#basically this is any sun but he's suffering

[sabrondabrainrot]

🩸🔆Woe Period Cramps Upon Ye🔆🩸

My period started and I did the very healthy and normal thing and gave him cramps too. Almost threw up at work 💗 The chair Sun was me at work for real.

Love ya Sun, this is like ibuprofen.

[wormkink]

URGENT: YOU CAN SAVE HAMMAD AND HIS FAMILY ❤️‍🩹‼️🇵🇸

VETTED BY ASSOCIATION: Hammad and his family are friends with Safaa [VETTED BY 90-GHOST]

$2,940 / $20,000

The last post about Hammad’s campaign is LOSING TRACTION FAST and DONATIONS ARE DWINDLING.

We need YOUR HELP to BOOST THIS POST: PLEASE REBLOG & SHARE ACROSS ALL OF YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA.

[DM FOR READY-TO-POST PICTURES & WORDS FOR HAMMAD’S CAMPAIGN SO ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS HIT POST]

Meet Hammad A.

Hammad is one out of 9 members of his family. He is the eldest boy and the sole provider of his family at the young age of 24 since his father has been battling heart disease, and consequently suffered a debilitating heart attack.

[TW: Close by sounds of heavy artillery shelling and bombing.]

Months ago, at the start of the war, the neighborhood that Hammad and his family grew up in, where they created and held so many cherished memories and bonds, was besieged.

For days, Hammad and his family were trapped, terrified, between the once stable, now crumbling, walls of his home that once brought comfort and privacy to him now threatened to crush him beneath the rubble and the violent shelling of bullets and bombs whistling past their ears through the air and decimating anything it came in contact with.

His family sat, hungry, terrified, praying to live, watching the sun make its rounds past the plumes of black smoke rising from crumpled homes that once lined their block. This is only a fraction of what Hammad has been forced to endure for the over 550 days.

He watched his beautiful home be destroyed — the memories of his childhood, destroyed; the hard work he and his family put into creating their home, destroyed; the pride he and his family had of their home, destroyed; comfort and security, destroyed.

So Hammad pitched a tent. In the face of exposure to harsh elements, forced conditions of unsanitary environments where disease and sickness spreads rapidly, and deprived of the most basic necessities with skyrocketing costs for flour, clothes, and shelter, Hammad persevered to keep his family alive and as safe as he could. He cared for his father as best he could, but his heart disease requires an operation that none of the besieged or otherwise destroyed hospitals of Gaza can do.

But a day came where deafening and core shaking sounds of shelling and bombardment shook the nearby area as they prepared food. Terrified, they ran for their lives. And when they were able to return, their tent has caught fire and burnt down, along with the few items in their tent that they were able to grab from their home before it was destroyed.

Faced with extreme hunger, thirst, displacement, and now the tent burnt down leading to more exposure to the harsh elements, Hammad’s father’s condition has only worsened. The resilience and strength Hammad has constantly and consistently shown only goes so far in the face of the lifeblood of his family suffering under such dire conditions, and I cannot bear for Hammad to have to endure the heartbreak of losing his father.

There is no more room for any more tragedy in his life. We cannot allow it.

While there is a lot of notes on the last post about Hammad’s campaign, traction has been dwindling fast and donations have been slowing down. I cannot emphasize enough the urgency of this campaign and how critically Hammad needs your help.

‼️ STAND IN SOLIDARITY WITH GAZA AND DONATE TODAY ‼️

Chuffed has a waiting period for processing and transferring funds. If you want your donation to IMMEDIATELY be sent to Hammad, paypal is linked below.

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — TWO.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 7.6k.

NOTE. i tagged this as hate to love. i meant it. na jaemin is an objectively shitty person and i’ve given myself the herculean task of trying to redeem him (if ever) HAHAHHAHAHAHA. also, i tried to cut as many corners as i could in the trial scene. don’t expect it to be accurate. anyway, hope this chapter is fun! please let me know what you think! CHAPTER THREE.

YOU DIDN’T THINK YOU’D EVER FEEL THIS KIND OF DREAD ON A MONDAY AGAIN. The usual dread borne out of starting yet another week as a capitalist slave is given. It’s nothing special. But the dread you feel today as you drive to Yeongdeungpo Police Station (yet again, to the point that you’re starting to feel like an inmate yourself) is a dread that you haven’t felt in a long ass while.

Specifically, eight years ago. You’re like a broken record at this point, but it doesn’t stop you from continually cursing Na Jaemin in your mind as you stomp through the echoing halls of the station. Officer Jung is leading the way yet again to the visitation room, all while suffering from the brunt of your temper.

“He didn’t decline your request today,” he starts, attempting to make conversation.

No fucking shit, you reply in your head. “Thank you for the patience, officer,” you vocalize with a constipated smile. 

It seems like Officer Jung managed to catch the eye roll you didn’t intend for him to see. He gives you one polite smile and doesn’t make any more attempts after that, speaking only once you’ve reached the visitation room to unlock it and wish you luck with a nod. 

You thank him, sucking in a deep breath as you force your joints to start creaking. Luck. The door clicks behind you. You damn need more than luck to get through this meeting and this entire case. You need the very devil’s mercy and cooperation.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

But the devil isn’t a merciful man. You swallow down a lump in your throat and force out a smile.

“How have you been?”

He stares you down with the weight of a thousand suns, stabbing you right in the gut with a pain enough to incite a wave of nauseous vomit. “Get on with it,” he rasps. “I don’t think you got Mark on my ass just for some stupid fucking small talk. Hurry up and get on with it.”

Your smile twitches. This guy has never learned how to speak nicely.

*‎

(You’ve established that your new seatmate is Na Jaemin. Yet that’s all you’ve come to know about him up until the bell rings to signal lunch time.

Carefully sneaking out of your seat, you peer down to see that he’s still deep asleep. You huff. Wow. Four classes have gone by, and this guy slept through it all. And none of the teachers even called him out— only going as far as sending a look of resigned acknowledgement at your direction, sometimes even relief. Sometimes fear.

Anyhow, that first half of your day was enough to answer why Natty gave you that warning earlier: that the seat you chose was the worst one possible— next to the very embodiment of trouble, even if you don’t know the details just yet.

Despite not knowing much, you’re already blaming him for the fact that you’re eating lunch alone. 

The heat from the stew broth pricks at the skin of your lips as you scan around the cafeteria. You notice a few familiar faces scattered around, all sitting either in pairs or in groups in their respective seats and tables. You even lock eyes with Natty at some point, who simply averts your gaze with guilt ridden twitch as she turns head to her friend, someone you don’t recognize was in your class. 

Seems like you were doomed from the moment you sat your ass down on that seat. Fuck’s sake. Whoever this Na Jaemin guy is, you don’t like him already. You decide to temper your annoyed steps with some ice cream from the snack bar, seeing that there’s still a couple of minutes left before the afternoon bell. You pick up an extra snack as well— a melon bread wrapped in green tinted plastic. Something to pick at from under your desk as you go through your afternoon classes. You grab a can of pink peach soda to drink on the way back.

Upon returning to your classroom, the first thing you notice is the fact that no one else is here when there’s only five minutes left before lunch.

The second thing you notice— 

“Hey, you.”

There is, in fact, someone here.

Na Jaemin had sat up from the cross-armed, sleep-ridden slump he’d been in all morning. He’s awake. Now that his face isn’t buried, you finally have something to match the name.

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?”

There’s a distinct scowl on his face as he sets his phone down on his desk, shoulders slacked and sitting with his legs apart, which pushed your seat away to the very edge of your desk space. 

You feel a twitch in your brow. The annoyance prompts your feet to move close, triggers your mouth to open and speak back. “What?” you start. “There’s—there’s a bell that—”

“I was fucking asleep, you dumb fuck.” Na Jaemin cuts you off, and you flinch. “You think I’d hear a damned bell when I’m knocked the fuck out?” 

A gut feeling kicks in, forcing you to preemptively stop, look down, and choke down the remnants of your words into a stifling silence. You try to take a peek at Na Jaemin’s expression, but the sound of a tongue clicking in annoyance and the reeling back of a chair forces your eyes to continue staring at the classroom floor, feeling your entire body reverberating with the loud sound of your heartbeat as Na Jaemin’s presence loom closer. 

“I asked you a fucking question.”

“S—sorry,” you sputter out. “I’ll…I’ll wake you tomorrow.”

For a brief moment, you manage to take a quick glance at na Jaemin’s face, standing right before you.

And the sheer disdain and annoyance in his eyes makes you instantly regret that very decision.

“Useless.” You flinch back down and  hear him release a huff as he snatches the half-drunk peach soda from your hands. Your feet are nailed to the ground, and Na Jaemin proceeds to down the remnants of the drink before tossing the empty can back to you, shoving past you as the bell rings— and you hear a fumble of apologies from outside the door as Na Jaemin saunters out of the classroom.

Finally looking up, you see your classmates crowding outside the classroom, some slowly trickling in upon noticing that the coast is clear. 

You don’t think you’re wrong to assume that they’d seen everything that happened in the room. You don’t think you noticed wrong either that they’re deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

All of them make it to their seats. No one tries to talk to you after that, but that’s not the topmost thing that you’re troubled with.

You promised to wake Na Jaemin up for lunch tomorrow. You might have just become his personal alarm clock.)

*‎

In retrospect, that was a completely void agreement. God, it pisses you off thinking just how much of a doormat you were. Still are, considering you’re barely keeping it together sitting in front of Na Jaemin when you’re supposed to be the authoritative figure here. It pisses you off even more knowing that he doesn’t even remember you. 

His impatient taps on the wooden table echo and bounce off the walls of the visitation room. 

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you inhale sharply. “Your hearing is this Thursday, two days from now. I’ve already made the necessary preparations for your defense, and—”

“So, you’re finally getting me out?”

Can this son of a bitch let you fucking speak? “Hopefully,” you promptly answer. “I’m confident in the case I’ve prepared. However, there’s…something I need you to do in order to ensure that the judge will rule in our favor, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

Here we go. You gotta tread this carefully. Very carefully, because you know damn well that Na Jaemin doesn’t like being ordered around. 

“It is very likely that the prosecution will call you to the witness stand. You have every power to invoke your right against self-incrimination. But in our case, allowing yourself to be cross-examined by the prosecution would actually be favorable for us as a testament to your innocence, so long as you stick to the script.” It’s hard to get a hint of how well he’s receiving this because you’re too scared shitless to look him straight in the face. All you can do is hope he’s actually listening and not picking his ears as you continue to prattle on. “You just have to agree to Atty. Jung Sungchan’s line of questioning— even the fact that you fought the witnesses. However, you have to say that you didn’t start the fight. You don’t remember how the fight started. And you sustained significant injuries yourself.”

Na Jaemin got out of that altercation with just a few bruises and scratches, but the doctor Mark Lee referred you to was able to turn that into a couple broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. He agreed to attest to the medical report on the stand as well.

The only missing piece you really need right now is Na Jaemin’s testimony and cooperation. 

His lack of response does not bode well for you. The room swallows you up in its cold and eerie silence. “Do you…follow…Na Jaemin-ssi…?” you try to prod out a response. And you get a response, all right.

Just not the kind of response you’d been praying for.

“Are you saying that I have to go up there, pretend I took a beating from those sissy fucks, and act all pathetic and pitiful like a little bitch?”

There’s an angry kick against the table. You suck down a breath when you feel the wooden edge jam against your ribcage.

“Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, ignoring the sharp pain on your torso because that’s the least of your problems right now. Why…why does he have to be so goddamn difficult? Fuck’s sake. “Na Jaemin-ssi,” you exhale. “I’m not—I’m not telling you to do all those things. I’m just saying that the only way we could see your full acquittal is if we prove that Yoon Naksung and his party were also at fault.”

“We? That’s your damn job, attorney. You want me to do your fucking job for you?” 

This is different from when he was trying to deliberately push your buttons last time.

He’s mad. He’s really freaking mad.

“Get out. Get the fuck out.”

You know a warning when you hear one. You waste no time gathering yourself and speed walking out the door— half out of fear, mostly out of angered frustration because holy fuck. This is a mess. You’re so fucking screwed. Sure, you managed to get Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong to cooperate with you. Sure, you managed to get a doctor to fake his medical exam. But all that would be useless if your bastard of a client decides to run his mouth and brag about just how much he wrecked those idiots’ asses.

Say, you don’t force him to testify. Once the witnesses come out and follow the script you made, the judge might still compel Na Jaemin to take the stand to confirm things. If he says anything to the contrary, you’re as good as screwed. At best, you’d lose the case. At worst, you’d be charged with contempt of court, and you can kiss your license goodbye.

That’s how your meeting ends— with a looming sense of dread that follows you out the doorway.

You exit the visitation room as if you’d just gotten your life ripped out from your own hands. It doesn’t go under Officer Jung’s notice, who’d been waiting by the door. 

“JJS is always handling the tough cases,” he remarks.

You grunt. “Give us a call when you wanna get silly with your gun and try shooting at random civilians.”

Thank god he doesn’t attempt any more small talk, nor does he follow you out. You’re way too exhausted right now— mostly emotionally and psychologically, and you’ve almost broken yourself down to simply just admit defeat and abandon this motherfucker’s ass. He can continue being a bitch in jail for all you care. You’re done. You’re so fucking done. You decide that you don’t give a shit anymore and give Mark a call right outside the station.

Four rings. Then he picks up. “Hey,” you immediately start. “What will you do if I fail to release your dog?”

Mark Lee never even got the chance to greet you back when you tossed this question at him. “Hmm,” he ponders, leaving a gap for a quiet pause. “That’s not something I’ve even considered, attorney. I really value our relationship thus far.”

You don’t even give him a response before ending the call. Your arm falls limp on your side. Fuck. You’re so dead.

Either in the hands of Mark Lee, or Na Jaemin, should you continue trying to push him. You’ve only ever seen the lengths of the latter’s violence. You don’t intend on finding out just how much of a psycho the former is. So death by Na Jaemin, it is.

You bring your phone up and call Mark again and ask for another meeting with your client tomorrow. He says he’s always happy to oblige.

*‎

(At some point, after a whole week of being Na Jaemin’s alarm clock, you started to wonder— why the hell do you have to keep doing this?

Lunch bells. Dismissals. Having to leave the classroom for gym or for some other special class. He expects you to wake him up or else you’d get your fucking ass kicked, and even when you do wake him up, he gives you a nasty ass look as if he’s about to kick your ass, until you promptly squeak out that class has ended, or whatever your teachers’ instructed you to do that day.

It’s only after seven days of this bullshit that you realize that you don’t owe him. You’re under no obligation whatsoever to keep being his alarm lackey or answer to him in any way shape or form. He’s just a guy. He’s just a student, just like you. And you bet that he’s probably just bluffing. 

All he’s ever done is snatch your drink from you. He hasn’t even laid a hand on you.

So just as you march back to the classroom after having your lunch at the cafeteria— alone, because getting involved with Na Jaemin has ruined all your chances of making any friends— you decide that it’s finally time to put your foot down and tell him that you’re not his slave. You’re not doing this crap anymore.

Yet your newfound sense of will-power is promptly deflated when you slide open the classroom door and see that your seatmate isn’t snoozing in his usual spot.

In fact, no one is seated in their seats. Your brows furrow in confusion upon noticing that all your classmates are crowding the windows on the other side of the room, all pressing up the glass, gawking and gasping at the same thing.

“Is that Park Gunho from Class 9?”

“Yeah, dude. I heard him talking shit about Na Jaemin the other day, and— oh! Ouch. That’s gotta hurt.”

“Holy shit, is that blood?”

“Where the hell are the teachers?”

You managed to squeeze in between two of your classmates, looking through the glass and right at the crowded spectacle in the courtyard— just in time to watch Na Jaemin land a crunchy punch into Gunho’s nose that has you wincing, even when the fight is happening from several feet away. 

At this point, the other guy is barely standing on his feet. Practically limping when your demon of a seatmate twists his arm behind, only to shove a kick into his back, sending him straight to the dusty ground. You watch as Na Jaemin stomps a foot into the poor guy’s knuckle’s. You can’t hear Park Gunho from here, but you can feel his choked up yelp penetrating into your skin and shuddering into your bones. Holy shit. This guy is a fucking monster. And you almost just offered yourself up to him like an idiot.

The worst part about it is the fact that Na Jaemin looks like he’s having the time of his life. There’s this crazed look on his face as he walks up to Gunho who’s trying to lip away— only to be yanked by the hair and slammed back into the ground— pinned down by Na Jaemin’s foot as the latter huffs out a grin, and says something that fails to reach your ears.

Needless to say, you’re horrified. This could have been you. 

Na Jaemin seems to have heard your thoughts because right at that moment, he snaps his head up, pinstruck gaze shooting through the windows of your classroom— looking directly at you.

Your blood runs cold. You gulp.

Someone draws the curtains back down. “Fuck, you don’t think he say our faces, do you?” You feel yourself stumble back, and with lightheaded steps, you guide yourself to your assigned seat, and start praying to whatever’s up there that Na Jaemin did not recognize you from down there. 

Much to your relief, he doesn’t return upon the right of the afternoon bell. He comes back between fifth and sixth period, looking like he’s in the best mood he’s ever been throughout your first week here, and it drives an even deeper pit of dread in your stomach.

The classroom grows colder as he comes nearer to your desk. He haphazardly draws the chair next to you back, you flinch, and he sets himself down with satisfied huff, right before assuming his usual position— arms crossed on the desk, serving as his pillow for the rest of the class day. “Oi,” he muffles out to the only person he could be talking to right now— you. There’s still blood on his uniform sleeve. You start to feel nauseous. “Wake me when the bell rings.”

You thought that that fight between him and Park Gunho was the worst thing you’ll ever witness in Ganghak.

Turns out, things would just get worse from here).

*‎

“All rise! The court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Bae Joohyun, presiding.”

It takes all the strength in your body to get up and not fall over from a mere gust of wind from the courtroom’s ventilation system. You’re exhausted. You haven’t gotten any sleep last night from the crippling anxiety of what’s waiting for you today. It took everything in your power to just look presentable for today’s trial. 

You’re a shell of a human being— that much is obvious considering you’re one step behind when Judge Bae instructs everyone to be seated. 

“We are here on the case of Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong versus Na Jaemin. Is the prosecution ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Is the defense ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.” No, you’re fucking not. You did in fact manage to meet with Na Jaemin one last time yesterday, and you barely managed to acquiesce something of an agreement out of him— most likely because he was threatened by Mark. But you’re not sure if that threat was strong enough for him to actually cooperate with you today.

“Very well. Prosecution, you may make your opening statement.”

Speaking of the bastard, you notice from the corner of your eye Na Jaemin’s unabashed yawn while Jung Sungchan introduces himself and his clients. God. This is a sickening set up— him sitting directly to your right. It’s like this day was designed specifically to make you feel like you’re back in that hell. More than anything, you just want this over and done with. 

“Thank you. May I request the defense to make your opening statement.”

As you make your way to the designated podium, you cross paths with Jung Sungchan. He shoots you an over confident grin and walks past you with his nose high. You chew down a string of swears and curses. Every single man you’ve been dealing with as of late is determined to ruin your life. You hope they all run out of toilet paper every time they have to shit in a public restroom. You hope their zippers get caught every time they have to zip up their pants.

“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen, the opposing counsel, a pleasant morning.” At this point, your soul is still completely detached from your body. Your mouth is practically moving all by itself as you do your introduction. “The prosecution argues that my client, Na Jaemin, is guilty for disturbing the peace and three counts of physical injury against Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong.” As you say this, your eyes and your eyebags trail across the prosecution’s table, locking eyes with the latter two as you scan past them. “We acknowledge that our party has done some injury to the witnesses. There is a fault in that. However, it is a well understood doctrine that two faults don’t make a right.”

If your client can’t cooperate to save his own ass, those two better do.

They’re smarter than Na Jaemin. They know what’d come for them if they don’t. 

“Your honor, the witnesses have acted in pari delicto, sustaining equally grave injuries against my client, and therefore have no right to seek legal relief. A verdict of guilt against my client would be a grave mockery to our justice system when the ones seeking justice are equally at fault. We hope that you will see the wisdom in our defense. Thank you very much.”

The moment you return to your seat and Jung Sungchan is called first to make their case, your brain continues moving in autopilot. You’re so tired. You’re so damn tired. You know that you should be setting Na Jaemin straight right now, but you can’t find it in yourself to even talk to him without bursting a blood vessel. Jung Sungchan continues to present their evidence— affidavits from his witnesses, a janky recording of Na Jaemin and the other three leaving a bar located right on the cusp of Yeongdeungpo and Mapo, separately where they’d allegedly first bumped into each other, and the same exiting the frame. 

Eventually, he calls Na Jaemin to the witness stand. The air refuses to enter your lungs as the bailiff leads him up the courtroom. You’ve re-oriented him with what he has to do yesterday. You close your eyes, press your palms together underneath the table, and mutter out pleas and manifestations that your instructions managed to get through his thick skull, that an angel would somehow possess him today and prevent him from screwing you over.

But you haven’t done enough good deeds in your lifetime to be granted this one wish.

Jung Sungchan asks him if he admits to being the person who caused Yoon Naksung and the rests’ injuries.

Na Jaemin responds with a shit eating grin saying, “Yeah, I fucking did it.” 

Your face contorts in horror. Your eyes fly wide open, blood draining from your cheeks. Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking hell, please no. Your demon sent client looks like he wanted to elicit his kind of reaction from you— smiling at you from the witness stand, and you feel your nails dig into your clenched palms, biting into the thin skin of your flesh.

To make matters worse, he doubles down. He’s determined to kill you right here and now. “That guy nearly pissed himself when I socked him in the—”

“Your honor!”

This is a stupid fucking move to make, but you’re panicking. And that very panic easily seeps out of your skin and burrows into the notice of your opponent from the other table. Jung Sungchan’s eyes are both sparking incredulously and victoriously at this pretty blatant concession. To think your own client would fuck you over. You’re about to cry. You’re fuming. You’re dying from embarrassment.

“I’d— I’d like to request a short recess to meet with my client.”

Judge Bae narrows her eyes at you. “Overruled.” Yeah, you didn’t expect that to be granted. Fucking hell. You sink back into your seat in defeat, the dread that had once only been creeping up to you now completely swallowing you whole. “Counsel, please continue with your questioning.

No, it’s okay. This is fine, you think to yourself. You still have your witnesses. You’re not totally screwed yet. Maybe that would be enough to dismiss this damned case. Maybe that would be enough to let you walk away scot free.

“Ahem,” Jung Sungchan clears his throat. “Na Jaemin-ssi. Can you tell us the events that unfolded after the four of you left the bar?”

Silence.

“Na Jaemin-ssi…?”

“I don’t feel like answering.”

You let out a muffled noise as you bury your face in your hands. Your face is burning. Not only is he trying to screw you over, he wants to mortify you in front of everyone here.

“Defendant.” Judge Bae Joohyun has decided to intervene. “Are you…invoking your right against self incrimination?”

You almost let out an anguished cry and slam your forehead against the table when Na Jaemin responds with a, “Sure.”

The bailiff escorts him back to your table, and he’s all smiles when he sits down. Is he happy now that he’s thrown a big ass fucking wrench in your plans? Does he not give a fuck that he might get incarcerated as long as he sees you miserable? What a sadomasochistic psychopath, you hope he burns in hell.

“You don’t look too good, attorney,” you hear him chipper from beside you. 

Your head snaps to the side. You hear a crash from inside your ears.

For the first time, you look this son of a bitch dead in the eye— and you might not have a mirror, but you don’t think you’re looking at him pretty pleasantly. In fact, you can feel your own self going lightheaded from the sheer animosity darting through blood vessels in your brain.

Jung Sungchan calls Ma Gildong to the stand, and you turn your head back to the front. Sure, the bastard next to you might have thrown a wrench into your plans, but you still have a few working cogs left— and they better fucking work properly. You think you still have that same, manic look in your eyes when you meet Gildong’s gaze from across the courtroom because he visibly gulps and clears his throat.

Jung Sungchan starts questioning him, and he does just as well as you hoped (unlike the last guy). That rookie attorney gets caught off guard when his client answers with a stuttering, “I—I don’t remember,” in response to Jung Sungchan’s request to recount who started the fight that night. “It all happened suddenly. It was hard to tell exactly who.”

“Witness Ma Gildog,” the judge intercepts once again. “In the affidavit you submitted, you stated that the defendant was the one who started the altercation without warning. What is the meaning of this?”

Ma Gildong looks at you. You look him dead in the eye and he promptly looks away with a hard swallow.

“I…I only wrote that because Naksung hyung told me to.”

Fuck yes.

“We—were were all drunk when it happened. It was hard to tell who started the fight. I didn’t even want to pursue this case, he—he was just pissed that that guy got more punches in.”

“What?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Order!”

You watch as the bailiff tries to settle Yoon Naksung down. You stifle down a smile. This whole trial wouldn’t have been necessary if he had only been as cooperative as the other two. God, you wouldn’t have needed to deal with this headache either. 

You hear Judge Bae set down the gavel.  “There seems to be some unresolved issues with the prosecution side,” she starts with a sigh. “In this case, let us have a short recess. We will reconvene after thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes. That’s just fucking perfect.

“Recess? Are we having a snack break, attorne—”

“Please allow us to use one of your conference rooms.” You quickly shoot up and cut off Na Jaemin, a polite stance directed at the bailiff near you. “That would be alright, right?”

The way the bailiff looks at you makes you come to the conclusion that you don’t look exactly sane right now. Nevertheless, he humors you and leads both you and Na Jaemin to one of the available conference rooms in the district court. It’s hard to grasp the fact he is being very docile right now, lazily looking around with cuffed hands before him as he trails beside you, under the watchful eye of the court sheriff.

A door is opened before you. The moment the bailiff allows you and your client and closes the door behind, you swivel your heels, grab Na Jaemin by the fucking collar, and ram him against the wall with a loud rattle.

Your years and years of disdain for this guy just came to a breaking point today.

You’ve had fucking enough of his difficult attitude.

“Listen.” Your voice comes off as a hiss more than anything. You hear the sound of his handcuffs clatter when you shove him harder against the wall. You feel your nails dig into your palms through the collar of his shirt. You’re beyond livid. “I am trying my god damned best to get you out of here, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’re the last person I want to help. You’re the last person I could give a shit about, but here I fucking I am— fighting tooth and nail for you, for christ’s sake. I literally had to build up a defense out of nothing just to clear you from incarceration. All I asked is for you to not throw a fit, to follow my damned script, to sit still and still pretty for the rest of this stupid trial, and you couldn’t even fucking do that?”

Much to your surprise, Na Jaemin looks pretty much caught off guard. Not intimidated by any means, but he does keep his mouth shut, repeatedly blinking his somewhat widened eyes at you— the only other expression you’ve ever seen from him other than a scowl and that bastardized grin of his.

Another beat of silence. Your upper lip twitches into a snarl. “Useless fuck.” 

You roughly let go of him with a grunt and roll back your shoulders, facing your back to him and release a sigh. Whew. That felt so fucking good. 

Without another word, you take quick strides out the conference room, greeting the bailiff outside with a sweet and refreshed smile, maintaining that same air as you return back to the courtroom, an uncharacteristically cooperative Na Jaemin in tow.

The trial resumes. He doesn’t do anything stupid again after that because you’ve decided to completely remove him from the equation. Ma Gildong and Hong Hyunjae submitted new affidavits as evidence. Jung Sungchan and Yoon Naksung are red-faced and look like they’re sitting on burners from hell— even more so when it’s finally your turn to present your case, speaking before the court with a now clear head and your cards in place. When you call Dr. Qian Kun to the stand to attest to Na Jaemin’s physical exam result, the prosecution table is practically deflated in defeat by then.

You return to the defendant’s table. Your shoulders haven’t felt this light in weeks. Even lighter when the court finishes deliberation, and Judge Bae announces the final verdict.

“In light of the criminal charges against Na Jaemin—”

You inhale sharply.

“The court finds insufficient evidence to declare his guilt beyond reasonable doubt.”

Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.

“Now, the civil liabilities attached to this case— the witnesses’ participation in the aforementioned offenses creates a unique situation. When both parties are at equal fault or in pari delicto, neither the courts nor law will grant relief to the parties. Although the defendant, Na Jaemin, had indeed inflicted less serious physical injuries against the witnesses, the witnesses have inflicted the same upon the defendant.”

Oh, fuck yeah.

“This court hereby dismisses the case without prejudice for want of prosecution. Court is adjourned.”

There is no one happier in this court than you right now. You lock eyes with Jung Sungchan from across the room. You stick your tongue out because you don’t give a damn anymore.

You’re free. You don’t have to deal with Na Jaemin ever again. You’re fucking free.

*‎

Well, you spoke too soon.

“What...what are you doing here…?”

Four days later, you see the very bastard sitting on your chair at the JSS office. He’s swiveling around, stopping the turn with a foot down to look at you. “Oh,” he starts. “Took you fucking long enough.”

Seriously. What have you done to deserve this? Nevermind, you’ve done a lot of things to deserve ten years worth of bad karma, but that’s neither here nor there. You’d just gotten back from a meeting with one of your clients— a normal client: a sweet, old lady who was drafting her last will and testament to make sure none of her nutjob sobs get even a percentage from her estate. 

The meeting ran longer than expected because the lady kept trying to ask you if you’re single and would be interested to meet one of her nephews. So, you’d just returned back to the office at 6 p.m., most of your co-workers having clocked out already, only to be bitch slapped in the face with this psycho again, not even a week since you’ve last seen him.

You ignore him, eyes flitting up to the direction of your boss’s office. The light is still on. You grit your teeth. This son a bitch’s entry was permitted by the other son of a bitch. If he’s miserable, he should keep his misery to himself.

“Hey, attorney. I’m tryna talk to you.”

“Y—yes?” you choke out, taking a step back when Na Jaemin rises to his feet. God damn it. Your outburst mid-trial was an isolated case as a result of your pent up emotions. You can’t be brave anymore— and he notices.

There’s a slight raise in his brow when you flinch back, a barely visible smile playing on his face. It’s almost like this bastard can smell fear, and you’re completely lathered in it. “You were pretty gutsy enough to swear at my face and shove me around the other day,” he says, voice low. “What happened to all that spunk, attorney?”

You bite down the swear at the tip of your tongue. “I sincerely apologize for my inappropriate behavior that day.” You’re doing your damn best to keep your head down, but it’s increasingly difficult when this guy is trying to get all up in your space. “Any—anyhow. What business do you have with JSS, Na Jaemin-ssi?”

A flip switches. Na Jaemin suddenly looks very annoyed.

“Ugh. Right,” he grunts, digging into his inner jacket pockets like it’s a chore before pulling out an envelope. A really thick envelope. Your eyes widen. He hands it over to you. “The boss wanted to give his extra thanks.”

Extra thanks for risking your life to release one of his mutts. Holy shit. You say nothing as you take the envelope from his hands, the weight of the paper bills pulling you down heavier than they’re supposed to be. You clear your throat and stuff it into the bag you’ve yet to set down on your desk. “Why didn’t he come in person?”

“He’s out on business,” Na Jaemin flatly replies. Then, there’s a twinge on his tongue when he follows it up, “Why? You want to see him that badly?”

The fuck? That very through slips through expression for a second. Na Jaemin clocks this. 

A grin takes over his expression. He releases a bare laugh when he walks past you with a hand on your shoulder. “I gotta hand it to you. You’re pretty damn good at pulling shit out of your ass out of nothing.” 

Your breath hitches when you feel a firm squeeze. Na Jaemin releases you with a hum and a pat and finally starts fucking leaving.

“See you around, attorney.”

When you’ve confirmed that the psycho has finally left, you immediately lunge for your chair and release a long and hefty breath.

Jesus fucking christ. How many times do you have to tell these Nalkeutta bastards that you never want to see their faces again? Not enough, apparently. Because the next day, Mark Lee makes a visit to your office again. He greets you a good morning and you quietly tell him to leave you alone and never talk to you again. He laughs and disappears into Doyoung’s office for the next two hours, before stopping by at your desk again to inquire about your desk nameplate preferences.

“Do you prefer acrylic or marble?” he asks, peeking out from behind your desktop computer.

“Gold,” you soullessly respond. “Avenir font. Engraved. Heavy enough to knock a man unconscious with one blow.”

“Very particular.” Your eyes flit up to see his pleasant smile, and it just ruins your day further. It gets worse when Kim Doyoung follows not long after him. “Oh, Mr. Kim,” Mark greets. “I was just about to head out.”

“Yes, allow me to accompany you down to the lobby, Mr. Lee,” Doyoung chimes in. You look up at him as he leers down at you, noticing that you are, in fact, here. “Congratulations on yet another winning case, attorney.”

He’s five days late. “Thank you. Are you gonna give me my own office yet?”

“You know very well JSS isn’t in the position to grant you that.”

Very expected response, but you’re annoyed anyway. They finally leave you alone so you can mentally curse them once you die from overwork and overexertion. Indeed, you know very well that JSS isn’t in the best spot right now. Your firm’s reputation has been slowly nosediving lately— fully getting tanked recently because of your latest acquittal of Na Jaemin.

The general public has been questioning your integrity as a law firm. That much is fucking expected when you’re partnered with the biggest crime organization in the district. It’s not that this partnership is a recent thing. But with the establishment of a new law firm within your territory, the GP now has a point of comparison to notice just how many obvious criminals JSS has helped to subvert the rule of law.

These articles and nasty forum posts have been the source of Kim Doyoung’s stress as of late. During the next few weeks, you watch his mood sour and sour by the day after every meeting with the higher-ups.

The source of the problem is obvious, but it’s not like JSS can just cut ties with Nalkeutta to clean its name. In fact, it would the dumbest move ever, practically industry suicide considering Mark Lee and his company is your highest paying client. Not only that. All of the firm’s employees practically have immunity from the hefty protection fees all Yeongdeungpo residents have to pay weekly just to pay the streets. And you don’t want to make an enemy out of Nalkeutta either by cutting them off. Your firm is caught in between rock and a hard place with no easy way out.

“I think the boss has started to grow white hairs lately,” Jungwoo tells you over coffee in the breakroom. 

“Why…are you looking at his hair?” you ask, almost worriedly. Jungwoo simply shrugs and you two watch as Kim Doyoung stomps into the breakroom in a fit again to angrily snatch a glass and nearly rip the fridge open for the pitcher of lemon water you started to make every morning, overpouring into the glass before chugging it clean and slamming the glass down on the counter.

He didn’t even ask for permission. What a monster.

Anyhow, you could give less of a shit about JSS’s steadily dwindling reputation. This ain’t your problem to fix. It’s your higher up’s problem. It’s Kim Doyoung’s problem, and— quite frankly— the peak of your week is seeing his grumbling swears every time he stomps out of another admin meeting, watching him scratch at the growing grey hairs at the back of his head through his private office like it’s your own personal TV show. 

It’s such a great sight to see. Added to the fact that you haven’t received a call from Nalkeutta lately, whether it be for consultations or just simple blotter charges, they haven’t been bothering you at all. In short, you’ve been having the best two weeks of your life. 

It comes to a peak when Kim Doyoung calls you to his office one day, prompting the assumption that JSS’s reputation situation has become way, way worse to the point that the firm needs the help of its rank and file employees like you to settle the matter. 

“Damn, good luck. Let me know what’s up,” Jungwoo sends you off.

Honestly, you’re looking forward to having a front row seat to Kim Doyoung’s meltdown, if things have gotten as bad as you think. Your knuckles tap against the wooden entrance to his office, and you’re filled with a longing envy when he tells you to come in because damn— must be nice to have an office of his own. Why does he always have a stick up his ass when he’s got his own 150 square feet kingdom where he can do whatever he wants?

“Come in.”

Muct to your surprise, however, Kim Doyoung looks well rested today.

The moment you step in, you notice that his usual constipated expression is nowhere to be found on his face. In fact, his skin is perfectly clear. His white button up is crisp and tidy. His glasses are shining. His hair is neat and styled— as though it hasn’t been run through a million times today.

Whoa. What the hell? Who is this? Who is this man in front of you?

“How has your work been, attorney?” he starts, elbows on the desk, chin resting on interlocked fingers. 

You tentatively make your way closer to his desk, slightly unnerved at this sudden disposition switch. “The same as usual.”

“That’s good to hear,” he hums. He’s humming. Kim Doyoung is humming. What? He sets his fingers on a folded piece of paper that’s been sitting on his desk, promptly pushing it forward to you. “Read this.” You’re beyond creeped out. You have no idea what’s going on, but you follow instructions anyway, inching a step closer to peel the paper from the glass surface of his desk, and unfold it in your hands. 

He wants you to read it. So, you do.

The moment your eyes register the heading, your neck cranes, squinting. “Sir,” you say, holding the paper down. “Are you sure you gave me the correct sheet?”

“Yes, yes,” he affirms, waving a hand in the air. “Please continue reading.”

You do. You read the heading once again. LETTER OF RESIGNATION, in bold and all caps. Followed by today’s date. Followed by your fucking name.

The paper wrinkles in your grasp. Haha. You don’t remember writing a resignation letter. “Sir,” you start again, voice coming off as a weak wheeze. “There must be some kind of mistake.”

“There’s no mistake,” Doyoung confirms, spinning a pen between his fingers before pushing it forward to you in the same manner as he did with the resignation letter in your hands— your resignation letter. The letter that says you’ve found better prospects elsewhere and sincerely value the experience and growth you’ve had with this firm. What the fuck is this bullshit? You don’t fucking understand. “Would you please affix your signature at the bottom, attorney? I didn’t have your e-signature. That’s why I had to call you out today.” 

Your stomach drops to the very depths of your gut. “You can’t just fucking do this,” you say with gritted teeth. Kim Doyoung readjusts his glasses and responds with a sigh.

“Attorney,” he starts. “You’re well aware of the problem our firm has been facing as of late, correct?” You nod. He continues. “It’s a difficult situation. However, Nalkeutta and JSS have managed to reach an amicable compromise.”

Oh no. Oh, god, do. He can’t do this to you. He can’t fucking do this to you.

“Starting today, you will no longer be JSS’s Junior Associate. You will be working as a private lawyer for Nalkeutta Security Company.”

“You fucking sold me out!”

“I did not ‘sell you out’. Think of it as a promotion.”

Your mouth is hanging open. Your blood is boiling to the point of evaporation. The resignation is a crumpled mess at this point. You slam it back down on his desk. “I can’t even get my fucking severance pay if I sign this damn thing!”

“I’m sure the benefits you’ll receive at Nalkeutta would outweigh any amount of a severance pay that JSS can offer you,” your boss— former boss— flatly replies. “Now. Please sign the letter.”

Your head is spinning. You’re nauseous as fuck. It’s not like you can just run away. Mark Lee would have your fucking head. Sure, you hate working under Kim Doyoung, but at least it made you feel like an actual lawyer, serving only as an occasional cleanup dog for that damned wretched company. With this, you’re not just dipping your toes into organized crime. You’d be fucking drowning in it.

“Sign right there— yes. Perfect. Thank you for your cooperation, attorney. It was a pleasure working with you.”

Nalkkeutta has officially ensnared you in its burning jaws, and you’ve got no way of getting out unscathed.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[xmoriartea]

SVSSS!Sibling Transmigration 2: Electric Boogaloo

a continuation of this nonsense that ya'll seemed to enjoy

While Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe hold hands and jump into the abyss, Airplane is left holding no pizza with the sect on fire (and him-damnit. He could really use a pizza right now)

Shang Qinghua helped organize the Immortal Alliance Conference fiasco, but with his brother's guidance and Mobei Jun's shocking willingness to listen to both of them, Cang Qiong suffers only two losses that day: LBH and SY (none of the other major sects are so lucky, shifting even more power into Cang Qiong (and thus SQH/MBJ)'s sway as they planned)

Shen Jiu (named Qingqiu now ofc, but still Jiu-ge to SY) does not handle his part in this well at all. Did he shove LBH into the abyss? He would say no. He just maneuvered an awakening and unstable Heavenly Demon away from his brother. (Bro did NOT account for said brother to throw himself at LBH and basically take both their asses into the abyss. Not even Airplane saw that one coming tbqfh)

So yeahhh. SJ is not handling this well. While his brother is missing SJ qi deviates no less than two times which has Qing Ding and every peak lord walking on eggshells. No one mentions either of his missing disciples unless absolutely necessary around him. Unfortunately, he spends entirely too much time researching the abyss, tearing through every tome on the peaks

When the lords try to discuss a way to help SJ's instability, the mention of dual cultivation is floated once and while YQY is hand on the trigger to volunteer as tribute, the vehement refusal from SJ has YQY declaring it off limits without hesitation (there are some murmurs about this, but YQY takes pride in protecting SJ and shuts everyone down)

Airplane and SY know each other well enough that he knows SY would be devastated if something happened to SJ (he knows SY had siblings, that he misses them, that his heart aches twice for the family here and home and he won't let him come back to an empty bamboo house. Airplane knows the pain of an empty home and he will find something in his brain to fix it)

This leads to one tense conversation with SJ like "Look I know you fucking hate me but for SY's sake please just listen one time: your brother is coming home. I don't know how exactly, but we both know he's too stubborn not to" (this does not endear him to his villain son, but he would swear SJ glares a little less at him after)

There is then a Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom tier research saga but it's Airplane alone digging through tomes and notes and getting a little xianxia stoned to try and remember the obscure world building he created. (You know what he remembers? That's he created TOO MUCH world building shit while three energy drinks deep at 2am for any one man to remember!! Cucumber-bro get back here!!)

Meanwhile MBJ is playing a differently game entirely while every cultivator is stressed out of their minds. He's got a spy who is assisting him with power grabs that his father would never have imagined. He's courting a pathetic little mouse of a man. LBH is not a name that means anything yet. MBJ is THRIVING. Everyone else is in a drama and he's in a dating sim

And with two Shangs? The first time he does something too aggressive-demonic in his attempt to court a flailing sleep deprived Airplane, SQH is there to be like 'wtf do you think you're doing you beast?' Does SQH nearly get his ass beat for this insult to his king? Maybe a little bit. But!! Airplane gets woo'd! Without bloodshed!! (his own anyway. SQH picks his battles and cannot pry MBJ's desire to hunt big, rare game to prove his worth as a partner to Airplane which ofc leads to moments of the Shang brothers just standing over the corpse of some ancient-possibly-mythical beast just... in their living room on An Ding like 'wtf do we do with this? my king pls')

Of course, the plot finds everyone eventually. And however the fuck it happens, MBJ crosses path with a power-grabbing LBH, is forced to surrender to return home alive to his consort-to-be (MBJ is waiting for the MBJ title to be 100% his before cementing the courtship), becomes second in command to this brat, and goes home to his Shangs to lick his wounds (MBJ does not expect Airplane to shake his face and demand to know if there was a human cultivator with this half-demon brat and then demand to be taken to them if so when MBJ just 'wtf' stares)

Turns out, several years in the abyss even for the protagonist and a man who knows far too fucking much about abyss nuances for a human is still not an easy time Being human in the abyss? It's a dinner bell for every big monster that SY wants to just observe like the worst tourist. LBH cannot figure out why his shixiong keeps putting himself in danger like this (shixiong!! if you know the deadly thing is hiding in this swamp what if!!! we didn't!! go in the goddamn swamp shixiong!!!) But! That abyss knowledge is hard to beat. SY is able to guide LBH through safe routes and help guide him on his demonic journey (LBH ofc asks how his shixiong knows about any of this and SY panic changes subjects like a dozen times. Even in the back of LBH's head Meng Mo is like 'kid IDFK what this brat is but it's not normal and I need you to 1. understand that and 2. do not let him get away') And you know what is great for SY (and by extension LBH)? SY isn't juggling a persona that isn't his. He's allowed to come to terms with himself and his feelings on his terms. He gets to watch his white lotus LBH fight alongside him in the abyss and save his life and oh. OH. Maybe. Maybe he can have this? (SY being SY is still like PLOT EXISTS!! HAREM!! WIVES!! And look. He figures his own shit out a little bit, he's still a blind bastard. He doesn't notice how many wife plots he and LBH have stumbled into together, or how many LBH has skipped entirely. He can just be part of the harem, that's fine. He can live with that. Totally normal thoughts) LBH meanwhile can't even spell harem cause he only has eyes for this weird wonderful shixiong of his Given that the plot is a mess (happening, sure, but a MESS) they stumble into a new wife plot in the abyss (How was SY supposed to know full humans triggered nonsense plots down here?? It's not like LBH's human wives were ever down here with him!!) and so SY might be dying a second time. (Whoops! Whoops! Whoops! (Hey System? STFU if you have nothing useful to offer thank you!!!) But you know what could help this mortal cultivator trapped in the abyss? Demon qi. You know who has a lot of demon qi he doesn't know what to do with?? Best boy Binghe, that's who (they're both young and awkward and SY is dying and Binghe can't lose him. He can't be left alone again. It's declaration and promise and hope and when he kisses his shixiong he wills the transfer of qi between their lips and he can feel the way SY grows stronger in his arms with it) Let's just say that even when they clear the realm of the abyss that threatened SY, LBH still persistently insists that his shixiong share his qi mwah! (SY does not put up half as much complaint as he once might have over his sticky shidi) Also you know SY is going to find some horrific abyssal monstrosity and decide it's just the best and cutest most perfect and loyal pet (it's an honest to god nightmare and everyone they encounter is afraid of it and Binghe shoots it glares whenever it steals his shixiong's affections HOW DARE??) With SY's omnipotent abyss GPS sense and LBH sharing his excess of demon qi with SY, they're able to find Xin Mo, break the seal on LBH's powers, and then continue on his training montage (definitely too unstable to go back to the mortal realm early), also he has a fantastic anchor in SY at his side to soothe the Xin Mo urges and (don't ask shidi, pls he's begging) also teach him how to tame the sword

Cut back to several years of time passing, Airplane squishing his king's face, demanding to know about a human cultivator with this heavenly demon only for MBJ to (still face squished) say he wouldn't call the man at LBH's side human per se but if this is what his Airplane wants, he will take him with him to the meeting LBH has arranged for the following day (now please, let him pout and huff and receive head scritches)

Hey you know how people always get taken aback by Xie Lian being just absolutely filled with ghost qi??? SY is a cultivator, not a god, just a lad trying his best to follow that immortal master path, and he just spent SEVERAL years in the abyss and getting regularly dosed by HEAVENLY demon qi — this boy ain't right anymore, guys. He's definitely feeling some kind of demon-tier different™ after all of this and man is THRIVING because Now That's What SY Calls Lore

Please imagine heavenly demon LBH with a demon-touched SY holding demon court with their weird demon allies when MBJ shows up flanked by two totally human Shangs and the just.... the awkward staring these four members of Cang Qiong do at each other (LBH, oblivious to the spy on the mountain plots, just 'why tf is Shang-shixiong and Shang-shifu here??) (SQH looking at LBH and SY and just taking furious mental notes about these Developments and how this may affect his brother's safety) (SY and Airplane just seconds away from slapping the shit out of each other like cats in a bag just 'where the fuck have you been???' 'what have you done???')

Court gets to proceed as planned, but Consorts Shen and Shang make hasty exits together to figure out just what the fuck has been happening to Airplane's plot (There is minimal sibling-tier beat downs in the process and neither is free from sin)

Airplane explains that SJ is a mess and that they need to do something if SY wants to continue having a brother ('bro, he will go off the deep end soon if he doesn't find you but if he finds you like this BRO WILL GO OFF THE DEEP END!! DO YOU SEE THE PROBLEM??')

Their scheming gets them on the idea the Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom and between both their whipped demons, it's very easy to acquire it, cultivate it, and prepare it for SJ (ofc monster loving son SY shares some with a cute snake he sees, obviously)

SY sneaks onto Qiong Ding with their near ready science project and meets with YQY who is... not thrilled with the demonic influence all over his shidi's brother. But he listens, because end of the day they both care for SJ. SY can't risk SJ having another deviation if he sees him, so he entrusts YQY to present this fix to SJ: a way to repair his broken core and shed the scars of his past (ofc they both know he will be suspicious, but after doing his own research, he would take it in a heartbeat)

When SJ has a shiny new and powerful body, that's when LBH and SY return to the sect. No demon army, no attacks, no Huan Hua bs. Just two lost disciples making their return from the abyss. (There is much distrust. SQH plays his role as well as ever, siding with the other lords that certain tests must be passed to ensure they are not demons--- oh wait one of you IS a demon. and the other has been influenced by that one. Mhhh. Mhmmm. This is fiiiiiine)

SJ doesn't deviate! But he is! Mad! There is much yelling and shouting and disciples are made to run around Qiong Ding peak while every other lord just has to sit through the most chaotic family reunion.

But things can go back to normal from here right? Just casual transmigration, not plot threats? (System? System you're laughing. They're having a nice moment and you're laughing)

[parkerslatte]

The Purest Kind of Love || Part Four

Azriel x Fem!Reader x Eris Vanserra

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: blood. minor injury

Summary: Azriel finds himself in the training room with none other than the new High Lord of Autumn and finds an outlet that might satisfy his anger.

The Purest Kind of Love Masterlist

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

PREVIOUS / NEXT

•••

The night he spent sleeping in Y/N’s old bedroom in the House of Wind was perhaps the most peaceful night sleep Eris had had in a long while. Typically his dreams were plagued with the nightmarish acts his father would make him do to others or acts Beron would perform on Eris himself. This time he dreamt of nothing at all and it comforted Eris more than he would like to admit. 

Word had come late the previous night, once Y/N had escorted him back to the House of Wind, that the meeting that was supposed to happen yesterday was happening this evening. Eris had the whole day to do what he wished. He already knew that Y/N wasn’t around as she had some work she needed to complete and Eris already knew that no one else would be thankful for his presence. Instead he dressed in his most basic attire and made his way to the training area.

It had been a while since Eris had gone through his personal training regime, with all the duties that came with becoming a new High Lord, he hadn’t found any spare time. The clothes he wore were thin and breezy, nothing but a pair of trousers and a white tunic– not the best attire to train in but it was the best he had. 

The training area was empty and the sun was only just rising as Eris stalked over to the blades that decorated the wall, he picked one up without a second thought before going through some of his usual movements with the blade in hand. It was heavy in his palm, definitely heavier than his own sword back in the Autumn Court, but it felt nice in his hand. 

Despite Eris going through his training routine, his mind was elsewhere. Since he had killed his father, his mind has not been quiet, thoughts and images constantly plagued his mind– some good, others not so much. The one saving grace however, was Y/N. 

When the bond snapped between them, Eris was terrified– he still was if he was being truly honest with himself. A mate was never on the table for him. He never thought it was even possible that someone like him could have a mate. All hope of him having a mate had been extinguished by the time he was only thirty years of age. By then he didn’t even want a mate, not if he was bringing them into his horrid family. 

Eris never wanted his mate to suffer the same way his mother did with his father. He never wanted to suffer himself if they ended up suffering the same fate as Jessiminda. 

But actually having a mate was a blessing in disguise. All of the messy thoughts that swam around in his brain cleared instantly when he spoke to Y/N, even being in her presence helped him. Eris felt as if he wasn’t mindlessly drifting away from his reality but was grounded next to her– living. 

With a shake of his head, Eris tried to empty all thought from his mind, though it proved quite difficult. The sun steadily rose in the sky as Eris began his training routine again– hoping to calm his mind without the help of Y/N. 

***

Azriel was on his way to the training area when he caught a familiar, comfortable scent that made him stop in his tracks. The scent was one that had comforted him for many years, even before they had started their relationship. It gently wafted from Y/N’s old bedroom and Azriel’s heart twisted. 

He knew that Eris was residing in that room until his business in the Night Court was over. But smelling Y/N’s scent lingering in the air was almost too much for Azriel to bear. 

Despite him not wanting to even see her until he was sure that she had moved on and he had too, Azriel invited her to the meeting yesterday after finding out that neither Rhys or Cassian had told her about it. She was part of the Inner Circle, she was Rhys’s damned researcher. Everything she did contributed to the court– Azriel couldn’t understand why she hadn’t been told. 

However once he had seen her sitting next to Eris, he couldn’t keep it together any longer. The scent of their bond was too much to bear but no one else had picked up on it. Nobody seemed to know. Azriel was never going to tell them of course, that would be Y/N’s decision, but he came close to blurting it out at the meeting. Just out of sheer jealousy. 

Azriel still found it hard to grasp that Y/N had a mate and it wasn’t him. For years– perhaps even before they had made their stupid bargain– Azriel had hoped that the bond would snap between him and Y/N. He had dreamt about it many times. Seeing Eris’s cocky grin at that meeting had sent Azriel over the edge. He wasn’t sure what made him use his shadows to nearly kill the new High Lord, typically Azriel would be able to stay reserved. 

Azriel wasn’t completely sure what stopped him killing Eris, though the moment he looked into Eris’s eyes as he struggled to tell him to stop, Azriel felt as if he came back into his body. All he could think about was how Eris’s death could affect Y/N. Azriel had witnessed how losing your mate could affect someone with Rhys and Feyre– despite Rhys only being dead a few short moments. He could never do that to Y/N. 

The training area was empty– or so Azriel thought when he entered it. It wasn’t until he stilled when he smelt the faint scent of a burning fire. The shadows resting upon his shoulders poised to strike. 

“That is my blade you are using,” Azriel grumbled. “Get off it.”

Eris looked at the blade in his hands. “Oh is it?” For a brief moment, Eris seems to want to say something else but eventually closes his mouth, pressing his lips together. “I was done using it anyway.”

“Hopefully you are done in the training area too,” Azriel snapped, stalking up to one of the training dummies. Cassian had already replaced them. “You aren’t meant to go anywhere unaccompanied.”

“I am not going to be your little caged animal,” Eris growled. “Y/N already gave me permission to go where I wish. She gave me a ring that allows me to winnow in and out of this house.”

Azriel looked at the ring on Eris’s finger and he fought the urge to rip the ring from his corpse. Since no one could winnow in or out of the House of Wind, Rhys had given Y/N special permission to craft a spell to allow her to ‘winnow’ to the house without problem when she needed to access the library. She had crafted the spell into the form of a ring so it was easier for her to channel. Seeing her create one for Eris left a bad taste in Azriel’s mouth. 

“I see,” Azriel said, sending a punch to the dummy. “She shouldn’t have done that.”

“I don’t see why she shouldn’t,” Eris said. “You seem to forget, Azriel, that I am a High Lord. I should be respected.”

“You are not respected by me,” Azriel said, ending the conversation. 

There was no response from Eris as he continued training with Azriel’s blade. The shadowsinger didn’t stop him, however. All he did was imagine Eris’s smirking face on the dummy and continued to throw punch after punch at it. 

Eris had been spending time with Y/N, that much was clear for her to have crafted him a ring. Even the faint scent of her perfume lingered around Eris, or perhaps that was only Azriel’s imagination. Either way, it only made Azriel’s heart hurt more. Why wouldn’t Y/N spend time with her mate? Azriel never had a chance the moment the bond snapped. 

“Why is it that you are deserving of having Y/N as a mate?” Azriel spoke up before he could even think about stopping himself. 

At that question, Eris was taken aback. His eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to think. Azriel was surprised by this response from the Autumn High Lord. The cocky glint in his eyes was gone and replaced with something more…tender. 

“I am honestly unsure of that myself,” answered Eris sincerely. 

Again, Azriel was surprised. He had fully anticipated a statement perfectly crafted to provoke Azriel. Instead his answer was full of sincerity, even his shadows detected no hint of deception. Somehow it made Azriel feel worse than he already did. 

Continuing to send hit after hit at the dummy before him, Azriel’s hands began to bleed once again. All he could see on the dummy was the face of Eris Vanserra. He was the thing that had flipped his entire life upside down. The moment Azriel had begun to settle down into the life he had beautifully crafted with Y/N, it was ripped away from him in an instant. Their bargain was complete, if they wanted to, Azriel and Y/N could find their way back into the same bed, there was no repercussions now. 

Although, Azriel found that he didn’t want to. The mating bond was much too strong to be ignored and from the way Azriel had scented Y/N perfume outside of her old bedroom where Eris was staying and on the High Lord himself, it was clear where Y/N’s intentions resided. It had happened before with Mor, Elain and Gwyn. 

With Mor, Azriel clung onto hope for five hundred years that a mating bond would snap between them. Despite his family thinking differently, that hope began to die off sooner than many thought. It had come to a stage where Azriel knew his feelings were not reciprocated; and they never would be. 

With Elain, their relationship had been short and only consisted of lingering touches and a near kiss– even then her heart had never fully been in it. And– now looking back on it– Azriel’s heart was never truly in it either. Three brothers and three sisters; it was simple and easy– but it wasn’t truly what Azriel wanted. Of course eventually Elain’s pull to Lucien was too strong for Azriel to even attempt to fight against it– although he found that he never truly wanted to. 

With Gwyn– their relationship was something deeper. Azriel had truly begun to fall for the valkyrie through his proper courting methods. They spent day after day with one another, eventually leading up to sharing a beautiful kiss that made Azriel’s knees weak. However, not even their feelings for one another could trump the power of a mating bond. Gwyn spent less and less time with him, whether it was intentional or not, in favour of spending time with her own mate. 

With Y/N, his feelings had always been different, Azriel had come to realise. It was deeper than simple attraction. He had truly come to savour every single second he spent in her presence. His heart skipped a beat whenever he saw her. His shadows adored her and were constantly dancing around her– even without his instruction. Y/N was the only person Azriel had ever considered living with and building a life with. She was the only person Azriel had ever truly loved– even though he had never told her. 

It was what made everything even harder than it had been previous times. 

“Azriel,” Eris’s voice snapped Azriel out of his silent rage. 

His fist stopped short of the dummy, now covered in blood. Glancing down at his scarred hands, Azriel saw that they were covered in the same deep red as the dummy. 

With a sigh, Azriel picked up more bandages and collapsed on a bench, wings slumping behind him. The gaze of Eris Vanserra burned into him and Azriel could do nothing to escape it. Despite being both taller and older than the High Lord, Azriel couldn't help but shrink under his gaze. 

“If you want to take your anger out on anything,” Eris began, his voice smooth and full of understanding. Azriel detested it. It hadn’t even been a full day since he nearly killed him. When Azriel looked at Eris’s neck, he could still see one of the scratches from where he clawed at his own throat. Eris continued to speak. “Take your anger out on me.”

“You think I haven’t been pretending that training dummy hasn’t been you this whole time?” Azriel remarked.

“Wouldn’t it be more satisfying if you were to hit the real thing? Well, if you are fast enough that is,” Eris said, a cocky grin stretching across his face. 

The blade in Eris’s hands shone brightly in the sun and it took everything in Azriel’s body not to move and snatch the blade out of his hands. Instead he opted for taking the blade Cassian usually used from where it was situated on the wall. Cassian’s blade felt wrong in his hand but Azriel didn’t demand to switch blades with Eris. 

“First to draw blood wins,” Azriel grumbled. 

“Boring,” Eris sighed. “Here I was ready to fight to the death and you simply suggest first to draw blood? Child’s play.”

Azriel ignored him before walking the other side of the training pitch. “Get in position–”

There was no time for Azriel to finish as Eris had already lunged at Azriel with the blade, his movements elegant and graceful. Far different from an Illyrian’s style of fighting. Azriel just managed to block it, metal clashing together. 

“You cheated,” Azriel said. 

Eris smirked. “I didn’t, you simply were not prepared.”

Azriel pushed back on his blade and put distance between himself and Eris. Azriel had never seen Eris in the midst of battle before, even when himself and the others had helped him take down his father, the killing blow to Beron was done behind closed doors. Eris stepped out carrying the head of his father. Azriel never thought he had it in him. 

“What is with this walking? Are you trying to determine which side I favour? Where my weak spots are?” Eris questioned, tossing the blade from one hand to the other with practised ease. That was when Azriel realised that he favoured no hand, the High Lord would be able to fight with either one just as well. 

“This is a fight not a discussion,” Azriel mumbled. 

“Then are you going to strike me? Or are we going to continue to circle one another like two animals ready to mate?” Eris teased, a glint of arrogance in his eyes. 

Azriel let out an animalistic growl and lunged forward. Eris deflected with ease. “You can do better than that, shadowsinger. You are not going to kill me. I was the general of the Autumn Court armies, I know how to take a beating.”

Every attack Azriel sent Eris’s way, he deflected it with ease, not even breaking a sweat. It bothered Azriel to no end as he began to get more and more worked up. Of course Eris is a much more graceful fighter than him. Y/N would be much more suited to someone with Eris’s particular style of fighting rather than Azriel’s. 

Eris tutted as he stretched his neck. “Getting tired already, Azriel. It’s a shame, I thought that the spymaster of the Night Court would have more stamina than this.”

Azriel had had enough of Eris’s taunts and threw his blade towards Eris. If the High Lord was fast enough, which Azriel knew that he was, he would dodge it with ease. However, when the blade sliced Eris’s cheek, Azriel panicked. 

The room was suddenly quiet and Eris’s head was turned away from Azriel. Despite his dislike towards Eris, Azriel had the urge to check if he was okay. He fought every instinct within himself to step closer to the High Lord. 

Suddenly, Eris laughed, his body slowly turning back to Azriel. There was blood flowing down his cheek but the cut was shallower than Azriel originally thought. In a few days it would be as if it never happened. “My, my, Azriel. You only said that it was first to draw blood.”

“It was,” Azriel muttered. “And I clearly beat you.”

“Only because I let you,” Eris replied, lifting his shirt up to wipe away the blood flowing down his face. 

Azriel’s eyes fell to where Eris’s torso was exposed. Although he was leaner than Azriel, Eris was still covered in firm muscle littered with faint, barely visible freckles. Though what Azriel noticed first was the thin scars covering his torso, a large one wrapping around his body towards his back. Eris’s shirt was quickly pulled down. 

“My eyes are up here, shadowsinger,” Eris said, his voice unusually firm. 

Azriel’s gaze returned to Eris’s, whose earlier cockiness had completely vanished. The cut across his cheek began to bleed once more, though there wasn’t nearly as much blood as before. 

“Now,” Eris said, “did that make you feel better?”

“Honestly,” Azriel said with a sigh, “no.”

Eris only nodded, the gleam of the scratches on his neck catching the light. Something about the two injuries upon Eris made Azriel feel guilty. Eris had done nothing in retaliation and had acted as an outlet to Azriel’s anger, without knowing what directly caused it. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t do more damage,” Eris remarked. 

Azriel was silent for a moment, contemplating his next words carefully. “Y/N wouldn’t want me to do that.”

There seemed to be no hint of surprise on Eris’s face that Azriel knew of their mating bond. He had already known. 

“I need to clean up before the meeting later and I suggest you do as well,” Eris said, turning his back to Azriel. 

Azriel looked at the blade and back to Eris. He hadn’t noticed before but the blade he had picked out was the one Azriel typically used in his right hand. Eris hadn’t moved it out of his left except when he taunted Azriel. Azriel’s gaze trailed down to the inkstain on Eris’s right hand, a clear indication of which had he preferred. The assumption Azriel had made was wrong. 

“You let me win,” Azriel muttered. 

“It took you long enough to catch on,” Eris replied, without turning around. “I favour my right hand but proceeded to use a blade made for your right hand in my left. My intention was never to win. You needed an outlet for your anger, so I gave you one. An angry male is a dangerous one– believe me when I say that.”

A heavy sigh slipped past Eris’s lips as he inclined his head towards Azriel, his eyes cast to the floor. “Y/N told me the details of the bargain the two of you made. We may not like one another Azriel, but do believe me when I tell you that I am sorry. I never wanted to get in the centre of what seemed like a wonderful relationship.”

Without another word, Eris swiftly left the room. Azriel remained in silence, watching where Eris had disappeared. The bastard had let him win. Eris allowed his body to be used as a punching back for Azriel’s anger– anger Eris already knew was directed at him. 

Not feeling up to training anymore, Azriel shot up in the sky and away from the House of Wind.

Taglist:

@22hilda @lazypostfandomer @inkedinshadows @awkardnerd @azysmate @therealmoonstone @lets-talk-about-xyz @starryevermore @babypeapoddd @tothestarsandwhateverend @batboyrhyrhy @callsigns-haze @wildflowermooon @wildfloweroutlaw @acourtofbatboydreams @bookandtealover @queenoffeysand @the-sweet-psycho @the-starlight-way @curiosandcourioser @cheekym8s @honk4emoboyz @paleidiot @buckystevelove @that-girl-reading @readinggeeklmao @hextech-bros @scarsandallaz @paige0103 @k8r123-blog @asweetblueberry2 @bloodicka @eddsthemunson @fourthwing4ever @crypticme @that-one-bibliophole @lilah-asteria @sassybluebird @ninthcircleofprythian @imma-too-many-fandoms @happyt0exist @spiritualmooshroom @phoenix666stuff @imagoddessinmystories @sveretrice @stormieandateacup @impossibelle @opium-den @pit-and-the-pen @julesvanslutta @circe143 @wolfstar-marvelstan @kbear8863

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

In the midst of the American Revolution, you save a bleeding British soldier you found in your barn, forging an unexpected bond that blurs the lines of enemy and ally, and sets the stage for a dangerous, obsessive connection that you can't escape.

Author’s note: Sorry I haven’t posted in a while!I’ve been on the other side of the country playing at a lacrosse tournament lol

It was a cold autumn evening in 1778, and the last rays of the tired sun filtered through the cracks of your barn’s wooden walls, casting long shadows on the straw-covered floor. The crops had been harvested, the animals fed, and the household settled into the quiet routine that characterized the final hours of daylight before the world turned to cold and dark.

You had just finished wiping down a horse when the door to the barn creaked open. A man staggered inside, breath ragged, his hand clutching his side. Blood—dark, thick blood—dripped from his uniform and pooled beneath him like a shadow. His face was gaunt and pale, eyes wide with desperation. His breath came in sharp, shallow gasps as he leaned against a barrel for support. It took you a moment to realize what you were seeing, to process the image of the redcoat that now stood before you.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you froze.

A British soldier.

You had heard about them—heard what they’d done to your countrymen, to your neighbors. They were the reason families had been torn apart, the reason your own father had been taken, never to return, a casualty of war. And now, one of them was standing in your barn, his life bleeding out onto your floor. For a long moment, all you could do was stare. His eyes—desperate, filled with something like fear or pain—met yours, as if silently begging for help.

You wanted to turn away, to lock the doors and leave him to die in the dirt. Part of you told you that it was the right thing to do, that he had brought this upon himself by fighting for the Crown. He was the enemy, a part of the system that had caused so much suffering. And yet, you hesitated.

Your father’s voice echoed in your mind: “Don’t be fooled by the uniform. A man’s heart knows no allegiance.”

You shook your head, trying to clear the noise from your thoughts. He was a soldier, not a person. He had no right to your help.

But as you stood there, a faint cry escaped his lips, an agonized sound that made your chest tighten. He was still standing, still breathing, but barely. His hand gripped his side harder, as if trying to keep his own body together.

Before you could make any decision, his knees buckled, and he crumpled to the floor with a sickening thud. The impact sent a fresh wave of blood spilling from his side, and you felt a surge of panic rise in your chest.

Without thinking, you rushed forward, your heart hammering in your chest. You knelt beside him, your hands trembling as you touched his coat. His skin was clammy, feverish. He winced, his eyes fluttering open again, meeting yours.

“Please… help…” he rasped, the words barely more than a whisper. His voice was thick with pain. You almost pulled your hand back, torn between caution and compassion. He was a soldier. He could still be dangerous.

But then, you looked into his eyes again. The desperation, the raw vulnerability—it was human. Not an enemy. A person, just like you. And when you saw how pale he was growing, how he seemed to be slipping away before your eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave him there to die.

Against every instinct, you pulled him closer, your hands fumbling to undo his uniform’s buttons, exposing the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around his midsection. They were already soaked through, and the wound underneath was still bleeding.

“God help me,” you muttered under your breath, your mind racing as you tried to think. You weren’t a doctor, but you had patched up your own wounds enough times to know the basics.

The soldier’s breath hitched again as he let out a small, pained moan. His body was shaking, weak and feverish. You couldn’t leave him like this. Not like a dog left in the cold.

With one hand, you grabbed a clean rag from the nearby shelf and pressed it against the wound. He gasped and groaned as you applied pressure, his entire body jerking from the pain. His hand reached out to grab yours, trembling, and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

For a long moment, he just held onto you, the grip tight.

“My name is James,” he whispered, his eyes glassy.

You didn’t know what to say, so you simply nodded, your hands working quickly to secure a tighter dressing.

“Hold on, James,” you said, your voice firm despite the knot of fear that had settled in your stomach. “I’ll get you somewhere safe. Just hold on.”

He didn’t speak again, but his grip on your hand remained steady, a silent plea that kept you moving.

Minutes passed in tense silence as you worked to stabilize him. Eventually, you managed to bind his wound as best as you could, and with considerable effort, you lifted him into your arms. He was heavier than you expected, and his weight made your muscles strain as you carried him to the small cot in the corner of the barn, a bed you had made up for when you needed rest during harvest season.

You set him down gently, your heart still racing. The soldier’s eyes fluttered closed, his breathing shallow and uneven. You pulled a blanket over him, your hands lingering on the fabric for a moment longer than necessary.

You didn’t know how long he would survive. You didn’t even know why you had chosen to save him. But you knew, deep down, that this—this was a decision you would live with, for better or worse.

The days that followed were quiet, except for the soft sounds of his breathing and the occasional groan from James as the fever raged in his body. You did what you could, keeping him hydrated and tending to his wound, but there were moments when you feared he might not make it.

One afternoon, you came in to find him awake, his eyes clearer than before, though still distant. He was watching you as you moved about the barn, and when you met his gaze, he gave you a weak smile.

“Thank you…” he rasped. “For saving me.”

You didn’t answer right away, not sure what to say. Part of you still wanted to hate him, to remind him of who he was. But another part of you saw the humanity in his face, saw the exhaustion in his eyes, and you simply nodded.

“You don’t need to thank me,” you said quietly, your voice betraying none of the conflict you felt inside. “You were dying. Anyone would’ve done the same.”

He let out a dry laugh. “I suppose… but not everyone would have.”

His eyes lingered on you, searching for something. You looked away, uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze, but he kept watching you, as if trying to memorize every detail.

“I’ll never forget this,” he said softly. “I swear it.”

You stiffened, your pulse quickening. His tone had shifted, becoming almost… possessive.

“I don’t need you to remember me,” you replied, your voice sharp.

James didn’t seem deterred. In fact, the look in his eyes deepened, as if he understood something more than you had intended to say.

“You’ve saved me,” he whispered. “And I’ll repay that debt. You’ve given me a reason to live now.”

You had no words for that. You didn’t know what to make of it.

The war was still raging outside. Your family’s future remained uncertain. And the redcoat in your barn was a living, breathing reminder of everything that had torn your world apart.

But as you watched him sleep, his face less pale than before, his strange words echoed in your mind.

Masterlist

[gladiatorcunt]

Feral feral Anakin fucking you every second of the day because he can’t get enough of you and is overly obsessed

send me coryo, luke castellan, or anakin asks (this is a threat)

implied canon compliant prequels and childhood friend afab royalty reader (basically in padme's place) based on an upcoming fic

This is canon Anakin behavior actually, he's like a big dog with his favorite chew toy. The dog obviously loves the toy a lot but it's because of his love that the toy becomes well used. No matter how tattered it becomes, the dog will still curl around it and spend its days licking the hell out of it until it withers away.

I think that because of how he grew up, just a little boy on some ball of sand whose life really didn't belong to him, as soon as he's free from that he just unravels. I love Anakin being written as more unhinged or even slightly like an eldritch horror, because suddenly he has this big destiny laid out in front of him and the tethers holding his soul together inevitably come unhooked. I think that he's wired like that from the beginning, very passionate but without a means to express it.

So, when he meets you, little royal heir with all the stars of the galaxy in your eyes, he tells a familiar story about an angel and from then on, it's over for him. Every moment of his life orbits around the sun in his solar system, you.

The first think he thinks when he sees you again, is how your moans would echo off the windows when he eats you out on one of the couches. Then he imagines your perfectly manicured hands clawing delicious ribbons down his back while he rabidly pounds your sopping wet pussy against the wall of your huge walk-in closet in your apartment. He'd have to hold a hand over your mouth, but he wouldn't do a thing to clean up the slicks that drips out of your pussy onto the floor. You'd pout as you'd rush to get ready before Obi-Wan came back, and all he'd be able to do in response is hook his chin over your shoulder and smile.

"No, it's because I'm so in love with you."

You're leaning against a balcony overlooking a lake in Naboo and all he can think about as he strokes a shy finger down your back is hiking your dress up and bending you over it. You're chained to a pillar in between him and Obi-Wan, and when all is said and done, he wishes he killed everybody that was relishing in your suffering in that arena and fucked you with their blood coating his body. He could go on forever until the last grain of sand on Tatooine flies away. He'd have gotten you barefoot and pregnant immediately if the leash around his neck was any looser.

No matter the fantasy or the moment, you always have at least one mark on you. He's not patient enough for hickies and his fingers move too quickly for any serious bruises to form on your body. He favors bite marks, near perfect impressions of his teeth etched in your soft skin. He doesn't bite to tear, just does his repeated 'chomp!'s without a single thought in his head; your thighs bear the brunt of it. Anakin likes when drops of blood bead at the surface of the bites, because then he can lick the bites soothingly. You usually have to run your fingers through his hair to get him to come back to himself when he starts doing it on autopilot with his eyes rolled back.

"Yes, yes, yessssss.... love fucking my cunt, missed making love to my sloppy pussy. Taking my dick so well, keep breathing with me, my love. That's it, just like that."

His way of saying good morning is languid strokes deep in your guts. His way of saying good night is crazed thrusts that have him putting it back it when his frenzied pace causes his length to slip out. He has is so hard sometimes, determined to carry the entire galaxy on his shoulders with you on top of it. You can the rising anger that builds within him when everything he does to prove himself goes unrecognized. The best way he has to ignore all of that outside responsibility is knocking your sweaty body up the bed while you're clutching the headboard for dear life.

Anakin's emotions bleed from him so openly, and all you have to do is drink them in. Because even though he wasn't free when he met you, you owned him them with his gift around your neck. You own him now, your cervix kissing his mushroom tip in its own display of affection. He is supposed to live his life with the intention to be the force's son, but he is burning to ash faster than he is fulfilling his destiny; at least he can keep you and your future children warm.

[dustcrumbs]

Horrordust!!!

2 other vers below + LONGGG CONTEXT/story abt this drawing

without filter + no background at all

heh

@dreamy-fever helped with choosing background color :3c

@k1llercrumbs and @gayhorrorsans helped with the idea and revise it

Poorly explained by yours truly, Dustcrumbs.

story starts now!!

These two are taken into an omega timeline. Both saved from their Aus, which were either crumbling away, or they simply couldn't stay there anymore.

Horror was still in his fight or flight instincts. He was quite literally paranoid of everyone around him, soon that paranoia seeped into his relationship with his brother. Which soon caused him to stay away from people altogether and avoid big gatherings of people (like the city.)

Horror wouldn't even go into the towns to grab food in fear that he'd be attacked (paranoid hunk). He wouldn't even eat at all, even if papyrus handed him the food. He'd think that his own brother poisoned his food. Horror's really paranoid and anxious. He couldn't handle the idea of returning to a normal life, let alone be actually living in one.

So, he usually stays in a specific spot he's found. He stays during the day and leaves at night to sleep back in his apartment.

Horror ventures into the (very little) forests often. He has even found a little spot to go to whenever he suffers from his misophonia or is just overwhelmed by the bright lights everywhere.

the area itself is a lake with a cabin built by it. The owner doesn't seem to be there at all, if there is one. But it nicely covered by the trees. So it's pretty dark, barely any light shines through. Which Horror adores because FUCK the sun.

Anywho, Horror usually only goes there during the day and he has had no issue.

But.. Maybe one day, Horror was just too tired at the moment to head back. The cabins always unlocked anyway, if the owner truly didn't want anyone going in there. They would've kept it locked. No issue to sleep there for the night, right?

So it came by as a surprise when Horror woke up to a flashlight being beamed at his face.

Apparently, another, smaller, skeleton owns that cabin. This, alone, would've been the most embarrassing thing to deal with. If it weren't for the fact that he was overcome with fear that he was about to be slaughtered for trespassing.

Which is completely frowned upon and forbidden in the omega timeline (so is everywhere else..). But hey, this dude is living alone in a cabin, in the forest. AGAIN, BY HIMSELF. He's definitely doing some weird stuff around here.

Now, tell Horror why the fuck the weirdo in the cabin sat him down in the kitchen and passed him some microwaved Ramen as if Horror didn't basically break into his cabin and sleep in his bed. The little weirdo hasn't forced Horror out yet, and doesn't seem to want to let Horror go. He would've ran out already but he doesn't wanna turn his back to Dust and get gunned down.

So, whatever. I guess he's gonna be eating Ramen with this weirdo tonight. And sleep in his bed. Be buried in his blankets. And then wake up to freshly prepared breakfast. Which was the most half-assed breakfast Horror has ever seen.

Horror isn't complaining, though. For some reason, he feels safe around this freak in the woods. He hasn't eaten anything for another 3 additional years since of his own paranoia.

Having only spent a single night with this terrifying yet uncomfortably quiet individual.. Horror feels pretty darn safe around him. Safe enough to be able to pick up the fork and not feel the need to skew it into the other sans' neck. Horrors feeling pretty darn good. He even got the weirdos name, Murder. Which is, as expected, weird! His even weirder name, or nickname, was Dust. Freak.

Now, why did Dust do all of this for Horrors one-night stand? He was just being nice. He was currently in a counseling group to help the more 'feral but not completely gone' aus reenter society without feeling the need to decimate people. So hey, this is good practice to be a good person. Right? Plus, Horrors hot. But maybe Dusts is just a freak, he is, so it's whatever. Save a hot hunk and get better at not hurting people. Two birds with one stone.

Though, what Dust didn't expect to happen was to have Horror come back.

Yeah, Horror began to stay overnight frequently. Dust thought it'd be a one-time thing, and Horror would scramble away and never come back. Nope. Horrors visiting him. He has even begun waiting outside of the cabin just to follow Dust inside.

Dust doesn't even know how to take this. So he's just letting Horror follow him in and feeds him like Horrors some stray dog. Dust doesn't even care if Horror stays in his cabin when he heads to bed. Which Horror always does, sleeping on that damn couch.

Slowly, this turns into Dust preparing food beforehand. Then beginning to come during the day. Then just letting Horror follow him in the city. Then that turns into letting Horror hold his hand for support and comfort. Then it shifts into cuddling.. then sleeping in the same bed. And finally, kissing and slobbering over each other's mouths. Freaks.

and oh boy— Horrors loving it. He loves Dust. Dust is the right amount of everything for him. He listens like all Dust wants to hear is Horror, he doesn't judge Horror about anything, Dust is always pampering Horror and god he loves being pampered. Or maybe he just loves whatever Dust does. Hell, if Dust told him to get on his knees in the middle of the sidewalk for him. Horror WOULD.

Horrors always clinging onto Dust, playfully nipping at him and gripping at his hand as if a bird is gonna swoop down and snatch the little guy up.

He's in love with Dust.

And to say Dust isn't is just as mad about Horror as he about him.. that'd be the same as saying that he doesn't need air. (He needs Horror as much as he needs to breathe. That hunk is his ENTIRE life). They're obsessed with each other, always grabbing at one another or pressed tightly together like two Lego pieces.

They're obsessed with each other, but that's okay!! Not a lot of harm, actually. Dusts already willingly isolated from people before meeting Horror. Horror has already begun isolating himself before he even met Dust, so it's not really a big effect on each other's lives. It's a big comfort and relief for them, actually. Horror would've most likely lashed out one day and kicked out of the timeline. And Dust? Eh, I guess he'd enter society as a 'normal' sans. He'd just be empty.

But Horrors much more friendly and less. "I'm shaking, not bc I'm scared, but bc I have a bomb inside my chest,"y and more, "hi!!!" with everyone after making out with Dust for a month.

But, as expected, things go downhill when Horror is clinging onto Dust and sobbing about how much he hates the loudness of the city. How he hates the bright lights. The overwhelming noise and overwhelming things going on all at once. And oh, Dust knows the feeling of being overstimulated and being literally unable to make everything just stop. It hurts to see his beloved break down in his arms, in his safe haven. In THEIR safe haven.

So, after that. Dust makes it his sole goal to make sure Horror doesn't have to deal with that again.

Oh, you sneezed a little too off, and Horrors nose-birdge wrinkled at you... Mmm.. Dust just popped your tires. Oh, you nudged Horror when walking by? Haha, Dust just cut off the power to your house!

And this continues on. Dusts' revenge becomes more harsh and overall unjustifiable until one day. Dust quite literally kills a dude. Horror doesn't even find out until they're watching TV, and it shows up. Dust just bluntly states, "that fucker squirmed a lot before the bullet even hit him." Horrors there right next to him like 😦. LIKE WHAT DO YOU MEANN!!

but whatever, Horrors freaking out a bit and grows paranoid again. Not in fear of Dust. But fear for him. What if they find out? What if they take Dust from him? Will they kill him too if they find out? He has to hide Dust. He can't let them take someone he cherishes so deeply. He doesn't care who died. All he needs to do is keep Dust safe.

Which is funny. Because Horror is the suspect for the murder. His already unpredictable behavior and being near the last known sighting of the dude leaves him as #1 suspect.

Horror was gonna be held in custody for further questioning, but don't worry, guys! Dust killed the officer meant to take Horror. Heh, our savior! 😝 (Horrors spiraling real bad, everything is going wrong and he's terrified about being separated from Dust).

Pssshh, they'll hide in their cabin until Horror n Dust can find a way to escape the timeline together. (They have no damn idea how to travel across universes, so ye)

but yeahh

drawing is about horror finding out Dust just killed someone. He's now worrying about what's going to happen to Dust and how much he doesn't want Horror to go. I forgot( I couldn't fit in) to add this dialog in the drawing, too, but they were meant to say

"they're gon' take you 'way from me. I dont want them to take you from me."

"I'm not letting them separate us."

[cakeofbake]

Come and get me au

HELP IM IN LOVE WITH my own au

⬇️ Deets below :) ⬇️

Welcome to my Come and Get Me AU!! I needed a lil criminalxcop action in my life so i created this beautiful piece of content :D

Concept:

so basically, y/n gets caught up in a murder they didn’t commit and has been running from the police, although they were already being hunted down for a huge money scandal they were also involved in, so they were just having a doozey of a time. Two other (former) criminals, Sun and Moon, were dragged out of jail by the police department and were told if they can catch and arrest y/n they would get their freedom, so now they were on a wild goose chase to find Y/N.

Character Details:

Sun is your typical happy-go-lucky Sun in any typical universe, but he could definitely kill you in one shot, like bam, you dead. He’s extremely handy with a gun and has great aim and has fast reflexes, too. He wants so desperately to get out of jail, he took up the offer to find Y/N right away, he’s about ready to do anything to get freedom.

Moon isn’t quiet nor is he loud, he’s usually just very focused. He’s way more intimidating than Sun is, way more mysterious as well, but lighthearted giggles aren’t uncommon with him, either. Moon hates prison as much as the next guy, but it took some convincing to take up the job first-thing. But, of course, how would he get through without his brother to suffer with him in jail?

Y/N is a swift, cunning son of a gun. They’re handy with a gun, always quiet when needed be, and extremely good at escaping bad situations, except for the one murder they were framed for. But however focused on not getting arrested they were, they always loved a nice cold drink and a few laughs. They knew so many people around the big city, good and bad, it was hard to not be noticed by someone, so they kept in the shadows most days.

Eclipse… :)

Questions? Comments? Concerns? fanart CONSULT MY ASKBOX!! :DDDD

[thefreakandthehair]

apollo, who?

prompt: beach day | pairing: steddie | wc: 1.5k | rating: teen & up | tags: eddie munson pov, athletic steve, post-canon fix it, pining, reciprocated crushes | written for @pearynice for the @strangerthingswritersguild April Fools exchange! 💕☀️🌊

There are three absolute truths when it comes to Steve Harrington: 

The first is that Steve is a gifted athlete. 

The second is that Steve was born to thrive in the summertime. 

And the third, much to Eddie Munson’s chagrin and horror, is that the combination of the first two truths will be his undoing. In public, no less, because the universe has apparently concocted a plan to let Eddie live but to make him suffer nonetheless. 

Unloading the van had been easy enough— Steve grabbing the cooler stacked to the brim with soda, water, and snacks and Eddie watching as he’d trekked through the sand to where Robin and Nancy set up their chairs and beach umbrella. Most of the kids were long gone already, staking their claim with blankets and towels a few feet away from Robin and Nancy, leaving Eddie to snag the sunblock he’s basically been made to swear a blood oath to Wayne that he’ll apply generously over his scars. 

He leans back over the passenger seat to grab it from the center console, along with his walkman and sunglasses, and when he turns back around, he stops dead. 

Steve’s shirtless.

In the span of ten seconds, Steve’s already shirtless on the beach, nothing but swim trunks hanging from his hips, and Eddie realizes he’s underestimated how fucking beautiful this sight might be. 

The edge of Lake Michigan laps at the rippled sands as Steve reels back and tosses a football that Eddie’s pretty sure materialized out of nowhere to Lucas a few yards down the shore. All of his freckles and moles and scars out on full display, the sun beats down on his tanned skin and uncharacteristically messy hair that Eddie’s watched slowly morph from chestnut to ash brown over the course of the season. 

As Eddie applies his stupid sunblock, he lets himself stare unnoticed. Lucas throws what Eddie assumes is a good pass if Steve’s celebratory, “Great spiral!” means anything and when he puts on his sunglasses, it’s more to shield the blinding light of Steve’s smile than the sun. Maybe it’s cliche, maybe it’s overdone and contrived, but Eddie can’t stop himself from comparing Steve to a Greek fucking God. 

Apollo, who? 

El appears next to Steve and Eddie continues to watch— about three layers of sunblock in at this point because he’s lost track— as Steve demonstrates something. Holding the football in one hand, he points at the laces and seems to check in with El for understanding before handing it over to her and adjusting her grip slightly. When she attempts to throw it to Lucas, it falls short and lands in the sand just a few feet away from where she and Steve stand. 

Eddie’s chest fucking swells as Steve trots over to grab it and simply hands it to her again, smile in place to counteract El’s pout. Three or four tries later, the ball flies straight enough for Lucas to catch it and Jesus H. Christ, Steve cheers like she scored a touchdown, or whatever the fuck it’s called. 

He can’t leave the side of the van. If he makes his way down to the beach, it’ll be all over for him. He’ll have to hide in the water the entire time, and now there’s too much sunblock on his face to blame the inevitable flush on sunburn. It’s fine, he can hang back. Everyone looks preoccupied anyways and with any luck, no one will notice he’s not enjoying the surf and sand with everyone else until it’s time to leave— 

“Eddie!” 

Right, he thinks to himself. I have no luck. 

Steve waves at him to come join, turning that sunshine smile directly at him and it’s a direct hit. Apparently, even on the opposite side of the sands, he’s still a goner. 

“Eddie! C’mon, what’re you waiting for?” He calls out again, both hands resting on his hips. 

It does nothing to quell his urge to stare at places friends aren’t supposed to stare at. As far as he knows, the only person to have picked up on his unfortunate crush is Nancy, who’d seemed to understand the importance of discretion and hasn’t said a word. If he can leave this beach day with his secret intact, he’ll chalk it up as a success. 

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” 

With a deep breath, he locks and slams the passenger door to the van and walks out onto the hot sand, barefoot with his sneakers in one hand, SPF 70 in the other, and sunglasses hung over his nose. Distantly, he recognizes the grittiness of the sand beneath his toes and the earthy scent of the freshwater stretching out for miles in front of him but more acutely, he just keeps his eyes on Steve. 

Please let these glasses be tinted, he thinks. 

“Finally, what the hell were you doing up there?” Steve asks when he makes it down the narrow path lines with tall grass. 

“Aw, did you miss me, Big Boy?” Eddie drones with a smirk. If he just acts normal, no one will know the difference. It’s not like Steve ever flirts back—

“And if I did?” 

He hasn't planned for that response. All he’s prepared for is a gentle eye roll, maybe a flustered laugh or furrowed brow, and now Steve’s shirtless, sun-baked, sweat dripping from his temple and suggesting he missed him. 

What the fuck. 

“Heads-up!” Lucas yells and Steve turns just in time to take two steps backward and catch the football coming in their direction. 

There’s no way for Lucas to have known he’d just saved Eddie from something horrendously embarrassing, but he’ll find a way to thank him all the same. 

“Ever throw a football?” Steve holds the oblong ball in one hand, wiggling it at shoulder height with a grin. “I taught El how to throw a spiral, so I think I can teach you, too.” 

Okay, actually, he’s still being subjected to something humiliating. 

“Sports have never really been my—”

“Don’t start with that, c’mere. It’s easy.” Steve gestures with a nod of his head for Eddie to join him further out on the beach and like a satellite to its orbit, he follows. 

It takes way more attempts than it did El— something Max was all too quick to point out loudly— but he does eventually throw something that Steve considers a spiral. Maybe it would’ve taken fewer tries if Steve hadn’t insisted on standing directly behind him, adjusting his stance and grip with his chest damn near pressed against Eddie’s back. 

Of all the unfair cards life has dealt him, this has to be the worst. More than once, he makes eye contact with Nancy who raises an eyebrow and smirks before returning her attention to whatever she and Robin are talking about. 

Probably him. Him and Steve and his dumb, dumb, dumb crush that’s ruining his life. It’s fine. 

When he finally throws the ball at an acceptable angle, Steve claps him on the shoulder and stands next to him, effectively draping an arm over both shoulders. 

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He swallows and turns, breath catching his throat. All of the sun has brought Steve’s freckles to the forefront, a shade darker than usual with new tiny pinpricks of color appearing along his nose with a faint pink hue along his cheekbones. 

If they weren’t in public, he’d do something very, very stupid. Instead, he clears his throat subtly and finds words. 

“Sure, yeah, I’m a regular sports guy now, Steve. Guess I’ve gotta find something to teach you, huh? Y’know, return the favor?” 

“I’ve always wanted to learn guitar. You can show me the basics some time. Or uh,” Steve grins and lowers his voice. “I’m sure there are some other things we can learn together.” 

Eddie’s fully lost track of how many times he’s been caught off-guard so far today, but this one takes the cake. Steve’s fucking flirting with him. Actually flirting with him. Beating him over the goddamn head with it, really. 

“Yeah! Yeah, uh, yeah,” he repeats, smooth. “To both, I mean. Yeah, to both.” 

Steve squeezes his shoulder and unravels his arm with a hopeful expression. 

“We’ll talk more when we aren’t surrounded by nosy shits, especially those two,” Steve nods at Robin and Nancy who wave with their fingers. “In the meantime, race you to the water?” 

“What is it with you jocks?”

He barely has time to get the question out before Steve takes off, plunging into the water a solid foot before Eddie even reaches the shore. 

“That’s cheating, Harrington!” He bellows, running through the sand to join him, heart thundering between his ribs and head still spinning from what just happened. 

“Sounds like what I’d expect from someone who just lost,” Steve shoots back, taking a breath and submerging himself before popping back up. 

Hair slicked back with the freshwater of Lake Michigan, Eddie watches as Steve runs both hands through it, then down his face and back into the lake. Water droplets glisten off his skin and Eddie wades a little closer, finding Steve’s hands once they’re submerged enough to disguise it. 

“Oh, contraire,” Eddie muses. “I feel like I just won.”

[alwayscorvus]

A hug for a precious teammate

A hug for a precious teammate

malereader x Jiyan, fluff;

i already have an idea for a longer post ("normal" 4 my acc) but for now just a quick short. Jiyan can be a little out of character

He stood alone in the middle of a field, surrounded by emortia flowers. His green robes blew gently on the wind. With his back turned to you, he looked into a distance. Onto a horizon where an outline of Jinzhou city painted itself.

You approached him at a distance of few steps.

-I knew I would find you here.

Hearing your voice, chills went through Jiyan. But not the unpleasant ones, rather those of excitement.

He turned his head back, looking at you over his shoulder. Warm rays of setting sun gushed on both sides of his face, trying to escape past his figure. As a result, his face shimmered with a bright, yellowish glow of light. Messy strands of his hair (which, as always, managed to break out from not-so-perfect ponytail) flew in all directions. His facial expression represented surprise. You saw him taking a sudden gasp of breath after a spin. Yet, at sight of you, corners of his lips lifted slightly upward.

Even though an image in front of you was breathtaking, you put your focus on his eyes. They showed so many emotions. Sadness, grief, suffering. But also some sort of gratitude and relief.

A desire for touch, for warmth of another person.

You involuntarily spread your arms in an inviting gesture. And Jiyan instantly spun on his heel.

It took just a seconds. Jiyan immediately seized an opportunity. He ran into your embrace.

Before you had time to realize, your body was being squeezed tightly by a man's strong arms.

You looked down. Jiyan was stubbornly snuggling his head into your chest, avoiding eye contact.

-I'm sorry. I should be there with you.

You said with a genuine remorse. Now you deeply regretted not accompanying him today.

You knew that returning to the past by experiencing Riverside Games could be painful for your man. However, you hoped that if you let him go alone, he wouldn't be limited to only your company. And that he might be able to reintegrate with other rangers. On a different level -not only restricted to work and duties. Besides, this wasn't your festival.

That's why you decided to go to work.

However, after that decision, for a few good hours, you suffered with great guilt. You couldn't concentrate on your job. Especially after you found out that the festival got suspended. You were unable to complete any task properly. You were basically useless. To the point where your supervisor - Mortefi ordered you to leave.

Jiyan rapidly shook his head in denial. He didn't loosen his grip even slightly. You were slowly running out of breath. But you knew it was the only thing you could do for him at that moment.

-I planted a seed - he said quietly, slowly choosing his words - With Rover

-But I want to plant one with you as well - he added quickly, this time lifting his face up and looking directly into your eyes.

His golden orbs sparkled slightly with hope. Somehow like with an anticipation of approval.

-I know I know -you changed your voice to as calm and tenderful as possible- We are gonna do this

You placed your hands gently on his back and slowly began to make a circles on them. Trying as much as possible to soothe his nerves after today's events.

Jiyan dropped his head again and tightened his grip more. Even though, a second before you hardly believed that it was possible.

However, that gesture did awaken you. You looked around. And your eyes caught a glimpse of midnight rangers. Standing in the distance, guarding Knell Square. They weren't looking in your direction, not paying attention to you at all. Whether out of respect or ignorance.

But still, if this were to change, you had to do something.

Jiyan wouldn't want anyone to see him in such state. Especially his subordinates, to whom, as a general, he looked like a pure perfection. An example of someone unbreakable and with an unbelievable courage.

You were the first and last one to whom he deliberately showed his vulnerable side.

It wasn't often, because he mostly tried to play tough. Even outside of work, he felt a sense of responsibility. Though in this case, for the two of you. For your prosperity and well-being.

That just how his character was.

Sometimes, however, emotions took over him. Just like now. And Jiyan allowed himself to seek for a support in your presence.

With your right hand, you delicately grabbed his jaw and lifted his head up. His eyes were no longer glowing with ordinary sparkle. Shine came from a liquid that had accumulated inside them. Tears that he struggled hard to not let out.

-But we will get home first, okay?

Jiyan nodded and you leaned down to lovingly kiss his other cheek.

-Let's go - you said, moving away from him slightly and secondly putting one arm around his waist.

Jiyan tiredly laid his head on your shoulder and let you lead the way to your house. To your safe space.

[pokemonshelterstories]

Hiya, Pokémon Trainer here. I've got a question about a bizarre series of events that happened a couple nights ago involving my Marill. I'd consider myself pretty knowledgeable about Pokémon, but this has left me genuinely baffled to the point where I think my Marill might have some kind of condition, and I'm a bit concerned for his health.

Ever since I caught him, he's always seemed to have horrible self-preservation skills, specifically around grass types. Most Pokémon, when trained even the slightest, will gain some sense regarding type matchups (my Noibat wouldn't go into the same room as an icecube for all the apples in the world lmao) But for some reason, Maril has always been completely, stubbornly fearless around grass types specifically, no matter how hard I try to teach him that that's a horrible idea. I didn't think much of this for a while, I just made sure to keep an eye on him while he was out and about, and ALWAYS put him back in his ball whenever grass types were around, just in case.

Recently, though, I was exploring the desert near my house. By the time I was heading home for the day, the sun had set. Of course, being alone, at night, in the desert, means Cacturne WILL be following you... I wasn't too concerned, I knew I could scare them off pretty easily, but you might be able to see where this is going. As I'm about to send something out to spook them away, Marill JUMPS out of its Pokéball, and my heart almost IMMEDIATELY sank as I saw him take about 20 rounds of bullet seed to the face. But here's the thing. He just - I don't know, absorbed them?? Somehow??? It looked like the Cacturne were just as shocked and scared as I was, because seconds later, he fired off a disarming voice, messed up one of the Cacturne pretty bad, and made them all run away screaming. I kid you not when I say he suffered NO damage, no matter how much I inspected him.

I'm basically at a loss for words for what to think of this. he seems completely fine, I took him to a Pokémon center, and they said he was entirely OK, but I'm still a little shaken up by the whole thing, got any idea what happened?

fairly simple answer to this one: your marill has a specialized ability (often called a hidden ability) known as sap sipper. he absorbs grass type energy. this is a fairly rare mutation in marill and is thought to have developed in areas where water sometimes dries up, forcing the marill to become temporarily more terrestrial.

this is why it's really important to make sure you know what ability your pokemon has! aside from having affects in battles, your pokemon's ability can cause behavioral changes. you can have your pokemon's ability analyzed at any pokemon center, and that should be one of the first things you check about a new partner.

[lambsixtysix]

The Most Convenient Inconvenience

⋆ kento nanami x coworker!reader - read part two , here ⋆

word count : 2k+ ⋆₊˚⊹

Nanami sighs softly through his nose.

He can hear you moan your complaints into the side of his arm. Usually, he wouldn't allow for such unprofessional behavior, but since you were basically hobbling forward on one shoe and wearing his jacket for warmth, he'll allow it. Only this once, though, Nanami mentally tells himself.

As if to add to your embarrassment and suffering, the bakery you wanted to go to was closed. The sign on its glass doors taunting you with big, bold letters notifying the public of its closure for the night.

“Oh, come on!” He hears you say, Nanami can feel your grip on his arm tighten when you reach the bakery you promised to take him to after work. “It's not even that late!” You roll your head to the side, looking at the bakery doors as if looking at them long enough would make them magically open.

“You are not a child (L/N).” Nanami says calmly, gently pulling you away from the bakery doors. He didn't want to draw any more unnecessary attention towards the two of you.

Nanami wasn't blind. It was already an odd sight for those around you already, you clinging onto his arm for balance as you walked through the city. The weight of strangers's eyes on the way you held onto his arm didn't go unnoticed by him.

For some reason, Nanami had a feeling that Gojo was teasing him already for what he was about to do.

Nanami looks around for a nearby bench. Once he spots one, he leads you to it, helping you down to sit down. “I've been in the area before.” He states, kneeling down to button up his coat.

“Stay here and stay warm. You're in no condition to walk, and I don't want you to get sick.” After you give him an answering nod, Nanami gets up, dusting off his slacks.

He hated working overtime, but he just had to make sure you were okay. He had to.

The mission you just had was intense, even for him. Another reminder of how shitty working as a jujutsu sorcerer work was. A part of him was glad that his suit didn't get caught in the crossfires during the fight.

The other part of him wished he could've done more to protect you.

Nanami pulls out his phone as he waits in line with his basket. He checks his phone for any signs from you. Nothing. He didn't know if he should be worried or glad that you weren't wasting your energy recovering to text him something.

He didn't think he'd be in line for this long, but he keeps his dissatisfaction to himself as he waits his turn, the old lady at the convenience store counter lighting up in recognition of Nanami when he sets his basket down on the counter.

“Back again?” The old lady asks rather cheerfully despite the setting sun creeping in through the automatic store doors. “Only for a little.” He replies shortly out of habit, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “I'm here with a..friend.” He adds the last part rather hesitantly. Why would it matter if he told the old lady in front of him if you and him were friends?

Were you friends?

You were coworkers, sure. Went to the same school for four years, diverted onto different paths, and yet here you both were.

Together. Fresh from another life-threatening mission. Just another shitty day in the book for Nanami to grumble about once he's home.

All it took was some words from a convenience store old lady to make him question his entire history with you.

“A friend?” She repeats, bagging the items Nanami had carefully picked out for you. They weren't what he'd typically pick from a convenience store, but these things were for you. Not him.

“You have a good night, you hear me? You and your friend.”

With a friendly, store-approved smile, the old lady hands Nanami his change alongside the plastic bag with the things he had picked out for you inside it.

“I will.” He responds, taking the bag and leftover change.

Nanami walks back to where you were. Legs crossed, his suit jacket still hugging around your shoulders loosely. Something in him softens. He has to remind himself not to mix his personal feelings with his professional ones.

Nanami was a man of his word.

He tried to be, anyway.

He places the bag down on the bench, allowing you to look inside the bag yourself. Lightly, he taps the corner of your phone to get your attention. “Don't waste your battery, I want to make sure that you're home safe.”

He watches as you shuffle your hand around in the bag. Your eyes widen when you pull out a pair of slippers. “Eh? What's this?”

Nanami sits a respectable feet away from you. The only thing separating him from you was the multi-colored plastic bag with the convenience store's logo plastered on the front.

“I got you those as a substitute for your current...shoe situation.” He doesn't bother to look down at your shoes.

Somehow, in the middle of your previous battle, the curse managed to steal one of your boots.

“It's certainly not luxury, but I do hope you like it. It's the least I can..”

“Are you kidding me?”

You laugh, holding up the pair of slippers in your hands like you just struck gold.

Immediately with newfound excitement, you tear open the packaging eagerly, tossing it off to the side so you can try them on. Seeing you so genuinely happy makes Nanami ease up in his seat. The lines on his face seem to soften at the sight of you sliding the slippers on.

“In my favorite color too? How'd you guess, Nanami? You spoil me.”

“I'm just looking out for you, (L/N). Can't have you wobbling around on one foot, can we?”

There's a slight playful hint in his tone, barely hidden by the neutralness of Nanami's usual professional tone. “You really saved me back there. It's the least I can do.” With a tilt of his head, he gazes down at your shoes.

The colorful socks you wore were now accompanied by the new pair of slippers he had just bought you. “They have everything at those stores. Wow.”

You look down at your shoes, your fingertips sliding towards his, against the grain of the bench without noticing it. But Nanami notices. He notices, and he doesn't know if he should pull away or slide his closer.

“Thanks, Nanami. You're still looking after me after all these years, huh?”

Nothing bad would happen to either of you if he just stayed still, right? If he just enjoyed this moment with you as people walked by you without a care.

Undeniably, it felt nice to be with you this way, just sitting next to you. Nanami wonders if you feel that way too, if you truly saw the care behind the practicality of his actions. He was just looking out for you, after all. Just like he said.

Practically and propriety came to him naturally. Nanami tries to convince himself of that as you smile down at your shoes.

Your hands slide down the leg of your pants, adjusting and stretching the fabric of your colorful socks. “Man, I'm starving. Do fighting curses make you hungry too, Nanami?” You ask, your eyes meeting his. You say your question naturally as if it were as normal as asking a friend for a sip of their water.

“I wouldn't say so exactly.” He answers, not quite agreeing or disagreeing with your words. “If you're hungry, just grab whatever. I didn't know if you preferred sweets or…” Nanami cuts his own words short when he sees the look on your face.

The unadulterated look of happiness and appreciation as you grab yourself a snack makes him feel like he's short circuiting.

It's all rushing back to him now, memories of the past he thought he buried down long ago.

The way you fawned over food, reminding him of back when you were both classmates. The shine in your eye as you tried to talk about the smoked salmon stick, haphazardly held in between your fingers, the packaging peeled away messily made Nanami remember all the times you bugged him for his meals during lunchtime.

You were closer to him than he thought.

You were more than a friend to him. And he didn't know if Nanami should laugh or hate himself for not realizing that sooner.

“You shouldn't eat so quickly (L/N).” He fishes out a napkin from the bag. He hesitates to lean closer, to be the one to wipe the crumbs off of your face. You never changed since those days when you shared meals with him, those days where he used to be annoyed at the way you ate like your life depended on it.

Nanami could never be annoyed with you.

He leans closer. As gently as he could, he wipes the crumbs off of your face. His thumb brushes against the corner of your lip. “The food isn't going anywhere. You don't have to eat so quickly.”

Nanami pulls away again, back into the box he pushes himself in.

“Sorry, Nanami.” The chub of your cheeks puff out as you smile, looking content with your meal.

“Just..” He looks at you, and he sees the same face he's grown used to for years. The happy chub of your cheeks.

You felt comfortable enough to be like this with him, and he didn't know how to feel about that either.

“Be careful.” He finishes, clearing his throat and adjusting his tie to give him a chance to look away and collect himself.

“Don't choke, please.” He adds, his hands stiffly laying on his knees. In the tail of his eye, he can see you laughing. He didn't know if it was because of his stiffness or his tone, but he didn't mind. Not when it was you.

You sit quietly next to him, wiping the crumbs off of your face and tossing the remains into the bag like a makeshift trash can.

“Nanami.”

You punctuate each vowel as you say his surname. He can playfulness radiating off of you in waves.

“Yes?” He looks over at you, indifferent gaze meeting yours.

“Do you think I have a kind face?”

Your words linger in the air between you.

“What that curse said back there really... threw me off.”

You let out a carefree laugh as you speak, despite the fact you stood face to face with death.

Not only that, but you saved him too.

Nanami stares at you for a moment, his gaze unknowingly softening slightly.

“You have the kind of face people would sacrifice themselves for.” He replies, hoping that you'd leave it at that.

But you don't. Nanami has to pretend that he has to adjust his tie, he has to pretend that you were nothing more than a coworker to him.

“You're not saying that because I busted my ass saving you, are you?”

“No, I'm not. Your kindness..it exceeds more than just your appearance (L/N). I'm glad I work with you. I appreciate you for saving me.”

“I appreciate you too, Nanami.” Hearing those words coming from you makes something in his chest bloom. It goes quiet between the two of you again. Nanami feels your fingers brush against his.

“I should wear a mask, huh?” You suggest, mirth visible in your eyes. "Keep them from seeing how nice I look."

“Don't. I think you'd look better without one.”

Nanami smiles back, the tiredness in his eyes lifted the longer he looks at you.

The way you smiled at him made him feel like he was the one that saved you, not the other way around.

Most jujutsu sorcerers died with their regrets. But from that day on, Nanami knew he wouldn't be most sorcerers.

⋆ i love this man sm :3

[fanged-fanfics]

Hiii, I think it must’ve been like, 5 years since I ever sent an ask to an x reader blog lol. I’m doing it now since this whole year has just been plagued with health issues for me and rn my ribs/lungs/diaphragm/something on the sides are aching like hell T^T so I could rlly use some comfort from the sun and moon monkeys with a reader who suffers from health issues 🥺 not picky about gender or whether it’s s/o or platonic or if it’s a drabble or hcs, whichever feels right/easiest for you to write. Tysmmm 💚

💜🌙 Health Issues — Macaque and Wukong x GN Reader HCs 👑🧡

₊.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨👑🌙୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

- Wukong has a history of being involved with medicine, so he might try to use more traditional/mystical methods to try and ease any aches and pains

- Macaque would be slightly more out of the loop, but he'd research more modern methods to try and help you out

- They're very accommodating to what you can or can't do, they're very willing to do anything you feel like you can't and are never judgemental if there's any small task that you don't feel up to

- Wukong usually has to train or monitor MK, so Macaque would probably be home most often. He might snark a little here and there, but he's very attentive with your needs. He remembers everything you need and gives you medication exactly on schedule, and he encourages you to eat and drink water regularly to keep your strength up

- When Wukong is home, he's usually right by your side if you're alright with it, making sure you're as comfortable as possible and keeping up his laid-back attitude to try and keep you in high spirits

- They surprisingly argue as little as possible around you, not wanting to make your physical ailments worse by adding mental strain on top of it. They keep their usual spats down to just the occasional off glance, and if they really need to fight, they do it outside of wherever you're staying

- Macaque is attentive to your smaller needs, making sure you have your little creature comforts and keeping things maintained on that level, while Wukong tries to make you your meals and prep activities for you to do to keep you entertained while also making it easygoing to reduce strain

- It's likely that MK visits you at some point cause he hears about your health problems from Monkey King. He might ramble your ear off for like an hour and a half before Wukong pulls them back

- If Macaque can't be near you for whatever reason, he uses shadow clones to stay nearby and take care of you in his stead, while Wukong would produce clones from his hair to do the same. You're basically never alone unless you specifically ask to be, then they pull back the efforts and allow you room to relax

[cressidagrey]

this is purely because i’m not seeing enough hatred for white horse lorenzo….GROWN ASS MAN TREATING HIS BABY SISTER LIKE THAT! Charles has been treated like the main character his whole life and Arthur is an offshoot of that, WHATS LORENZOS EXCUSE?! I need him to get a proper dragging when the Leclerc brothers downfall happens because there’s absolutely no reason for him to be treating her like that! She didn’t take anything from him, she hasn’t stolen any attention off him, she’s not done anything that can even be remotely twisted towards lorenzo to make her seem like a bad sister, he’s just pathetic! a copycat! a piece of crap! Charles can apologize and say he was just wrapped up in his own dreams and ego, Arthur can say the same plus play the young and naive, monkey see monkey do card, then Lorenzo is just like “sorry for just being a shit human being…that’s it”, all shit excuses and shouldn’t be forgiven in my opinion but my moon sun and rising are all petty grudge holder signs so that’s just me, but his excuse is by far the worst, and he needs to suffer

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk

No because you ATE this and left zero crumbs!! White Horse Lorenzo is a grown-ass man with every opportunity to be better, to be the big brother Belle deserved, and instead he actively chose to be a cardboard cutout of disappointment. Like??? Sir, you’re pushing 30, why are you still playing background music in the Charles Show™ when your sister is literally screaming for acknowledgment in the form of basic human decency?! You're absolutely right — he doesn’t even have the "blinded by the spotlight" excuse the younger two can cling to. He’s just… willfully disappointing. 

[psilliguykai]

Welcome to the completed tracklist and summarized story of William’s Wanton Weary Wiles!

I want to keep this project manageable and fun for me, while still being able to release the full story. Hence posting this, rather than each cover’s lyrics individually (what I initially intended :)). Most of what’s described here is what would be depicted in each song, though some events would only be implied/have happened outside of the actual “lyrics". These will be put in square brackets.

Basically everything under the cut!

Names and pronouns (Note: these will be used interchangeably. You may use whatever pronouns you want for any of them, these are just what I’ll be using/what feels right to me personally ^^ ref sheets are hyperlinked):

The Heart/Jimmy/Vestal/The Moon - He/it

The Mind/Laplace/Al/Marsha/The Sun - He/she

The Soul/Mr. Capgras/Cotard/The Stars - He/it

Whole/Will/William Racheal McSprout - He/Him

Warnings for: alcohol, abuse of psychiatry, manipulation, suicide attempt, discussions of mortality, and mental health issues. Also very long post + not written in entirely complete/gramatically correct sentences (my futile attempt to keep things concise /lh.)

Without further ado…

-iSH/Ryan I Wonder (Outro from Wanhope)

Opening song! Cotard pondering. Going back and forth between hopeful/determined and tired/giving up. Remembers every time they’ve been through this before - hopes it will go better this time but is losing faith.

2012 (Intro to Warray)

Sorta like Mucka Blucka - each character introduces themselves + a bit of the dynamics are shown. Welcome to the loop and endless suffering, babyy!

I think of “2012” here referring to the past loops. Heart/Mind don’t remember them, but they heard (from Soul) the world would turn to hell! /ref 

“Did you lose yourself? It’s always in the last place that you’d check!” referring (mostly) to them splitting. “Losing” Wholeness. Do with that what you Will (ahahah)

The Song with Five Names, a​.​k​.​a. Soapbox Tao, a​.​k​.​a. Checkmate Atheists! a​.​k​.​a. Neospace Government, a​.​k​.​a. You Can Never Know

Similar to 2012 in the “introduction” sense. A little more of the trio each getting some time in the spotlight + sharing their thoughts.

“You can break a shovel when you break new ground, you dig dirt up when you dig deep down”--the more they try to form new solutions/the more times they split, the deeper they dig themselves into this metaphorical pit of dissonance.

Jimmy sings from the “sunshine is a gaslight” to “and that’s good enough to be not enough to be good enough for me!”, talking about Mind, accusing him of being fake and manipulative + claiming to be more capable and more deserving of power than her. 

Laplace’s Angel

Essentially Mind’s rebuttal to the last part of TSW5N. 

The trio are mostly equal at this point, but Laplace does have a bit more control than Jimmy.

This is essentially Laplace talking himself up + mocking Jimmy for lacking as much free will in this situation + expressing that if it were in her place, he would see her reasoning and do the same as she does.

Everything Is A Lot/Destroy To Enjoy

EiaL is mostly just Jimmy pondering/being generally unhappy. 

He comes to a decision. This is Marsha’s fault - he’s ruining them. He forces Whole to avoid doing the things he enjoys! (drinking, spending money, etc. - self destructive habits which are arguably fine in low doses but should be metered).

[Marsha keeping things under control is good, but he does so to an extreme–deprives Whole of breaks/other needs in the interest of “staying productive”/trying to reach arbitrary “perfections” (more money, more benefitting others, less enjoying life, less rest). Obligatory Nobody-here-is-the-“villian”-or-“hero”. They’re all flawed but ultimately trying to do what they think is best for Whole.]

Vestal resolves he needs to take charge.

Front Street

I imagine this song happening in a bar in Marybell. Jimmy is getting reckless and self destructive in the name of feeling “free”. Drinking excessively and smashing bottles and such. 

I’ve got the line “you say let loose, but you are lost” in my head as Marsha’s retort. Throughout the song as Jimmy tries to convince her and Cotard to “loosen up”, Marsha tries to express to him that this isn’t actually helping the Whole and is only hurting him (though the way he does so is fraught with resentment and only makes Jimmy want to ignore her).

Jimmy does not listen.

Memento Mori

Twist on the original. Instead of using inevitable death as a comfort/reason to enjoy life, Laplace is instead essentially saying “one day we’re all going to die, and with the way you’re doing things it’ll probably be your fault.”

[Laplace is making a decent point, but is largely using this as a way to put Jimmy down. More guilt-tripping/trying to emotionally manipulate him rather than actually properly communicating.]

Red Moon

Vestal singing to Cotard, trying to convince it to hand control over to him. 

“We walk the equator chasing the light” referring to the loops - they all go around in circles chasing the idea of being Whole, but it never stays and they’re stuck chasing.

Vestal says they’ll only be able to “turn around” (break the cycle) with a Red Moon (because like. Heart is moon and Soul is red yeah.)

This leaves Mr. Capgras progressively getting more annoyed/angry. He knows Vestal thinks it’s doing what’s best for William, but is also aware that it largely wants power and the ability to do what it wants with no oversight. He’s pissed that Jimmy thinks he could be manipulated so easily and is exhausted with both his and Marsha’s vies for power

[Capgras is also frightened of both of them, even if he doesn’t show it. He’s worried about Laplace working/depriving Will to death, and he’s worried about Jimmy getting too reckless and over-indulging to the point where it gets them all killed. While CCCC’s Soul prioritizes ending the loops by any means necessary, Cotard is a lot more concerned with keeping Whole alive, regardless of how many times they have to go through Cacophony/Warray to ensure that, and regardless of how much suffering they're in.]

Jimmy Mushrooms’ Last Drink: Bedtime in Wayne, NJ

Jimmy!! Is Not Happy with the trio’s situation, and Laplace/Cotard’s halfhearted attempts at convincing him to keep going (“Jimmy, you’re fine”/”keep trucking it’s all in your mind”) don’t help. 

Hitting a low point after a few days of self-destructive euphoria (see Front Street), and giving up on the idea that they could ever be whole. 

Will is driving home from the bar (yes, very drunk. Don't drink and drive /srs) and Jimmy decides to try and end all their suffering, attempting to take control of Will and crash the car (“gaining speed, wrapping trees”). 

BlackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA

[The crash didn’t work. Marsha jumped in, physically tearing Vestal away from the wheel.]

[Marsha generally presents himself as a sort of therapist/psychiatrist in occupation, though he has no one–aside from Jimmy who’s not paying for shit--to “treat”. Despite there being no real business, she has an office in Marybell and does extensive paperwork {which IS necessary because it gets Will to do his own work but that's a Whole Other Thing}. This is where Jimmy is locked in as both as punishment and a safety measure–equivalent of Apathy from CCCC. Room resembles the one at the end of the love me normally video.]

The first part of the song would be Laplace recounting “the Jimmy incident” (attempted crash). She goes on to basically torment Jimmy with overcomplicated medical terms and underhanded insults veiled by psychiatric jargon. She considers this both justified punishment, as well as the only way to get Vestal to improve or at the very least, cease to be a threat.

TLDR: Laplace maliciously and aggressively provides unhelpful psychiatric service to a very overwhelmed and trapped Jimmy.

Outliars and Hyppocrates: a fun fact about apples

Marsha is partially ranting about/mocking Vestal to Cotard, and partially continuing to mess with Jimmy to his face. “I doubt that you would even if you could change, the things that make you special are what make you strange!”

Mr. Capgras Encounters a Secondhand Vanity: Tulpamancer’s Prosopagnosia​/​Pareidolia (As Direct Result of Trauma to the Fusiform Gyrus)

Soul steps in. Could be very literally breaking down the door to Jimmy’s therapy room and getting between the two. Up for interpretation!

Think “You seem to forget you answer to me…” in terms of the themes/vibes.

Dr. Sunshine is Dead

Mr. Capgras is tired of both H/M’s pathetic attempts at manipulation. He doesn’t want himself or Will to “be” either of them (“I am not the sunshine, I am not the moon at night”)

Being earnest and trying to explain how he feels + reflecting on the loops and his identity.

He ends the song essentially saying “I could run the Whole on my own, but I want to give you two a chance to reconcile. I’ll wait.” (“I will be my sunshine, I will be my moon at night, I'm nowhere now, here's no one now to be. And if dreams can come true, what does that say about nightmares? I'll stay awake tonight…”)

Skeleton Appreciation Day in Vestal, NY (Bones)

Vestal and Laplace take a shot at reconciliation. Jimmy starts by expressing how he feels and asking Mind to do the same - “show me your bones” and “Mind unweave again” as metaphors for opening up emotionally.

Love, Me Normally

And he does! Open up! Wow!

Marsha begins to genuinely share his emotions. He expresses fears about Jimmy/the dangers he puts them all in with its recklessness. Admits that he does wish he could “loosen up”/encourage Will to enjoy himself. However, Laplace feels Vestal does it to such an extreme that she needs to over-correct (depriving Will of his wants/needs to keep up appearances/focus on responsibilities).

Falling up

Think of this as a sort of Variations on a Cloud equivalent - one last song together before they become whole

I honestly don’t have a very thorough plan for this at the moment - might elaborate later

White Noise (Outro From Warray)

This is basically them combining. Some final contemplation/reflection from the three as separate entities, but it fades into Whole. Gonna leave this one mostly up for interpretation/to you all’s imagination.

Half Decade Hangover (Intro to Waltz)

Will is recovering from/sorry for what happened while he was split (though he doesn’t know that’s what it was, as he’s not aware of HMS. For him and everyone else in the “real world” it was just a general mental health episode). 

Honestly the meaning doesn’t change that much from the original :’)

…And If I Did, You Deserved It

Completely implausible. Chonny would never cover this one /silly

This would be the CJ version with some lyrics altered to make it less about dealing with “fame” and more about day-to-day relationships.

The Main Character

Possibly one of the most accurately reflective of Will’s personality. The perfect(ly dysfunctional) mix of self absorbed, self loathing, and self destructive.

Um, It’s Kind Of A Lot

Not gonna say this is canon, but I think it would be really funny to change it from being afraid to being pissed off at everything. “I love you so much, it scares me half to death makes me really fucking angry”

This would be about LI.

Against The Kitchen Floor

Mostly directed at LI + somewhat aimed at other people in his life.

He’s sorry! He promises he’s doing his best! He just. Hasn’t learned how to be human as you are yet. /lyr

Yeah I’m not even sure if I’d change any lyrics for this one. Meaning stays the same, man this guy sucks [/aff]

Willard!

Will finds and befriends a rat in his house during a depressive period. He names it Ben (Willard movie reference yayay), cleans it up, and essentially adopts it. Ben appears in Cotard's house after this. He takes care of him (w/ some help from Marsha/Jimmy) and his physical health reflects Will’s health. Very sweet.

Vampire Reference In A Minor Key

It’s Will about himself in relation to LI 👍(not much to say on this one lol)

Whiny Fuck William’s Woke Pie, Weasel, and American Cheese Emporium a.k.a. “Mr. Ben is in the Macca’s again” (Feat. Cheese by Tommy McMinchin) [From “W.F.W.’s WWA: getting auto-suplexed”]

Comedic relief?

Don't look too deep into it idk what the fuck I was doing either

Cicada Days (Outro from Waltz)

This is still a little about LI, but more significantly about Will spiraling again. Very seriously/literally “losing touch”. Things get better for a time, but he still hurts people. Thing’s might’ve been better for a time, but he’s still hurt. Thing’s can get better, but it will take a lot more to “fix” him, and that’s if “fixing” is even a possibility. 

Self- (Intro to Wanhope)

Hey I mean . at least Cotard is back?

Yeah. Timeloop. I’ll leave this one up to your imagination (for now, anyways :))