling over with a loud grunt, getting a few last thrusts in before his spent floods your cunt.

Youre blinking away your tears, now watching the clouds inch along the sky. It really is a beautiful day. You pet Joels sweaty hair, and kiss the side of his temple. Your core throbs faintly. Jesus, he did a number on you.

“Love,” You say softly, patting his back.

“Mm?”

“Get up.” Another pat. “Youre squishing me.” 

Joel backs off to buckle himself up, but you stay seated to catch your breath and adjust your dress. At least it didnt get ripped during all the… Commotion. Not like last time.

“I need my underwear back.”

“Nope,”

“Joel.”

He kisses the center of your forehead and helps you down from the bed and into the passenger seat instead.  “Told you i'm keepin’ ‘em.”

You sputter, “I cant go to barbecue commando!”

“Sure you can.” He pops open the glove compartment and gets out some tissues, hand snaking under your dress again to clean you. You sigh softly at the sensation.

“Youre the worst.”

“I am indeed the worst.” Joel pulls the seatbelt over your chest and clicks it in. “You can tell me all about it on the way to Tommys.” 

[lady-ashfade]

Yeah, she’s my mom.

Sally Jackson x wife reader x son!percy.

-£ Is this apart of the lore? No. Do I care? Not at all. So forget Gade and have Sally have a good partner. Let Percy have a good step parent. And, because I want her to be my wife.

-£ Warnings: Show and book spoilers, short, “Death”, Demigod luck, everything that happens in the show and the first book but with the reader, my idea of comfort, kinda angst but I’m trying to make this fluffy. Saying this again. Spoilers for the events that will hopefully be in the next two episodes

there was no doubt in his mind that you were meant to be his mom.

when his mother found you he remembered the glow she started to had. you made her so happy and even he could see that at a young age. but the way you cared for him to without a question, letting him cook with you at times and always poke his face with flour. or the time you sat with him when his mom was sick and played with him for hours and you didn’t even bat a eye.

there was always a lovely smell in the air that even he could smell sometimes when he was at school. it was sweet and smelled like every baked good in the world in one place. it brought him comfort. your scent was strong enough to lead monsters away, he didn’t smell like a demigod. the way his mother looked at you, the way you held her and helped out, made him realize that true love existed. and you were meant to be in their lives. to be his mother.

he could remember the first time he actually met you.

“hello there,” you bend down so low to his height, or close to it. the warm smile made him feel welcome, “your mommy says you are special? That’s great, I seem to need a helper in the back. you think you can help?”

he looked up at his mom as he clings to her hand, asking for permission. she gave him a slight nod. he let go and gave you the same look and took your hand. “thanks for letting me borrow your little hero.”

that was the first time and for the rest of the day he didn’t realize his mom was away. the time with you was so special but he quickly needed a nap and he fell asleep on your lap while watching a movie. you were the best babysitter. so every time his mother had somewhere to go he would find himself at your house.

soon after, you moved in with them! It was great since he got to see you all the time now. Then he got enrolled into school and he saw less of you but couldn’t help but count down the second he could see his mom and you.

sally, she was the best lover in the whole world. she was so loving to you. making your heart swell with warmth when you were near her. she had some fire in her and you loved that about her, unless you were on the end of that. there was no life without her.

so you two got married.

years after being sent to school after school, Sally could see how worried you became. and it pained her to never tell you the truth of who Percy was, who his father was, and much more. you constantly looked for schools to fit him and offered to get a extra job just to send him there. but each time she refused because they would be to far away.

but when percy came home. after she got a call from grover. “Dear, I think me and percy need some time to..” she glanced at him as he looked at her confused, “have some time alone.” That’s not how it ever went done. you all did things together.

“Of course.” you just smiled as you always did. understanding. you reached for him and ruffled his hair. “Be good for your mother, got it?” He huffed to fake being annoyed and agreed. he was sad you couldn’t come

if only he knew that would be the last time he saw you for a long time.

the trip to the beach cabin was smooth. him and his mom being normal as always and reconnecting their memories. until the night went south when he started to share his doubts with his mom. that he was broken. he was convinced that everything about him wasn’t normal. it didn’t help when his mom told him the truth of who his father was, and what that made him.

everything was so confusing, Grover turning out to be a goat. Them being chased by a minotaur with underpants, going to a “camp” for half-bloods like him? Yeah, he was probably going crazy.

“Mom!” Percy yelled as he watched his mom reach out to him one last time until she turned to dust in the monster hands. every part of his body boiling with anger that she was taken away. he saw you. how you had just lost your wife too but you had no clue, sitting at home all alone while everything went down.

you didn’t know. that sally was dead, that percy was safe, where he was or his mom. how scared you must be feeling right now. and it took all his willpower to stop himself from buying tickets back home and see you while he was supposed to be looking for the lighting bolt.

when he saw the video of you crying on tv he started to tear up. you defended him from all the accusations that he was involved. saying there was no way your sweet boy would ever hurt his mother.

“If you’re seeing this, come home.”

he almost died so many times. but he had to save his mom, he had to get himself and her back to you.

hades was touched by percy’s actions and  released his mother after everything went down. his mom returned. The manhunt for him resolved. But there was a new war coming, and he was betrayed. And even if he needed to stay at camp for the whole year and train. There was only option he could take.

To go back home.

[jezebelblues]

𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 | 𝐇.𝐒 ݁ᛪ༙ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭.

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐧—𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲.

pt. i, pt. ii

𝐂𝐖: fem!reader, blood+blood drinking (bro is literally a vampire there's going to be blood) 1700s!harry, mentions of death

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 7.3k

❏ yall this excruciatingly long so i just figured it was better to split this into four parts. it starts off kinda slow i knowwww but i feel like it fits his character. anyway I hope u will like. mwah :* also YES his heart beats idk i took creative liberty in assuming the blood he drinks would give him some sort of circulation and YES i drew inspo from tvd i like their vamp lore the most ok bye

Fourth of November, 1701

The English flag thrashed wildly in the biting wind, its edges snapping above the clank of chains and the groan of wood as boats were fastened to the harbor. Hooves clattered against the cobblestone, mingling with the grumble of cart wheels as townsfolk hurried homeward, eager to escape the deepening chill of evening.

Winter crept in with an ill-fated air, a shadow over the town. The fishermen’s hauls dwindled to nearly nothing, their nets coming up bare. Squash and pumpkins, once abundant, softened and rotted on their vines before they could be harvested. Livestock, struck by a strange sickness, perished too soon, their spoiled meat no longer fit to eat. Lately the townsfolk scraped by on what little they could hunt—rabbits, mostly—a meager fare that barely stretched to sustain a family for more than a few days.

YN stood at the end of the dock, the sea’s bitter wind pulling at her hair. A basket woven by her mother dangled from her arm, half-covered by a cloth beneath which a few herbs and stunted vegetables peeked through. She waited for Niall, a fisherman she’d known since childhood, to come ashore. His face was grim, his knuckles pale as he secured his boat. “Any luck?” She asked over the wind, though she already knew the answer.

His mouth twisted into a scowl as he wiped his hands on his trousers and approached her. “Lucks got nothin’ to do with it. s’the new king, swear it. God turned his back on us ‘cause of him.”

She winced and swatted his arm lightly as they started toward the stone walls encircling the town. “Don’t say such things, not out loud.” She kept her voice low, though she too had her doubts about the new ruler. “Best not to tempt fate with those words.”

He rolled his eyes and took the basket from her arm, letting it hang from his own so she could tuck her hands into her sleeves. “You agree with such things. S’pose God does as well from the lack of bloody fish.”

They passed under the worn stone archway marking the entrance to town, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stones. Dover was nestled between the English Channel and rolling green hills, hemmed in by rocky shores and the stark rise of the cliffs, standing watch like grim sentinels over the troubled little town.

As YN and Niall made their way up the winding path from the square, the quiet crept in around them, settling like a thin mist. The evening was thick and gray, heavy clouds stretching over Dover and flattening the light into a cool, uneasy dusk.

Each face they passed, they recognized. it was impossible not to, in a town so small. There was old mrs. Harris, hunched beneath a weathered shawl, who gave them a knowing nod as they went by, as if she alone were privy to the day’s secrets. And mr. James, pulling his cart toward home, who offered a quick tip of his hat, but avoided meeting their eyes too long, as if a weight hung over all of them that no one cared to mention.

Niall, walking beside her, held his silence longer than usual, and there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes when he finally turned her way. “You’re still makin’ that stew, yeah?” He hummed, nodding toward the basket swinging lightly in his hand. His tone was casual, almost lazy, yet she sensed something else beneath it, like he was testing the waters of a conversation he couldn’t quite bring himself to start.

“Mum has already started it,” YN replied, keeping her voice as light as his. “Cabbage, onion, bit of thyme. barely a stew, more a broth.” She cast a sideways glance his way, catching the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.

“No doubt you’ll have your sister servin’ it, then?” He asked, as though it were an afterthought. “I hear she has a way of makin’ anything taste finer.”

YN’s lips twitched, a hint of humor flickering in her eyes. She knew well enough where this was going, but she didn’t indulge him outright. “Oh, she has her charms, but she’s picky ‘bout who gets to see ‘em.”

He laughed quietly, a low sound that seemed to carry on the breeze, soft and uncertain. “She's got the whole town near dreamin’ of her, from what I hear. never seen her eye stray toward anyone, though.”

YN glanced away, her gaze drifting over the clustered rooftops, the narrow chimneys stretching into the dimming sky like spindly fingers. “You’d need more than a bowl of stew to catch her fancy, Niall. You’d best hope for a rich merchant or a duke comin’ ashore.”

His chuckle died off, and for a few quiet moments, they simply walked, the soft scuff of their shoes blending with the distant murmur of the sea. Yet something hung between them, unspoken, like the faintest shadow shifting at the edges of their conversation.

It was Niall who broke the silence, his voice lower this time, his words careful. “Have you heard the talk? About the old watchtower?”

YN’s gaze drifted to the far side of town, where the dense stretch of forest gave way to a steep rise, the silhouette of the abandoned tower just barely visible through the trees. “Folk say all sorts of things,” She muttered, almost to herself. “Been empty as long as I can remember.”

Niall’s eyes narrowed as he looked out toward the darkening line of trees, his jaw set. “Empty, maybe, but someone’s taken to hauntin’ it now. The lads swear they’ve seen a figure up there at night, just a shadow movin’ about, like he’s watchin’ the town from that high window.”

She felt a faint chill that wasn’t from the cold, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “They say a lot of things,” she repeated, her tone steady but soft. “Could be nothin’ but the wind playin’ with shadows.”

He tilted his head, the edge of a smirk softening his face. “Aye, that’s what I'd think, too. But seems each person’s got a different tale to tell. Some say he’s a protector, sent to keep us safe.” He shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the distant woods. “Others say it’s somethin’ darker—maybe one of the king’s men, sent to spy on anyone who dares breathe a word against him.”

YN’s lips parted, but she hesitated, the words hanging unspoken as her gaze lingered on the watchtower. Her grandmother had told her stories of that tower once, years ago, when she was still young enough to believe in the old tales without question. But she’d since brushed them off as the ramblings of an old woman long passed. Now, though, the stories flickered back to her, sharp and vivid as they’d once been.

“I heard some folk say it’s not a man at all,” She murmured, so quietly that her voice nearly vanished into the chill air. “Gran said it’s a spirit—a demon.” she let out a breathy laugh, sending a glance his way. “You believe my ol’gran true?”

Niall made a sound, halfway between a scoff and a chuckle, though he didn’t argue with her. “You don’t seem the sort to believe in demons,YN.”

She didn’t answer him, and for a moment, they stood in the gathering dusk, looking out toward the distant, looming shape of the tower, as if something there had caught them both in its thrall. A strange, unsettling weight hung in the air, pressing down around them, and neither seemed willing to break it.

The faint toll of the chapel bell echoed across the town, marking the evening hour. The sound seemed hollow, almost mournful, as it resonated through the narrow streets, slipping into every crack and crevice, lingering like a warning in the growing dark.

The path wound through the clustered homes of their town, each one narrow and stacked close beside the other, the rooftops tilting like old friends leaning together to brace against the coming winter. Flickers of candlelight peeked through small, thick-paned windows, casting brief glows over doorsteps worn smooth by years of footsteps. Voices drifted out faintly as neighbors settled in for the night, the low buzz of comfort after a long day’s labor.

As they neared her door, YN glanced sideways at Niall, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Well, no use lettin’ the stew go to waste with just me. You might as well come in and help make somethin’ decent out of it. And,” she added, with a playful glint, “my sister will be there, too. Might be the only chance you get to impress her.”

Niall feigned indifference, though she caught the hint of a flush in his cheeks beneath the dimming light. “Well, if it’s to spare you from that sorry excuse of a stew, I s’pose I could lend a hand,” he said with mock reluctance, yet his steps quickened as they approached the small wooden door.

Inside, the house was simple and small, with a low ceiling that sloped slightly, forcing even YN to duck beneath the beams as she led him in. A narrow hearth crackled with a weak but steady fire, casting warm shadows across the modest room, which served as both kitchen and living space. The scent of herbs, drying in bunches along the walls, mingled with the faint tang of smoke from the hearth. A single table stood in the center, its edges worn smooth, surrounded by a handful of mismatched stools and chairs, each one slightly wobbly but bearing the marks of care and countless meals.

“Is that you, YN?” Her mother’s voice came from the corner, where she was bent over a pot, stirring with steady, practiced hands. She looked up with a gentle smile, her face flushed from the warmth of the fire. “And Niall too! Just in time. I was about to send Arthur to fetch you, but he’s off fiddlin’ with somethin’ in the corner.”

Ten-year-old Arthur looked up at the mention of his name, a wide grin splitting his face when he spotted the blonde. “Niall!” He called, scrambling to his feet and darting over, a wooden sword in hand. “You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”

He placed the basket next to the older woman before he tousled the boy’s hair, giving a wink to YN. “That depends—will your sister cook, or will your ma have mercy on me?”

YN rolled her eyes as her mother chuckled, stirring the stew with a knowing look. “I'll make sure to keep it fit for eatin’. Now, why don’t you both make yourselves useful and set the table?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Niall replied with a quick bow, flashing his best charming smile, though his eyes lingered on the slender figure by the fire.

YN’s older sister, Ella, sat with her needlework in hand, her fingers nimble as she embroidered a delicate pattern into the edge of a linen cloth. She looked up as Niall approached, offering him a nod and a faint, polite smile, though a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes.

“Ella,” Niall greeted, taking the opportunity to lean a bit too casually against the edge of the table. “Now there’s a sight finer than any supper, if I may say.”

“Oh, you may say.” Ella sighed, her tone as mild as her smile. “But sayin’ doesn’t make it so, does it?” Her eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief, and she kept her gaze on her stitching as if he hadn’t said a word.

YN snorted, reaching past Niall to set the bowls on the table. “She’ll need more than empty flattery to be wooed, Niall. You’ll be talkin’ all night before she so much as bats an eye.”

“Empty flattery?” he echoed, feigning shock as he helped with the cups, placing them with exaggerated care. “This is pure honesty, YN. Your sister’s a vision, though I'm not sure she sees it herself.”

Ella finally looked up, one eyebrow arched. “Perhaps that’s ‘cause it’s hard to see with all the bluster in here. Is it flattery or just another of your tales, Ni?”

Arthur laughed as he climbed onto his chair, his wooden sword clattering to the floor. “Tell a tale, Niall!” He urged, his eyes bright.

He obliged with a grand sweep of his arm. “Ah, tales are easy to tell when the company’s fine.” His gaze drifted meaningfully to Ella, who only smirked, clearly unbothered.

“Enough of your foolishness, Horan.” YN’s mother cut in, though her tone was warm as she dished the stew into the bowls. “There'll be time for tales when your stomach’s full. Now, all of you—sit, before this stew turns cold.”

They settled around the table, the simple meal set before them steaming in the flickering firelight. YN ladled out servings, keeping her own expression solemn as she dished out the rather grayish stew. Niall took a tentative sip, raising his brows in mock surprise.

“Well, I'll be,” he declared, setting his bowl down as if astonished. “Tastes just like stew!”

YN kicked him under the table, rolling her eyes. “Don’t sound so shocked, else we’ll make you eat the scraps.”

Ella, watching them from across the table, hid a smile behind her hand. “It's better than you deserve,” she teased, offering Niall a faintly teasing look that sent Arthur into a fit of giggles.

As they settled into their meal, the conversation turned to the familiar rhythms of the day—the fish hauls, the scarcities at the market, the latest mischief Arthur had managed, and the townsfolk they’d seen along the way. Laughter bubbled up around the table, filling the small room with warmth as the stew slowly disappeared, their bowls clinking softly with each spoonful.

It wasn't until they’d nearly finished eating that YN’s mother’s voice turned low, a faint shadow crossing her face as she glanced at arthur. “Arthur,” she said gently, “I don't want to hear any more of you playin’ outside the town walls.”

The boy frowned, his spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “But ma, I’m careful,” he protested, glancing between her and YN as if hoping for support.

“She's right,” Ella added, her voice calm but firm. “The woods aren’t safe, especially with winter comin’ on.”

He looked to Niall, his face a mask of confusion and a bit of defiance. “Niall plays near the woods, don’t you?”

He shifted in his seat, his smile fading just slightly as he glanced at YN. “Aye, lad, but it’s different. I'm older, and I keep my wits about me. Besides,” he added lightly, though his voice held a trace of something darker, “there’s been talk of someone wanderin’ near the old watchtower.”

YN’s mother sighed, folding her hands on the table. “Too much talk.” She said quietly, her gaze drifting toward the narrow window. “I don’t care if s’only lore, you’ll be safe rather than sorry.”

A hush fell over the table, and Arthur's wide eyes darted from face to face. “Who is it, then?” He whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “A man?”

Ella reached over to ruffle his hair, her voice soft. “No one knows. could be a man, could be no more than shadows. But some say it’s best not to linger too close to it, just in case.”

Niall, watching Arthur's reaction, leaned in with a grin. “There now, it’s probably nothin’ more than a lonely ol’ fox. But best stick close to home, eh? Can’t have you disappearin’ on us.”

YN tried to keep her voice light as she chimed in, though she felt the faintest prickling unease beneath the laughter. “You heard him, Arthur. best keep to the town, else you might end up a story yourself.”

The boy’s eyes grew even wider, and he gulped, glancing nervously toward the window as if expecting to see the mysterious figure standing just beyond. He fidgeted, his hand reaching instinctively for his wooden sword on the floor beside him.

With a faint, tired sigh, YN’s mother rose and began clearing the table, signaling the end of the meal. The warm glow of the evening seemed to have dimmed, and even Niall’s usual cheer was muted as he helped gather the bowls, his gaze drifting back to the light flickering along the walls.

Outside, the wind picked up, brushing against the windows and rattling the latch ever so slightly, a whisper against the warmth of the firelight. The small house was silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought, each glancing occasionally toward the dark window where the night gathered, close and watchful.

Morning seeped slowly into Dover, pale and cool, bringing with it the damp scent of the sea and the faint call of gulls overhead. YN was awake early, as was her habit, slipping quietly out of bed while the house still lingered in the soft dimness of dawn. The fire in the hearth had died to embers, and a chill clung to the air, but she moved quickly, tucking a shawl around her shoulders as she crossed the small room.

Arthur, already up and dressed, was tugging at the latch on the back door, eager to start his morning chores. He looked back when he heard her steps, his face lighting up with a grin. “Thought you’d sleep through it, lazybones.” He teased, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.

She snorted softly, pinching his cheek as she passed him. “Cheeky lad,” she muttered. “Come on, then. Let's get to it.”

They stepped out into the brisk morning, their breath puffing in the cold, and began making their way down the narrow stone path that wound through the small patch of yard behind their home. Frost clung to the grass, glinting in the pale light, and the chickens shuffled restlessly in their pen as Arthur went to check on them.

“Careful now.” 

He bent down next to them to scatter their feed. The hens fluffed their feathers, clucking contentedly as they pecked at the ground, and Arthur kept one eye on the rooster, who strutted about with his chest puffed, keeping watch over his domain.

“Look at him,” he whispered, stifling a laugh as he threw a handful of seed. “Thinks he’s king of all creation, that one.”

She grinned, crouching beside him. “Well, he’s a rooster. not much else to do but look important, is there?”

The boy giggled, tossing a bit of feed toward the rooster, who eyed him warily before puffing up even further. YN kept watch as he finished the feeding, carefully securing the pen’s latch when he was done.

They moved on to check the small patch of herbs and vegetables that clung to life in the early cold, though the frost had already done its damage. The leaves hung limp and dark, and YN  frowned, brushing a thin layer of frost from a withered cabbage leaf.

“S’not lookin’ good, is it?” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a murmur as he followed her gaze.

“No,” she replied softly, her fingers brushing over the leaves. “But we’ll manage. Always do.”

He gave her a solemn nod, but she could see the worry in his eyes, the way he seemed to glance toward the woods, as if he might glimpse the shadowed figure their mother had warned him about the night before. She reached over and squeezed his shoulder, offering a smile.

“No need for lookin’ so glum, Arthur,” she said, keeping her tone light. “We've plenty to keep us busy, and I'll wager you’ll see that rooster crowned king before anything happens to us.”

He managed a faint smile, his spirits lifting just enough to reassure her. They finished up quickly, making their way back inside, where the warmth of the house greeted them. YN set about preparing a quick meal for Arthur and her mother, who was just beginning to stir, her tired eyes softening at the sight of her children.

Once breakfast was sorted, YN returned to her small room to ready herself for the day. She tugged off her worn nightdress, slipping into the fresh linen undergarments she’d set aside, and carefully pulled on a plain woolen dress that hung neatly from a peg beside her bed. It was a simple dress, but a neat one, its modest collar and long sleeves making it suitable for the chilly weather. she straightened the fabric, adjusting the waist so that it lay just right, and wrapped her shawl back over her shoulders, pinning it at the front with an old, weathered brooch that had once belonged to her grandmother.

She caught her reflection in the small, scratched mirror by the window—a young woman with steady eyes and a hint of determination in her gaze, her hair braided behind her, a few strands slipping free to frame her face. After a moment, she tucked a few stray wisps behind her ear and gave herself a brisk nod, turning to head out.

The streets were beginning to stir as she made her way down to the docks, the early morning light casting a soft, muted glow over the cobblestone. A few shopkeepers were already sweeping their doorsteps, preparing for the day’s trade, and a handful of townsfolk passed by, nodding their greetings as she walked.

When she reached the docks, she found Niall already there, standing by his boat, his hands working quickly to secure the ropes. His coat hung loose over his shoulders, and his hair was tousled from the morning breeze, but there was a contented look in his eyes as he glanced up and saw her approach.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of the cabbage patch,” he greeted her, a grin breaking across his face. “Come to see if I've hauled in a king’s feast for ye?”

YN rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she stopped a few feet away from him. “I wouldn't go that far. but I'll settle for a decent fish, if you’ve managed one.”

He laughed, giving the rope a final tug before stepping back, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Oh, a decent fish, she says. Well, lucky for you, I've got just that.” He reached into a small wooden crate and held up a plump haddock, its scales glinting in the early light. “Not a king’s ransom, but it’ll do for stew, won’t it?”

She eyed the fish, unable to suppress a smile. “Aye, it’ll do. Might even save us from havin’ to wrangle another cabbage.”

Niall chuckled, tucking the fish back into the crate. “Couldn’t have that, now, could we? I’m doin’ my part to keep your cookin’ passable.”

“Passable?” She laughed, nudging him lightly as she stepped up beside him to peer into the crate. “You’re just glad to have an excuse to come round, steal our bread, and charm my sister.”

He gave her a mock-offended look, though his eyes glinted with humor. “Now, that’s hurtful, YN. I'm here for the food and the fine company, naturally. If your sister happens to be nearby, well, that’s not my fault, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, unable to help the small laugh that escaped. “Poor Ella’ll need more than a fish to be impressed. Best not get your hopes up too high.”

“Aye, she’s a hard one to please,” he admitted, a faint, wistful smile crossing his face. “But I'll manage somehow. or at least, I'll keep tryin’.”

They both fell silent, their gazes drifting out over the water, where a thin mist clung to the surface, casting an eerie calm over the harbor. The other boats rocked gently in the quiet, and the gulls called out above them, their cries echoing faintly across the empty stretch of sea. Together they turned back toward the town, the mist curling softly around them as they walked, side by side, in the quiet of the morning.

The midday lull brought a hush over the town, as folk took their brief respite between the day’s labors. The soft light of afternoon slipped over the rooftops, and YN found herself winding her way down one of the quieter streets toward Maura’s, a modest little cottage that doubled as the gathering place for the women in town. Here, around a crowded table of mismatched cups and chipped saucers, town gossip simmered as steadily as the tea.

Maura's door was open, the sound of voices spilling out into the cobbled lane, and YN slipped in quietly, greeting the women with a polite nod before finding a seat near the end of the table. The familiar faces of neighbors turned to greet her—Maura herself, with her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the kitchen, mrs. Harris with her ever-watchful eyes, and a handful of others who paused only long enough to give YN a quick nod before returning to the subject that had clearly held their interest long before she arrived.

“I'm tellin’ you,” mrs. Harris was saying, her voice low and edged with certainty. “There's somethin’ in that tower. maybe it’s a spy, maybe it’s worse.”

Maura scoffed, shaking her head. “If it were a spy, we’d know by now, wouldn’t we? why bother lurkin’ about if there’s nothin’ worth seein’ here?”

“There’s plenty to see, Maura,” the older woman sighed, leaning forward, her teacup nearly sloshing over the rim as she gestured toward the window. “Who’s to say he hasn’t been watchin’ us all along, takin’ note of who’s loyal to the new king and who’s not?”

Maura snorted, but one of the other women, Anna, leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. “or worse—what if it’s no man at all?” Her gaze darted to the others, her eyes wide with a kind of fearful excitement. “There are tales, you know. Of things that wander the woods. Spirits that linger in dark places, things that only come out when the days grow short.”

Mrs. Harris crossed herself, nodding solemnly. “Aye. folk say it’s a night creature—a demon, even.“

YN listened quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup, but she held back a smile. as the women exchanged anxious looks, she leaned back, sipping her tea, the warmth of it calming her nerves. To her, the stories felt like little more than old wives’ tales—a way for folk to pass the time when the days grew cold and bleak. A lonely man, perhaps, who’d taken to the tower for solitude, a soul with nowhere else to go. Nothing so sinister as the women here believed.

“You've a skeptical look about you, dear” Maura said, catching her eye with a wry smile. “Don’t tell me you’d walk up to that tower yourself, would you?”

She met her gaze calmly, setting her cup down. “I'd sooner believe it’s a wanderer, Maura. Maybe one who wants peace more than anything else. Don’t see why we should fear him.”

“Peace, or no peace, he’s still up there, watchin’ us all.”

YN didn’t reply, only nodded politely as the conversation swirled on, the voices around her swelling in speculation and rumor. After a while, she quietly rose, setting her cup aside and offering Maura a grateful nod before slipping out the door and into the fresh air.

The chatter of the women faded behind her, and she took a deep breath, the cool air filling her lungs and clearing her thoughts. She knew she was unlikely to shake their unease or convince them of her view, but as she thought of the lonely figure up in the tower, something tugged at her—a kind of curiosity that gnawed gently at the back of her mind.

Without a second thought, she made her way home, moving quickly and quietly, her mind already set. She slipped through the door, pausing only to grab her small woven basket from its hook. Her mother glanced up, but YN offered her a calm smile, murmuring something vague about a quick errand before supper.

IN the small corner of their kitchen where they kept their stores, she selected a handful of berries from the last of their foraging, a few slightly bruised carrots, and a small bunch of herbs tied with a thin scrap of cloth. Modest offerings, but enough, she hoped, to serve as a token of peace, a sign that she meant no harm.

She took a deep breath and headed toward the edge of town, her footsteps light as she made her way past the familiar lanes and toward the narrow path that led up to the old watchtower.

The path leading to the watchtower was narrow, winding its way up the hillside in gentle, uneven curves. YN had walked these woods many times before, though never with the purpose she had now. Above her, the sky was beginning to darken, clouds gathering in ominous clumps, casting long shadows across the land as the sun slipped lower.

Her heart thudded in her chest, not from fear, but from a strange mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The stories she’d heard that morning lingered in her mind like faint echoes, each warning a small reminder of the mystery ahead. But she felt something else too—a quiet resolve, an odd certainty that she had to see this figure, whoever he might be, with her own eyes.

The watchtower loomed before her, its crumbling stone walls climbing into the sky, weather-worn and scarred by time. She could see now why the townsfolk feared it; it looked like a relic from another era, half-hidden by the dense growth of ivy and the creeping fog that clung to the base of its walls. It was silent here, too silent, as if even the birds dared not sing in the shadow of the old tower.

Steeling herself, she moved forward, her footsteps muffled by the damp earth. The closer she got, the more the watchtower’s age showed itself in cracked stones and vines, a darkness that seemed to pool between the stones, deepening the gray of the twilight. At the base of the tower, a narrow door sat slightly ajar, barely wide enough for her to slip through. She paused there, glancing up, feeling an odd twinge of nervousness as her gaze drifted to the upper windows, dark and empty.

Drawing a deep breath, she pushed the door open, stepping into the dim interior.

The inside of the tower was colder, the air thick and still. Faint light seeped through cracks in the walls, just enough to reveal the sparse furnishings—a wooden table, books, a chair beside the hearth, long since gone cold. Dust motes hung in the air, catching the dim light like fragments of stars, and a faint, earthy smell lingered in the space, as though the room hadn’t seen another soul in years.

Yet something else lingered too, something that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle—a sense that she wasn’t alone.

A figure stepped forward from behind a wall, emerging so quietly she almost missed it. He was tall, with dark curls that tumbled around his face, shadows clinging to his features as though he belonged to the darkness itself. His eyes met hers, a piercing green that seemed to hold an entire century’s worth of secrets, and for a brief, unsettling moment, she felt as though he could see straight through her.

“What brings you here?” His voice was low, quiet, each word clipped and precise, yet holding a softness that surprised her.

YN swallowed, her hand instinctively tightening around the basket she held. “I–I thought you might be hungry,” she stammered, offering the basket forward with a hesitant smile. “Folk talk of you up here, you know. Thought it might be nice to see if you wanted some company.”

He raised a brow, a faint trace of amusement softening his gaze. He didn’t reach for the basket, but instead continued to watch her, as though trying to make sense of why she would come here, alone, to his solitary refuge.

Didn’t seem exactly the safest thing.

“People rarely visit me,” he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur, as though he were speaking more to himself than to her. “Especially not with offerings.”

“Well, it’s no great feast,” she laughed breathily—nervous, setting the basket down on the table. “But it’s enough for a quiet meal.”

He looked down at the basket, his expression unreadable. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he would turn her away. But then his gaze shifted back to her, gentle, as though something in her gesture had reached him in a way she couldn’t quite understand.

“I don’t need much,” he breathed, finally stepping closer, his movements careful, almost tentative. “But thank you.”

The silence stretched between them as Harry’s eyes lingered on her, his regard tracing every movement of her face, the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her lips pressed together as if searching for words. He could feel it—her pulse thrumming in her neck, the warmth radiating from her skin, the soft, steady rhythm of blood rushing through her veins. It was maddening. The sound alone clawed at the quiet corners of his mind, stirring that old, cursed hunger he’d worked so hard to bury.

But he couldn’t let her see that. Couldn’t let even a flicker of it touch his face.

With a composed nod, he turned his attention to the basket, using the small action to steady himself, to pull his focus away from her and fix it on the modest offering she’d brought. Herbs and roots, earthy and clean, none of it touched by blood. He forced his breath to steady, aware of her watchful eyes on him as he sorted through the items, careful to keep his hands stable.

“Are you here… often?” She asked softly, breaking the silence in a voice that felt almost hesitant, as though unsure whether it was allowed. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the sparse surroundings, the thick shadows that crept into every corner.

Harry let his fingers linger on a sprig of thyme, keeping his voice level as he answered. “Yes,” he confided simply, his tone giving nothing away. “I find it… peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” she echoed, a faint smile touching her lips as she looked back at him. “It doesn’t frighten you, being all alone up here?”

He allowed himself the smallest of smiles—him—frightened? How sweetly ironic. “Sometimes solitude is easier than the alternative.”

She studied him, and he could feel the weight of her eyes, searching for something beneath his answer. Her heartbeat quickened just a bit, a small, steady thump that seemed to reach straight through him, its warmth coiling like a spark inside his chest. He could almost taste it—the sweet, heady pull of her pulse.

But he forced the thought down, burying it beneath years of restraint. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, redirecting the focus onto her. “And what about you?” he asked, his tone soft but steady. “Doesn’t it frighten you to come all this way, alone?”

She gave a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe it should. But I suppose I don’t scare easily.” She paused, her gaze slipping to the narrow window where the trees outside swayed gently in the wind. “It’s quiet here, almost like a different world. Sometimes it feels like our town is shrinking, like it’s closing in. Out here, it’s–it’s freer.”

Harry’s gaze softened, though he said nothing. There was something in her words he understood, something that echoed faintly in his own memories of why he’d chosen this place—this forgotten, lonely tower—to escape. A life he could no longer live, a curse he couldn’t risk unleashing.

She looked back at him, curiosity bright in her eyes. “People say you’ve been here a long time—I mean, they say the tower’s been abandoned forever. But you don’t seem…” She trailed off, biting her lip as though she didn’t quite know how to finish.

“Don’t seem what?” he asked, his voice low, inviting her to continue.

She waited, and he watched her carotid flicker in her throat as she searched for her words. “You don’t seem like someone who belongs in a place like this,” she murmured. “Like you’ve got more in you than—than just seclusion.”

He felt a tug deep in his chest at her words, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time—a faint longing, a half-forgotten ache for a life he’d once dreamed of. But that life was gone. He’d buried it the night he’d been turned, when the world as he knew it had collapsed into a semblance of hell.

“It’s strange,” he replied carefully, his eyes drifting toward the flickering shadows on the wall. The hunger gnawed at him, unrelenting, every second reminding him of how close he was to her. She was standing barely a foot away, her warmth filling the small space, her heartbeat a steady, maddening drumbeat that drew him closer, closer…

He straightened slightly, pulling himself back. “Solitude,” he said quietly, almost as if reminding himself, “sometimes feels simpler.”

She nodded slowly, but her eyes stayed on him, and he could see the spark of curiosity still there, unquenched. She was brave, this girl. Far braver than most. And something about that bravery—the quiet way she stood her ground in the face of shadows and rumors, in the presence of a stranger—intrigued him. She wasn’t running away. And a part of him, despite everything, wanted her to stay.

“Thank you,” he mumbled—almost a dismissal, gesturing to the basket, his voice softened with a touch of genuine gratitude. “Not many would bring gifts to a stranger. Especially not one so isolated.”

She smiled, her cheeks flushing faintly in the dim light. “Well, maybe I’ll bring something better next time,” she replied with a small laugh. “If you’d want that.”

He paused, her words lingering in the air between them. Next time. It felt dangerous, allowing the thought of it, letting her return. But as she looked at him, her smile warm and unguarded, he found himself nodding almost without thinking.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I’d like that.”

But even as he spoke, he felt the old thirst stir beneath his words, a dark reminder that she was flesh and blood, and he was anything but.

Harry watched her retreating figure until the last of her shadow disappeared down the winding path. The silence settled thick around him once more, yet it felt different now, charged with the lingering warmth of her presence. The faint echo of her heartbeat still pulsed in his mind, like a phantom drum that refused to fade. He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, pushing down the hunger that had clawed so violently to the surface, fighting a void that had nearly overpowered him the entire time she’d stood there.

He had always been a weak man for the living.

Turning back into the tower, he closed the door and leaned against it, his hand flexing as he grappled with that old, familiar agony, the ache that thrummed through his veins whenever he was near a human. After all these years, after countless nights spent mastering his restraint, he still struggled. The curse was unrelenting—an obstinate thirst that he could never truly silence, only suppress.

Memories rose in him unbidden, dark and sharp, clawing their way out of the places he kept them buried. He could still recall the crisp air of that autumn night in 1601, back when he was alive, when he’d believed his life was bound for something beautiful. He’d been a poet then, a young man enamored with language, eager to make something of himself. He’d had dreams of attending university, of pursuing a life dedicated to literature and ideas, a life where he could spend his days wrapped in thought and art.

But all of that had been shattered in a single night. He had been walking back from a small tavern in London, tipsy and laughing, still reciting lines of poetry in his head, the night air filling him with a light, exhilarating hope. He remembered it so clearly—the dimly lit street, the damp chill creeping into his coat, the rough hand that had seized him by the throat and dragged him into an alley. He’d thought it was a robber at first, maybe a cutthroat from the docks looking for a quick coin.

But then he’d seen his attacker’s face.

The man’s eyes were inhuman, glinting with a feral hunger, and his skin was pale, almost translucent in the moonlight. Harry had fought, struggling against the impossible strength of those arms, but it had been useless. The man had pinned him down with a brutal ease, baring his teeth—a flash of something razor-sharp, malevolent—before sinking them deep into Harry’s throat. The pain had been excruciating, and then everything had gone dark, his life draining away into a cold, endless void.

He hadn’t known what had happened to him for days afterward. He’d awoken alone, hidden in the dark recesses of a forgotten basement, his body shuddering with an unholy thirst that tore through him like wildfire. The transformation had left him a half-mad, hollow shell, consumed by an insatiable need he didn’t understand. He’d stumbled through the streets, eyes wild, hunting without even knowing what he was hunting for. And when he’d finally cornered a man in the dead of night, tearing into his throat with a frenzy he could barely comprehend, he’d learned what he had become.

The first months were a blur of blood and horror, a nightmare he hadn’t known how to escape. He had been controlled by an ache, a greed—enslaved by it, a wretched creature lost to bloodlust. He’d fought it as best he could, but each time he tried to resist, the thirst only grew stronger, until he was reduced to a brutal, savage need that erased everything else.

It had been a year later, in 1602, when he encountered another vampire. His name was Thomas, a wily, unrepentant creature who fed freely and without remorse. Thomas had found Harry alone and ravenous, nearly mad from weeks of starvation in an attempt to restrain himself. He’d taken Harry under his wing, teaching him how to survive in this new, cursed life, how to hunt, how to kill cleanly. But while Harry had been grateful for the guidance, he quickly saw that Thomas reveled in the whispers of the devil, that he viewed humanity as little more than prey. He was malignant. 

His own heart was too soft for such cruelty. He’d hated the feel of human flesh beneath his hands, the way his victims’ eyes widened in terror as he held them down, the way their life drained away in his grasp. He hadn’t wanted this life. But the need was too powerful, too all-consuming, and he had been too weak to fight it.

And then, in 1643, came the night that shattered him completely.

Her name had been Beatrice—a young woman from Manchester, one of the few souls who’d looked past his oddity, his quiet reserve, and seen something in him worth knowing. She’d been kind, curious, always showing up at his door with a warm smile, her laughter lighting up his otherwise bleak existence. For months, she’d been a balm to him, her presence a brief reprieve from the loneliness that gnawed at him. He’d been so careful around her, so painfully restrained, never allowing himself to get too close. But one night, after days of starvation, he had faltered. She’d come to visit him, concern etched on her face, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek.

And in that moment, he’d lost himself.

The memory of that night was burned into him like a scar, the scent of her blood, the warmth of it cascading from his lips and developing him whole— the sound of her heart slowing as he drank from her—all of it haunted him, even now, decades later. He had tried to pull away, tried to stop himself, but the hunger had overpowered him, consuming her life, taking everything she had. When he finally came to his senses, she lay cold and pale in his arms, her eyes staring up at him, empty and accusing.

After that, he’d fled, haunted by the horror of what he’d done, determined never to let it happen again. He’d hidden himself away in this tower, learning to feed from the animals that roamed the forest, forcing himself to endure the hunger rather than inflict his curse on another innocent soul. He would never again allow himself to feel that agony, that terrible loss.

And yet tonight, with her presence in his small, empty world, something had stirred in him, a strange, aching reminder of what it meant to be human, to crave connection, companionship. It was dangerous, foolish to even entertain such thoughts, yet he couldn’t deny the faint spark she had left behind.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly, steadying the wild, restless energy that surged in him. She couldn’t come back. He couldn’t risk it. He would have to find a way to make her think the tower was haunted, or evil—something to scare her off for good. Because he knew himself, knew that he was a creature of hunger, bound to a curse he couldn’t escape.

And if she returned—he wasn’t sure how long he could resist.

[thankskenpenders]

Thoughts on Sonic 3!

On December 10th, 2018, I was on the last day of a trip to Milwaukee. The night before, I'd attended the wedding of one of my best friends, Jake, who I've known since high school. Even though half of us were sick the whole trip, it was a great time. Derek had asked the wedding DJ to play "One Week" as the first request of the night, and proceeded to lip sync the entire song on the dance floor. On that cold winter morning in a hotel room hundreds of miles from home, Derek and I groggily checked Twitter on our phones and saw the shocking news: Paramount had teased the design for Sonic from their upcoming live action film. Even in silhouette, the shape of his face and the realistic curvature of his limbs made him look like a grotesque little homunculus. This movie was going to suck.

Six years later, I've now seen the third entry in what's become a hugely successful Sonic film franchise. It features Keanu Reeves as the voice of Shadow the Hedgehog in a fairly faithful adaptation of his story from Sonic Adventure 2. At the time of writing, it currently sits at a whopping 86% positive rating on Rotten Tomatoes, vying for the title of the best-reviewed theatrically released video game movie of all time. Critics are saying nice things about the emotional journey of Shadow the Hedgehog. Never in a million years did I think I'd see this day.

I, too, have now seen this movie, and... yeah, it's pretty good.

I'm gonna get deep into spoilers here, so I'll just say up front that I liked the movie. It feels like just about the best possible execution of this version of Sonic. But that's also damning it with faint praise, depending on who you ask.

If you're a fan of the games who didn't like the second movie, you probably won't get much out of this one, either, unless you just really love Shadow so much that nothing else in the movie matters to you. It doesn't reinvent the wheel for this film series. It's still got a heaping helping of broad comedy, cheap pop culture references, bad one-liners, and characterization that diverges greatly from the source material. This is not high art, nor is it a direct adaptation of Sonic Adventure 2. If you're the kind of person who hates this portrayal of Sonic and Eggman, or a lore nerd who'll hate that they let Shadow do Chaos Control without an Emerald, then just don't bother with this.

On the other hand, if you did enjoy the last movie, then you'll probably have a fun time here, too. Shadow is very cool. The action is the best it's ever been. There's a bit more focus on characters from the games, and less on human characters invented for the movies—with the exception of Agent Stone, who's in this a lot because everyone likes him. There's a lot of SA2 fanservice. They even play "Live and Learn." It's a fun time! Be sure to stick around through the end credits.

And now, to dig deeper, let's get into the spoilers! I'm gonna jump around a lot and talk about different aspects of the movie, spoiling everything along the way.

Shadow and his reams of lore

Here's the main thing you came for: Shadow is great in this! They really did him justice. Keanu Reeves is extremely solid in the role. He can be a bit flat as an actor sometimes, but I think he did well here. He can be tough and menacing, but he can also be earnest and emotionally vulnerable. Good casting call. Excited at the prospect of seeing more of him in the future.

Really, as a Sonic Lore Nerd I'm most interested in discussing the changes they made to Shadow's backstory. I'm sure there will be many fans upset with the changes, but for the sake of streamlining a complicated backstory that was subject to a bunch of retcons and multiple layers of amnesia and fitting it into a 110-minute movie, I think they generally made smart choices.

For one, Gerald didn't create Shadow using Black Arms DNA, because Gerald didn't create Shadow at all! Instead, Shadow arrived on Earth inside a meteor, and Gerald was merely the prominent GUN scientist who studied him after he was captured. (That meteor does have very strong Black Arms vibes, though, so I wouldn't rule out the possibility of them exploring that stuff in the future.) This simplifies things a lot and allows Shadow to be a direct foil for Sonic, kind of a version of our hero who was treated as a lab rat and lost the only human he considered family instead of finding happiness like Sonic has. Then later Shadow hurts Tom and Sonic wants revenge, and it mirrors Shadow's feelings about Maria, and after they fight they can empathize with each other over this, Shadow sees the error of his ways and helps save the world, yada yada yada. You get it. People predicted 95% of this movie's plot from the trailers, but it's effective.

Likewise, all of the stuff about creating Shadow as the ultimate life form who's immune to all disease to cure Maria's illness is completely cut out. Shadow's still called the ultimate life form, but he's treated as more of an energy source than a genetic research project here, playing off of the stuff about Eggman wanting to harness Sonic's natural Chaos Energy in the movies. The original intent behind the ultimate life form project was always hard to explain in the games and doesn't even come up that much, so I don't blame them for cutting it.

Because Gerald isn't doing genetic experiments and creating artificial life, the Biolizard also doesn't exist. It does, however, appear in an old monster movie Shadow and Maria watch in a montage, with Shadow later commenting that he worries he's a monster like the one he saw in the movie. That's a clever way to include it, I think.

The ARK sort of exists. There was no space colony back in the '70s, all of the events of Shadow's flashbacks just took place at a secret GUN base on Earth. Fair enough for a version of the story ostensibly set in the real world. The big space laser in the third act of the film is obviously supposed to evoke the ARK, but it's referred to as simply the Eclipse Cannon. It's still not a full-blown space colony, just a weapon of mass destruction Gerald designed for GUN in exchange for his release (while also secretly planning to use it to blow up the planet in an act of revenge). I am, however, pleased to report that the Eclipse Cannon still has a giant Eggman face on it.

And as for Maria: I like her in this! She's obviously not going to get a ton of screentime, and she's always going to be a very straightforward character, but she's more playful and lively here. She teases Shadow for being grumpy and plays with him a lot. She feels less like this perfect embodiment of everything good and pure in the world and more like an actual kid. She's still not a complex character, but it works.

And the most important question: do they show a child getting shot and killed by the military? The answer is almost. In the flashback, GUN soldiers chase Maria, Shadow, and Gerald and ready their guns, but the young Commander Walters (who's in his 20s rather than being a kid) grabs them and tries to stop them from firing on a child. In the chaos, a soldier fires, missing Maria but hitting a generator that then blows up and kills Maria. So, y'know, close enough I suppose.

So, yes, many of the details change here, but they captured the gist of Shadow's story from SA2. The emotional core is there. I will say, though, I almost feel like Shadow isn't in this movie as much as I thought he'd be? I think he's used effectively in all of his scenes, and they make room for his backstory, and BOY does he get to kick ass in his fights, but for much of the middle part of the movie he's overshadowed by Ivo and Gerald. Though this might be a compromise to leave more screentime for...

Tails and Knuckles

I'm relieved to report that Tails and Knuckles both get a good amount of cool stuff to do in this! They don't feel like an afterthought.

I was worried that Tails in particular would completely fall by the wayside, since even his debut movie didn't entirely know what to do with him. But he's good here. He pretty much just feels like the Tails from the games at this point, especially since they dropped that fawning admiration he had for Sonic with that running gag of him going "Only Sonic the Hedgehog could do that!" He often chimes in as the one who wants Team Sonic to stick together when Sonic and Knuckles bicker. He particularly gets to shine in the Mission Impossible-inspired heist sequence at the GUN headquarters in London that serves as the climax of the second act, which feels like it was tailor made to let him shine as the tech guy of the team. He also gets several opportunities to swoop in and catch someone for a save in an action scene. He's good in this!

Knuckles is... fine. He's definitely fallen into the role of the comic relief dumb bruiser since joining the good guys, but he's at least a little better than he was in his own streaming show. The jokes lean more into him just being really brash about his strength and skill, rather than him being this archaic warrior who doesn't understand anything about the modern world. He also gets a few more serious bits in the back third of the movie where he gets to shine a little more, so overall it evens out to him being fine. They could've done way worse.

As for the relevance of the Knuckles show: Knuckles is now said to be the guardian of the Master Emerald, like in the games, though with no Angel Island this amounts to him hiding it somewhere for safekeeping. It's eventually revealed that he just gave it to Wade, who gets exactly one scene (sorry, Wade-heads) for a joke about him using the Master Emerald as a hockey puck. So, the miniseries explained why Knuckles has a connection with Wade. That's it! Also I think Knuckles might use the Flames of Disaster a bit in fights, but they never called the technique out by name, so I never really thought about it. So, yeah, the six-episode streaming miniseries about Wade bowling has zero meaningful relevance to the Shadow movie. Who could have seen this coming?

Miscellaneous humans

For that matter, the human supporting cast is MASSIVELY downplayed in this one. Tom and Maddie are there for two key sequences (the beginning of the movie and the GUN HQ heist), but otherwise they disappear for long stretches of the movie. They don't go to Japan in act I, nor do they go to space in act III, and there's no subplot for them during those periods, either. There's nothing like the wedding subplot in Sonic 2 where they'd constantly cut back to Hawaii for comic relief with the humans and only reveal why this was relevant to the plot near the end. (There's also no random dance battle in Siberia.) If a human character is here, it's because they have something to contribute to the plot right away. Most people will probably consider this an improvement, and I'd certainly say it makes for a much tighter script, though I have to remind everyone that I thought the wedding being a GUN sting operation was such a funny twist that I'm a defender of the Hawaii subplot.

On the subject of Tom, something funny I've noticed is that they've just completely downplayed the fact that Tom and Wade are cops. Tom being a cop never comes up once. Wade being a cop only gets referenced via the fact that he's practicing hockey on the roof of the police station in his one scene, but he's not in uniform or anything. They clearly got the memo that we don't want Sonic to hang out with cops.

Here's something else funny: Rachel and Randall got character posters, but they're actually not in the movie! Not technically, anyway. During the heist sequence at GUN HQ, Tom and Maddie use some gadgets Tails invented to holographically disguise themselves as those other characters. But the real Rachel and Randall never show up in the flesh. It's a very odd way to shoehorn the actors into the movie. (Jojo is also absent. They did not give her Amy's role of being the girl who reminds Shadow of Maria. Instead they just let Sonic have the big heart to heart with Shadow that makes him switch sides.)

You know who IS in this movie? Krysten Ritter. Not as the voice of Rouge, as the fandom once hoped, but as a director for GUN. She gets like three scenes and she feels completely checked out the whole time. Can't say I blame her! She's not really a character, just a plot necessity. Commander Walters dies in Japan but gives Sonic one of two keycards needed to activate the Eclipse Cannon, and then Ritter's character assumes Sonic stole it and labels him a bad guy. So that's why they have to break into GUN HQ in the second act instead of just talking things out with them. Still, I am at least relieved that Sonic doesn't work with GUN for most of the movie.

I gotta be honest: when Walters pulled a credit card-shaped object out of his pocket, I thought he was about to give Sonic another Olive Garden gift card as his final act before dying. Part of me wishes that happened.

The supporting human character in this who really gets to shine is Agent Stone, which I'm sure most fans will agree was the correct choice. There's a LOT of Agent Stone in this. He's good. I don't have much to say about him, but he's fun as usual.

But, of course, the ones who steal the show are Jim Carrey, and his costar Jim Carrey.

The Robotniks

I've gone back and forth on whether or not I can actually see movie Robotnik as Robotnik. I think with this third and final entry in the Jim Carrey Robotnik Trilogy, I've landed on... yeah, that's just Jim Carrey playing a Jim Carrey character. He's absolutely having fun with the role, and I enjoyed watching him, but I think a lot of that comes down to the fact that I'm a millennial who grew up watching Jim Carrey movies. If you didn't like him before, this movie will probably be nails on a chalkboard to you, because now there are two of him.

Ivo's arc here leans very heavily into the fact that he grew up as an orphan and never knew his family, a thing offhandedly mentioned in the first movie that's never been a thing for any other version of the character. Here, he learns that he has a living grandfather who's also a mad scientist, and it feels like a hole in his heart has been filled. It certainly makes sense for a place to take this version of the character, and it fits with the movie's themes of finding and losing family, but the cartoonish, childlike affection Ivo feels towards Gerald and all the scenes of them frolicking and dancing together have basically nothing to do with the characters from the games. He's a fun villain for this movie, but he's overwhelmingly used as comic relief this time rather than as a serious threat. He doesn't particularly feel like Sega's Dr. Ivo Robotnik, the arch nemesis of Sonic the Hedgehog who'd take over the world with an army of robots and a fleet of airships in the span of a day if Sonic wasn't around to stop him. He's a guy who lives in a big crab robot and has some drones. He has more in common with Carrey's depictions of the Grinch or the Riddler or Count Olaf than Dr. Eggman. Though he does, at least, finally get his outfit from the games by the end of the movie. So that's something. And also he's in a fat suit now. They only make jokes at the expense of his weight a little. Hooray...?

Gerald, meanwhile, is... largely the same character as movie Eggman, but older, so they can make jokes about him having saggy flesh and smelling funny and needing dentures. (Also, his voice kind of sounds like Homer Simpson sometimes?) To his credit, Carrey absolutely nails the handful of more serious scenes Gerald gets, whether it's Maria's death or his sinister turn when he reveals that he actually wants to destroy the Earth. But then it's right back to goofs about there being two of the same guy. Even the final battle features a lot of slapstick shenanigans with the two Robotniks fighting each other. I was able to enjoy the absurdity of it all, but if the humor doesn't land for you the dual Jim Carrey schtick is a hell of a lot of the movie. I wouldn't be surprised if there was more Gerald than Shadow in the movie, when you go and tally up their screentime. I was able to enjoy the sheer absurdity of it, but your mileage will vary.

I will, however, say that the split screen stuff they do with the two Carreys is EXTREMELY impressive, from a filmmaking perspective. They were absolutely flexing with their ability to pull the effect off. They don't rely on cheap tricks like cutting a lot, or having shot/reverse shot scenes where you're looking at the back of a body double's head. Instead they have a lot of long takes where the two Robotniks are talking to each other, you can see both of their faces, and they'll even hug and touch each other a lot, and the whole time the conversation maintains a natural pace like it really is two actors playing off of each other. It's really well done. It's an incredibly silly idea, but boy did they commit to it.

Sonic

I've hardly said anything about Sonic himself in all of this. It's his movie, isn't it! Well... I don't know, he's fine.

I feel like movie Sonic is a known quantity at this point, and either you like this take on the character or you don't. There was some speculation early on that this was supposed to be a younger Sonic who would grow into being the character we know from the games and comics, the one who's still got lots of quips but is also kind of aloof and cool, a free spirit who goes where the wind takes him, a figure the other characters look up to. And... no, that didn't happen. Once again he gets more serious as the stakes are raised, and he's totally badass when he goes Super, but the rest of the time he's still a little goober with tons of generic one-liners who learns schmaltzy lessons about the importance of family. He's still constantly going to undercut the tension of most scenes by cracking a pop culture reference that will make the average American parent go "haha I've heard of that." I don't think they're ever gonna change that. I think this just what the writers think Sonic is like.

And, again, for what it is, it's fine. He's a little annoying. You already know how you feel about movie Sonic. This third entry won't change that. But they do, at least, have him say "Talk about low budget flights, no food or movies... I'm outta here!" before jumping out of a helicopter. As my thoughts on the climax will show, I am not immune to fanservice.

The climax

God, the climax is SOOOOO fucking good. It's fantastic. Easily the best action these movies have ever done.

Rather than saving Super Shadow for the team-up with Sonic at the end, they have both of them go Super to fight each other first, and they just go full DBZ with it, fighting across the entire planet. It absolutely rules. I think this is the new coolest fight the two of them have had in anything ever. And then they have to stop the Eclipse Cannon together, and sure, there's no Biolizard. But Gerald DOES release a swarm of GUN Hunter robots, and the ensuing space battle turns into some Gundam shit. It's good! It's so good!!! The movie's flaws kind of melt away for me here when I'm watching Super Shadow take out an army of robots with Chaos Spears on the big screen. What a timeline we're living in.

And yes, they play "Live and Learn." They had to. They knew the assignment. They actually play a slight remix, but it's still got the original vocals, so it's perfectly recognizable. Actually, the tune of the song is used as a leitmotif for Shadow throughout the movie, first introduced via an acoustic guitar version played by Maria, and I really love that. I've been begging these movies to use more music from the games the whole time, and I'm glad they finally did so here. (They also use the traditional level clear jingle early in the film, and Eggman's theme from SA2 is very briefly used as a ringtone.)

... Anyway, uh, meanwhile Eggman, Tails, and Knuckles straight up just kill Gerald to save the world? They unceremoniously knock him into an energy field at the end of their slapstick fight aboard the Eclipse Cannon and he disintegrates like he hit a bugzapper. It's over in an instant. It's not graphic or anything, but it's, like... I didn't expect them to show it, or for it to be such a casual murder! Eggman has one quip about it and then immediately moves on.

Shortly after this, Eggman and Shadow sacrifice themselves to stop the Eclipse Cannon. Shadow's sacrifice doesn't stick, obviously (he's revealed to be alive by the end of the second stinger—pretend to be shocked), but Eggman's probably dead dead. I seriously doubt Jim Carrey's gonna come out of retirement for these movies again. His final moments before the big explosion are also SO dragged out and belabored. He has a dramatic final line like ten times in a row. It really just feels like the series saying goodbye to Carrey. And, again, it feels like a fitting enough end for this Eggman's arc, but it's an odd adaptation of the character from the games.

And so, that's what we're left with. This is far from Sonic Adventure 2: The Movie. It's not that, though there are many, many references made to that game in particular. It's a sequel to the film Sonic the Hedgehog 2 that has a similar tone and style, but Shadow and Gerald are in it, and Shadow gets some really cool fights, and there's a liiiiiittle more focus on stuff from the games than last time, and the script's a little tighter. If that sounds fun to you, you will have fun with this. I know I did. If it doesn't, you're probably better off waiting for them to inevitably do an animated reboot whenever this live action series runs out of steam.

It hasn't quite run out of steam yet, though...

The post-credits scenes, and the future

One of the big questions going into this was: what's next? How do they top a Shadow movie with heavy Sonic Adventure 2 overtones, in terms of hype for the fans? How do you fill Eggman's shoes after Carrey retires, for real this time? There are still more fan favorite rival characters to get through, but how many movies in a row can they introduce a furry foe for Sonic who inevitably turns good and helps him stop a larger threat by the end? And when the hell are we gonna see the girls?

Well, we now have our answer, and it's one I'm cautiously excited for: a whole army of Metal Sonics, and Amy!

Yes, Amy! Finally!! It's an absolute crime that we've gone three whole movies and a streaming miniseries without including the female lead of the series. I've complained about this ad nauseum (and also the fact that they cut Rouge from the story). But at least now they're finally doing something about it.

But now the question is, how will they characterize Amy? Sega's struggled with her for years, and there's a million different directions you can take her. Her one scene here has her smashing a bunch of Metal Sonics and wearing a cloak for the sake of a dramatic reveal, which gives her the vibes of a mysterious, badass action girl. This is, of course, completely different from how Sonic and Amy met in the games. What will her personality be like? She doesn't speak here, so who will they get to play her? Where did she come from? Will she even have a crush on Sonic? All of these have yet to be determined. So, like, I'm hyped to finally see Amy, a character who should've been in the movies from the start, but they could so easily end up playing it safe with an incredibly boring girlboss version of Amy who's no fun at all. We'll have to wait and see.

(My prediction: they're going to try to cast either Zendaya or Ariana as Amy.)

Metal Sonic, likewise, is very exciting, and he looks perfect. He looks just like the design from the games. But the question is: what will they do with this army of Metals? Will they be lead by one main Metal Sonic, perhaps Neo Metal Sonic, who gets to be a proper bad guy? Will they take some cues from Sonic CD, Heroes, and the OVA, or do something completely original? Where did they come from? Were they activated as a failsafe after Eggman died? Did they and Amy come from some sort of bad future, riffing on Sonic CD's time travel? Will they explore the fact that Metal wants to be the one and only Sonic? Or will they just be an army of disposable robot grunts for Sonic and friends to mow down like it's a Dynasty Warriors game, while some other villain takes center stage?

It could go so many different ways, and some prospects are more exciting than others. I mean, the Knuckles show had endless possibilities for what it could do with him, and none of the options on my bingo card were "Pachacamac's ghost tells him to help Wade win a bowling tournament." And while I'm a sicko who thinks it's funny that the Knuckles show is what it is, forgive me for keeping my hype about Amy and Metal Sonic in check here until we learn more.

Regardless of what they do, it'll still be hard to top the hype of Shadow, and it'll be hard to fill Jim Carrey's shoes for general audiences. So despite this clear statement of intent, I have no idea what the future of this film franchise holds. But regardless of what they do, I can say one thing for certain: the kids in my theater were hyped as hell for it. They popped off over Metal Sonic, and they were screaming their heads off with excitement over Amy. I heard a teenage girl on the opposite end of my row of seats say "finally!" over Amy's reveal, verbalizing my exact thoughts. She also said that this movie was "peak," though it diverged from the games, and she hoped they'd do a movie with Silver and Blaze someday.

The kids are gonna be okay.

[hauntingblue]

Ennies Lobby 3.0. yes that's happening I have too much to yap about

Omg look at these freaks

Franky is so real.... look at him....

Omg 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I have teared up so many times just bc luffy smiles with meaning at some point. insane btw.

MY GOOOOOOOD!!!!!! AAAAAAARGGGGGHHHHH

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

The neutrality of it all....

I forgor about aokiji revealing that he was friends with Saul and that he was protecting her because of it... the "live life and prove to me that ohara is still alive"... damn reminds me of garp saying to ace that he would find out if it was wrong for him to be born. "I don't know if it was right or wrong for saul to let you live" yeah that's it. But anyways all this happened because aokiji was loyal to his friend and now we know that he didn't even kill him!! So why is he with blackbeard?? I can't shake it!!!

I can't do it.... I can't.....

Luffy and franky talking about how mich they like the ship while he's chasing his speedos bottomless through the city 😭😭 it's so sweet actually... Franky only has one pair of speedos... thats why he ran thru the city to get them I get it now

"If you don't mind being a little rough I'm wiling to help" robin you freaky girl. But truly that is one of many robin and luffy's autistic communication moments they just know. Also if robin stopped crushing his balls but everyone could see the hands being there that means that she was just holding them for a while while he wept. Normal things here.

Franky blaming himself all this time... 🥺🥺

And he just takes his trunks and walks to the ship without putting them on akdjaosnso alpha moment while saying a melancholic goodbye to your family... crazy

What.... what is he doing

Luffy's fake ass laughing and saying how usopp will do great on his own.... I am seeing you cold sweat

This shit has always been so funny to me.... luffy definitely suffers from nepotism

Usopp asking if they don't know he's sniper king skdbjs no, they (luffy) don't know akdjaons

Look at these wet little beasts omg. Matching icons akdhaksjks

DADAN MENTION????? IN THE ACE VS BLACKBEARD CHAPTER????? AAAAAAAAHHHHH

Face card and pose unmatched as of yet. Look at the evidence.

I am killing myself now. Goodbye.

But I'm already dead!! Yohohoho... Anyways water seven and enies lobby is done.... I am scared (thriller bark) of what is coming you have no idea. Also!! Luffy nearly dying after hia battle with lucci starts the domino effect of luffy being barely strong enough to save everyone until it climaxes in sabaody and then culminates in marineford which is crazy to me btw. Luffy's evolution until then is about how no matter how strong he is it would never be enough. Insane. I don't know what else to say. I love you robin and franky. ACE STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP. nvm it's too late already. AAAAAHHHHHH

[carolmunson]

the cars that go boom | (daddydom!sadist!eddie)

this fic isn't related to the title song reference at all, it's just stuck in my head. needed to get this out of my drafts so here's some ddlg themed sadist eddie that's been sitting in my draft folder for fucking ever and i'm sick of looking at it. tw: 18+ mdni ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, eddie being all over a cocky shit bag hottie who likes control but it's consensual, use of a vibrating toy. lots of allusions to other sex.

You watch him get out of the bathroom after his shower, tattoos stretched taught over softly cut muscles. You almost drool. He tried something new with you this week, an orgasm ban -- nearly a sex ban -- in fact, he didn't even want you to see his dick. And much like he always does when he finds a new way to torture you; he was feeling really pleased with himself about it.

'That's more than you deserve,' he hissed at you Monday night while you knelt obediently between his legs. He pet your hair while you watched TV and he jerked himself off, you were not allowed to turn around until he was finished. You pouted all night, and when it happened the next day you started pouting all week. But, the week was over, which meant your punishment was done. You'd spent all day getting ready, a long shower, smooth skin, body butter, his favorite perfume, everything you could do to feel perfect for him. You cleaned the trailer and made dinner, you kissed him when he got in the door to which he blushed and smiled.

'Hi beautiful,' he greeted you so gently, 'I missed you today.'

You watch him dress now, hair dripping while he tugs on a pair of grey sweatpants and a ratty cut off Iron Maiden t-shirt. You sulk a little. Those aren't normally the clothes he'd put on if he wanted to take you to bed, but you don't say anything just yet.

He goes to the kitchen table with a composition notebook and a collection of pens and markers, opening the beat up pages to what you can only assume is a new campaign, a new drawing of a map. You walk over while he mulls over it, adding new territory, scribbling in new lore. You let your hands slide over his shoulders.

"Hi baby," you say sweetly.

"Hi," he responds, focused on his notebook. Your hands slide forward, onto his chest, your face leaning down to his, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Whatcha doing?" you ask innocently.

"Workin' on a campaign," he responds, "We're gonna meet up on Wednesday night so I want it to be semi together."

"Okay," you nod, you run your fingers gently over his scalp, giving him a soft scratch. He keens into the touch, shoulders relaxing while he rolls his head back. You press your luck, letting your fingertip trace over the curve of his ear.

"Hey," he warns softly, "I'm tryin' to focus, sweetheart."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you apologize, but he can't see your grin. Your fingers continue to wander, giving him a sweet shoulder massage while he reads over his story. A quiet 'thank you honey', falls from his full lips while you work out the knots. You press your luck again, trailing your finger down the line of his neck that's the most sensitive to your tongue and touch. Eddie's shoulders tense and he sits up straight, turning to you with a sour pull at his full lips.

"Do you need something?" he asks pointedly. You feel heat rush to your cheeks, "Do you need some attention?"

You nod and he grins, pulling the other kitchen chair over, "Come sit next to me then, you can help."

You roll your eyes and sit down next to him, he bites his tongue at the offense, happy to get to spend some time with you like this. He gives you a chaste kiss on your cheek while you watch him work.

You barely 'help', just sitting there while he crosses things out and re-writes them. While he flips back ten pages and then forward twenty, grabbing a red pencil and putting it down for a blue pencil then picking the red back up and so on. You get restless watching him work, so you get up and grab each of you a beer. Another sugar sweet, 'thaaank you baby,' pours from him, this time deep and focused, dark and syrupy. Molasses tongue. It goes right to your thighs.

You press your luck a third time, scooting close to him, letting your hand smooth over his covered thigh and further up, skimming over his cock that was perfectly outlined in his sweats. He let's out a frustrated sigh when he takes your hand away from his crotch, gently putting it on your lap when he looks at you sternly.

"Daddy's busy, baby," his eyes look down at you, his dominance brewing under angry brows, "Why don't you go play by yourself in another room, hm?"

He turns his attention back to the campaign notebook, while you throb from being scolded. The humilation pools through you when he chastises you, eyes lingering on you while you continue to sit there. After a beat, you get up to walk to the bedroom hearing his voice as you do.

"Good girl," he teases, "Are you being a good listener?"

You look back and see his grin while he leans back in the kitchen chair, crossing his arms. His legs are spread wide under the table, cool authority flowing off of him.

"Are you?" he asks again, a smirk cracking his face as if to ask, 'Does this embarrass you?' It does, it's humiliating.

"I'm a very good listener," you respond quietly, heart dropping in your chest.

His brows raise, waiting for you to add more to the sentence. You let out an aggravated huff through your nose, crossing your arms.

"I'm a very good listener, daddy," you repeat.

"There we go," he smiles cruelly, "Go have fun, sweetheart."

'Have fun? HAVE FUN?' you think to yourself while you go to the bedroom and shut the door with a firm click, 'Fine! I'll have fun without you then! See if I care!' It's not fair that you've been quite literally begging to be fucked for seven straight days, but to go straight into teasing you like this? The type of dominance that makes you feel the most -- god -- embarrassed? Degraded? You'd rather gag on fingers and have him wipe your spit on your face. You'd rather him make you lick someone's cum out of his ass, literally anything but this.

With a huff you open Eddie's top dresser drawer and grab the Hitatchi he bought you as an anniversary gift last year. Hastily, you plug it in behind the bedside table before climbing on to bed, shimmying your jeans off and tossing them to the floor.

Your legs spread, bent at the knees, turning the toy on low and slowly lowering it onto your covered core. The hum is quiet, barely a tremble in the head of the wand when it meets the lacy fabric of your panties. A soft gasp escapes you at the feeling, it had felt like years since you'd been touched there. You move the toy up and down slowly, teasing yourself, little puffs of breath escaping you as you do.

With a click, the buzz intensifies, sliding the head upward to settle softly on your clothed clit. You whimper while your hips start to move slowly against the vibrations, the whirr of the toy filling your ears while your eyes shut. You keep yourself like this for a little, enjoying the slow sensation, the mild tease. You feel it start, like the hook looping into the first car of a roller coaster train, the first tug when the attendant hits 'go'.

“Huh!” you gasp out breathy while your hips twitch. Your lower lips start to swell against the gusset of your bottoms, slick building between them. A slow start. You savor it, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Look so pretty like that, baby,” you hear his voice and gasp, tossing the toy next to you and snapping your legs shut. He smirks, a devilish chuckle bubbles from his chest, “Oh no, don’t let me interrupt. I said you could go play by yourself, and look at you…”

His voice raises in a lilt, while he sits on the bed. He passes you the wand and smiles, “You’re being such a good girl for me.”

“Go on,” he says with a nod, “Show daddy how you were playing.” You lean back on the pillows, opening up your legs again slowly. He glances between them, eyes flitting down to your mound briefly before meeting your eyes again, he subconciously licks his lips. You keep your legs up and bent up against your chest so he has a view, puffing out a soft sigh when you click the toy on again. He looks at you with a hazy gleam in his brown eyes, nodding slowly at you to remind you of his permission. You run it up your thigh before settling it back down on the center of your slit, letting the vibrations pulse over your entire core. "Hm," you hum out softly as your brows pinch together in a tilt. "Aw, yeah?" he coos out, "Does that feel good?"

"Mhm," you whine, lower lip tucked tight between your teeth. Yuo swallow when he reaches his hand out, smoothing over the soft plushness of your inner thigh. He squeezes, grinning when you let out a soft grunt with a twitch of your hips.

"You've been so patient this week," he purrs, "Such a good girl. Isn't that right?"

You nod hurriedly, watching his hand slide up your thigh, his index finger tracing up the hem of your underwear. It's a smooth hand off, watching his rings gleam in the bedside lamp when it wraps around the handle, both of your hands falling flat by your head. Your palms face the ceiling, matching your eyes when he turns up the vibrations. "Isn't that right, baby doll?" he asks, adding a gentle pressure up against you. Your pussy strains against the fabric the more excited you get, back already in a soft arch while you push into the mattress. "Y-yes, sir," you manage to mutter out. "No, no, that's not who I am tonight," he admonishes, still in a soft and steady voice, almost sweet -- like you don't understand anything. He takes the toy away; making you whimper, leaning up on your elbows behind you.

"You know how to address me," he says, a serpentine confidence flashing in his face, "You're a big girl, aren't you? Or do I have to teach you?"

You let out a shrill groan, head leaning back on it's hinge while your legs kick out in frustration in front of you.

"Hmm, of course," he says, getting up off the bed to pull off his shirt and slide off his sweats. His boxer briefs hug him in tight but it's there and it's missed you more than you've missed it this week, "You act like this and you don't think I should treat you like a little girl?"

You look up at him, bitten lower lip jutting out with a sheen of spit.

"So pouty, too," he coos, crawling onto the mattress between your parted thighs. He sits up on his knees, tall over your frame splayed out on the bed. He lifts one of your legs, pressing it flush against his chest so your foot rests by his ear.

"M'not pouty," you say back while his other hand reaches over your cheek with a light back before splaying over your jaw. His thumb brushes your lower lip before pressing on the dip at the center.

"Open," he instructs, you don't even think to stop yourself. You suck his thumb slow, letting your tongue lave over the length all the while. Spit fills your mouth, wet and eager, already inching at the corners of your mouth. You might as well drool. "Very good," he purrs again from the back of his throat, "Someone learned her lesson this week."

You nod, taking his wrist to steady his hand while you take more initiative with his thumb, implying what you really want.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," he says lowly, taking his thumb from your mouth. He wipes the spit on your cheek before reaching back over to the wand, keeping your legs spread and holding thight to your thigh against his front.

Your hips shimmy when he holds the toy back in place, thumb running over the power button but not pressing down.

"Hey," he says, commanding, "Look up at me."

Your gaze snaps to his in unadulterated obedience, his distaste for even having to ask evident on his face, "You know better."

"I know better," you nod while you say it, confirming his words. "You do not ever stop looking at me," he glowers down.

"I don't ever stop looking at you," you repeat back, needy for whatever he has for you next. Your hips shimmy again, you try to stifle the whine in your throat but it comes out just the same; desperate and childish. "Oh, baby, do you need help asking for what you want?" his voice lilts, "Does daddy have to guess?" "Turn it on, please," you whisper. "Please what, princess?" he asks, voice mocking with a knowing stare, leaning down so your knee hooks over his shoulder. His chest hovers at an angle over you, chain and guitar pick dangling over your lips. "Please what?" he asks again. "Please daddy," you whine, "Please turn the toy on." "Look at those manners," he grins wickedly, "My sweet girl."

He turns it on, speed setting high with the flick of his finger. It rumbles loud, thighs already twitching while runs it back and forth over your sensitive clit. "Fuck," you gasp out, eyes rolling, "Oh my god, right there." "That's not a very nice word, sweetheart," he chastises, "What do you say?"

"S-sorr-Oh! Oh my god! Oh! -- Sorry, d--shitshitshitshit-- sorrysorrysorrysorry," you nearly cry when the cord in your belly snaps, gushing into the fabric against your core. He greedily keeps your thighs apart, watching while you come undone under him. You gulp when he doesn't take the toy away, your sensitive nerves screaming at the buzz of the vibrator. Your hips writhe and jump, trying to pull away from it all the while he's shaking his head no.

"Gotta hear that apology, princess," he murmurs, "Say sorry."

"Sorry daddy, I'm sorry," you babble out, "M'sorry I'll be so good, I'll be good." He let's out a satisfied hum, clicking the wand off and placing it gingerly on the bedside table. His hand lingers for a moment to make sure it doesn't roll off and then finds it's footing back on the mattress.

"You'll be so good?"

"So good," you nod when he settles back between your thighs. He crawls forward like a cat, pressing his hips slowly up against yours. You sigh needily when you feel the drag of his erection against you, whimpering when you see it affect him the same way. "Shit, baby," he smirks, trying not to break character while he grinds against you a second time, "Fuck." "That's not a very nice word," you tease back, looking up at him through heavy lids. "Well I'm not a very nice guy, am I?" he muses, leaning in to kiss you deeply before one hand reaches down to tug at your panties. You giggle, a sound that sends him reeling when he's in this kind of mood. "You're very nice," you whisper against his lips. "Hmm, yeah?" he growls, noses brushing while he lingers above you. He offers another roll of his hips right before he gets to work on pulling your panties down slipping them off of each ankle with ease. Undressed completely below him, he admires you. He hadn't seen you like this all week, finally getting what you've been waiting for. So patient, so willing. He runs his hands from shoulders to hips, greedy fingers digging into you rough and tumble, grabbing and kneading with disregard to comfort. "Daddy," you start, getting his attention in a voice that makes him ready to serve accordingly, "Fuck me."

A smirk splits his face, it's cute when you ask so brazenly when you're busy looking at him with those sad puppy eyes. "Please, fuck me," you reiterate while he readies himself, boxer briefs peeling off to leave him bare. Your soft gasp at the release of his cock is more of an ego trip than he expected to have, never realizing how much you truly need him like this. How you can really only get off to him, how you've submitted in every way you could. "Daddy's gonna fuck you, sweetheart," he says steadily, climbing back ontop of you, pressing your thighs to your chest, "God, m'gonna fuck you real good."

He leans in for another hungry kiss, ownership laced in his lips. When he breaks away you catch his chin in your hand, an action that makes him bristle, jaw clenching at your attempt at control.

"Fuck me like I've been bad," you request in a timbre so low he nearly melts at the sound, "Fuck me how you fuck bad girls."

He's never flipped you over so fast in your life.

[hiraethwa]

how to kill a god

two from <the collection — how to kill a god>

pairing. gojo satoru x reader

cw. special grade sorcerer!reader, non-canon lore!, coma, ANGST, post hidden inventory arc

wc. 3.3k

come home. come back to me.

gojo satoru thought he knew loneliness. isolation. 

a dry laugh escapes his lips at his predicament—the aftermath of one fushiguro toji. 

his best friend, razed down an entire village, took his own parents' lives, on the run. him, appointed executioner by the jujutsu higher up’s because there was no one else who could kill geto suguru.

no one else out of the four—now three remaining special grade sorcerers available, anyway. yuki tsukumo never heeded any of their demands, so that left gojo and you. 

you still laying unmoving on the sick bed before him. a coma, shoko had told him, for reasons unknown even to the gifted healer. 

a year. it has been more than a year since their failure to protect the star plasma ves—amanai. 

he wonders which would have been worse—this, or if you had been on the mission with him and suguru. wonders if things would have been different, ended differently.

gojo glances at your pale lips, your serene expression that is frozen in time, as if you had welcomed death with open arms. he supposes you always had a foot in the after realm after his clan took you in. 

no, you would have taken that blade, cursed or not, in his place. it’s by a miracle, or a mistake, that the killing blow was with a normal blade, not a cursed one. if it had been cursed… not even him, the strongest sorcerer of modern history could have made it back.

he hates that—you accepting that your life is dispensable compared to his. you had always been stubborn, needlessly infuriating, even when you came back as a transfer student after being sent away for two whole years because of that incident, a whole different person.

gojo had no idea what they did to you to extinguish the fire smoldering in your eyes, and you had refused to talk about it. everytime he tried to broach the subject, you would shut down completely. even the embers that suguru coaxed out of you would stutter and die out.

but the way you still managed to get under his skin, crack his mask with your jabs and meanness after all you have been through—he hates that too. 

“i am sorry i didn’t visit you until now.” 

he is a coward. 

for not visiting you sooner, leaving only suguru and shoko to stay by your bedside, checking on your condition. each time he dredged up his courage to stop by the sickbay, he stood frozen in the doorway, his feet resisting from taking any further steps towards you, lifeless and calm as though you laid in a coffin.

his six eyes told him all he needed to know about your condition, your cursed energy levels barely registering on his senses. he did not deserve to see you after everything that had happened.

it was his fault. his fault for being arrogant, for overestimating himself, for not being strong enough to defeat fushiguro when they first fought.

the fear stayed with him—the fear that struck deep in his soul when your soul wrenching scream echoed down your twisted bond as fushiguro dragged that blade up through his torso and stabbed him through the head. 

he had been unafraid, even as death stared him in the face. except, he did not expect you to be there—you were supposed to be on your own mission. 

but the thought of you dying, it made his blood run cold. suspended in the space between life and death as he used reverse cursed technique to heal himself, his consciousness had felt the bond stretch so thin that he realized what was feeling for the first time—fear. 

faster, he urged his healing that was slowly knitting the mess of his brain matter back in place. faster. 

he found you in a pool of your own blood, not that far from the crater he laid dead on, unresponsive with shallow breaths, and ran, with you in his arms to shoko, as his newly mended injuries stretched and groaned in soreness. as his non-life-threatening wounds continued to knit itself closed. 

gojo ran, as though his life depended on it. 

had all but dropped you into shoko’s arms, not even hearing her worried calls after him to assess the extent of his injuries, knowing that if anyone could save you, it was shoko, before he descended into bloodlust. 

gojo had emerged from that fight as the winner, but the damage was done—fushiguro toji had taught gojo satoru to fear. suguru, too. 

they had coped with the fallout in their own ways, but suguru—

suguru never really recovered from it, and gojo’s own fixation on becoming stronger, his resolve for history to not repeat itself, had blinded him to his best friend’s struggle.

he should have known. he should have known that the ever-deepening bags under suguru’s eyes, the gauntness of his cheeks and his figure, symptoms that suguru had attributed to the summer heat were signs of ptsd. 

you would have known. if not for him, you would not be in this state. if not for him, you would have helped suguru heal from their traumatic mission. if not for him, suguru would have had his girlfriend’s support and care, and not committed the atrocities that he did. 

if he had taken some time to actually check on suguru—

his heart stutters as your finger twitches. was that real? 

“can you hear me?” his breath hitches, lodges itself in his throat as he waits for another movement. anything.

he itches to touch you just to make sure you are real, reaching out to check that you are here with him, but stops short just as he remembers the distaste you had for skin-to-skin contact. 

so gojo drops his hand, sitting next to you silently while hoping for another sign that you are still in there, occupying the seat that used to be suguru’s on the third day since the village massacre. 

nothing. he exhales shakily. it was his imagination fooling him after all.

gojo satoru had lost his heart. he couldn’t lose his soul too. 

gojo visited you more regularly after suguru defected, or at least he tried to. 

between missions and classes and other things that needed his attention, he would be lucky if he had thirty quiet minutes with you before he was being called away again.

each time he stops by, he talks to you about how his recent mission went, how absurd the class yaga is making him take is, how he misses you and suguru, half hoping he could wake you up by annoying you with all the talking he is doing for two. 

each time he has to go, he makes sure the blanket is covering your still body properly, careful that he doesn’t accidentally touch your skin lest your eyes fly open in disgust to yell at him. actually, that would be preferable over you laying so peacefully as if you had not a care left in this world—as if you were ready to go. 

he would not accept that. no, he would rip apart the endless fabric of the universe with purple to get you back. 

his shadow, who had suffered too much, too young, all in his name. 

you deserved to live, and to be happy. for a while, you were. 

suguru made you happy. suguru, with his savior tendencies, had taken you in and nursed you back to crackling embers despite your complaints.

the unspoken thing between him and suguru had been forgotten and left untouched when you showed up, a curve ball in their lives. 

it had been sometime halfway through their first year when you were dropped off at jujutsu high’s doorstep with nothing but the clothes on your back. 

your hair, once a bob like shoko’s, had been chopped off to his length. your demeanor and appearance so vastly different from the last time he had laid his eyes on you that he had almost mistaken you for someone else entirely if not for his six eyes.

he had stared at you in disbelief as you walked into class, taking a seat next to shoko without so much as a glance at him. everything that was taught in class that day flew right over his head with you occupying his mind, glances thrown your way so every often as he pretended to listen to whatever yaga was saying. 

as if his six eyes could see through shoko to you.

gojo had waited, though impatiently, for classes to end before catching up to your quick exit from the classroom the moment class was dismissed. his hand grabbing your wrist before his brain could catch up to him. 

your eyes, once living flames themselves, was reduced to nothing more than glowing coals. his shadow, who had always been more fire than girl—what had they done to you because of his thoughtless actions?

gojo’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, grasping at straws of things he should say to you. i’m sorry takes the first place of all the possible things he could—should open the first conversation with you in over two years with. 

“let me go.” your golden eyes stared at him in disdain. 

“i’m—” 

you cut him off irritatedly, “i don’t care, satoru. don’t fucking touch me.”

he retracted his hand immediately. you hate him. he deserved it after everything you had been through—but it shocked him more than hurt him that you said that with so much spite. 

spite that had never been directed towards him, never present in your endless mockery and taunts throughout the years. 

and then you were gone. geto sauntered over to him, amused at the sight of gojo being put in his place by their new classmate, even more so that you knew him. 

“satoru, huh? you know her or something?”

gojo merely scrunched his nose at his friend in faux annoyance. “just someone i knew before high school. someone i owe.” 

geto waited for some sort of explanation, but gojo did not seem inclined to talk about it, walking ahead to the gym. he knew satoru well enough by now to know that it wasn’t nothing. that it was a matter that weighed heavy on his soul. 

that underneath all his cheerfulness and wildness lives a boy who cared far too much. 

he softened, looking at the white-haired boy who he had a weak spot for, “do you want me to talk to her for you?” 

gojo shrugged, looking back at his friend, “do whatever you want to. she doesn’t care for fake kindness or concern.” he half expected him to leave it at that.

not whatever that you two had become. 

he should have known that suguru always gravitated towards the broken ones—being one of them himself, he should have known. his moral compass and savior complex compelling him to do something; to save you, even if it’s from yourself.

geto had pushed and prodded you relentlessly until you let him in. the embers sparked to life in your golden eyes, a living proof of his warmth and kindness.

gojo saw that, the changes in you that are painfully obvious in his—geto’s presence, so he let his heart go without so much a protest.

he made an unspoken promise to you then—geto suguru was yours if you wanted. you deserved to be happy, even at the cost of his heart. even if geto suguru was his before you.  

gojo satoru had not regretted it then. he does not regret it now, as he gazes at you fondly. his personal spitfire. 

it is time to say his goodbyes again, having stopped by after he returned from his mission. he has to leave early tomorrow for another one again since geto’s share of missions fell upon his shoulders. 

“you were such a wretched girl, burning anyone who is careless in getting too close to you, and yet suguru thought otherwise.” he chuckles at his memory, pulling the blanket over you the way you like it. geto had smiled so warmly while telling gojo how you loved to pull the blankets all the way up to your chin.

he pushes a stray piece of hair out of your face absentmindedly, his hand brushing against your cheek on accident. 

cold, your skin feels so cold to his touch. he realizes that a second too late—that he was touching you. 

gojo stills as his six eyes register a fluctuation from you. his cursed energy flows from where his fingers rest on your cheekbone, disappearing into your skin. 

you are absorbing his cursed energy. 

he thinks he sees pink bloom in your skin, your sickly pallor improving almost instantaneously, imperceptibly in his eyes. he stares in disbelief as your body greedily drinks his cursed energy. 

revelation hits him like a freight train.

oh gods, were they all idiots? your cursed energy never replenished after the incident, almost nonexistent on his radar. could it be that you were unable to regenerate your own cursed energy, needing a jumpstart like a car battery? 

“shoko!” gojo shouts for his friend, careful not to break the skin contact between you just in case it doesn’t work again. “shoko, get your ass over here!”

“slow your roll, gojo,” she calls from her computer, still typing away at the stupid keyboard.

“shoko,” he warns, “it’s important, get over here!”

she sighs, reluctantly walking over to your bed, not wanting to get her hopes up just to have them dashed again. “what’s so urgent that i can’t—”

your eyes fly open, unfocused. it startles gojo so hard that he almost jumped away from you. only his sense of self preservation kept him rooted to the ground—and his skin rooted to yours.

“i fucking told you,” he hisses quietly, as though you could hear them. 

shoko gets to work immediately, fishing out her pen light and reaching for your eyes. “well, what are you doing? get off her.”

“i can’t, can’t you just do it with me in the way?” shoko thinks this is one of the few times she could use the term helpless to describe gojo satoru, sighing again at his odd behavior and doing as he asks anyway.

“there’s no reaction, gojo. she’s not waking up, as much as both of us wish it.” 

stubborn to a fault, gojo insists, “but she opened her eyes.” 

“it could be nothing more than a random muscle reflex.” it’s a hard pill to swallow. as a doctor, she knows the facts and the chances, although she cannot help but hope for it to be a sign of you leaving the deep coma you are in. 

she still doesn’t want to get gojo’s hopes up in case it isn’t. 

“her color looks better too, does it not?” 

“satoru—” she calls his name softly, hoping to let him down gently. 

“she’s taking my cursed energy, ieiri. tell me honestly, does she look more healthy than before?”

gojo waits, fingers still touching your skin for shoko’s verdict. “she does, but—”

“why is she in a coma?” 

“i don’t know, gojo. you have asked me that question so many times i lost track of the count. don’t you think i want my friend to wake up too?”

“then hear me out. did you ever notice anything wrong with her cursed energy?”

“you know i can’t measure that.” she throws her hands out in frustration. 

“she’s as close to zero as fushiguro toji was. or she was. it’s growing by the minute as she absorbs more from me.”

“don’t be absurd. if she was absorbing cursed energy through skin contact, we would have known. geto used to hold her hand for hours, he would have felt it.”

“what if it’s just me?” 

gojo does not know if you ever told geto about your innate ability to absorb cursed energy from humans through skin contact. shoko has no knowledge of it at the very least. 

he had helped you keep it a secret from the world—your ability that would have earned you an immediate death sentence the moment the higher ups learnt of it. and somehow, in the wake of everything that had happened, it slipped his mind.

he is an idiot, the world’s biggest one.

“she’s my shadow, so what if it’s just me?” he knows you could absorb cursed energy from anyone, but you had learnt to switch your innate ability off at will years ago. as far as he is concerned, you had not absorbed cursed energy from anyone in years. 

he wonders if you’re unconsciously willing it so, or if you only felt safe enough to take from him even in your deep sleep like trance. or if you are so weakened that his cursed energy was the easiest for you to consume. 

—if all the legends were true.

gojo always had his doubts but… it would help explain why you only absorbed his cursed energy, if you were truly born as a pair. it would make sense why his cursed energy is the most compatible for your weak body to absorb. 

it would also mean that you are meant to sacrifice your life for his. 

he still rejects that, refuses to accept it—but if it meant he could save you, if you would wake up, then—

then he would cross that bridge when it comes to it, forbid you from saving him or something. his word has to count for something, right?

“alright, suppose she’s absorbing your cursed energy. what are you suggesting? that she needs cursed energy to wake up?”

“yeah, simple as that. occam’s razor, right?”

“i don’t know if that’s how occam—” shoko stops herself at the hope surfacing in his eyes. “fine, what do we have to lose? i guess you could stay there for another hour and see if it works.”

gojo grins back at her, a genuine smile stretching from ear to ear, hopeful at the possibility of you waking up soon, settling into the uncomfortable plastic chair by the bed—the same one that she used to find geto asleep in, body folded into a position that cannot be comfortable. 

“don’t stay too long. you need to get some sleep too. don’t you have another mission tomorrow?” she reminds him as she takes leave for the night, her words falling on deaf ears. 

shoko knows that shared stubbornness well, it’s a language all of you are well versed in; knows gojo well enough to know that it is more likely than not for her to find him in the same position tomorrow. ah, well, whatever suits him.

and sure enough, he was still there in the morning when she got to the infirmary. 

his head of snow white hair almost blends in with the white of the bedsheets, having fallen asleep on his arms against you with his hand in yours. even in his sleep, he is holding onto your hand securely, as if he is afraid of you slipping away through his fingers again.

“gojo, wake up. yaga is looking for you.” she nudges his shoulder gently so as to not startle him. she would much rather not deal with a hollow purple today.

he shifts in his sleep, a frown etched onto his features, a soft whine escaping his partly open lips. “gojooo,” she pokes him.

gojo tightens his hold on you as he blinks his eyes open, rubbing the sleep from them. and just ever so slightly, he feels a twitch on his hand. 

“s–shoko? did you–” he stumbles through his words, disbelief holding him hostage. and hope, hope that he hasn’t dared to firmly hold onto soars through him. 

your fingers twitch again, flexing as if to test out muscles that haven’t been in use for a year. flexes and clutches onto his hand softly with all the strength in your frail body. 

i’m here, satoru. 

shoko’s lab coat swishes with a flurry of movements, her actions gone unnoticed by him, as his vision becomes blurry. tears flood his eyes, tears he doesn’t remember shedding in a very long time. 

and finally, shoko speaks up, wonder and incredulity thick in her voice, “i think she’s waking up.”

a/n. nyahhhhh, mixed feelings about this one, but i can't wait to write her waking up :3

awaiting updates? browse the library while waiting

if you liked this, please consider leaving a like, comment, rb or ask <3 (perhaps i enjoy breaking hearts a little too much)

taglist. @inlove-maze @regalillegal @danielmarie @lvrellie @suniix @madaqueue @celloccino @sharkiethrts @corvid007 @cookielovesbook-akie @itsdragonius @hiraethwrote @nyahctrl @starlightanyaaa @just-pure-trash @ladygojooo @box-of-roses @fushitoru @mintgrumpy @hatsukeii @bakery-anon @daisy-room @scamsz @gojoed @neptlovesu @aerareads @jfk-inflation @juneslove21 @diorzs @aloserprobably @spindyl @theclassbookworm @its-simply-fanfiction @shi-toshi @becca388510 @thegreatandlvable @curtins @alverdekote @lost_seraphiim @pearlstiare @xsvnh @kazuuhali @anonnieghost @ssetsuka @bellelamoon @iwanttohitmyself @chawwwwwa

(closed)