#i KNOW this a lil out of character for him

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

There has been requests about getting a full body colour for Kook!Ford, so here he is, in all his beige, white, and brown minimalist glory <3 (THERE’S A REASON WHY HE HAS SUCH A BORING PALETTE I PROMISE)

Stupid colour rambles that are WAYY too in depth and probably mostly far fetched but this is my AU and I get to pick how much over-analysis goes into the characters’ colour schemes, fuck you:

Ford:

Characterised by pale, almost pastel-ish colours to emulate a sort of sick, unhealthy look.

The paler colours add to the illusion of Ford lacking presence, almost disappearing into the background, to convey how his existence often ignored or dismissed by most of the townsfolk.

Without any visually striking or contrasting colours in his palette itself, his own features blend into one another, blurring the details and diminishing any identifiable traits that would have typically identified him as Ford, or even a person (<- if that mindfuck of a sentence make any sense)

Hints of yellow to show remnants Bill's past influence on him. Because I’m dramatic like that.

Fiddleford:

Deep, rich forest greens with golden accents (influences of Bill appearing in his outfit) (I need to hammer Fidds out a lil’ more ngl)

Stanley:

Deep, rich blues and purples (opposite spectrum of yellow, aka. Bill's colour, which means = safety to Ford)

The inside lining of his jacket is vivid red, to reference his original colours palette and as a representation of his past self being hidden underneath the layers of his predominantly blue exterior, colours representative of his new identity (also red = warm and blue = cold)

His colours palette will eventually open up into something warmer on the outside, veering into purple.

Extra notes on his character: Stan (in this AU) is colder and quieter than his canon counterpart. After years of being in the mafia business, and years of running it as well, he has long since learned to mask his facial expressions and master the poker face (*cough cough* resting bitch face *cough cough*). But, his intimidating and serious air does not serve him any favours when it comes to literally anything other than his “work”, his inexperience when it comes to emotions all the more apparent with the twins. He has trouble expressing his feelings outwardly, and despises this part of himself, because it reminds him of his own father. He feels as though he is failing the twins by being too cold and distant, and tries his best to open up more.

Mabel:

Maintains her original colours palette with pink, but has more hints of red in her outfit, similar to Stan’s, particularly around her sleeves (allusion to “wearing your heart on your sleeves.” Yes, I know that it’s tacky)

The red shows she is more inclined to trust Stan, as she is willing to see past Stanley’s exterior facade of cold aloofness to see his “true” colours (good HEAVENS that is disgustingly cheesy to say but idk how else to really word this)

Extra notes on her character: Mabel trusts Stan fully. Perhaps a little too much. She I dolises Stan to an almost unhealthy degree, and is constantly plagued with the underlying fear of somehow losing Stan’s “interest”, as their mother seemed to have lost interest in her and Dipper. Deeply fears being abandoned again, and believes she “owes” Stan for having adopted them. She believes it is her fault that neither of their parents wanted the twins during the divorce.

Dipper:

Maintains original colour palette with blues, but pretty solidly lacks red in his outfit. He serves as the opposite spectrum of Mabel, instead being unwilling to fully trust Stan and takes him at face value.

Extra notes on his character: Dipper does not trust Stan, and is far more hyperaware of what kind of “business” their “uncle” runs. He is mostly worried about Mabel’s slight obsession with pleasing him, and fears that if they don’t behave, Stan might use his dangerous power and influence against them. He is convinced that Stan had ulterior motives to adopting them, cannot fathom what he, a seeming stranger with all the power in the world, could possibly hope to gain in adopting two abandoned children. Even more so, when even their parents didn’t seem to want them.

[aspenmissing]

Can we get some period comfort/care from the Arcane characters? Maybe their s/o is the kinda person that just keeps on keeping on even if they HURT… time for a lil’ hurt/comfort intervention from the gang. Thank you! 😊

ᴘᴇʀɪᴏᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 5947 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴇʀɪᴏᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴꜱ, ᴘᴀɪɴꜰᴜʟ ᴄʀᴀᴍᴘꜱ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏʜ ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ! ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ! ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ

JAYCE

You woke up with a deep, dull ache twisting in your lower abdomen, the familiar sensation of your body betraying you once again. You sighed, already knowing what kind of day this was going to be. The pain radiated through your back, sharp and unrelenting, but you weren’t about to let it stop you.

So, you did what you always did—you ignored it.

You forced yourself out of bed, quietly slipping away from Jayce’s warmth. He was still fast asleep, his arm loosely draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling steadily. For a moment, you considered staying, just for a little longer, but you shook off the thought. If you let yourself give in now, you wouldn’t get anything done.

Moving was hell. Every step sent sharp pulses of pain up your spine, and the nausea that accompanied it made you grit your teeth. You barely managed to get dressed before heading to the kitchen, determined to make some tea before leaving for the Academy.

You had just put the kettle on when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against a warm, bare chest.

“You’re up early,” Jayce murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He pressed a slow kiss to the side of your head, his lips lingering. “Didn’t even wake me up. That’s cruel.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning into him slightly. “Didn’t think you’d appreciate being woken up before sunrise.”

Jayce hummed, his grip tightening as he buried his face in your neck. “I always appreciate you.”

Despite the warmth of his embrace, you tensed when another cramp rolled through your body. You bit your lip to keep from making a sound, but Jayce didn’t miss the way you stiffened.

His brows furrowed, and he pulled back enough to look at you. “Y/N?” His hands found your hips, steadying you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied. “Just a little sore.”

Jayce didn’t buy it. His eyes searched yours, taking in the exhaustion lining your face, the way you were holding yourself, the way you had barely touched your tea. Then, understanding dawned on him.

“Is it—?”

You exhaled sharply. “It’s fine, Jayce.”

He scoffed. “That’s not what your body is saying.” Before you could argue, he turned you around to face him fully. “How bad?”

“Not bad enough to skip work,” you said automatically.

Jayce shot you a look. “That’s not an answer.”

You sighed. “It’s... uncomfortable. But I can handle it.”

Jayce stared at you for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, without warning, he bent down and swept you off your feet, cradling you against his chest.

“Jayce!” you gasped, arms flying around his neck. “Put me down!”

“Nope.” He carried you with ease, moving straight back toward the bedroom. “You are not going to the Academy today.”

You huffed. “I have work to do—”

“It can wait.” Jayce nudged the door open with his foot, walking over to the bed before gently setting you down. He pulled the covers over you, tucking you in before sitting on the edge of the bed. “You always do this. You push through it, act like it’s nothing, and then you crash. Not today.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m fine.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow. “Would a heating pad and some tea make you more fine?”

You hesitated.

He smirked, already standing up. “That’s what I thought.”

You watched as he left the room, hearing him rummage through the cabinets and drawers. A few minutes later, he returned with a heating pad and a fresh cup of tea. He placed the heating pad gently against your abdomen before handing you the tea, then slid into bed beside you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to the Academy?”

He shrugged, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you against his chest. “I think my girlfriend needs me more than work does.”

You exhaled slowly, relaxing against him despite yourself. His body was warm, his presence grounding. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed this until now.

Jayce pressed a kiss to your forehead, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your back. “Just rest, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

VIKTOR

The familiar ache curled deep in Y/N’s abdomen, sharp and relentless. It radiated through her lower back and thighs, an unyielding force she had long since learned to endure. She clenched her jaw as she adjusted the lens on her microscope, determined to ignore it. Work at the Academy didn’t stop just because her body decided to wage war against her.

She exhaled slowly, trying to focus on the samples before her, but the pain flared again, making her fingers tighten around the microscope’s knobs. Her stomach churned, and a thin layer of sweat clung to the back of her neck. But she refused to stop. She couldn’t stop.

"Miláčku." (Darling)

Viktor’s voice broke through her concentration, the familiar, gentle lilt carrying an unmistakable thread of concern.

She glanced up briefly, offering him a tight-lipped smile that she hoped would be reassuring, but she knew he wasn’t fooled. He was never fooled.

Viktor sighed, his golden eyes flicking over her with quiet scrutiny. He had been watching her all morning—how she tensed when she thought no one was looking, how her hands trembled ever so slightly when she reached for her pen, how she bit the inside of her cheek as another wave of pain hit. She was stubborn, as always. Too stubborn.

Slowly, he stood, his cane tapping softly against the floor as he crossed the lab toward her. She heard the familiar rhythm—step, tap, step, tap—until he was close enough to rest a hand on the edge of her workstation. He leaned against it with an easy familiarity, but his gaze was sharp, searching.

"You are in pain," he stated simply.

"I'm fine," Y/N dismissed, though the slight waver in her voice betrayed her.

Viktor hummed, unconvinced. "I have seen you work through headaches, exhaustion, and even a minor injury, but this?" He gestured vaguely toward her. "This is different. You are clearly miserable."

She exhaled sharply through her nose, gripping the edge of the table as another cramp twisted through her, worse than the last. It felt like her body was wringing itself out from the inside, and for a moment, the world blurred at the edges.

Viktor frowned. His grip tightened on his cane, frustration flickering across his face—not at her, but at the fact that she was pushing herself through something she shouldn’t have to endure alone.

"Come," he said softly, reaching for her free hand. His fingers curled around hers, warm and steady. "You need to rest."

"I need to finish this first—"

"No, you do not," Viktor cut her off, voice gentle but firm. "The research will be here tomorrow. You, however, will feel worse if you continue like this."

She hesitated. She hated stopping. Hated feeling weak. Hated the idea of something as trivial as her own body dictating what she could and couldn’t do. But when Viktor squeezed her hand and gave her that look—the one filled with unwavering devotion, the one that made her feel seen and cared for—she finally caved.

"Fine," she mumbled, allowing him to help her up.

"Good," Viktor murmured, a small, satisfied smile playing at his lips.

He guided her toward the worn leather couch in the corner of the lab, moving carefully to accommodate his own limp. He walked with measured steps, his cane tapping softly against the stone floor, never letting go of her hand.

When she sat down, Viktor disappeared for a moment before returning with a warm cup of tea, the steam curling in the cool air. He pressed it into her hands, his fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary, as if to reassure himself that she was here, that she was okay.

Y/N sighed, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. The scent of chamomile and honey wafted up, soothing in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

Viktor settled beside her, careful and deliberate in his movements, resting his cane against the armrest before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t resist when he pulled her against his side, the slow rise and fall of his breath steadying her own.

"You are too stubborn for your own good," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

She huffed, but there was no real fight left in her. Instead, she let herself melt into him, feeling the steady warmth of his body against hers.

"You love me anyway," she muttered, her voice muffled against the fabric of his vest.

"That, I do," Viktor chuckled, his fingers tracing soothing circles on her arm. "But I would love you even more if you took care of yourself."

She let out a small hum, closing her eyes. Maybe just for a moment. Maybe just until the pain dulled.

JAYVIK

It was one of those days where everything felt harder than usual. Y/N had been pushing through the pain for hours, the familiar dull ache turning into sharp, persistent cramps that made her want to curl up and hide from the world. But that wasn’t her style. She gritted her teeth, trying to focus on the task at hand, but her mind kept wandering back to the discomfort. She knew she wasn’t fooling anyone, though.

Viktor and Jayce had been noticing for a while now. Viktor, ever the observant one, had been keeping a quiet eye on her, watching her fight through each wave of pain. Jayce, with his usual energy and protective nature, had started to notice her movements becoming more sluggish, her posture stiffening, her face pinched with discomfort. Neither of them said anything at first, but as time passed, they both knew something needed to be done.

The tipping point came when Y/N tried to stand after a long meeting at the Academy. She had been sitting through lectures, her mind clouded with the increasing discomfort in her abdomen. She had hoped the pain would subside, but it only seemed to grow worse. The moment she stood, the sharp cramp hit her hard, and for a moment, her vision blurred. She swayed slightly on her feet, barely managing to steady herself before Viktor’s steady hand was at her elbow, guiding her back down into her seat.

“Y/N,” Viktor said gently, his voice laced with concern. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N tried to dismiss, but the words came out a little weaker than she intended. She wasn’t fine, not by a long shot. Her head spun, her body trembling from the intense pain.

“No, you’re not,” Jayce said, his tone firm but caring. He stepped closer, his gaze softening as he observed her. His big hands hovered over her stomach, a silent understanding passing between them. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard again.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, to insist that she could push through just like she always did, but before she could speak, Jayce was already kneeling beside her. His warm hands gently pressed against her lower abdomen, rubbing slow, soothing circles over the cramping muscles. The warmth of his touch instantly calmed her, if only just for a moment. She felt herself soften into him, the deep ache lessening with each movement of his hands.

“You don’t have to keep going like this,” Jayce murmured, his voice low and full of affection. “Let us help.”

Viktor, never one to be left out of such tender moments, moved to the other side of her. His cane tapped the floor gently as he settled beside her. With a soft sigh, he rested a hand on her shoulder, his fingers light yet firm against her skin. “You’re important to us, lásko,” he said, his voice quiet but steady, filled with the kind of care that only Viktor could express so effortlessly. “And we want you to take care of yourself—not just for us, but for you as well.” (Love)

Y/N felt the tension in her chest loosen at his words. She wanted to fight it, to push through the pain and pretend like she could handle it alone, but as their voices wrapped around her like a gentle cocoon, she allowed herself to relax. For the first time in a long time, she let herself stop. The weight of the day, the pain, the constant push to do more and be more—it all seemed so much lighter with them there. She closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over her, finally allowing herself to just… be.

Jayce’s hands never stopped their gentle motion on her stomach, each caress sending a wave of relief through her body. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken such tender care of her like this. Viktor leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, his lips warm and comforting against her skin. Their closeness, their presence, wrapped around her like a blanket, making her feel safe in a way she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” Viktor murmured, his voice soft and reassuring. His fingers moved through her hair, gently tucking a strand behind her ear. “Let us help you. Let us take care of you”

Y/N smiled weakly, resting her head against Viktor’s chest. The familiar sound of his heartbeat was a soothing lullaby against her ear. She felt the tension in her body slip away as she leaned into them both. “I’m lucky to have you both,” she whispered, her voice thick with gratitude. She had never felt so cared for, so truly seen.

Jayce kissed the top of her head, his hands still working their soothing magic on her stomach. His voice was warm and filled with affection when he spoke again. “We’re lucky to have you, too.” His words wrapped around her like a promise, a vow of unwavering support.

And there, in the quiet comfort of their embrace, Y/N felt the world outside fade into nothingness. The pain was still there, but it no longer felt like an insurmountable force. With Viktor and Jayce by her side, she knew she didn’t have to face anything alone.

VANDER

It was another cold, gloomy morning in Zaun, the kind that seemed to press down on everything. The dim, gray light filtered through the cracks of the old wooden walls, barely enough to see by. The sounds of the city’s lifeblood—clanking metal, creaking pipes, and distant machinery—echoed throughout their small, humble home. Y/N lay curled in bed, her body tangled in blankets, but she barely felt their warmth. The sharp, familiar ache in her abdomen throbbed with a fierce intensity, a relentless reminder of her body’s monthly battle. It pulsed through her like an undercurrent, making it hard to breathe without feeling it shift and twist inside her.

She had been awake for hours, trapped in the haze of pain, but she stubbornly refused to admit how bad it had become. There were things to do today—people to help, problems to solve, and a million things that still demanded her attention. She wasn’t going to let a little pain hold her back. She never did.

With a soft groan, she attempted to sit up. But the moment she moved, the dizziness hit her. Her vision blurred, the edges of everything softening as the pain intensified. She winced, clutching her stomach as if that would somehow make it stop. Her body felt heavy, like it was made of stone, and the simple act of sitting upright felt like a monumental task.

“I can’t…” she whispered to herself, but before she could even get her bearings, she tried to stand. Her legs, weak from exhaustion and the painful cramps, buckled beneath her, sending her crashing back down onto the mattress.

The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway interrupted her self-inflicted struggle. The door creaked open, and there stood Vander, his tall frame filling the doorway. His face, roughened by years of struggle, softened as his eyes quickly scanned the room and landed on her.

"Y/N?" His voice, gravelly and low, was filled with concern. “What are you doing?”

Her stubborn streak kicked in, and she quickly wiped away the pained expression on her face, trying to act as if everything were normal. “I’m fine,” she muttered, forcing herself to sit up once more, even though her body screamed in protest. “I’ve got things to do.”

Vander’s gaze never left her, and he crossed the room in two long strides. He was close enough now that she could feel the warmth radiating off of him, a welcome contrast to the chill of the room. He didn’t even ask; his massive hand gently settled on her shoulder, grounding her in place.

“You don’t look fine,” he said, his voice low but firm. His eyes searched hers, refusing to let her hide from him.

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, to insist she was okay, but before she could, Vander was already scooping her into his arms, his strong hands lifting her effortlessly. Her breath caught as he cradled her against his chest, and for a moment, all she could do was close her eyes and allow herself to be held.

“You’re not going anywhere like this,” he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble beneath her ear. She couldn’t fight him—not when the weight of her stubbornness started to lift with the warmth of his embrace.

She huffed, irritated at how easily he could overpower her when she was in this state, but the pain in her body made it impossible to argue. With a soft sigh, she let herself relax against him, her body trembling—not from fear, but from the overwhelming relief of simply being held.

Vander’s giant hand moved, resting gently on her stomach. He began rubbing slow, deliberate circles, the warmth of his touch seeping through her clothes and into her very skin. She let out a breath, the pain dulling slightly under his careful touch. His presence, his strength, was a balm to her aching body, and the rhythmic motion of his hand calmed her in a way nothing else could.

“Vander…” she whispered, the words barely escaping her lips. She didn’t want to admit how badly she needed this, how much the pain had worn her down. “I’m not…”

“Shh,” he interrupted softly, his hand continuing its motion. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. I know you’re strong, but sometimes… sometimes, you need to let someone take care of you.”

Her heart squeezed at his words. He wasn’t just concerned about the pain—he was worried about her. The ache in her stomach wasn’t going away, but the warmth of his embrace, the steadiness of his touch, began to soothe the sharpest edges of it. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself lean into him, allowing herself to be taken care of in a way she hadn’t allowed anyone to do for a long time.

“I’m used to doing everything myself,” she whispered, the quiet vulnerability in her voice a rare thing. She had always been the one to keep going, no matter what. But this… this was different. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Vander’s response was soft, but it carried the weight of years of love and understanding. “You’re never a burden to me, Y/N. I want to take care of you. Let me do this for once.”

She could feel the sincerity in his words, and something in her heart softened. There was no room for pride, no room for stubbornness in this moment. Just the two of them, wrapped in the quiet of their little home, as the world of Zaun continued to hum and groan outside.

His hand continued its soothing motion, and for the first time that morning, Y/N felt herself relax. The tightness in her chest loosened, and the pain in her stomach, while still present, seemed more manageable under his careful care. She breathed in deeply, and the ache in her body became a distant hum instead of an overwhelming force.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Vander said softly, his lips brushing against her forehead as he held her closer. “I’ve got you. Always.”

The tenderness in his voice, the security of his embrace, allowed her to finally surrender to the exhaustion. She let herself drift, her body finally giving in to the comfort he provided, the pain fading into something bearable.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N allowed herself to close her eyes, trusting Vander completely. She wasn’t alone. And for now, that was enough.

SILCO

The dimly lit office was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of papers as Y/N sorted through the endless stacks on Silco's desk. The hum of the dim lights above was the only other sound, though it hardly did anything to distract from the gnawing pain in her abdomen. She had been at this for hours, working on paperwork for Silco, as usual. Every once in a while, she would shift in her seat, trying to ease the pain that only seemed to worsen as time went on. But she couldn’t stop—not when there was still work to do. Not when Silco depended on her.

The throbbing in her lower belly was becoming unbearable, the cramps tightening like a vice, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she had felt truly comfortable. But she had learned long ago to push through, to endure. She had always been this way—stubborn, determined. She wasn’t going to let something like pain get in the way of her responsibilities.

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the next set of documents, but she quickly steadied it, forcing herself to focus. She tried not to make a noise, to keep her breathing even, but the pain was starting to show on her face. She caught a glimpse of Silco out of the corner of her eye, watching her intently from his seat. His eyes were sharp, calculating, but for a brief moment, they softened, the tiniest flicker of concern passing through his gaze. He didn’t say anything yet, but she could feel his eyes on her as she continued to sort through the papers.

It wasn’t long before Silco stood, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room. His presence was commanding, unwavering, and he moved toward her with purpose. Y/N could feel his gaze on her, and she quickly straightened up, trying to hide her discomfort. But it was no use.

"Y/N," he said, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it, something that made her heart skip a beat. It was more than just a question—it was an order.

She looked up at him, a weak smile on her lips, though it barely reached her eyes. "I’m fine, just a little…" Her voice trailed off, but Silco didn’t need any more explanation.

"No," he said, his tone brokering no argument. "You’re not fine." He was already crossing the room toward her, his eyes locked on hers with a gaze that left no room for defiance. "Give me your hand."

Before she could protest, his fingers were wrapped around her wrist, strong and steady, pulling her from the chair with little effort. His grip was firm, unyielding, and Y/N found herself rising to her feet, her body moving almost involuntarily. She opened her mouth to argue, but Silco silenced her with a look, his expression dark and unreadable.

"But I still need to finish these," Y/N tried to explain, though she was already feeling light-headed from the pain.

"Enough," he commanded, his voice cold but not unkind. "Rest."

Y/N’s heart skipped in her chest at his tone, but she didn’t have the strength to resist. Silco gently but firmly guided her to the couch in his office, his hand never leaving her wrist. She collapsed onto the plush cushions with a sigh, feeling the weight of the pain in her stomach and the exhaustion she had been ignoring for so long. The relief of lying down was immediate, though the cramping still made it hard to relax.

Silco stood over her for a moment, his gaze unwavering as he assessed the situation. His sharp eyes softened just slightly, but there was still that edge to his expression, something that made it clear he wasn’t going to allow her to suffer.

"Stay here," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Don’t move."

Y/N managed a weak smile, trying to brush it off. "I’ll be fine. Really."

But Silco was already turning to leave the room, his mind clearly elsewhere as he walked toward the door. Y/N watched him go, a strange pang of guilt gnawing at her. She wasn’t used to being taken care of in such a way, and a part of her resisted it, even though another part of her desperately needed it.

=

A few minutes later, Silco returned. In his hand, he carried a warm cloth, and there was something about the way he moved—almost protective—that made her heart skip a beat. His eyes softened, just slightly, as he knelt beside her. Without a word, he carefully placed the heated cloth over her stomach, the warmth seeping into her skin and easing some of the tension there. Y/N closed her eyes at the sensation, her breath slowing as the pain began to dull, the heat from the cloth soothing her aching muscles.

Silco watched her for a moment, ensuring she was comfortable before speaking again, his voice softer than before but still with an undercurrent of command. "Rest," he repeated, tucking a thick blanket around her shoulders. His movements were gentle, but there was a firmness to them, as though he was making sure she understood that he wasn’t going to let her go through this alone.

Y/N opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and for a brief moment, she saw something different in him—something she hadn’t noticed before. There was care, yes, but also a certain protectiveness, a tenderness that he rarely showed.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn’t mean to worry you."

Silco’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, and he exhaled slowly, the sharp edge to his presence softening just enough to show that he was concerned, that he cared. "You don’t need to apologize for this," he said quietly. "Not for this, Y/N." His eyes darkened slightly, a glint of something more protective in them. "I don’t want you pushing yourself when you’re clearly in pain."

Y/N hesitated, letting his words settle in her mind. She wasn’t used to being cared for like this. She had always been the one to take care of others, to push through, to keep going no matter the cost. But here she was, vulnerable, and for once, she let herself lean into the care he was offering.

For the first time that night, she didn’t argue, didn’t insist that she was fine. She just closed her eyes, sinking into the comfort of the warmth surrounding her, the blanket tucking her in like a safe cocoon.

Silco moved toward his desk, but his gaze never left her. He watched her for a moment, ensuring she was still resting, before returning to his work. Yet, even in his focus, his eyes would drift back to her, checking on her every so often, as if he couldn’t quite bear the thought of her being uncomfortable or in pain.

"You’re mine to care for, Y/N," he said after a while, his voice low, almost a whisper, but it carried weight, like a promise. "Don’t forget that."

His words sank deep into her chest, a warmth blooming there as she allowed herself to believe it. She wasn’t used to this—this attention, this care. But somehow, it felt right, felt like something she had been needing without realizing it.

And for once, she let herself believe that she was worthy of it.

The pain didn’t vanish entirely, but the comfort of his presence, his care, made it bearable. And in that moment, she knew that Silco wasn’t just her lover. He was her protector too.

As the minutes passed, Y/N allowed herself to drift off into a peaceful, restful sleep, safe in the knowledge that Silco was watching over her—ensuring she was cared for, no matter what.

CLAGGOR (AU)

It was another long day in their shared workshop, the kind where the hours blurred into one another as they worked tirelessly. Surrounded by mechanical parts, intricate blueprints, and the glowing soft light of the workbench lamps, Claggor and Y/N had been dedicated to their latest project. The hybrid flower—an innovative creation Y/N had been perfecting—was finally starting to show promise. It was meant to have a healing property unlike anything they had seen before, one that could possibly help in the toughest of battles.

Claggor, ever meticulous, was hunched over his work, adjusting the tiny petals they had successfully crossbred to be more resilient. His brow furrowed in concentration as he made careful tweaks to the delicate work of nature and science intertwined. Meanwhile, Y/N sat beside him, her hands moving more slowly than usual, though she tried to keep pace.

The pain had started earlier that morning, sharp cramps that gnawed at her body in waves, but Y/N had pushed it aside, determined to finish their task. She wasn’t the type to admit when she was struggling—not when there was so much left to do, not when they were so close.

Yet Claggor, as always, knew her too well. His eyes darted up from the flower hybrid when he noticed her wince slightly, a quiet flicker of discomfort crossing her face. Then, her hand subtly pressed against her stomach, as though she could will the pain away. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her like this, but this time, there was something in the way she held herself—a tightness, a reluctance to show weakness—that tugged at his heart.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice low and concerned. He didn’t lift his gaze from the project, but his tone told her he wasn’t buying her act. “You good?”

Y/N gave him a strained smile, pushing herself a little straighter, her voice pretending lightness. “Yeah, just… focused. A little tired, that’s all.”

Claggor was quiet for a beat, his fingers tapping restlessly against the workbench. He could tell it was more than tiredness. He knew that look too well, the one she wore when she was trying to keep it all together even though the weight of her body was starting to betray her. With a quiet sigh, he set the hybrid down, gently lowering the delicate petals back into their protective case, before standing up and walking toward her.

“I know that look,” he murmured, his tone a mixture of concern and something softer. He reached for her hand, his touch gentle but insistent, guiding her to sit down on a nearby chair. “Y/N… You’re not fooling me. You’re hurting.”

Her hand trembled slightly as she tried to pull back. “Claggor, I’m fine,” she insisted, though the slight hitch in her voice betrayed her. “We’re almost there. Just need a few more adjustments.”

“No,” Claggor said firmly, his voice holding a quiet strength that made it impossible to argue. “You’re not fine.” He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against her cheek in a soft but tender motion. “You’re in pain. I can see it.”

She shook her head, still not wanting to admit it, still trying to push through. “I don’t want to slow you down, Claggor. You’ve been working so hard on this, and we’re so close to finishing.”

Claggor sighed, a mix of frustration and something deeper—care and love for her. He could tell she was putting on a brave face, trying to act like everything was fine, but he had seen this too many times. She was always the one who fought through the pain, always the one who kept going, even when her body screamed for rest.

He wasn’t going to let her push herself too far today.

With a quiet determination, he moved behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders as he gently urged her to sit back down. “Y/N, listen to me. It’s not about the project right now. It’s about you. You’re not going to get anything done if you’re not feeling well.”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to their half-finished work, but the pain was getting harder to ignore. Her body swayed as she stood, trying to push through, but it was too much. The sharpness of her cramps made her stagger, and Claggor was quick to step forward, his strong arms catching her before she could fall.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low, filled with quiet reassurance. “I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.”

He carefully led her to the couch, easing her down into the cushions. His eyes were filled with nothing but concern, and it made her heart ache. Claggor always knew when to take charge, when to step in, and when she needed to give herself a break.

“I don’t like resting,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she tried to fight the fatigue creeping over her. “I feel like I’m letting everything slip away if I stop.”

Claggor knelt beside her, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. His touch was warm, soothing, and gentle, as though he were handling something precious. “You’re not letting anything slip, love. You’re just taking care of yourself so you can be strong later. You deserve to rest. Please, don’t push yourself any longer.”

She looked up at him, her eyes softening as the vulnerability he always saw in her began to emerge. She nodded reluctantly, the exhaustion finally catching up to her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No apologies, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm but full of affection. “You don’t need to apologize for taking care of yourself.”

Without another word, Claggor moved behind her, his arms coming around her to hold her close. He shifted until they were both lying down together on the couch, his body curling protectively around hers. He placed a warm hand gently on her stomach, his touch grounding, steadying.

“I’m here,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “Let me hold you.”

Y/N melted against him, the pain in her body slowly fading as his presence and warmth enveloped her. She could feel his steady heartbeat against her back, the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. The pressure on her stomach from his hand was soothing, almost therapeutic.

She let out a soft sigh, feeling the tension leave her body as she relaxed into his embrace. It was the first time all day that she allowed herself to fully give in—to the pain, to the exhaustion, and to the comfort Claggor offered.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her even closer, his hand never leaving her stomach, a steady reassurance that he was there. "You’re not alone in this, Y/N," he murmured. "I’ve got you. I’ll always be here for you."

And in that moment, as she lay with Claggor wrapped around her, she knew that for once, it was okay to rest. She didn’t have to keep pushing forward. Not with him by her side.

[meo-eiru]

Hi hiiiiii!!! I just wanna say i love ur oc’s so much, they live rent free inside my head like a growing necrosis!! Ever since u dropped the character trivias for Lavi and Elias I cant stop thinking about an AU with the game Catherine for Elias and Lavi but like with a lil twist to itt (the twist being i cant properly remember the entire plot to Catherine, its been like a decade since i played it so i tweaked so much of the actual storyline to better fit the narrativeT-T) feel free to delete it if its too weird;;

TW: cheating, pregnancy, reader/mc is pregnant, ooc Lavi im sorry, Elias having a reasonable crashout, yandere behaviour, continuous affair, reader/Mc cheats, character death(?), misuse of commas and my terrible grammar really

—

Okay so Imagine this, whilst drinking out one day, trying to drown out the midlife crisis and potential worries about the future, you end up having a drunken one night stand with Lavi, this one night stand however snowballs into an affair as you end up sleeping with Lavi AGAIN.

You’re pregnant, and you’ve been in a relationship with Elias for 5 years, Elias is absolutely ECSTATIC to find out that you’re pregnant, and is even considering marrying you if you agree to it (you have no choice in the matter btw lol), so in order to plan for the baby (and wedding), Elias has been taking more and more modeling jobs to hopefully save enough for your future together.

This would’ve been a happy ending for both parties if you actually KNEW who the father was. Youve been rethinking your entire relationship with Elias for a while and whilst its good to feel loved and appreciated just for existing, Elias’ is just… he’s too much sometimes— well most times tbh.

Elias would kill you both, but he hasn’t suspected anything yet, and you plan to keep it that way because you’re thinking of ending things with Elias by the end of the month anyway,

until you can’t.

And you find yourself puking every morning, a worried Elias by your side at every step of the way, loving, understanding (?), pulling your hair back and dabbing away sweat from your face as you stay hunched over the toilet seat, and the guilt smashes into you like a truck, its debilitating—Elias loves you so much, cares for you (too) so much. The guilt should have set in sooner, you should be groveling at his feet begging for forgiveness, but you dont, instead you stay, and the affair continues, even when you don’t remember spending the night with Lavi (where they even at the bar last night?). Even when the test shows two lines. Even when Elias starts doing more work to provide for the two of you.

Maybe it’s guilt, maybe its your consciousness telling you you need to leave, to not subject Elias to a life chained up to someone who doesnt love them enough to stay faithful.

You end up having these weird nightmares where you have to fight for your life trying to escape a hellish landscape. You survive each night but always seem to end up waking up to Lavi on your bedside (you haven’t been outside, Elias hasn’t allowed you to go to work since the pregnancy test, you don’t remember telling Lavi your address either)

But one night, when you wake up from another nightmare, crying, shivering, Elias and Lavi nowhere in sight.

Impulsively, you end up calling Elias and tell him about the affair, how you don’t know who the father of the child is, how you’re sorry and how terrible you are and how it would be better if you just break up.

and as expected, he breaks down. asking you, demanding answers, crying, screaming, shouting, asking if you actually loved him, asking if the child is actually his, asking you why he wasn’t enough, how he knew you were acting weird, asking which fucker he has to kill to make everything work out. its guttural, the way he screams, shouts for answers.

You end up dropping the call. And Elias immediately spams your phone with missed calls until you end up blocking his number.

He’s coming for you, you know he will. And he does, not even an hour later, banging on the door. You worry about your neighbours hearing about all of this commotion, its 11pm, he should’ve been at home but he was still at work, should’ve spent this time relaxing and watching tv shows with you at saturday night, but instead he was still at work, working to support the both of you (even if a big part of you knew it wouldn’t have stopped him from coming anyway)

He’s banging on the door, and you have half a mind to grab the knife at the sink. He stops after what felt like an eternity, only to forcefully barge his way in by using his body to slam the door open.

Elias makes his way inside, immediately grabbing you by the shoulders, eyes red with tears as he looks at you with the most painstakingly hurt expression you’ve ever seen (you’ve seen it countless times before, but only this time its different, it’s it scarier, it feels like he might actually hurt you)

His eyes grows into slits, as you feel another arm snake behind you.

It’s Lavi.

You are so fucked.

Elias ends up lunging at Lavi, screaming, intent to kill, to get rid of the vermin homewrecker that ruined (whatever was left of) your relationship.

Lavi fights back, albeit without mentally damaging Elias in the process as he talks about how much time he spends with you, how he planned on taking you with him secretly behind his back, how the child is actually his and how he intends to take full accountability for it.

You watch as Elias screams reaching for something in the sink only for Lavi to laugh at him, taunting him, waving the knife in his hand hautily, simpering with a glint of malice in his eyes “Looking for this?”

You’re about as useful in this situation as a screen door to a submarine. And you know its in vain, but you scream at both of them to stop anyway. Crying as you fall to your feet, you feel like puking.

Elias freezes, breath hitching as he turns to you before the expression on his face falters, angered as Lavi continues, telling him that “he’s the reason you’re having such a hard time right now”, “how he has no business being a father when all he does is hurt you”.

Everything falls into a blur as the fighting continues,

it feels like forever but it does stop, and you hear someone slump on the floor.

and you find Elias on the floor, with the knife plunged into Lavi’s stomach.

——

I had to write it out the brainrot was killing me, had to write it out until the brain rot unrotted itself.

I do know i couldve done this darker and better but i cant write anymore i feel so rustyT-T if you see “them” instead “you” its because i originally wrote this with “Mc” and using “they/them” before changing it to explicit xreader

Rereading my writing realising it is so tellenovella coded oof

Holy shit anon I don't know how you did it but this might just be the most hellish possible scenario known to mankind. I'd honestly just end it right then and there, there's no getting out of this bermuda triangle ass dynamic we got going on here.

Like Lavi and Elias being in the same universe is already horrible, them liking the same person is even worse but darling CHEATING on one of them with the other??? I would just

[woooshworldtwo]

AT A LOSS

TAGS: WIFE!READER [Originally just mentioned once in dialogue but otherwise just spouse is used when describing said relationship between characters], Husband!Caracalla x Reader x Unrequited!Geta, Mentions of sex, Brief mentions of slavery [gladiators in the Colosseum], Brief mentions of animal cruelty [animals participating in the Colosseum], Historical inaccuracies, I'm not sure what else.

FIRST NOTE: I think I wanted to try accentuating the care he wants to give reader and therefore ends up treating those around him as what he sees them as- disposable and like shit. Geta is a TERRIBLE man so I guess I just wanted him to be pining for someone he knows is out of reach. I was gonna make it a series to like Caracalla x partner reader x unrequited Geta. if this is the first chapter, ngl idk where to trail off from there. i kind of write while im smoking just to fuck around so maybe i could write at least five-ish chapters if i think of a good enough plot. WHAT DO YOU PEOPLE THINK?? who knows i could even do the same with Caracalla, it could make sense cause he literally kills his brother in the movie

SECOND NOTE: pov ur me, high off like five tokes and u watch Gladiator 2 the day it comes out on Paramount+. BOOM, obsessed, love it, don't even care about the historical inaccuracies. For some reason, as someone as not all there like Caracalla is, having that deep relationship with his brother, once he notices that lil interest Geta has, or even just the doubts of others finally becoming to a point where my guy has to LOCK IN to keep his partner w him. not cause they don't love them, I think it would be cause he loves THEM too much. I'm talking bristling at the notion whenever he thinks of them together. JUST UNSPOKEN TENSION. do u guys enjoy that?

THIRD NOTE: unfortunately, i have more to talk about but no one to say it to so ur my audience. yelling into the mic i ask, do you guys think I should write porn of Caracalla and reader FUCKING?? idk if it would even include Geta- IT COULD, WHATEVER YOU GUYS WANT. I sort of just wanted to explore writing intimacy as an actual action instead described as thoughts. leave ur thoughts on what u guys think on that too bc im literally so curious.

PLEASE DON'T COPY MY WORK, I BET YOU

Summer in your lungs, and alcohol swimming in your stomach; Caracalla wonders if he's seen beauty such as yours. Never alone in the hours of the night, the lovers he takes soon notice how harder he is to satisfy, to sedate into a warm puddle wrapped in expensive sheets- instead becoming unflinching to the pleasures that usually melt his tortured mind.

Intense with his emotions, he swears this affection was there from first glance. Taken sight of you at in your hazy glory; the clothes accentuating the shade of your skin, the warmth of your eyes, it only takes months before you two wed.

From there, days are blissful. Misery always follows, but he finds with your company at his side, falling into the episodes of madness are rarer and rarer.

Perhaps it's the sweetness of your soul mending what his lacks, or having the closeness of your body distances the pestering thoughts appearing out of thin air. No matter what is it, with his claws dug into your being- he refuses to let go.

Dimmed by what other's consider insanity, it's difficult not to see Caracalla's growing lucidness. Coming face to face with it, Geta realizes any foes and enemies of Rome has never been as close as his brother has to the inner workings of his mind.

Divided by grace, the affection for you has been its limit. As the eldest, Caracalla bears the pitying glances from other's in the palace; to have the responsibilities laid on Geta is blasphemy, but who else can handle its weight when his mind is in two?

Who else to lessen its everlasting ache if not you? For that reason, such as many others, is why he cannot risk this becoming what he has grown familiar with- sharing with his brother.

Holding the same curiosity he did in the faint moments of childhood, his Adam's Apple bobs faintly- and when you look to follow its movements before returning your gaze to him: a faint shiver is felt and repressed in that same breath. "Caracalla?"

Asking in a murmur, he knows what you're referring to. Living with you these past handful of months, he can recall the number of times you've cut each conversation he's thought out into nothing more than small talk. In one worded questions, he cannot help but admire the relaxed sight of you.

So much so, he allows you to each time. Tossing the unspoken plans of connection for small talk, he nods. A hint of a smile is seen, and alone from that, you beam back at him.

Genuine like the sun, to continue seeing it, it makes it easy for him to keep spew out half thought words in hopes something he says would land. "He will arrive shortly, do not worry.", it ends with your name, echoing from his mouth, and although the God's have given him the same glory they themselves hold at their fingertips; nothing has sounded as holy.

Bounded by faith, the prayers he spills are ingrained in the folds of his brain, but once consumed in these times of power, he wonders if he should dare step closer to the soul he swears should beat for him.

"... Geta?", Unknowing for how much time has past, the beaming smile you once held is melted into a small frown. Quietly urging him to the present like he's seen you do with his brother, there's a warmth blooming in the hallow part of his chest.

Cherishing the brief concern, it only seems to remind him what Caracalla has naturally and what he takes the scraps of.

Still leaned back into the expensive marble, the wall itself is a pale enough color to forget about, instead focusing on the features he, too, fantasizes of in passing moments alone.

"Where did you go?", Too familiar with speaking to the other emperor, the question is thoughtless when spoken, yet its weight is felt nonetheless. "Nowhere. Just here.. Are you enjoying yourself?", Taking a pause, he eventually speaks again. It's done when walking to the the throne nearing Caracalla's; the one you sit in.

"Quite the spectacle.", Your eyes peer down at the sight below; bloodshed in the Colosseum's sand doesn't make your stomach twist like it once did, however when watching captured men swing weapons- and seeing another one fall, you look to him again.

Sitting at his own throne, you find his eyes already on you; a quirk upturning on his lips to show the pleased buzz your words give him. Gladiators from conquered lands, their purpose in Rome is to win their survival and amuse any passing visitors. Yet in the past year or so, since your arrival, he's found a deeper sense of pride at their display.

Growing passed the Senator's praise, passed continuing his parents past teachings, he has found serenity in the amazement you hold so clearly.

Seeing your wonder at the captured animals; their stature towering over the sand's flat ground, using its strength to trample over any competitors- he finds himself chasing the occasional bursts of attention he manages to keep with in your magenta sunlight.

Never promising loyalty to anyone; he chases it when you're unable to give it, the mess of concubines and courtesans who he cannot remember the names nor the faces of, only remembering their similarities to you- their purpose has been asked for more as of late, and neglected all the same soon after.

No matter if it was seeing a person with hair similar to yours, a familiar sounding voice, even just dressed in clothing resembling your own; they were sought out after in hopes of finding you in them.

He finds it only lasts briefly.

Of course sex is endless, at the call of his voice and at the stop of a groan; services are there to satisfy whatever craving he has. But after each round of breathlessness, he finds that hunger for what is missing growing into something insatiable.

Hours spent, feeling their bodies, picturing what your own must look like underneath the white moonlight casting into his bedchambers. Each thrust is heavy with yearning he cannot mend, moaning for warmth he cannot have; he damns Caracalla in those times for finding you first before he did.

Perhaps then would you be his spouse. To bed you the same way his brother does would be true nirvana, to hear those same whimpers he knows you're able to make, to feel you shiver and tighten around him the same way those people do; it's what he longs for.

He's certain then he'd be more than just rough, chasing whatever high is made in a blurry of orgasms- it becomes difficult to differentiate who is with him and who is imagined; not when his eyes are shut and your image is all he sees in its darkness. Tenderness is taught, and if his brother was able to learn to extend that same to you; there is no doubt he'd do the same.

"Are you enjoying it?", Turning your focus back onto Geta, his answer is a hum. The sound is husky from passing thoughts, and strain for what should be hidden; he takes a moment to gather his words.

"I always favor your company, the spectacle is merely entertainment.", Repeating what you said only minutes ago, the unexpressed emotions behind it is registered in your mind- and although brushed off originally, that denial you have becomes harder to not believe Geta's feelings becoming more noticeable in the time spent at his brother's side.

"The ambience of cheering Roman's, animals in pain, and dying men; no wonder we have such lively conversations in these times.", Another quality of yours he finds endearing is your dryness. The harshness soaked into your veins from being raised by your family has not changed you the way it has him he notices; viewing the cruelties of Rome in whatever light you could shed, he once again almost smiles, a quirk of his lips turning upwards showing.

"Complaining to the emperor for the privileges he's given you? What an ungrateful wife you are.", Breaking out into a smile, what is said is anything but malicious. Leaving Caracalla unmentioned; unsaid, his mind is soothed from its ache, mending itself when remembering it's just you and him- hidden away.

Alone in a place where he can pretend you two are more than in-laws, there's a warm stirring at the sound of your laughter. Filled with humor you express so freely, it reminds him of conversations with your father throughout the years; his stories of your youth.

Defiant in ways he wishes he'd seen, and mischievous in ways he knows you still are; the only changes is now you're not tangible. Yet, lost in affections like he never got to be as a boy, he doesn't mind who he's face to face with now. Not in the slightest.

"Forgive my insolence, emperor; I plead for it.", Clearly you speak to Caracalla too much because the shiver trailing up his spine goes directly into that heated feeling in his abdomen. Aware you're unknowing to the effect you have, it only worsens at the hint of playfulness heard.

"Oh, you're forgiven. The God's have extended their mercy onto you today, but be wry, they could change their mind.", Unwilling to give into the arousal brewing, the tension he's created in his body, he replies with a smile- one that lingers too long.

Mischief isn't needed to be noticed in the palace, not with the two emperor's having their souls intertwining themselves with your own- no longer being unheard by those around you, that streak remains. It brings an amusement greater than bloodshed to Geta, and even more so to Caracalla. Smoothness of your words he swears is coated with the sweetest of wines; it disarms what would be seen as scrutiny as nothing more than a jest.

With humor being forgotten in such trying times; outside of what the Colosseum offers, and outside of the different celebrations of another conquered land- Geta finds your spirit is lightening to what is constantly dampening in his.

Shouts of Roman's are heard, like you predicted, and another man falls. However, with neither of you truly paying attention to the sight; their deaths were not offered the same graciousness you're given so carelessly, so frivolously: and when one of the last remaining takes their bow to surrender- only then do you look away.

To see your eyes of amusement grow into something unreadable, his own smile dims into a frown.

Standing from the throne, his hands rest on the Bisellium's railing, he grips onto it tightly when seeing below. Blood stains the sand as always; the deceased laid out over it in the afternoon heat, and the two lone man kneel. Meters away from one another, your eyes flicker between them, and soon Geta speaks up again.

Mercy is yelled in the air, and when he asks you, his voice is quieter than intended, "Shall we show mercy?"

Sparking what was lost, you nod, and another smile is seen, "Mercy."

Prayers do not solve what is inevitable, he finds, not when the God's blood soars through his body. The threat of rebellion, and the stings of betrayal, that mask that hides it all becomes wavering whenever he's with you; wishing to you like he did as a child to the God's for power, to worship you in ways he only should deities- it almost feels blasphemous.

Even more so now, when you don't understand the importance behind what he says; the grace he offers, the laughs he lets slip out- it is only the beginning of what he could promise you.

FOURTH NOTE: Now that you've made it this far, I wanna like drift away from what I was writing on my old account. it was just small paragraphs, but writing on a laptop just HITS DIFFERNT- literal hours spent doing this shit. I don't rlly wanna take requests bc i feel like my time is just too hectic for that, BUT I WOULD LOVE to hear your guys thoughts!! Okay, small series on these characters- Quinn Mossbacher, Simon Kalivoda, Ethan Russell, DIMITRI KRAVIOFF, DANIEL MARKOWITZ, JASON HOCHBERG, and finally our beloved; Caracalla. bad part is I haven't most of the movies they're in, so i don't want it to be inaccurate.

FIFTH NOTE: currently i'm writing a Johnny Storm fic series inspired by the new Fantastic Four trailer (writing the third chapter of what could be a five or even eight part series if I get to understand that franchise better), an Eddie Muson fic mainly just to fuck around and post that old one I never got a chance to. also an Adrian Chase fic i found on my laptop, another one for Koby from the one piece live action (I was inspired when the show first came out), and joe goldberg

FINAL NOTE: I've wanted to get into watching Yellowjackets. LOVE THE SHOW. Another thing I wanted to ask bc when I write for women characters, i like to write them as WLW. SO would you guys like it if i also wrote for Iris (Companion), SISTER BARNES (Heretic), Jinx (Arcane), Lucy Maclean (Fallout), Rhiannon Lewis (Sweetpea)?? one day if i sell out and get a membership to Prime or those silly addons; I WILL.

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 9

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes @sleepymothafterhours  @sukunasstomachtongue @cosmic-lovr @imm0rtalbutterfly @kyo-kyo1

if you wanna be added to the tag list comment

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Chapter 9: Death or Rebirth

I woke up in the hospital again. The sterile scent of antiseptic and faint beeping of machines told me where I was before I even opened my eyes. When I did, the first thing I saw was Yuuji sitting in the chair beside me. His head was bowed, shoulders slumped in a way that made him look so small—so broken—that my heart squeezed painfully in my chest.

I blinked hard, hoping I’d imagined him, and closed my eyes again, willing myself back to darkness.

The reprieve didn’t last long.

The door swung open, and I heard heavy footsteps—one set deliberate, the other storming with anger. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Toji. I could practically feel the heat of his glare, his frustration filling the room like smoke. Satoru followed close behind, quieter, but I knew he was watching too.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Toji’s voice hit like a hammer, sharp and unrelenting. “This is twice now. Twice in barely two weeks. What are you trying to do, kill yourself?”

It was like the words tore something open inside me. Before I knew it, I was shouting back, my voice raw. “What if I am?” the words slipping out before I could stop them. My voice was raw, rough from everything I’d been bottling up. I didn’t care that he was pissed. Hell, I didn’t care about anything anymore.

The room went dead silent. I could feel the eyes on me—Yuuji, Satoru, Toji. They were all waiting for something. Waiting for me to break, to explain myself. But I wasn’t going to. I wasn’t going to give them that satisfaction.

Toji stepped forward, his face hard and unforgiving. “You’re not fucking with me like this, Sukuna. I get it, you’re in pain. We all are. But this—” he gestured around the room, his eyes burning with anger and something else, something softer that I wasn’t sure I wanted to see. “This isn’t the way to handle it. You’re hurting everyone around you, but especially Yuuji. You don’t get to keep doing this to him.”

I glanced at Yuuji, his face a mask of exhaustion and worry. His eyes were red, his posture slumped. 

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve me.

But still, I couldn’t stop myself. The words came tumbling out like a dam breaking, uncontrollable and sharp.

“Maybe I don’t deserve anything, Toji. Maybe I don’t deserve him or any of you,” I muttered bitterly, turning away from them. “I’m just tired of everything. Tired of pretending.”

Satoru spoke up, his voice softer than usual, almost like he was trying to tiptoe around me. “We’re not asking you to pretend, Sukuna. We’re asking you to let us help. But you have to want it first.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Help? You think you can fix me? You can’t fix this, Satoru. No one can.”

“You’re right,” Toji cut in. “We can’t fix it for you. But we can help you get the fucking help you need.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. There was no escaping them. No escaping the reality of what I had to face.

I closed my eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on me. My mind was swirling, a chaotic mess of guilt, regret, and anger. But underneath it all was something else. Something softer. A flicker of hope.

A hope I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. “I don’t know how to fix myself.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Satoru said, his voice steady and reassuring.

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But the fear—the deep, gnawing fear that I was beyond saving—was louder than anything else.

“I don’t know if I can let anyone in again,” I muttered, my voice breaking. “Not after everything I’ve done. Not after what I’ve lost.”

Toji sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to be perfect, Sukuna. Hell, none of us are. But you gotta stop running from it. From the people who care about you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. I wanted to say something, anything, but the words felt stuck in my throat.

Yuuji finally spoke, his voice small but steady. “I just want you to be okay, Sukuna. We all do.”

His words hit me harder than anything else. I wanted to lash out, to say something cutting and cruel. But I couldn’t. Not this time.

I didn’t have the strength to keep pushing everyone away anymore.

I shot up off the bed, my heart racing, the anger and fear bubbling to the surface. "I'm not going," I spat, voice shaky but defiant. I wasn’t about to let them control me. Not again.

Satoru’s eyes narrowed, his patience thinning. "Don't do this, Sukuna," he warned, stepping forward, his voice steady but carrying the weight of an unspoken truth. "It's gonna make shit worse if you keep this up."

I took a step back, my chest tightening, the overwhelming flood of emotions crashing over me. 

I can’t go. 

The idea of being locked away, stripped of my choices, made my skin crawl. "I said no. I don't need any of that shit."

Toji, who had been standing in the corner, arms crossed and eyes focused, now moved closer. His voice was low, but the authority in it made me stiffen. "You need help, whether you like it or not. You’re pushing everyone away, and it’s not gonna end well if you keep doing this."

"I don't care," I muttered, my hands trembling as I balled them into fists. "I don’t care what any of you think. Just leave me alone."

Satoru’s eyes softened, but his tone was firm. "You're not okay, and you're not handling this alone. You need help, even if you don't want it. We're doing this for you, not to you."

I was shaking now, not from the cold or the exhaustion, but from the weight of the truth they were forcing on me. My mind was a blur of thoughts, and the words felt like they were tearing me apart.

I locked eyes with Toji. "You think I want this? You think I want to be like this?!" The words spilled out before I could stop them. "I hate it. I hate everything about myself right now, but I'm not going to some fucking psych ward."

Toji didn’t back down. "Then what the hell do you think you're doing? You’re just running, hiding from it all."

I turned away, unable to look at him anymore. "I'm not running," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I just... I don’t know how to face it. How to face all of this."

Satoru stepped in closer, his voice quiet but insistent. "We don't have to force you, Sukuna. But we will take you there if it means you'll get better."

I closed my eyes, swallowing hard. I wanted to scream, to fight, to push them all away. But there was something deeper—something broken inside me—that knew they were right.

I didn’t have a choice, not really.

I stared at them, my mind a mess of anger and fear, the words I wanted to say, the words I needed to say, stuck in my throat. My fists clenched at my sides, the tension building as I looked at Satoru, Toji, and now Geto, who had just strolled in. The weight of their gazes felt suffocating.

I wanted to scream at them, tell them to leave me the hell alone, but my voice was low, barely a whisper. "I'm not some head fuck, man," I muttered, my eyes flicking to the floor. "I’m..." I trailed off, unable to finish.

Geto’s voice cut through the silence. "You’re an addict with mental health problems, Sukuna. You need help. You know this."

I shot him a look, feeling my insides twist. 

Of course they would say that. 

They were all on the same page, ganging up on me. They didn’t know. They didn’t get it.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but all that came out was a pained laugh. "I’d rather join Jin than do that," I said, the words slipping from my mouth before I could stop them. The thought hung in the air, dark and suffocating. The weight of my brother’s death—the guilt that had eaten me alive ever since—made it feel like the only way out.

The room went still, the tension thick. I could see the shock on their faces, but I didn’t care. Maybe they’d finally understand me.

Satoru’s voice broke the silence, his tone more forceful now. "You don’t have a choice, Sukuna." He stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine. "They’ve done up the paperwork. You’re going whether you like it or not."

I felt like the walls were closing in on me. 

This wasn’t my decision anymore. 

They had made it for me. It didn’t matter what I wanted or how much I fought against it—they were forcing me down a path I couldn’t escape from.

I opened my mouth to protest again, but the words died in my throat. I looked at them—their faces filled with concern and frustration—and realized they weren’t trying to control me. They weren’t trying to hurt me. They were trying to save me.

But I didn’t want saving.

 I didn’t want any of this.

I just wanted to be left alone, to disappear into the darkness.

I scanned the room frantically, my mind racing.

 I need to get out of here. 

The walls were closing in, the sterile white room suffocating me, and I couldn't breathe. I couldn’t stand the feeling of being trapped, controlled. I had to leave. Now.

I pushed myself off the bed, my legs shaky but determined. I stumbled toward the door, but before I could get more than a few steps, a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. 

Toji.

"Sit down, Sukuna," his voice was low, firm, and I could feel the weight of his hand as he gently but forcefully pushed me back toward the bed. He wasn’t letting me leave. Not like this.

I whipped my head around, my eyes locking with Gojo’s. His usual confident smirk was replaced by something closer to concern—something I wasn’t ready to deal with. He stood beside Toji, blocking my escape, both of them creating an impenetrable wall.

Yuuji was still in the corner of the room, staring at me. His face was a mix of disbelief and hurt, and I could see the silent question in his eyes. 

Why are you doing this, Sukuna?

I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t. I wasn’t doing this for anyone else. I was doing it because I had nothing left.

“Geto,” Yuuji finally spoke, his voice breaking the silence, “What’s going on? What’s happening to him?”

Geto sighed, his tone calm but with an edge I hadn’t heard before. “Yuuji, just step outside for a second. We need to talk.”

Yuuji shook his head, his hands clenched into fists. “I’m not going anywhere. He’s my brother. I’m not leaving him like this.”

A nurse walked into the room at that moment, sensing the tension. She glanced from Toji and Gojo to Geto and Yuuji, clearly trying to assess the situation. Her eyes flicked to me, and her face softened in sympathy, but there was something in her gaze that made me feel like a caged animal. “Is everything alright in here?” she asked, her voice tentative.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

The room felt like it was spinning, the lights blurring at the edges of my vision. I wanted to scream, to push everyone away. I wanted them to leave me alone. 

Just let me go.

Toji’s voice broke through the haze. “Get the staff to check on him. We need to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

I looked up at him, my vision blurring once again. “I’m fine,” I muttered, though I knew I wasn’t. I wasn’t fine. I hadn’t been fine in months.

Gojo took a step forward, his eyes narrowed, though the concern was still there. “Sukuna… Don’t do this. You know they’re just trying to help you.”

But it didn’t feel like help. It felt like a trap. A cage.

I looked around the room again, my mind screaming for a way out. But there was no escape. Not now. Not here.

I stood there frozen, my chest tight, heart pounding in my ears.

 I need to get out. 

Every part of me screamed to run, but I couldn’t even move my legs. It was like they were chained to the floor, heavy, useless.

The nurse, who had stepped back to give some space, looked at me with sympathy in her eyes, but it wasn’t the kind of sympathy I wanted.

 I didn’t want anyone’s pity.

 I wanted to be left the hell alone.

Gojo stepped closer, his gaze firm but tinged with something softer beneath the surface. "Sukuna... don’t make this harder than it has to be," he said, his voice steady, though I could tell he was trying to keep his own frustration in check. I could feel the tension radiating off of him and Toji, both of them not budging an inch. The walls were closing in. There was no way out.

I finally broke my silence, my voice rough, like it was being dragged out of me. "You don’t get it," I spat. “I don’t need your fucking help. I need to get out. I don’t belong here.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t back off. "Yeah, well, we’ve all been there. But that’s not what’s happening now, Sukuna." He shot a glance at Toji, who was still silently standing guard, his arms crossed, a sharp look in his eyes. "You don’t get a say in this. You’re going to the psych ward."

My chest tightened further at the words.

 Psych ward. 

The idea of being stuck in there, being forced to confront all this… pain, this guilt, this fucking endless spiral of shit—it made my stomach churn. The walls of the room seemed to get even tighter, the air thinner.

“No.” I gritted out, voice low and trembling with anger. “I won’t go.”

Toji’s hand landed on my shoulder again, the pressure grounding but suffocating at the same time. "You’re not in a position to make demands right now, Sukuna," he said, his voice surprisingly calm, but the weight of his words hit me like a punch in the gut.

I tried to jerk away from him, but my body betrayed me. My muscles were too weak, too drained. 

I couldn’t fight back anymore.

Yuuji stepped forward, his voice breaking through the tension in the room. “Please, Sukuna,” his eyes were filled with raw emotion. "I don’t want to lose you. You’ve gotta let us help you.”

I looked at him, and it felt like a knife was twisting in my chest. Yuuji was my brother—he had every right to be angry, to be upset. But I couldn’t handle his concern, his desperate need for me to be something I couldn’t be. Something I didn’t know how to be anymore.

He doesn’t understand.

"I don’t need your help, Yuuji," I muttered, the words tasting bitter as they left my mouth. "I’m just a fucking mess. I’m not who you think I am."

Yuuji flinched like I’d slapped him, and I immediately regretted saying it. But it was too late. The damage was done.

Toji’s voice broke the silence again, more forceful this time. “You need to face the truth, Sukuna. You’ve been running from it for too long. All of us have seen it. We’re not going to let you destroy yourself anymore. Not like this.”

I stared at Toji, fury mixing with a deep, hollow emptiness inside me. “And what if I don’t want to be saved, huh? What if I don’t give a shit anymore?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. I could see it in their eyes. They were worried. They were angry. But most of all, they were disappointed. And I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear the idea of letting them down.

I turned my back to them, stepping toward the far side of the room, a tear slipping from my eye that I didn’t even realize had fallen.

 I had no place to go.

 I didn’t know what I was even fighting for anymore.

Kenjaku’s voice came then, steady and calm, the kind of tone that always felt like he was looking at me like I was some puzzle he hadn’t figured out yet. "You’re going, Sukuna. It’s not up for discussion. Do you think this is some kind of joke?"

I clenched my fists, trying to steady my breath, trying to stop the world from spinning. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to face this. I didn’t want to be seen.

 But they weren’t leaving me any choice.

“I’m not going to make it out of this,” I muttered, almost to myself. “I can’t.”

But no one heard me. They were already planning, already moving in to take control of my life. And I hated it. I hated feeling this powerless.

I couldn’t run. I couldn’t hide anymore.

“I swear, if you force this on me, I’ll make it my mission to be worse off,” I spat, my voice shaking with equal parts defiance and exhaustion. The words echoed in the room like a dare, and for a moment, no one said anything.

I didn’t even see Choso walk in.

The first thing I felt was his fist slamming into my face, my head snapping to the side from the force of it. Pain exploded across my cheek, and before I could process it, another hit followed, sharper, harder.

“You’re so determined to kill yourself? Then do it, Sukuna!” Choso’s voice roared, loud enough to drown out the sound of blood rushing in my ears. His breath was ragged, his face twisted in fury.

The pain from Choso’s fist hitting my face was sharp, but it was almost a relief. It snapped me out of the haze I’d been sinking into. I staggered back, feeling the sting of the impact across my cheek. My head throbbed, and for a moment, all I could hear was the ringing in my ears. But his words, those cut deeper than any punch ever could.

“You’re worthless. You don’t mean shit.”

It was like the truth was slapping me in the face over and over again, and for the first time in weeks, I let myself feel it. 

Finally, someone who understands.

I stood there, dazed, not sure how to react. I was pissed, but part of me felt... liberated by the anger Choso had thrown at me. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was beyond saving. Maybe all this fucking pain and guilt I kept drowning myself in... was deserved.

Was I really just wasting everyone’s time?

I looked at Choso, who was standing there, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving with the emotion that mirrored mine. There was something cold and final in his gaze, a kind of resignation I couldn’t ignore.

"You think you’re the only one hurting?" Choso’s voice was low, but there was a tremor in it, like he was holding back more than just anger. "You think you’re the only one who’s lost someone? You’re not. But you’re fucking pathetic if you think you’re the only one with a reason to fall apart."

His words hit harder than the punch, and for a second, it felt like I was being gutted. He was right. Everyone was hurting—Yuuji, Choso, all of them. And here I was, selfishly drowning in my own misery, shutting them out.

But then, something twisted in my gut.

 I didn’t care.

I couldn’t care about their pain when I didn’t even know how to handle my own anymore. Why should I fix myself for them?

"You don’t get it," I spat, trying to steady myself, but my legs were shaky, and my head was still reeling from the blow. "You think I give a shit about any of that? I don’t. I’m done pretending."

Choso took a step closer, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “Then do it. End it. I won’t stop you. But don’t expect anyone to fucking care when you do.”

The words hit hard—harder than they should’ve, because they forced me to think about everything.

 What if I really did end it?

 What would they think? What would Yuuji think? What about... Y/N?

Would she be better off without me?

The thought lingered, and I felt a hollow pit open up in my chest. The anger that had surged through me now dulled, leaving a cold emptiness behind.

I wanted to fight back. I wanted to snap at Choso, to tell him he was wrong, that he didn’t understand. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

Because a part of me knew he was right.

 I was at the edge, and I didn’t even know if I wanted to step back.

Toji, Gojo, and Kenjaku stayed silent for a moment, watching the exchange unfold. It was clear they didn’t want to get involved in this—this raw, ugly part of me that I tried so hard to hide from them. I wanted to break, wanted to shatter in front of them, but I couldn’t.

"You’re gonna regret this," I muttered, feeling the familiar spiral of helplessness and anger closing in again. "All of you. You’re gonna regret trying to save me."

Choso just stood there, his eyes unwavering, like he was daring me to push him away. "I don’t give a shit if you regret it or not, Sukuna," he said, voice cold. "But know this: you’ll never be free if you keep running from everything, including yourself."

The room was quiet for a moment as those words hung in the air, heavy with truth. I wanted to scream, to shout that I didn’t need this shit, didn’t need any of them. But instead, I stood there, frozen, caught between the desire to escape and the reality that I didn’t know how to anymore.

It was like I was being torn apart, each side of me pulling in a different direction. One part of me wanted to run, to escape the people who cared too much, who expected too much. And the other part… the other part just wanted to be understood, to finally let go of the pain that had been eating at me for so long.

Maybe I was just too broken to be fixed.

Choso’s words echoed in my mind, and as much as I hated to admit it, they stuck with me. I couldn’t keep running.

The cold, sterile walls of the psych ward felt like they were closing in on me.

 Two weeks. 

Two weeks of confinement. Two weeks of therapy sessions that felt more like forced interrogations than healing.

I sat in the same shitty chair, staring at the therapist in front of me, who was droning on about my "emotions" and "coping mechanisms" like I actually gave a damn. Her voice was just background noise, blending into the constant ringing in my ears. The withdrawal symptoms were unbearable—my skin felt too tight, my stomach twisted into knots, and the restless energy in my veins made it impossible to sit still for long.

"You’ve been here for 24 hours, Sukuna," she said, tapping her pen against her notepad. "How are you feeling?"

How the fuck do you think I feel?

I gritted my teeth, trying to keep my composure, but the sharp ache in my chest threatened to spill over. "I feel like shit," I muttered, shifting in my seat, wishing for a fucking cigarette. Anything to take the edge off.

She didn’t flinch. “What’s bothering you the most right now?”

Everything.

 The question was almost laughable. The cravings, the guilt, the loneliness... the constant feeling of being trapped in my own mind. But I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing all that.

“I just wanna go,” I said, my voice low, desperate. “I need to get out of here.”

She scribbled something on her notepad, her expression neutral. “I understand that this is difficult, but you’re here for your own safety, Sukuna. You’ve made it clear that you’ve been struggling with self-destructive behavior and substance abuse. We need to work through that.”

I rolled my eyes, though my hands were trembling slightly, betraying me. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this shit before.”

The therapist leaned forward, her voice soft but firm. “Have you been feeling any suicidal thoughts since you arrived here?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut, the reminder of how far I’d fallen in such a short time. 

Am I still suicidal? 

I didn’t know anymore. The numbness in my chest made it hard to feel anything at all, but the constant pull to just give in, to end it all, never fully left.

“I don’t know,” I finally muttered, trying to avoid her gaze. “Maybe. I just wanna get out.”

Her silence was suffocating, as though she was trying to read into every word, every movement. “I know it’s tough right now,” she said, breaking the stillness. “But the important thing is that you’re here. You’re taking the first step toward getting better.”

Better?

 The thought was almost laughable. Could I ever really get better?

I didn’t respond. Instead, I looked at the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds until this session would finally be over.

 Two weeks. I can’t do two weeks.

Just as the session was about to end, I leaned forward, my voice almost pleading. “Listen, I don’t need therapy, I just need to get out. I don’t belong here.”

The therapist didn’t even flinch. She stood, signaling the end of the session. “I think we’re done for today. We’ll talk more tomorrow. And remember, Sukuna, you’re not alone in this. You don’t have to do it all by yourself.”

I could feel the anger bubbling inside me again, but I swallowed it down. 

I don’t need help.

 I didn’t care what they thought or what they were trying to force on me. I wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t some broken kid looking for someone to fix him.

As I walked out of the room, I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. The staff, the patients—everyone in this goddamn place. But it didn’t matter.

 I’m not staying here.

I was already planning my escape.

I walked into the common area, the sterile, off-white walls feeling like they were closing in on me with every step. The soft hum of fluorescent lights above, the distant murmurs of people talking, the occasional clink of something being set down—it all felt so... lifeless.

I could see a few patients scattered around the room, some playing cards, others half-heartedly flipping through magazines. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the faint scent of sweat from someone who had probably been in this place too long. I hated it here. Everything about it. But I had no choice. Not yet.

I could head over to the piano in the corner, its dark wood calling to me with a promise of something familiar, something I could lose myself in. But the idea of sitting there, forcing my fingers to move across the keys in some mechanical way—it didn't feel right. The music wasn't a relief anymore, just another reminder of everything I used to enjoy before I fucked it all up.

I glanced at the group of people in the corner, playing cards. There was an older man who looked like he’d seen better days, a young woman with wild eyes who kept glancing at the clock, and a guy who looked like he had just crawled out of a hole—scruffy, disheveled, probably on something.

Do I really want to talk to them?

The answer was simple. No, I didn’t care about their stories, their issues. I was here because I had to be, not because I wanted to make friends with anyone who couldn’t get their shit together either. They all seemed like they were here for their own reasons, their own battles. And that’s all they were to me—battles. I didn’t need more.

Instead, I leaned against the wall and folded my arms, staring out the window at the dull, overcast sky. It felt like everything was bleeding together, just a blur of nothingness. I was just another fuck-up, stuck in the same cycle, same pain.

I was still trying to figure out how I ended up here, why the hell I had to be the one to go through this.

Then, I heard the shuffle of footsteps behind me. 

Fuck.

I didn’t need anyone talking to me right now. I didn’t want to deal with anyone, least of all some well-meaning idiot who thought they could help me. But when I turned around, I saw her.

It was Y/N. Her presence hit me like a punch to the chest.

She didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, her gaze locked on me. The last time I saw her... well, it wasn’t good.

What the hell was she doing here?

I swallowed hard, the dryness in my throat making it even harder to breathe. She looked the same, just as beautiful as always, but there was something in her eyes—something that made it impossible for me to hide from the weight of everything I had done.

"You're here..." I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N stood there for a moment, her eyes searching mine, like she was trying to figure out whether I was even worth talking to. I couldn’t blame her—who in their right mind would want to deal with someone like me?

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her gaze dropped to the floor, and I could see the hesitation in her posture. She was torn between walking away and facing the wreck that I had become. I didn’t deserve her attention, not now, not after everything. I could feel myself spiraling again, that familiar pull to shut everything down, to turn it all off.

But then she spoke.

"I came to see how you're doing." Her voice was quiet, soft, almost like she was afraid of what she'd find. "I heard about what happened... after you left."

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the way her words hit me. She didn’t get it. 

No one gets it.

"You shouldn't have come," I muttered, shaking my head. "You should be anywhere but here, Y/N. I’m a fucking mess, and you don't need to be around for any of this."

She took a step closer, her expression unwavering, like she didn’t believe a single word I was saying. "I’m here because... because I care," she said, each word laced with a kind of tenderness I didn’t deserve. "And I think you know that."

Care? 

I almost laughed at the thought. 

How could she care about me when I couldn’t even care about myself?

"Don’t, Y/N. Don’t do this," I said, my voice shaking despite my best effort to sound indifferent. "You can’t save me. No one can. I’m too far gone for that."

She was quiet for a beat, and I could see the conflict in her eyes—the desire to help me, to pull me out of this dark hole I’d dug myself into, and the realization that maybe she was too late. But then she spoke again, this time with more conviction.

"I’m not trying to save you," she said. "I just want you to know that you’re not alone. No matter how fucked up everything is, you don’t have to face it by yourself. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."

I couldn’t breathe. The words hit me harder than anything else had since I’d been locked in this place. I didn’t deserve her loyalty. I didn’t deserve any of this. But here she was, standing in front of me, offering something I wasn’t sure I could accept.

"You don’t have to do this," I said again, my voice almost pleading. "You don’t owe me anything."

She shook her head. "I’m not doing it because I owe you, Sukuna. I’m doing it because... I want to."

There was a long silence between us. The kind of silence that made everything in the room feel impossibly heavy, like the weight of my past was suffocating me. I didn’t know what to say to her. I didn’t know if I could even let myself believe she was serious.

But in that moment, as I stood there, trying to process everything she had just said, I realized something I hadn’t let myself acknowledge before.

Maybe she was the one thing I could hold onto.

But I couldn’t say that. Not yet.

I turned away, rubbing my face with both hands, trying to clear the clouded thoughts in my head. I couldn’t get caught up in this. I couldn’t let her in, not after everything I’d done.

"I don’t know what you want from me," I muttered, my voice barely audible. "But I’m not gonna get better. Not like this. Not here."

She didn’t respond right away, but I could feel her standing there, still watching me. I could almost hear the thoughts racing through her mind, trying to figure out the next move. I didn’t make it easy for her, did I?

"You don’t have to be perfect," she finally said, her voice quiet but steady. "You just have to try. And you have to let people help you. You don’t have to do this alone."

I closed my eyes, fighting the tightness in my chest. My hand gripped the edge of the piano, and I tried to steady myself, not wanting to let the weight of her words drag me under. But it was getting harder to keep pretending that I didn’t care.

She really did care.

And maybe—just maybe—I needed to start caring too.

When I opened my eyes again, she was still there, waiting for me to say something, anything. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I looked at her and nodded, though I didn’t say a word. It was all I could do.

Maybe this was the first step. And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t completely beyond saving.

Y/N’s expression faltered for a brief moment, her lips parting like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She just stared at me, her eyes searching for any sign of weakness, some crack in the armor I was desperately trying to keep up. But I wouldn’t let her see it. Not now.

Her jaw tightened, and for a split second, I thought she might argue. I thought she might try to push through whatever wall I’d just erected. But instead, she nodded slowly, as though my words had made some kind of final sense. 

Maybe she finally realized that I was too far gone.

"I’m not gonna fight you on this, Sukuna," she said quietly. Her voice had lost its softness, the warmth draining out of it as if I had sucked all of it out. "But if you ever change your mind... if you ever stop pushing everyone away..." Her voice cracked slightly, but she cleared her throat, steadying herself. "You know where to find me."

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

I just watched as she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the quiet of the room.

Good. Let her go.

The moment she left, the weight in my chest didn’t lift. If anything, it grew heavier. But I didn’t want to admit it. I couldn’t.

I’d pushed her away, just like I’d pushed everyone else away. 

But what if I really did need her?

No.

I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking the thought from my mind. I couldn’t afford to think like that. Not now. Not when everything was falling apart.

Maybe one day I’d wake up and realize I made the wrong choice. But that was a problem for future Sukuna. Right now, I need to get through the day.

I walked over to the piano, my fingers grazing the keys. My body was aching, the withdrawal pulling at me, making every movement feel like it took twice as much effort as it should. But I kept going. I had no other choice.

I couldn’t afford to care. Not about her. Not about anything.

I got up from the piano after a long moment of playing

I needed a smoke, anything to take the edge off. I was approached by this weird chick. I think I know her from high school.

 Selene.

 She strolled up to me with her bubbly ass voice. “I got the plug in here.”  I smiled “ In here people are dealing shit. Wild shit. What you got?” “Whatever you need.” She watched me with a smile. 

I found myself sitting there in her room, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls, I could feel the rush of anticipation building in me.

 I’d hit rock bottom a thousand times before, but this felt different.

 A part of me told me that I was spiraling deeper, that this wasn’t just a bad habit anymore—it was my new reality. But I didn’t care.

Selenr was sitting on the bed, her hands busy with something I didn’t quite pay attention to. She was talking, but I barely registered the words, too focused on the dull ache in my muscles and the gnawing emptiness inside me that only the thought of drugs could fill. 

She said whatever you need, and I needed something to take the edge off.

I let my fingers drum absently against my thigh, my eyes trained on her as she pulled out the little bag and spread the contents on the table. She looked at me, a smirk on her lips.

"You sure you want to go down this road?" she asked, a playful tone in her voice. But there was a look in her eyes—something knowing, like she could see through the mask I wore every damn day.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. She could see it too—the exhaustion, the desperation, the parts of me that had long given up.

 Selene knew the deal.

 We’d crossed paths before, back in high school. We never really hung out, but I knew her type—dangerous, alluring, and always just a step away from trouble.

She slid me a couple Xanax in front of me, and I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed it, the familiar coolness of the tablet comforting in my hand.

"You should really think about rehab," she said, her voice suddenly serious, cutting through the fog of my thoughts.

I chuckled darkly, shaking my head. "And do what? Sit around and pretend everything’s fine?" My words came out sharp, but the pain underneath them felt deeper than any of the substances I could take. 

What the hell was I supposed to fix?

She didn’t answer. Instead, she just sat there, watching me with those cold eyes, her own hands working to prepare the next dose. There was a tension in the room now, like the air was thick with the weight of everything I was avoiding—everything I had been avoiding for so long.

I popped the pill in my mouth without a second thought, the bitterness lingering in my throat as I swallowed.

For a second, the world stopped spinning.

The tightness in my chest eased, the gnawing anxiety slipping away as the drugs started to work their magic. I leaned back against the bed, letting the wave of relief wash over me. Everything was quieter now. I didn’t feel the need to think. I didn’t feel the need to be anything other than numb.

Selene looked at me, her lips curling into a satisfied grin. "There you go," she said softly. "See? It’s not so bad."

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The Xanax was already working its way through my system, leaving a dull haze in its wake.

Maybe I didn’t need to fix anything. Maybe it was easier to stay broken.

As I sat there, fading in and out of lucidity, I thought about Y/N again.

 I shouldn’t have pushed her away. 

But it was too late now, wasn’t it? I didn’t deserve her, not with the mess I’d become.

And yet, that thought lingered—like a whisper in the back of my mind

As I leaned in and kissed Selene, something about it felt off—yet familiar. 

Maybe it was the Xanax, or maybe it was the desperate need to feel something, anything that wasn’t the weight of my own brokenness. 

Her lips were soft, and for a second, everything seemed quieter. The chaos, the guilt, the voices in my head—they all faded into the background, leaving just the feeling of her against me.

She kissed me back, but it wasn’t passionate or full of fire. It was numb, like we were both just going through the motions, seeking solace in something temporary. I couldn't help but wonder if she felt the same way, if this kiss was just another escape for her too.

I pulled away, breathless, but not from desire. From the haze. The drug was starting to sink deeper into my system, and my head was swirling in a way that made everything seem surreal.

"You're not even here, are you?" Selene whispered, a slight smile playing on her lips, as if she could see right through me.

I didn’t answer, just stared at her, barely registering her words. 

What the fuck was I doing?

This wasn’t who I was. Or maybe it was. Maybe the version of me that existed now was just a reflection of my choices. My actions.

I stood up, stepping back from her, trying to shake off the fog that had settled over me. 

I wasn’t supposed to be here, not like this.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice a little softer now, a little more concerned.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I moved towards the door, my legs unsteady as I tried to walk it off. I felt a strange urgency, like I needed to be somewhere, anywhere but here.

I couldn’t stay here with her. Not when I couldn’t even face myself.

I stumbled out into the hallway, leaving Selene behind. The high was starting to wear off, and with it came the reality of what I was running from.

Fuck this shit. Screw everything. I didn’t know how to fix myself.

I trudged back to my room, the sterile walls closing in around me as I stepped inside. The quiet was suffocating, and I hated it. No distractions, no escape, just the sound of my own breath and the distant hum of the building.

I looked around, trying to find something—anything—that could give me some sense of comfort, but all I saw was a bland, lifeless space that mirrored how I felt inside. I threw myself onto the bed, face-first into the pillow, wishing I could just disappear into the fabric, escape from everything that weighed on me.

I didn't even have my phone.

 I hadn't realized until now how much I depended on it for distractions, to avoid the overwhelming silence. There was nothing here but me, my thoughts, and the suffocating guilt.

I tried to push it all away, close my eyes, and force myself to sleep, but the memories came flooding back—the loss of Jin, my grandfather, the people I pushed away, the mistakes I couldn’t undo. I was fucking drowning in it.

I let out a frustrated sigh and buried my face deeper into the pillow. 

Why am I even still here?

Every part of me screamed to leave, to do something, anything, to break free from this place, from the weight of what I’d done to myself. But there was nowhere to run anymore.

The silence of the room pressed in around me, the guilt festering. 

What did I even expect to happen?

I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to go back to the chaos, the distractions, the numbness. Anything to avoid the reality that I was falling apart. But I couldn't. Not yet.

And so, I lay there, feeling the walls close in on me, waiting for whatever came next—whether it was the release of sleep or the crushing weight of everything I'd lost.

[a-man-in-the-crowd]

Pluto Is Trans (in my humble opinion)

okay so as far as i'm aware this is a pretty common hc in the fandom (i lurk in the tumblr side of the fandom mostly and i haven't taken the time to go through the pluto tag simply bc i wanted to make this post first), BUT i just wanted to add my two cents into it bc i love pluto and need a reason to yap about him

i'm mostly going to be focusing on him in the maze arc, simply because i think his character has remained pretty consistent since then, as well as his flashback. if i ever noticed anything else in later (or even future) chapters i might come back to this but for now i think i basically have everything i can think of down

of course most of this is still pretty much projecting ☠️ i'm pretty well aware pluto isn't like ACTUALLY trans. this is just a headcanon based on things we've seen of him, not like an actual theory or anything

1. His Appearance

so the first thing that really got me thinking about how he has major trans vibes is his design

comically oversized coat that covers up his actual figure, he's slouching (to hide his chest, mayhaps??), and his hair gives me major trans vibes for reasons i'm not sure how to explain but like let me try anyways

maybe i'm digging too deep into this, but his hair feels VERY different from the other male characters (montresor with gorgeous shoulder-length hair is an outlier and shall not be counted) and again i have no clue how to put words to this but it has the vibes of someone who's too nervous to cut it too short bc 'what if it looks bad' (re: what if i look like i'm trying too hard to look like a guy). but that might just be the projection talking.

oh yeah, he's also the shortest male character as far as i'm aware. basically every male character towers over him (so, so real, i fear) and even will is taller than him (though apparently will is 5'10??? idek anymore 😭). now, does being short make you afab? no, obviously not. but that + the fact he's wearing and oversized shirt gives me some major trans vibes

most of this stuff is incidental, but honestly that's definitely the most actually concrete thing i have to explain myself

fear not, though, i can and WILL read too deep into things and i will read things however i wish

2. His Agoraphobia

the only 'level' of the fear maze that he has a big reaction to is the agoraphobia level. why?

now, could this very reasonably because he's paranoid? yes. but you can be paranoid AND trans. in fact, i think the two frequently go hand-in-hand, especially in areas where being 'caught' as trans can be dangerous.

perhaps he's scared of being stared at because he fears they'll figure out he isn't 'really' a man. and what then, when they figure it out? what'll they do then?

i wouldn't be surprised if pluto had some sort of traumatic experience while being in a crowd alone. this doesn't necessarily have anything to do with my hc, but it very well could. we know he's very small and frail, it doesn't seem like he had many friends when he was alive, and the neighbourhood he lived in doesn't seem particularly safe. he has plenty reason to be terrified, even ignoring my silly lil hc, but i think this particular debilitating fear implies he has genuine experience with something bad happening in a crowd.

3. He's Physically Affectionate

something something you can be a cis guy and be physically affectionate something something this is just a thing to consider in relation to literally everything else i'm talking about something something

anyways

he's my emotional support animal actually ❤️

obviously we've seen other male characters be physically affectionate (like duke), but this is definitely a trait i'd ascribe the most to pluto. now, does this mean anything in isolation? of course not. he has trauma, he could've just been desperate for affection when he was alive and therefore in his afterlife he has this overwhelming need to aggressively hug his friends (which is a completely fair interpretation and i think most of the the things i talk about are a combination of trauma and being trans)

but like just let me say my piece. what if he's more physically affectionate because he was raised with, let's say 'feminine rules of socializing' — which is to say, hugging your friends is extremely normal and in fact encouraged.

this is one of those things where like if it weren't for everything else i wouldn't be saying anything, but BECAUSE of everything else i feel the need to scrutinize a bit more. i think it's definitely one of my weaker points but like. i don't care, ngl.

4. His Flashback

sooo funny story i can barely ever read this scene for multiple reasons (i feel so bad for pluto i want him to be crushed by the weight of all his friends' hugs and love he deserves it) but i will try my best to recall it and get like a semi-decent photo in for reference

i think this scene is kinda what confirms in my head that this shall remain a hc, because pluto's dad refers to him as a boy and by his name (which i will get don't worry i could never forget about how incredibly transgender it is to be named fucking PLUTO). but, consider: i am delusional and a professional bullshitter.

so here is my absolutely nonsensical take based on nothing but vibes and some unfortunate personal experiences 🎉

this is gonna be my biggest 'bear with me yet', but plzplzplz bear with me. obviously by no stretch of the imagination would pluto's bitchass dad be supportive of him being trans or whatever word they'd use to describe pluto when he was alive (i've seen people theorize around ww1? idk man i don't have the knowledge on time periods required to rlly theorize about that).

but, just because someone calls you the right name and pronouns and terms doesn't make them an ally. this specific line from pluto's dad absolutely REEKED of that weaponization of gender dysphoria that at the very least i have experienced. taking every opportunity to tear down your gender identity because you're not stereotypically [gender] enough. someone like pluto's dad definitely feels like someone who would, instead of trying to deny pluto's identity, use it against him to make him feel shitty.

after all, having a son has its merits. pluto can work with no problem whatsoever, and something tells me that pluto's dad is a raging misogynist anyways. but that doesn't make him care any more for his kid, just make him more useful. and in reality, pluto's dad probably thinks it all one huge joke.

but yk that's just me yapping

5. HIS NAME IS FUCKING PLUTO?

okay so judging by pluto's comment to eulalie about his name, i think it's pretty safe to assume that he was specifically named after the roman god. and from what we've seen of pluto's dad, there is NO WAY he was the one who named him. unless pluto's dad for whatever reason had an admiration for roman mythology of all things. maybe autism runs in the family who knows.

now, i don't want to discount the idea that maybe his mother was the one who named him, but like i'm not even sure what the hell happened to his mom. so like. idk.

the name pluto in general definitely gives off the vibes of 'i named myself at twelve' (/affectionate, if your name is pluto you are beautiful and loved). it's nerdy but also mildly edgy. not exactly a common name, either. and the fact he knows his greek mythology implies interest in this sort of thing.

now, could his interest in greek and roman mythology be because of his mother, who could have named him pluto? yes, of course. in fact, the idea of a woman who was presumably living in poverty naming her son after the roman god of riches makes me teary-eyed. but so does the idea of a little trans boy living a shitty life with his shitty dad (who probably drained most of their money on booze, let's be real) naming himself after the roman god of riches.

also, the way he responds to eulalie gives off the vibe of 'well, i literally named myself after the roman god pluto so'. but that could just be me.

and last, but certainly not least...

6. His Spectre

this one is the cherry on top for me personally

he wants to escape the binds of society? go beyond what humanity deems admissible? YK LIKE BECOMING A DIFFERENT GENDER???

i don't have anything much else to say about the fact he's a cryptid, but yk what i do have more to say on?

6.5 So, like, wtf does it mean to be a 'domesticated cryptid'? — A Theory

now i am fully operating under my trans pluto hc, but i think this idea might be able to make sense with the canon of him being probably cis.

ms poppet says that cryptids are people who wish to 'go beyond what society deems admissible' — hence, they're generally wild animals. perhaps the reason pluto is a housecat is because the 'inadmissible' thing he wanted to do was live his life as he is; a normal, regular, cisgender man — or just like in general a normal dude, something he couldn't do for not-necessarily-trans reasons (like, maybe, being able to escape life with his shitty father).

he's not a wild animal because he didn't want to live outside of society, he wanted to be fully integrated into it as a normal person but he thought this impossible because society has already deemed him other. he could never be more than the role he was assigned — not the same way he could were he a normal, cis guy.

—

so yeah that's the end of my little ramble, if you read all the way thank you very much for letting me yap bc honestly i think the more i wrote this post the more genuinely convinced i was that pluto's trans. like idc if canon 100% proves me wrong it's too late i will simply ignore it and invent my own canon.

[life-series-playlist-submissions]

see i have a whole list of songs that i can associate w/ characters but unfortunately most of them are either for aus, or not for the life series at all (though still for lifers)

anyways here are a few others i have for life series, besides the ones i already have suggested- there is a very obvious bias here lol

there's actually quite a lot but i promise they all fit very well trust me

these are all tcw songs

"easier" w/ clockduo

"strangler fig" w/ ll!skizz (crane lives dtiys im looking at u)

"shallow river" w/ clockduo

"once and for all" with impulse and other crastle people :)

"queen of nothing" with life series winners, OR limited life

"how to rest" w/ skizz and the LiL affirmations

"icarus" w/ 3l imp n skizz

"i talk in my sleep" w/ clockduo AND imp n skizz..... post-life series. dont put it in the skizz playlist tho this aint about him /aff

"down the river" for SL!villain scar. specifically villain scar. also clockduo bc everything is about clockduo forever

"ribs" w/ dl!pearl

"pretty little things" w/ clockduo

"know how" w/ clockduo

oh wait one fish in a birdcage song- "rule #5: james picard" for last life

AND NOW. songs that are for specific aus (or are not for the life series) so you shouldn't add them to the playlists, but i thought they would be fun to talk abt anyways

"the bidding" by tally hall for a team BEST drag au me and my friend are making... very.... slowly....... i am always rotating it in my mind and exploding this au's skizzleman but i cant write for shit............ yes girl go discover a whole new thing that it turns out u love and then have ur aroace awakening................. and then get traumatized..............................................

"infinitesimal" by mother mother for the same au mentioned above

"rule #7: angel tango" by fish in a birdcage for... you guessed it... team best drag au................ (i have a whole playlist made. it was the first themed playlist i ever made. and i did it before we changed a whole important plot point so now i need to make another one. regardless here is the link i need to talk abt this silly au)

"sick of the silence" by mother mother for 3L!skizz in a very specific au i have where he's a shapeshifter and, during 3L, got stuck in one form (enderskizz)

"neverending hum" by lemon demon for skizz in general. impulse is the armadillo named corey /silly

"space oddity" by david bowie for hcs8!tango. i love david bowie guys

"my wife and my dead wife" (specifically the live version from "gotta let this hen out!") by robyn hitchcock for an ethimpdubs au i have where etho is bdubs' dead husband and impulse is bdubs' newer, alive husband, and then etho comes back as a ghost like ten years after his death

You can totally add songs that fit the personalities of the lifers in general! Also Space Oddity is 1000% HC8 Tango, big agree.

Added songs to the playlists Bdubs, Impulse, Skizz, Cleo, Tango, Grian, Scott, Pearl, Martyn, Scar, Joel, Last life and Limited life. (I added the Queen of Nothing song to all you suggested because I couldn’t make any decision).

[wyervan]

In your DCA Yuletide au, I have an idea rise of the guardian's Jack Frost y/n

I don’t know why but Jack Frost or y/n frost is just a cool idea to be and I want to throw a snowball at the moon and him not see where it comes from (Jack Frost in the legend is invisible and only surrender people can see him)

It is a great idea!! In fact, great minds think alike because @stalkersamsrptumbler wrote a lil drabble a couple months ago with her character Maddie as a Jack Frost-esque spirit who bedevils Sun’s workshop with indoor snow. ❄️

I do love the idea of seeing Moon, who’s usually the mischievous one himself, grow increasing bewildered and frustrated at being pelted with snowballs out of thin air 😛. He’d get so angry, he’d start charging wildly in the direction that the snowball came from and probably hit a tree or smth.

[rozeliyawashereyall]

I had a vision

May or may not have infused a few HCs to this,, they're subtle but they're there

These two are from @obsidian-lantern yipppee

[bumfuzzled-bee]

!! Lil Ojiro drawings !!

[syrupbitee]

free my boy from his own show he did nothing wrong

[royaltea000]

trying to learn how to draw this dude

credit to @/transparentalia for the ref images :)

[s0fter-sin]

soap's whole deal being sniper and demolitions gets me going bc on the surface they sound so different but when you get into it, you realise it's bc soap's smart

sniping is all math; calculating distances and wind interference and bullet drop. something i think people overlook is he was listed as a sniper first so it can be implied that he's better at it than demolitions. he does more sniping in both campaigns than demolitions work; in capture or kill, ghost specifically calls on him to take down the aq snipers

and demolitions is math with a hit of chemistry; knowing what mixes with what, knowing how much to use, recognising environmental factors and adjusting accordingly. it's not just about the boom; so much work goes into contained/ planned explosions. especially when having enough power for a breacher charge and not bringing down the whole building is the difference between mission success and failure

the chemical bombs he makes in alone can't just be any old cleaners, they have to have the correct reaction to each other; he just knew off the top of his head what would mix with what to create what reaction. he would also potentially have to recognise them by sight/smell bc they would’ve been written in spanish

soap would also have to know architecture; recognising structural integrity and weak points so he knows exactly where to plant a charge to bring it down and how it'll come down

he has an incredible soldier's mind people just forget that bc he's sociable which itself is a skill

we know he tends to buck against orders he doesn't agree with like when he pushes back against ghost in capture or kill and shepherd when he tells them to release hassan

he gets closer to people and sees if he can trust them and that's when he follows them without question. really think about how he talks to alejandro and rudy; he asks about their home and alejandro's family and rudy's relationship with him. those aren't questions you ask a stranger after a few hours of knowing them. that's not even touching on his relationship with ghost

he also deliberately brings people of higher ranks down to his level; talking informally with ghost and giving him a shoulder punch, addressing alejandro (a colonel!!) by his first name and rudy by his nickname despite literally just meeting them. he personalises all of them and it’s in direct opposition to the reason most characters do that; it’s not due to insubordination or lack of respect, the more he respects and trusts someone, the more casual he is with them

he digs into people; he wants to know what makes them tick and that determines if he can one, trust them and two, follow their orders. once he decides that, he's the ultimate soldier; he bleeds loyalty which makes him vicious when that loyalty is taken for granted

he isn't naive or bubbly or insecure; he's an incredibly smart and aware soldier. he's aggressive and bloodthirsty and loyal and intuitive and i love him so much

[aroaceleovaldez]

yknow, I am amused that solangelo fanon was so tunnel-vision in like 2014 that in the midst of crawling through literally every time Will had popped up in the series prior, somehow the ONE singular instance of Will referencing something that the fandom did absolutely nothing with was the thing Rick then decided to draw out into being a major character trait for Will.

Like. Nico eats McDonalds once and it becomes a huge fanon thing, but Will references Star Trek and the fandom doesn't make a peep until Rick explicitly canonizes that he's a huge sci fi nerd. and Rick doesn't even keep it consistent! He changes it so Will is a Star Wars nerd instead of Star Trek. smh 😔 /lh

[crimescrimson]

Albert Wesker in Resident Evil Remastered (2002)

[luck-of-the-drawings]

"I think this is the most inhuman; and human, that I've ever felt.." MUCH CAN HAPPEN IN A YEAR. IN FIVE YEARS. A DECADE. imagine how much can happen in a century. just ONE (1). How will you grow? what phases do you find? even in 5 years, you will find patterns.