#but that's irrational! i know it's irrational! and YET

[crazyvik97rpg]

Honestly, Sebastian was not happy with this at all – while the surgery was very much successful, he was still not out of the woods yet. It made him anxious, having to endure even more stuff he didn’t want to do when there were so much good news already. But apparently this didn’t mean anything. Dr Chalman let them know clearly that there was no way around this if they wanted to beat this. Sebastian felt quite distraught.

She looked at the both of them, giving them the chance to think about this once more, to really make a good decision – gave them more pamphlets to read. Sebastian read most of those already, he knew what they said, she only gave them a few new ones. He couldn’t imagine anything worse, really. He had his arms crossed over his chest, letting out a deep sigh.

„Okay, so then…once��I decided what I will do, I…will call you?“, he asked – feeling anxiety rising. It was baffling how anxious something like that could make him, the thought of losing his hair, his appearance, his beauty… It was similar to his irrational fear of getting grey hair – an absolute nightmare, but it was also just that – irrational. Of course this was rooted far deeper than just ‚I don’t want to lose my hair because I‘d be ugly‘ – it was one of those things that Sebastian simply struggled with, for all kinds of reasons.

For I have sinned...

The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes. 

William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times. 

“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?” 

William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.

“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.”

“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…

***

Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?

So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.

After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.

The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them. 

He was in for a bit surprise.

@crazyvik97

[tokoyamisstuff]

Voice of Treason

1,7k. words | f! (player 222) Reader | angst | yandere behavior | pregnancy | mentions of death | not proofread

Squid Game S2 Spoilers ahead!

A/N: just a lil' drabble written on my phone, but this man got a chokehold on me so I needed to get it out of my system

A bloodcurling scream echoed through the hallways as you witness player 390's lifeless body drop to the ground.

You didn't even know his real name.

Both you and 456 had been forced on your knees, wailing on the ground as you mourned the death of your allies, well aware your own demise was imminent.

This whole ordeal was futile from the start, but you had decided that you'd follow this reckless fool to the grave rather than dying for the sick entertainment of a rich elite without even putting up a fight.

"Where is 001? What did you do to him, you bastard?!"

In-ho's face dropped behind the angular plastic of his mask, taken aback by your worry for him despite of your own hopeless situation. "Why do you care?" the distorted voice spoke callous despite his inner turmoil. "The man you got to know is long dead."

You collapse at this revelation and you let out heartbroken sobs, hugging your belly as if to cling to the last thing that kept you from spiraling into despair.

Gi-hun observed your interaction with great pity. It was understandable to develop feelings for another while trapped in such an insane life-and-death situation, especially since 001 had been especially protective of you due to your circumstance.

But player 456 that has become a mentor towards you had warned you several times to not give in to this irrational sentiment, reminding you that the man you fell for had an expecting wife waiting for him back home.

"Take them away" he orders his henchmen, withdrawing the gun before tearing his eyes away from you. "The game needs to continue."

"Take him" the man dressed in all-black ordered his henchmen, gesturing towards player 001 before busying himself with you again. "The game needs to continue."

Gi-hun's pleads to spare you if not for the unborn child's sake went on deaf ears as a bag was put over his head and he was dragged away.

The Frontman lifted his gun again, the shaking of his hand barely noticeable as the barrel stroke almost gently across your cheek, a black trail of gunpowder trailing his movement. With one swift movement he put it underneath your chin, forcing you to look up to him one final time.

In a last act of resistance you spat at the man's feet, your relentless glare imbued with hatred as it bore into his skull. "You're a monster!"

"I know."

And yet he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger.

While you assumed sadistic glee as his motivator, In-ho was shocked with himself, caught in a labyrinth of his own mind. After a while of letting those conflicting emotions ravage his heart, he withdrew his weapon, signalizing the guard behind you to knock you out before sending a bullet straight to his head.

What he plans to do cannot allow any witnesses, even among his own ranks.

*~´*~´*~´*

God knows how much time had passed since then, but when you finally regained consciousness, only one question was burning urgently:

Why are you still alive?

You jolted up in a rush of adrenaline, scanning the unfamiliar room you were brought to. The interior was almost completely dipped in pitch black, even the furniture was no exception.

A new game, maybe?

Eventually your eyes caught the silhouette lurking in a corner of the room, leaned over in a huge armchair. That damned mask of his did nothing to hide the piercing glare you could feel underneath.

Feeling your rapid breaths and how your body started to tremble uncontrollably, panic threatened to consume your every sense.

Your mind was invaded with countless horrid scenarios to why a deranged man like him would take you back to - as it appeared - his private bedchamber.

The sheer sight of him was a nightmare, but seeing him approaching you with firm, deliberate steps shook you to the core. He pries off one of his gloves, laying them on the nightstand besides you with his whole demeanour perfectly composed.

A violent tremor jolts through your body as he reached out for you, however he merely places his hand onto your belly, unable to hold back a muffled gasp as he feels it kick beneath his palm.

"I had a doctor check on you while you were unconscious" he disclosed as if it was some sort of generous act. "The baby is perfectly fine. A little fighter, like it's mother."

It was meant to be a placating gesture but it had the complete opposite effect on you, not daring to guess the reason for his sudden interest.

Your face contorts in disgust and you shuffle away from his touch, pulling your knees to your chest and wrap the blanket over your belly, as if to shield it from this homicidal maniac. "Why- What do you want from me, you fucking lunatic?!"

There was a while of strained silence between your question and his answer.

"I told you to stay back, you foolish girl" he sighed, striping the hood from his head but his hand hesitated on the buckle of his mask. "But you insisted on joining this pathetic revolt."

The moment he unveiled his face your world scattered for the second time today, as you were confronted with the face of a dead man - at least the one you had mourned and wept for just shortly before.

Oh just seconds ago your greatest wish was to be able to see him one last time, to confess the things you had preserved until it felt like you'd burst with that secret admiration for him.

Right now however it was like staring straight into the abyss.

He forced his lips into a crooked bow, that fake excuse of a smile you had always thought to be remnant of the hardships he had to endure. But now you saw it - or rather him - for what it truly was.

This couldn't be real. It mustn't be real.

You replayed those words in your head over and over again, but they morphed into a nonsensical jumble, blurring with the overwhelming torment of confusion and betrayal.

He gazed at you with bated breath as he awaited your reaction, desperate to find any hint, at least a glimmer of affection in your features.

"Young-il?" you stammered with a meek, broken voice that buried him underneath a wave of shame he wasn't aware he could still feel.

He shakes his head. "No. My real name is Hwang In-ho...I'm sorry."

You knew the whole time, didnt you?

Something about him was off from the very start. The way he carried himself seemed to robotic, as if he was merely playing a role. Deep down you had always wondered about how his story never fully added up, so many times you ignored any suspicious behavior of his out of some twisted dependency.

And ever since you personally witnessed how he snapped the other contestant's neck without any remorse you had a plaqueing feeling that he wasn't who he claimed to be.

There was a wordless aggreement to keep quiet about this particular incident, due to your egoistical necessity of his protection.

That's when it dawned on you - he had already pulled you down to his level, made you his accomplice through your silence. And even now, all this time not even a single thought about the fate of your comrades had crossed your mind until now.

He only barely outranks you in selfish cruelty.

"Was-" you choke on a sob, feeling his thumb tenderly wipe away your tears just to be replaced with new ones. "Was it all a lie?"

"Not everything." In-ho spoke with a hint of melancholy in his bearing. "I did have an ill wife, back when I first participated. You remind me of her a lot actually...strong-willed and yet gentle." There was an undeniable reverence in his tone and the way his hand was still gracing your cheek. "I participated and won just for her...but when I returned, she was already gone."

You were torn between the seething anger and an irrational urge to comfort this grief-strickened man, in your shock the severity of his words not leaving you unscathed. "That- that still doesn't excuse a single one of your actions!" Refusing to give in you spat venom at him either way, reminding yourself the aching of your heart should be nothing but newfound hatred for the man.

"I'm aware" The Frontman neither aggrees nor denies your accusations, as it doesnt't matter to him at all. His voice is unbearably cold, the softness of his in it you were used to now replaced by a sharp edge. "I don't expect anything...no understanding or even acceptance. But i cant- won't let you go."

You could see it in his eyes that his stoic facade was crumbling, he was teetering on the brink of a bottomless pit, begging for a lifeline, needing for your presence to save him from the darkness within.

"I wanted to help you become the winner." In-ho takes a hold of your hands, squeezing them ever so slightly in the naive hope to convince you of his pure intentions. "That wasn't my plan initially, but I decided to risk it all to keep you safe. I swear I will protect you and our child, no matter what."

Our child. Such a small word yet such a huge impact. The implication sent a shiver down your spine, understanding it was like swallowing shards of glass.

In-Ho leans his forehead against yours, his own eyes glistening with usnhed tears. "You're my redemption, my salvation..." He trails off, suddenly grabbing the back of your neck, pulling your lips to crash over his. It was a searing kiss, one that demanded surrender, that commanded obedience, a vow to keep you at his side whether you want it or not.

You writhe against his hold as he cradles you in his arms, but his embrace is like a steel vice, suffocating and unyielding just as his love.

"I couldn't save her..." he rasps in a hoarse whisper, every syllable laced with utter determination. "Allow me to at least save you."

[gotta-winwin]

(💬) ... vernon chwe x reader

⭐ starring: vernon

💬 preview: the seemingly 'extraterrestrial' man that occupies Cubicle #218 cannot seem to take a hint - no matter how many flashing signs you throw at him.

tw/cw: fluff, corporate vernon, vernon is an oblivious lil shit, allusions to sex, quotes from b.e.d by Jacquees, shameless flirting and banter

based on an ask (hi + thanks for requesting!) as well as b.e.d by Jacquees MDNI

🪽fic rating/wc: pg 13/ 3.5k

☁️ masterlist & a/n: i am forever stuck in this vernon loop - alas, here's a request that's been sitting in my inbox for awhile, brewing vernon thoughts the whole time. although this fic is entirely fluff, there are allusions to sex so please be mindful of your age and the fic rating.

Vernon would have quit his job a long time ago if it hadn’t been for you. A part of him still yearned for the stage, a trusty guitar in his hands and the sound of diehard fans screaming his name. Instead, he had found himself stuck, circling the corporate ladder, clocking in to work everyday just to sit in his one lonely cubicle, staring at numbers he had only pretended to understand when getting his degree. 

He had his resignation letter signed and ready to go, and he would have handed it in if it hadn’t been for the notes that had begun to appear.

Colorful post-it notes that he’d find in the most random places - first his desk, then his lunchbox, in the pocket of his coat, stuck dead center on his computer screen. It baffled him, yet the notes kept coming, every single day of work without fail. At first he had scoffed, chalking it up to some silly office prank, but as time progressed, the notes became almost a given, as if the notes itself had rooted into his everyday routine. It filled him with anticipation and a reason to clock in everyday. As much as he hesitated to admit it, the silly notes made his day.

Of course, the notes were anonymous. Vernon had no idea that you were the reason he still showed up to work. 

“This is basically workplace harassment.” Anne, your closest co-worker, commented, as she watched you pen your next note to Vernon. She was the only one who knew it was you behind the colorful post-its.

“If he didn’t like it he would’ve told HR months ago.” You argued, ripping the completed note off the pad of bright orange post-its. “Besides, you’ve seen him smile at the notes. Even got a laugh out of him a couple times.” 

“But-” Anne snatched the note from you and read it aloud. “I hope our love will be like the number Pi: irrational and endless.” She shook her head, tsking. “Even for a compsci major, Y/N, Vernon would never find this funny. And if he does- he’s either mocking you, or his humor is just as broken as yours.”

“It’s funny!” You protested, snatching the note back. “Besides, I don’t even know where to leave this one. I’m running out of creative ideas.”

“What’s the point? You just need him to see it, right?”

You gave her a look. “There’s a higher probability of him laughing if he doesn’t expect the note. The less obvious the place, the better. He can’t be actively looking for it.” 

Anne sighed, spinning her chair back to face her work desk. “Compsci nerds.” 

Ignoring her, you continued. “I’m torn between leaving it taped to his water bottle, or taped to his bike.” 

“Of course Cubicle Number 218 Vernon Chwe would bike to work.” Anne rolled her eyes. “How old is this man? Can’t he drive?” 

“Hey!” You protested once again, defending him. “Maybe he just lives close, more cost-efficient you know.”  

Anne sighed. “Tape it to his bike.” Her fingers tapped against her keyboard as she spoke. “He’s definitely not going to be expecting that one.”

Your smile widened, already imagining his little stunned expression. “Okay. Cover for me- I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever.” Anne mumbled, although you caught a glance of the amused smile on her face. 

It was famously known throughout your office that the resident of Cubicle #218, Hansol Vernon Chwe, did not smile. He came into work and left while sporting the exact same facial expression the entire time. But you knew he smiled at your silly pick-up lines, no matter how stupid. And you knew that you might be the only person who knew just how pretty Vernon’s laugh was- even if it was from a distance.

If only you knew just how much Vernon wanted to know who was behind the silly notes that were his pick-me-up each day. 

You: 1 Vernon: 0

“I wanna live in your socks so I can be with you every step of the way.”

Vernon snorted audibly as he read the note, this time written on a hot pink post-it. His neighbouring co-workers snuck glances at him, drawn by the sudden noise. 

He ignored their stares, tucking the note into his jacket pocket for later. He was slowly amassing a collection of them, his desk back at home covered in multicolored post-its, each one from a different day. Sometimes the lines would be so terrible he’d shudder in cringe, but more often than not, he’d find them genuinely funny. 

Grabbing a file he needed faxed, Vernon made his way to the copier down the hall. Someone was already occupying it- and he realized he recognized her, the pretty girl who lived in cubicle #17. 

He could hear the loud music coming from her headphones, poorly hidden under her strands of hair. 

“Charli?” He asked, recognizing the familiar beats and rhythm of the song. 

He watched you turn around to face him, startled by his sudden appearance. “What?”

He pointed awkwardly to your headphones. “Is that Charli XCX? I didn’t think your name was Charli, don’t worry. It’s Y/N, right?” He rambled on, smiling sheepishly. 

You blinked, a little dazed by the amount of words he was suddenly speaking to you. You had always thought, like everyone else in the office, that Vernon was somehow untouchable. Someone so mysterious and way out of reality that the two of you just didn’t exist on the same plane of the universe. But now here he was, talking to you like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“Yeah.” You answered, after realizing you had just been blankly staring at him. “To both questions.” You quickly added, equally awkward. “It’s Charli XCX and my name is Y/N.”

“Great.” His gaze drifted past you towards the copier. “Are you nearly done?” Holding up the file in his hand, he gestured behind you. “I need to fax something.” 

“Oh!” Hurriedly moving aside, you let out a tiny laugh. “I wasn’t really using it. Sometimes I just come in here and pretend I’m busy- to get away from how stuffy the office is. I don’t know why I just told you that.” You were mortified, glancing at him to make sure he wasn’t judging you.

Vernon’s lips were quirked into a smirk, as he tried hard to push down the laughter that was threatening to bubble up inside of him. Ultimately failing, his mouth widened into a smile as he laughed, the sound filling your ears better than any song could. 

“I like you.” He stated, as if it was such a simple thing and didn’t have your heart racing. “You’re funny.”

His smile widened once he caught sight of your open mouth, stunned into silence at the new side of Mr. Cubicle #218 you were currently seeing. 

“Close your mouth.” He mumbled, reaching a hand out to do it for you, his fingertips lightly pressing against your jaw. “You look like a fish.” 

“I- what?” You spluttered, moving a step back. 

Vernon shot you another melting smile, picking up his file and closing the copier. “Anyways, I’m all done. Are you going to hide out here some more?” He kept his eyes on you as he stacked the papers in his hands, organizing them against a nearby table. 

You nodded dumbly, eyes following his movement as he walked out, stopping by the doorway to shoot you a tiny salute before turning away. He walked down the hall with a gait only he had, disappearing down the hallway, leaving you feeling extremely confused, your cheeks oddly warm. 

You: 1 Vernon: 1

“Are you a worm? Cause I’d like to split you apart.” 

Morbid, yes, but you were slowly running out of ideas. Placing the sticky note strategically in his work bag, you scurried off, ducking behind a bookshelf to watch his reaction. 

“Are you a worm-” Vernon made a face as he read the note aloud. “Ew. Weird. Kinky?” He looked up at the ceiling, a concerning yet intrigued look on his face. A chuckle escaped him and you smiled in your success. 

Your work days seemed to blow right by with the joy in knowing you had successfully made him laugh, mind still churning through your last encounter with Vernon by the copier a couple weeks ago. It had both startled you and ignited something within- a longing to know more about him. 

“Looks like we’re the only ones left.” 

You looked up, blinking your dry and strained eyes, spotting Vernon hovering right above your cubicle wall, a tired expression filling his face. You glanced around the office and realized he was right. 

“Has it already been that long?” You wondered, rubbing your eyes as you shut off your computer, standing up to stretch your stiff back. 

You could’ve sworn Vernon snorted at your words. “Do you enjoy working here? Time does fly when you’re having fun.”

You shook your head. “God, no. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” Yeah, you. 

An unspeakable look crossed his face as he grabbed your coat, helping you put it on. “C’mon, we can walk together.” 

“Oh. Thanks- alright.” 

The walk was amicably silent as you fell in step beside him, clutching your winter coat tightly as you both entered against the harsh wind. You spotted his banged up yellow bike across the street and bit back a grin. 

“You bike to work and back?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. You often passed him on your own way to work, spotting him through the windshield of your car. Nearly ran him over once, in your earlier days of working, but you don’t speak of that.

“I do.” Vernon patted the trusty bike with a loving hand. “Never failed me once.” 

A laugh escaped you, your breath hitting the winter wind and turning into a light fog. 

His eyebrows raised. “Are you laughing at me?” His lips quivered up as he watched you descend into laughter once again. 

“No!” You exclaimed through a fit of giggles, clutching your stomach. “Oh god, it’s just- Vernon Chwe- on a bike-”

A clear and infectious cackle of a laugh joined yours as Vernon too, doubled over in laughter. You paused, staring wide-eyed as giggles escaped him, thoroughly entertained by the amusement you had found in his transportation method. 

Passerbys would have deemed the pair of you as mad, with the way you clutched onto Vernon’s arm to hold yourself up as you laughed harder, his own hand gripping yours in the bitter wind. It was numbingly cold but both of your insides were warm, cheeks flushed due to the ridiculous image of Vernon on a bike. 

Y/N: 1 Vernon: 1 The universe(?): 1

“Yo.” 

Your music paused suddenly, jolting you out of your zone. Spinning around in your chair, you frowned up at Vernon, who had somehow swiped your phone from your desk without you noticing. 

“What’s up?” You sighed, taking off your headphones to glare at him. “You didn’t need to pause my music, y’know.” 

“I’ve been sent on a coffee run, wanna come?” He spread his arms open in invitation. “We can take as long as we like.” 

Ditching work for a while did sound like a nice pastime, especially with the lack of work you had currently. “I wouldn’t mind a breath of fresh air, actually. I’m down.”

“Put on your coat.” Vernon handed it to you, watching as you shrugged it on. 

“I know you want to be in my b.e.d, grinding slowly.” 

The last note had taken him terribly off guard and he needed a distraction to remedy that. 

To be fair, you didn’t really know what had gotten into you- the sudden bravado and confidence put into the note had caught you terribly off guard as well. 

“Do you know Joshua? He works in upper management but we’re pretty good friends.” Vernon suddenly asked, walking backwards along the sidewalk so he could look at you. 

You nodded. “I’ve seen him around. He’s very social.” Unlike you, you declined to add. 

“Yes. He’s hosting a social gathering later tonight, and asked if I could invite you.”

“He asked you to invite me?” You shot him a wary look, not quite believing him. You and Joshua barely passed as acquaintances. 

Vernon’s hand reached behind his neck as he rubbed his nape, a sheepish and embarrassed expression on his face. You noticed his ears would turn pink whenever he was even mildly shy. “Okay, maybe I just wanted to invite you, alright?” He turned away, walking properly now to hide his face from your keen eyes. 

A slow smile crossed your face. “Oh, no.” You mimed dread. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you.”

“What?” Vernon turned so fast you reckoned he must’ve gotten whiplash. 

“I’m joking.” Punching his arm lightly, you gave him a lighthearted smile, ignoring the way your heart pounded at the brunt question. “I’d love to go to the little party. You didn’t have to use Joshua to invite me.”

“Well,” Vernon’s ears turned pink once again. “I’d say I’d pick you up and give you a ride home after, but- I don’t think we’d both fit on my bike.” 

Both your lips twitched at the reminder of that night, where the two of you had laughed like it was the first time either one of you had found anything remotely funny. 

“I’ll drive.” You offered, once the wave of silent laughter dissipated. “You can hitch your bike to the back of my car.” 

“Me,” Vernon’s mouth dropped comically as he pressed his hands to his chest. “A passenger princess? How lucky.”

His smile widened as you laughed, and he shamelessly basked in the sound of it. 

Y/N: 2? Vernon: 2? The universe: 1

The smell of musk was the first thing that hit you as the two of you entered Joshua’s townhouse. It was a small, quaint place, decorated to the brim with trinkets and flower pots, overflowing with both people and food. Vernon led the way as you shuffled in, greeting familiar faces and smiling at strangers. 

“I thought you said ‘small gathering.’” You yelled, tiptoed next to Vernon so you could reach his ear. 

You could tell from his eyes that he had no idea what you were saying. “What?” He yelled back, although his voice was carried away by the crowd as well.

“I said-” You felt like you might burst a lung trying to communicate. “I thought you said, ‘small gathering!’” 

He stared at you blankly, blinking slowly, evidently still not in the loop. 

Giving up, you were about to turn away when you suddenly felt his whole body shake, quivering against you as he laughed. 

“What the fuck?” You yelled, this time right in his face. 

“I heard you the first time, silly.” He yelled back, a shit-eating grin spreading wider as he watched your eyebrows furrow. 

“Party Vernon sucks.” You concluded, moving away, only to be pulled back by his hand on your arm.

“Didn’t you complain that I was too ‘mysterious’?” He yelled, laughing harder when you visibly paled. “Yeah, I heard that. But it’s okay. I am very…how did you put it. Sullen, at work.”

Hiding your face, you slapped his chest, causing him to groan in pain. 

“Ow.” 

“Ow.” You mocked back. There really was no answer as to where the sudden childishness came from, but the way Vernon was staring at you- it made reason seem almost meaningless.

He threw his head back and laughed, soundless against the party’s atmosphere but somehow just as electrifying. 

“Have fun, Y/N.” He said, grabbing your hands. “Let’s dance.” 

Y/N: 2 Vernon: 3 The universe: 1

You had always sworn by the fact that driving late at night with the windows down, cold air blowing through your hair was the way to go. 

“Admit it!” Vernon yelled through the wind, glancing at you from the passenger seat. “You had fun tonight.”

“I did.” You admitted. The party had been overwhelming at first, but the later the night got, the more fun you discovered yourself to have. “I haven’t had a night like that in a while.”

You braked at a red light and flipped through your playlist, switching on the one song you knew would get a reaction out of Vernon. 

“I know you wanna love But I just wanna fuck And girl, you know the deal I gotta keep it real I know you wanna see I know you wanna be In my B.E.D., grinding slowly”

The light turned green and you continued to drive, the roads empty and deserted, street lamps illuminating the world in a soft amber. Occasionally, you’d glance over at Vernon, who was bopping his head to the beat, murmuring the lyrics under his breath. 

Oblivious man. 

Reaching over, you turned the volume up, as if the louder the music was, it’d somehow reverberate its message into his skull. Get a hint! You wanted to scream at him. I’m kind of in love with you and want to jump your bones! Hello??

Vernon continued to groove to the music without a care in the world.

“This is a good song!” He yelled in your ear, his voice mixed with the whistling of the air, whooshing past you. 

“I know!” You screamed back. Oh my god. Is he really this dense? 

The song kept playing as you drove, winds calming down as you neared his place. In between the gap of the song switching to the next, Vernon spoke, his calm voice contrastingly the loudness before. 

“I think I’m going to quit the job.” 

You nearly crashed the car at his words, jerking the steering wheel back as you computed his words. “What?”

“I mean,” he turned in his seat to face you, his hair catching the last pieces of moonlight and shimmering against his skin. “I’ve always hated my job. And I already wrote a resignation letter and everything.” 

“Oh.” 

He must’ve noticed your silence, because he quickly continued. “Who knows? I might try being a rockstar or something.” 

“A rockstar?” You let out an astonished laugh. Vernon Chwe seemed to be surprising you at every turn, even when you felt like you'd already figured him out. 

He hummed. “Yeah. It just keeps..calling me, y’know?”

“Well then you should go for it.” You parked into the driveway of his apartment complex and turned to face him. “Really.”

“You think so?” His eyes were sparkling like precious jewels. 

“Yeah. I do.”

Even though you knew that meant your next note would be your last. 

Y/N: -10 Vernon: 3 The universe: -10

The office seemed even colder without the presence of Vernon around you. Even though he had always kept to himself, you could feel the lack of “Vernon” in the atmosphere. How he’d entrance you with the funny way he’d walk down the hall, his countless snack breaks and your shared copier trips. But most of all- it was the lack of notes.

“First day without Mr. Cubicle Number 218, how do you feel?” Anne asked you from her own desk. “Although, I guess he’s not 218 anymore, huh?”

“Yeah.” You stared dejectedly at your computer screen. “This job sucks.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re quitting too.” Anne let out a loud sigh. “I still think you should’ve told him you liked him.”

“I did!” You protested, rather loudly, drawing odd looks from nearby coworkers. 

“You played a sex song in the car.” Anne pointed out, lowering her voice. “That is not confessing.” 

“Well he should’ve put two and two together. The lyrics on the note was from that song.”

Anne laughed. “We’re talking about the male species. They wouldn’t know subtlety if it ran them over with a truck.” 

“Whatever.” You muttered, returning to sulk in front of your giant mountain of paperwork. “He definitely didn’t like me like that anyways.” Sifling through the papers, you sighed. “I’m going to fax these, I’ll be right back.” 

Anne only hummed, too engrossed by whatever she was reading on her phone. 

Opening up the copier, you frowned at the paper already sitting there, a hot pink post-it note with messy handwriting scrawled on it. 

“With all the variables in life, baby can you be my constant?” 

You didn’t remember writing this. 

“Call me ;)” 

A loud laugh escaped you as you covered your mouth, looking around to make sure you hadn’t been caught loitering in the copy room once again. Grabbing your phone from your pocket you fumbled the numbers on the bottom of the note in, raising it to your ear as you listened to it ring. 

“Hello?” You whispered, cupping your hand around your mouth to avoid detection. 

Silence.

“Vernon?” 

The sound of shuffling from the other line reached your ears. “You didn’t think I was just going to leave without saying goodbye, right?”

“Vernon?” 

“Actually, pretend I didn’t say that.” 

Your heart puttered to a stop.

“When can I see you again?” 

Y/N: 0 Vernon: ♾️ The universe: 0

[icarusredwings]

Toast

(Yeah, he got the hello kitty toaster)

Sfw poolverinessa sick-ficlet

Cw: implied past eating disorder and cancer related puking

Vanessa never really knew why, but some days, Wade ate a lot of toast. Sometimes half a loaf. He would visit the bathroom often and come back smelling clean. Minty or lemon scented.

He'd smile and say "Why not? I like toast." When asked why but secretly she wondered if there was more to it.

It wasn't until Logan came around that she finally figured it out.

Here, in the morning, Wade had toast for breakfast. Simple really. Just two slices with jam. She had noticed Logan's gestures moved away from the lunch plans they were talking about.

"What about that place on 6th street?" He has said before, but now was suggesting a movie marathon at home.

What had changed? Within a wordless instant, they had taken lunch off the table.

"Maybe for dinner?" She asks, getting a curious look from Logan and a smile from Wade. Subtle enough to be unnoticeable if you hadn't been with him for the last 10 years.

"Yeah! Maybe. I heard they take reservations, though." Was all that was said, but Vanessa squinted, peering into those deep yellows, searching for any sort of falsification.

"Yeah... maybe." She repeats, only for him to glance back at Logan, taking a big bite of the toast. "So what movies are we gonna watch? Whatever you want. I'm not picky." Wade says, another sharp bite.

"What? Oh yes, you are." The scuff man smirks. "You're prissier than a lil miss pretty in pink pagent show."

"And I think you've been spending too much time with Rouge." Wade giggled. "What do you think V?"

"I think hes right. You ARE prissy and petty... And pathetic."

"Oi, you love pathetic men." He says, shoving the rest of the toaste in his mouth, jam falling down his chin.

Rolling her eyes, Vanessa kisses his lips, licking the jelly off. "That I do.. and you smell.. different." The tone it's said in is suspicious. Because it kinda was.

"I changed my body wash. This one's supposed to be gentle on skin. Wolvie said it would be better for me, but I think it smells like ass."

"It's irratant free." Logan budded in, taking a sip of his soda. "Which includes those perfumes."

"Look peanut, you might be able to get away with being all naturel with your manly wolvie musk but I smell like death." Wade says, eating the other toast.

"That's kind of an insult to Death, isn't it?" She asks, shifting to grab the remote, scrolling through their options.

"Oh definitely. She smells like fresh bloomed flowers after it rains." He mutters, filled with longing and well- Toast.

"Well, don't go dying on us just to see her, 'kay bub?" It's taken as a jabe, this serious statment was. As all things were to Wade, who only laughs, getting up.

"Yeah, yeah. Alright, you two choose. Don't have too much fun without me." He says, heading off to the bathroom.

Hm. Nothing seems out of place just yet. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she had a feeling something was wrong.

When Wade returned, he smelt of artifical mint and that gross cheap spray that gas stations used in their bathroom. The lemon kind that smelled more like chemicals then actual lemons.

Ood, but not unusual. Maybe they just got minty bar soap. Who knows. Though she didn't remember seeing any.. huh.

____

Later, just as they were starting the second movie, Logan had brought a big bowl of buttery pop corn and again a plate of toast. This time buttered.

"Hold on. I gotta go to the bathroom again. You know. Kidney cancer shit. Go ahead and start without me." Wade says, waving them off as he leaves.

Blinking, for a second, Vanessa wondered. This was his 6th time going to the bathroom already and not every time, but most times, he would be in there for a good couple of minutes.

"Is he okay?" She asked Logan, who shrugged, having the toast in his lap, holding it. "About as okay as he'll ever be I guess."

"Soo no. Got it.. hey, can I ask you something?" Vanessa scoots a little closer, quieting down her voice as the starting credits play on the tv.

"If it's what I think, the awnser is no."

"What? No! Not that. God... men. I was gonna ask.. Why does Wade eat so much toast? Doesn't it give him a stomach ache? I thought he was allergic to gluten for a while." She adds, whispering.

Logan now tilts his head, giving her a stupid look only to soften into a 'Oh yeah' expression. "Right.. not everyone has my nose. My bad. Wade eats a bunch of toast because it settles and soaks up his stomach acid. Mentioned something about 'it's better to have something to throw up then nothing at all' too, which I hope is about the stomach cancer and not.. nevermind." He waves his hand, shaking his head. "It's true, though. Trust me, I've threw up a ton as a kid, and it was always better to have something in there."

"So... every time he..." She gestures to the bathroom vaugey with her hand. "He's.. puking?"

"Yeh.. kind of suprised you didn't know already. Though.. I guess it makes sense." Logan mutters, thinking.

"He's been hiding it from me.." It's a statement as if realizing this on her own, now processing.

"It's not really your fault. He physically can't hide it from me.. I can smell it. I can smell him crying and hear him brushing his teeth too." He mutters, looking at the bathroom door, that now clicks open and out comes a freshly cleaned up Wade, smiling that fake, appeasing grin.

Vanessa goes silent about the subject, only scooting back over and patting his seat between them. "You're just in luck. The movie just started."

Coming over, Wade sits between them, pulling his feet up to tuck under Logan's ass with a cheeky grin.

"Here. Eat." He mutters, handing the toast plate to Wade, who immediately begins to eat it.

"Ooh! Wolvie you salted it like I like!" He coes, shifting to lean agaisnt him, nuzzling his cheek.

"Mhm. I remember. Also... Vanessa wants to ask you something."

Her eyes widden, looking at Logan with that 'bitch!?' Look only to smile nervously, brows going together in a sense of tensity.

"Yes!" Wade boarderline chants.

"No! Not that! God.. you both are disgusting. I... I wanted to ask... Why did you feel the need to hide it from me-"

"Hide what? He immediately asks, cutting her off.

"The fact that you're throwing up........again.."

The volume of the pause is deafening. Enough for Wade's fake grin to drop, instantly turning to Logan as if he had just cut his heart out and sold it to the goverment (fuck the goverment, a voice echoed in his head)

"Why did you- i-.. I don't know what you're talking about." He laughs, forcibly.

Both of his partners stare at him, quiet and not finding this behavior any funny.

"I'm not! Ness I-i don't-"

"Wade..." Logan mutters, giving him a look.

Tearing up, Wade shifts, tensing and holds his plate tight. "B-but I'm not!!... not like that. I-i swear! I-..." a couple tears fall down his cheeks as Logan rubs his back, taking the chance of being injured. "Logan helped me get better."

This confession hurts to say. Ness knows it. The way his voice tightened and how panicked he got.

"That's.. not what I meant, sweetie."

"Oh...OH.. well fuck.. I- c-Cause it's fucking disgusting?? Why would I want you to worry 'bout me anyway? I don't need anyon' to carry my burdens for me. I can do it myself. A-and look mighty sexy doing it!" He says, wiping his eyes and sniffling, seeming to stop crying now that it was clarified.

"He's right about that last bit.. how you make insane seem sexy is beyond me." The flirt from Logan makes Wade smile, which is all that was needed at the moment.

"Pfft- like you're one to talk.."

"Wade, Sweetheart. You are not a burden and neither is your bullshit. Logan might have married you first but your bullshit is still my bullshit. Yeah?"

"V, I'm already the phyco guy who looks like half raw half burnt bacon, okay? I don't need to be known as 'the guy that pukes all the time' too."

She blinks, a little taken aback. "..Is that how you think we see you?" Taking his hands, she starts to talk, but Logan interrupts.

"That's a lot of words for 'Sexy motherfucker with a big mouth and nice ass' but sure. Potato patato."

Smiling again, Wade giggles. "Sttoopp... dont stop."

"I won't. But you gotta litsen to her yeah? Or shes gonna go all dommy mommy on you and make you write those affermations again."

"Fuckin' hated that..." Wade mutters, letting her thumbs rub over his rough backroad like hands, over his knuckles and up his wrists.

"And I'll do it again. You look at me and you listen good. You are way more to me then you will ever know. You are ever changing. Evolving. So is my love for you. No, you don't have to tell me every little thing, but telling me you don't feel good shouldn't feel like being a burden. Got it?"

"Mhm.." Wade was looking away, not wanting to look her in the eyes. No, because then he would be forced to see all the truth love in her eyes, proof against all the lies that his mind has made him believe.

"Wade Winston Wilson-" She states.

"Shit... you didn't have to goverment name me.." He whines, looking at her, seeing deep into her soul. She was telling the truth. She loved him. Bullshit and all.

Tearing up again, he makes a whimper sound, lips curling into the biggest frown. "Y-you mean it?"

"Of course I do.. you don't have to hide what's going on, baby.... now come lay on my tits and watch a medicore overhyped movie." She grins, shifting to let Wade curl into her, an arm wrapped around him, petting his head.

Logan scoots closer, putting an arm around them both, Holding the popcorn, smiling. Finally. Someone had shoved some sense into that stupid head of his. Maybe now he'd stop lying about having to pee so much.

Settling into their cuddle pile, Wade fells better, the toast filling his stomach, love in his heart, and eyes dry.

".....I have to puke again." He mutters, not even an entire 45 seconds of being in their grasp.

Both Vanessa and Logan sigh, letting him get up. "At this point just bring the trashcan, bub."

"I would, buuut you might mistake it for me-"

"Damn it, Wade!!"

[joffyworld]

Oooooo this is cool. Okay you've got a good point this shit *sucks* but I mean, thinking purely irrational levels of positivity here:

I guess they are the only God now. I think, there's a world where possibly the Lamb now gets to change what being a God truly means. Sure, they've been stripped of their power to choose whether or not they have this power, but their power does not necessarily define how they use it.

These are evil powers, but perhaps the best way to use them is to not use them at all. Or, to offer people the choice the Lamb themself no longer has. They remember personhood, and now have the human-companionship that other gods lacked (with that human companion having ALSO been a God until recently, so he knows what it's like)

Even for things like resurrections, the cult as a whole, maybe they just take a step back. Give the cultists the choice, do what the old gods never could and let go of a portion of the power they hold. By doing so, they turn that power into something positive, that can be prayed for and summoned when needed but otherwise doesn't domineer the lives of the everyman. The lamb becomes a symbol of a truly caring God, even if it comes at the cost of them hating being a God.

But yeah, that's probably a very simple view and not at all possible. I mean, the cultists all eat poop and kill eachother without guidance. But, in an ideal world, maybe there still is a balance to find in the horror of it all. Maybe a God doesn't have to be what a God has always been. The era of change may yet come, and it might be the Lamb that ushers it in.

Or not, that's what makes it juicy.

imma be real with you lamb your wife is bleeding out you need to get your shit together and go home

divergent from fic but i like both so they can coexist- i think part of it is a do very little description while writing just lots of feelings and thoughts so like a lot of thing does kind of happen they're just saying words more here cause i can't like psybeam narrative out through an image

anyways i have things queued for a few days and then i go back to work, we see how much art i continue doing once i am back

okaytyty, split close up below

[gillyeowalters]

So yeah, I did this. But so far, it's not smutty nor really funny. It is more of a character study for my two favorite himbos and for my homebrew chapter, the Grove Slivers.

It is also machine translated in parts, and I wasn't able to find all English words for certain W40k terms and had to guess.

Ignorance

The light from the lumens on the ceiling of the Arboreum barely broke through the canopy of the sapling. The more the Worldkeeper's only remaining seed grew, the darker and denser the shadows beneath its heavy branches became.

As Darius sat in the dappled twilight of the tree, his bare heels pressed into the damp, mossy earth, he was reminded of his early childhood. Back then, almost two centuries ago, he had sat with the other children of the Madare family on a root sprout of the Worldkeeper while their teacher scratched the patterns of harvest cycles into the still soft young bark.

Like now, Darius preferred to sit in the deeper shadows back then, afraid the teacher might embarrass him with a question he didn't know the answer to. Now it was no longer the old, sun-scarred man but his battle-brothers he was afraid of exposing himself through ignorance. A thoroughly irrational thought, Darius knew that himself.

And yet he had retreated with the source of his frustrations to where he thought himself unobserved.

In his hands, the book seemed almost tiny and the wafer-thin paper threatened to tear under his fingers. On the pages he found the writing of his home planet, which formed words, which in turn formed sentences. It was not the reading that caused him difficulties, but the understanding of the images that these sentences brought to his mind.

They described things that made no sense to him. Behavior that seemed nonsensical to him.

But Darius was stubborn. When this trait came up in conversation, many of his brothers liked to talk about how it was part of the gene-seed each of them had received. Darius' mother would certainly have thought differently.

And so, for well over a week, he had wasted the few free hours he had on deciphering the contents of the cryptic work.

In his hands, the book seemed almost tiny and the wafer-thin paper threatened to tear under his fingers. On the pages he found the writing of his home planet, which formed words, which in turn formed sentences. It was not the reading that caused him difficulties, but the understanding of the images that these sentences brought to his mind.

They described things that made no sense to him. Behavior that seemed nonsensical to him.

But Darius was stubborn. When this trait came up in conversation, many of his brothers liked to talk about how it was part of the gene-seed each of them had received. Darius' mother would certainly have thought differently.

And so, for well over a week, he had wasted the few free hours he had on deciphering the contents of the cryptic work.

‘‘In the arms of the fisherman - exhilarating and inspiring romantic stories from the northern coast’ - a rather strange read you have chosen.’ Of all the voices in the Arboreum, the one he least wanted to hear reached Darius' ears. Darius slammed the book shut, only to realise that he was revealing the scantily clad figures on the cover. Something in him found the depiction highly dubious. Perhaps it was the facial expression depicted, which Darius could only read as ‘deeply suffering’. Green eyes scrutinised the picture, then him. Urian Palatis had belonged to the same group of chosen boys as Darius. They both carried the same honour and burden, yet they had never met eye to eye. Urian's family tended the plant gardens in the outer districts, where the canopy thinned and the sun's merciless rays began to be felt. Unlike the Madare, who harvested mushrooms from the bark of the Worldkeeper in damp darkness, Urian's skin looked warm and vibrant, even if it lacked colour. The Palatis spoke quickly and in a dialect that Darius barely understood. But linguistic understanding should not be what hindered their communication- High Gothic soon replaced the soft-sounding Lughenese vocabulary of the young men and it soon became clear, even just by observing them, that Urian was an outsider even among his own. The other boys found their pastime in mockingly imitating Urian's melancholic and often vacant look. Of course, the relentless training and rigorous conditioning soon drove them out of such nonsense. And yet Urian was to remain an outsider in his own way. It soon became clear that he was not only constantly scrutinised by his peers, but also by those who were supposed to assess the abilities of the young aspirants.

One evening, Urian hadn't shown up in the dining room.

They had all had to endure grueling tests that day and Darius had been too exhausted to notice anything. But some of the other boys had seen how Urian had been pulled aside by a Battle-Brother. It hadn't been Brother Aderan, who was usually responsible for examining the aspirants, but someone they had never seen before.

No one knew what had happened to their comrade; Urian was not known for causing trouble and his performance in the physical exams was always good or even outstanding.

Although no one really missed the strange boy, his disappearance still caused uncertainty - fear spread that one evening they would not return to the others themself.

Two weeks later, Urian suddenly reappeared at morning training. He stepped into the ring as if he had never been missing and he didn't mention his disappearance at all. But something had obviously changed about him. He looked haggard and his light-colored hair had been shaved off. But it was his eyes that Darius noticed first. They were focused, alert and unyielding. Whereas earlier the others had mockingly and deliberately placed themselves in his field of vision to provoke a reaction, now they avoided being looked at by him even in passing.

Because now it was clear what emptiness he had been staring into in his quiet moments.

And as long as it had not been driven out of them, the knowledge that Urian could use the abilities of that very void brought fear to their minds.

Even now, centuries after fear had been banished from his bones, Darius felt uncomfortable around the librarian. No one knew exactly what he was seeing, and it could not be a coincidence that he was haunting him right now while he was plagued by self-doubt.

"I don't think that this kind of book falls within your remit, librarian." Darius squirmed inwardly; he knew it would be difficult to get rid of Urian. And to his chagrin, the psyker then sank down next to him on the mossy floor.

"I have to agree with you, Darius. But I wonder how you came to be in possession of such a tome."

Urian leaned forward to take a closer look at the book. Darius could see the Shatterbark scars winding like vines over the man's shaven head.

"Your interest in this book puzzles me, Brother Urian," Darius replied. Unconsciously, he moved away from the librarian. "Unless you want to tell me that this trash belongs in our time-honored Phenologium."

Urian sat up and looked Darius straight in the face. His gaze seemed to bore directly through the other's pupils into his brain.Then the Grove Slivers librarian turned away and the scraping in Darius' eyeballs stopped. "I'm not interested in the book. I'm much more interested in why you're interested in it."

Darius sighed. Urian once again proved his ability to turn any conversation with him into an unpleasantness.

Especially since Darius had to admit to himself that he didn't have a good answer to the question himself.

"The book turned up on a bench outside my premises a week ago."

The psyker didn't look at him, but he raised his eyebrows briefly. "You're saying that one of the serfs was careless and left it there." When Darius didn't answer him, he added in a worried voice, "Please tell me you don't think the book found its way to you by unnatural means."

"Of course not." The indignation was clear in his reply. A little too clearly.

"So you're wasting your quiet time poring over this thing as if it were an artifact. Why? You wouldn't waste your time on something like this otherwise."

The librarian was right; Darius was not known to be particularly fond of reading.

"It frustrates me," he finally admitted. "I don't understand it."

"You...don't understand it." Once again, Urian looked directly at him, but this time his gaze lacked the piercing sharpness. Instead, it reminded him of his mother's when he had once again failed at a simple household task.

"Brother. As the cover says; it's a collection of romantic short stories. What's not to understand? I'm sure you made fun of your older relatives as a child when they held one of these books in their hands."

Darius had noticed the scratching in his head too late. He turned away with a jerk and clenched his teeth until the sound of his blood drowned out the hated noise.

In some chapters, the harsh conditioning made the Astartes forget their lives before their calling altogether.

The memories of the Grove Slivers, on the other hand, were so deeply rooted in them that even the chapter's elders were largely aware of their childhood. It was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it constantly reminded them of what they were fighting for; on the other, it gave people like Urian the opportunity to chip away at their memories until they were sore and open to doubt.

Darius gave the psyker a disdainful look. This was answered by a mindless smile, which didn't help Darius' mood.

"If you're so familiar with this kind of material, why don't you spend some time with it? Maybe then you can understand my frustration."

He pressed the book into Urian's hand and made his way out of the Arboreum without further comment.

Calm spread through him, pure relief at having just got rid of two frustrating things at once. At least for a while.

[moonmaiden1996]

Pollens Pull- Chapter 2

The journey toward the pull had been merciless, every step a grueling testament to Trafalgar Law’s endurance and willpower. At the helm of his ship, the icy spray of the sea mingled with the sweat streaking his brow. The storm above churned, a relentless force of nature, but it paled in comparison to the tempest within him. Driven by the invisible pull of the toxin’s influence, Law pushed forward, his determination a fragile yet unyielding tether. Each wave that battered the ship reminded him of the stakes: falter even once, and the toxin would claim him—just as it had Mihawk.

He had tried, in vain, to sever the connection with his power. “Room,” he muttered through gritted teeth, the syllables tearing from him in desperate bursts. “Shambles!” Again and again, he pushed his abilities to their limit, his fingers cramping from overuse. Whatever this concoction was—this insidious toxin coursing through his veins—it laughed in the face of his mastery, rendering his powers useless against it.

By the time the island loomed on the horizon, jagged and foreboding, his body screamed for respite. But Law’s mind refused to yield. The shoreline greeted him with the menace of a predator’s maw, its sharp rocks slick with sea spray. Gnarled trees twisted and creaked in the relentless wind, their forms grotesque and mocking. The pull was strongest here, a magnetic force compelling him toward something unseen but undeniably powerful.

His boots sank into the damp sand as he disembarked, each step heavier than the last. The comforting weight of his sword at his side offered a fleeting anchor to sanity, though even that failed to stave off the growing unease.

And then he saw you.

You stood on the steps of a stark white building, the pristine uniform you wore an almost jarring contrast to the hostile landscape. Your smile was genuine, your laughter light as it floated on the wind while you conversed with someone beside you. To Law, it was like a blade to the chest—sharp, unexpected, and maddening. Rage coiled within him, hot and irrational, a byproduct of the pull that had guided him here. It mocked him now, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.

When your gaze met his, everything shifted. The pull ebbed, replaced by a hollow ache that gnawed at his chest. His knees buckled under the weight of it all, and darkness claimed him, your startled cry the last thing he heard.

xxxxx

Law awoke to a world awash in sterility. The antiseptic tang of disinfectant hung heavy in the air, mingling with the soft hum of machinery. The stark white walls of the hospital room were both familiar and alien, a sterile oasis far removed from the chaos that had brought him here.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Your voice was soft yet steady, carrying a note of relief. You stood near his bed, clipboard in hand, your expression professional but kind. The sight of your composed demeanor contrasted sharply with the whirlwind inside him.

“Where am I?” Law’s voice was hoarse, his throat raw from exertion.

“Pinecrest Island, Hospital.” you replied, stepping closer. “You arrived just before the storm hit. Lucky, too— its vile out there!. Most of the staff are out in the village dealing with the damage. For now, it’s just me and a skeleton crew keeping things running.”

“Lucky,” Law muttered, his tone dry and sharp. “Sure.”

Unperturbed by his sarcasm, you approached, your movements calm and deliberate. As you checked his pulse, your touch was firm but gentle, a stark reminder of the distance between care and vulnerability.

A pulse of warmth flooded Law's chest as he froze the feeling crashing over him in pleasant waves.

“You had quite the fever when you came in. How are you feeling now?” your voice soft.

“Alive. For now,” he bit out shaking away your touch.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, breaking the tension. “Good to hear. Anything in your medical history I should know about?”

“White Lead Disease,” Law said bluntly, his eyes locked onto yours, gauging your reaction.

Your hand faltered mid-motion, the clipboard trembling slightly before you steadied it. The ease in your expression gave way to shock and disbelief. “White Lead? But that’s… impossible.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Law’s voice cut through your disbelief like a scalpel. “And it didn’t kill me.”

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air. You placed the clipboard down, your fingers lingering on its edge as you processed the revelation. “I won’t write it down,” you said finally, your voice resolute. “No one else needs to know. This is a hospital—we take care of the sick, no matter who they are... or how they are effected”

Law’s gaze softened ever so slightly, a flicker of something unspoken passing through his eyes. “You’d better stick to that.”

He leaned back, exhaustion evident in every line of his body, his annoyance clear. “Now get out. I want to sleep.”

Your brows furrowed, annoyance flashing briefly across your features before you straightened. “Of course. Rest well.” You bowed slightly, returning the clipboard to its place at the foot of the bed before drawing the curtain across his room and leaving.

For a long time, Law lay there, listening to the muffled sounds of the ward beyond the curtain. Not a sign of Doctor Q or a trace of the Blackbeard Pirates. No assassins came for him. No ambush awaited. Instead, the rhythmic bustle of the hospital continued uninterrupted, a quiet lullaby that eventually pulled him into a restless sleep.

xxxxx

When he awoke, it was to the sound of rain pattering against the window. The dim light of evening cast long shadows across the room, the storm outside relentless.

“What time is it?” he croaked, his voice rough.

“Eight o’clock,” you replied, stepping into view with a tray in hand. “I brought you dinner.”

The aroma hit him first—a rich broth of chicken and vegetables, accompanied by a thick slice of golden-crusted bread, a bowl of steamed rice garnished with sesame seeds, and a plate of vibrant pickled vegetables. A small cup of green tea completed the meal, its steam curling lazily into the air.

“Didn’t think nurses made dinner for their patients,” Law remarked, his tone skeptical.

“I’m resourceful,” you quipped, setting the tray down before tying a band around his arm. “Now hold still.”

The needle slipped into his vein with practiced precision, your deft movements drawing an almost reluctant admiration.

“You’re better than most doctors I’ve met,” he muttered.

“Once again I am not a doctor'' You smiled at him warmly. ''But I will take it as a complement. From the scars you’re sporting, I’d say you’ve met quite a few,” you countered with a smirk, placing the vial of blood carefully aside.

“Not many,” Law admitted, his voice quieter. “Most of it was me.”

You paused, the weight of his confession settling between you. “Well, next time, let someone else handle it. Professionals exist for a reason.”

As you busied yourself tidying the room, Law watched, his thoughts churning. Despite his wariness, there was something disarming about your presence. The pull that had led him here wasn’t accidental—he was certain of that. Yet as he regarded the untouched meal beside him and the sound of the storm outside, he was weakened and tapped. he allowed himself one small concession he would stay in the warmth. For now, he would play the long game and for that, he mused, he would need his strength back especially if he had to permanently sever the pull. He smirked darkly as he brought a spoonful of broth to his lips. He would rid himself of this vile toxin that surged through his veins, his gaze darken as you bent over his bed giving him a full view of your figure. Even if he had to use you to do it.

I think I have decide that this will be a DarkLaw fic. That was my original intention with Shank's story but I just couldn't see that sweet man being anything but loving. I sort of see that darkness for Law. Love is going to be so strange for him and he is defiantly going to treat it like a disease that needs to be removed.

Please let me know what you think!

LIKE. COMMENT. REQUEST

[theflopwonder]

He definitely is, but I think it takes him a second to get there.

What I’ve always found really fascinating about him is that, his suits have always been so stylish, but he’s always dressed sooooooo plain out of suit. Like the 00s really stripped everyone of cool fashion, but even in the 90s when Bart was on faucet failure levels of drippy and Tim always had on a funky little varsity jacket or a band T-shirt, the most fashionable thing Kon would be dressed in is an opened button up with like palm trees on it or some shit.

I think his civilian fits are a little plain, especially in Hawaii, for 2 main reasons

1. Fashion, at least back then for him, is more of what’s cool rather than a means of personal expression. He’s Superboy, he’s the kid! Girls love him, guys wanna be him, all things that are dependent on how cool and fly (hah!) he is. If goes out to a club or something he kinda feels like doesn’t need to dress cool, cuz he is cool and that’s his entire point!

2. He funnels everything that’s cool into Superboy (cuz DUH somebody has to be stylish wearing the S they can’t all just be out here looking like identical nesting dolls that’s lame! and when he becomes Superman for realsies he’ll probably have to wear the uniform this time so he might as well make shit fun while he can) but obviously he can’t wear the suit all day every day cuz that’s disgusting so his civvies are more so just a matter of convenience. They’re gonna get destroyed anyway when a villain crashes his coffee date n it’s expensive enough to replace his leather jacket all the time so like … what’s the point?

And when it comes to TT03 … honestly after his time in Suicide Slum falls apart, I think he’s is in such a long-term (but high functioning) depressive state (which would explain the very intense swandive into irrational self hatred after the Luthor thing) that he falls into the T-Shirt and jeans out of convenience. He doesn’t care about what’s cool, he doesn’t care that he’s a shell of himself, he is just so disillusioned in his identity, and frustrated and hurt and mad at the world but he doesn’t know what to do with any of these feelings besides internalize them. So a costume honestly becomes the last thing he’s worried about. He’s a hero, what they do often isn’t cool and isnt a game, so the only thing he should be worried about is helping people and he can do that just as well in a t-shirt and jeans as he can spandex.

When he comes back from the dead, and the worst of the depression lifts enough that he can get a little more clarity, fashion becomes one of the first things he uses to explore his identity. He stops looking at his Conner Kent persona as something to keep up in service to other people, or something meant to save him from himself, and begins to appreciate it as something that’s uniquely his to create from the ground up. It starts simple, he wears his leather jacket again, and despite his assumption, he doesn’t feel like a poser, it something that just like … feels right. And so then he begins to funnel more and more things from Superboy to Conner Kent and vice versa. Some of it works, some of it doesn’t, but it gives him the courage to try new things, things that neither Superboy, Kon-El, OR Conner Kent have tried.

Okay he likes leather jackets, what if he tried guyliner? Oh that look fucking awesome what if he tried doing graphic liner designs? It wouldn’t be guyliner anymore technically (he has … well �� very genderly feelings abt this, predictably launching him into another identity crisis [plot twist: it’s all the same, he just hasn’t realized it yet])but it would be cool TTK precision practice? Oh wow that looks fucking BALLER okay okay what if he added glitter to it….. oh hey that duo chrome glitter on top of the black kinda looks like a galaxy … hey it would look pretty cool if his suit kinda had that same effect … maybe he should design another one?

Instead of thinking of coolness as a thing he steps into, he realizes that coolness is something that comes from him, and is based in personal expression. Like damn he might draw some stares in Kansas wearing this DIY crop top but if he pairs it with this funky flannel half buttoned and these high waisted but ripped to hell jeans BAM he fits in AND still looks fucking hot, AND still wearing the clothes that he wants to wear bc he thinks they look fucking cool! All of those things are allowed to coexist!

i’m writing another Big Fic (for me at least) so yk what time it is

[kakashihasibs]

So i have intrusive thoughts (thanks to Lexapro they are waaaayyy better and less frequent). And i have for a long time thought i probably had something like mild pure ocd but i have been hesitant to really pursue that bc i lack compulsions OR so i thought.

I think i have finally figured out my stupid garbage brain's game. I have a compulsion to NOT talk about the intrusive thoughts.

There's this weird irrational thought spiral(?) of >has horrible awful intrusive thought >wants to talk about it to get help coping > if i talk about it the bad things happening in the thoughts will actually happen > cannot talk about it. cannot talk about it. cannot talk about. > i dont get help or support! 🙃 start from the beginning!

The like 2 times I've tried to talk about this i was only able to talk in the absolute vaguest of ways and even that was like pulling teeth.

I dont know if I'm wording this well or using the right terms but like do you get it? Do you get what i am saying? 😭😭😭

[moon-buggg]

Having. Kind of a time. Does anyone have recommendations for good dca fluff stories?

[thisfuckingdork]

Phobias are so silly, a spiral staircase is enough to panic me

[sequencefairy]

anyway maybe something is gonna change a bit for me next week and i am trying so hard to be chill and normal and cool and cultured about it instead of the scribbly mess pretending to be a person that i actually am and lolsob i am excited but also fuckin' terrified.

[thebirdandhersong]

.

[staloysius]

God cursed me by making me an extroverted touch seeking romantic but scrupulous to hell so I inhibit myself from initating anything in fear of getting "in trouble"

[visdiefje]

(shaking with rage) yeah no I will come visit you during my work hours because you forgot about hanging out with me in the evening and scheduled time with your partner then. No this is great. No I actually love being presented with the choice of Work During Your Evening OR Be Alone All Day Yet Again

[fatelcved]

tldr for the below post/vent is i may or may not be away for a few more days! we’ll just see, and thank you for being patient with me as always 💜

maybe i’ll wait a few more days till i really come back? i dunno if that’s really the solution bc i just feel a weird distance from everyone rn, and that’ll just get worse if i stay away, i feel like. but i can also tell i’m probably at my worst as far as hormonal mood spirals go, and i really don’t wanna subject myself or y’all to that. it’s a rock and a hard place bc no matter what, i’m gonna feel bad to some extent — just if i stay away, i can maybe manage it a lil better. i really don’t know, so we’ll just see how the next few days go.

sorry to be so up and down, and thank you for being patient with me ;v; i really do hope all of you are taking care of yourselves and having good days!!