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loveanddeepsecrets · 4 months ago

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Domestic + Intimate Headcanons Pt. II

An impromptu two parter of me just spitballing (Pt. I for reference). This started out as a cutesy mini headcanon post for Raf’s bday, but quickly grew into hyper specific romantic scenarios and wishful thinking. It’s still probably clear who my mains are 😭 but I did my best to showcase the humility in all LIs

⤠ Disclaimer: I’m quite happy with the intimate headcanons from my initial post and truthfully couldn’t expand too too much without basically repeating myself from last time. So with the exception of Caleb, there’s a bit less spicy bullets this go-round :/

⤠ Tags: 18+, MDNI, *slight spoilers depending on affinity level or personal progress in main story +myths, fluff, mostly gender neutral, but written with an afab + fem!reader in mind

⤠ Word count: 2.1k (mostly proofread)

Xavier

SFW

✧ Eats the raisins you pick out of the trail mix

✧ Always draws stars next to your name when writing you letters/cards

✧ Bookstore dates. At every visit, you pick one of your favourite books to read for each other

✧ After begging him tirelessly to teach you a song, *any song* on the piano, he mischievously chose ‘Heart & Soul’

✧ Saves every voicemail/voice note. He often replays them to stay sane on dangerous solo missions

✧ On top of that, he made a bunny plushie version of you at one of those 'Build-A-Bear' type shops and used one of your voice notes . He sleeps with it on nights he can't sleep with you

✧ Sprays more cologne on his hoodies knowing you love the scent. He also thinks the extra spritz of fragrance will ward off other men since he knows you borrow his clothes. It’s his silent way of marking what’s his

✧ Loves making you blush. He didn't get enough time to court you in the past timeline on Philos, so he seizes every opportunity to (quite effortlessly) rizz you up to see your flushed expression

NSFW

✧ [canonically makes bolder moves to see how you’d react —secret times lvl 165]

✧ Game head. He gets a bit of an adrenaline rush if you do it while he’s online

✧ Doesn’t give not one shit about how loud you guys are. He probably prefers sex on the couch on the off chance Charlie might be passing through the hallway

✧ Though I still think he’s pretty quiet, he becomes a bit of a whiny mess when you’re edging him

✧ A gripper. Grabs on your ass during cowgirl, your chest during missionary, your hips/thighs during doggy, etc

✧ Sprained his neck from holding your hips down and guiding you when you sat on his face. It left him smirking throughout his recovery. Every painful twitch was a pleasant reminder of a job well done

✧ Has the fastest pace ot5. He moves at lightning speed when batting wanderers, so he probably moves at a back breaking break neck speed while inside of you

✧ After rewatching the 'No Restraint' card on YouTube… *sweats* he’s got magic fingers. I’ll put it like this and move on: firm, tiny circles 🫠

Caleb

SFW

✧ 10+ hours long face time calls

✧ Would actually be pretty decent at the claw machine if he wasn't such a massive cheater

✧ Utility man. He's your personal chauffer, home chef, alarm clock, umbrella, trainer, handyman, and so on. He strives to be the perfect emergency contact

✧ Has definitely seen those videos of couples trying to recreate yoga poses and had you try with him (would probably cheat using his evol)

✧ Bounces his leg if you scratch that one spot on his head when you play with his hair

✧ You always end up sitting on his lap when cuddling watching tv or reading peacefully together

✧ Holds pinkies more often than holding hands

✧ Super athletic and adventurous dates i.e. zip lining, skydiving, paragliding, kayaking, hiking, etc. He’s patient, encouraging, and talks you through the scariest parts of the activity and rewards you with several kisses in between telling you how brave you were

NSFW

✧ Hands down has the roughest sex regularly ot5

✧ Mile high club

✧ Orgasm denial + overstimulation

✧ LOUD, TALKATIVE, and MESSY

✧ Sloppy eater

✧ He expects a sloppy eater in return. Is probably the type to grab your head and start guiding you when he’s close

✧ Ik I said Xavier was bossy, but this man? His gravity evol? His colonel position? CONTROL FREAK

✧ Likely has the biggest “Sir” kink

✧ While I do think he aligns slightly more with booktok Sylus, I can’t see where degradation would fit with their dynamic. You’re the very thing he wants to shield and protect. Why would he degrade what he cherishes?

✧ On the softer side, he’s the type to melt into your touch. There’s true devotion in his eyes (and heart) when you’re making love

✧ On the days where he’s not rough, the sex is more sensual and almost tantric

✧ Will always find a way to be physically closer to you during the act. Whether it’s putting his forehead on yours, burying his face in your neck, hugging your waist, or simply holding hands

✧ You both probably cried (happy tears) after your first time. Being intimate felt like a confirmation from the universe that you knew each other more than words could express. There was no trial and error, you just knew

Sylus

SFW

✧ Hot air balloon rides

✧ Monogram matching robes

✧ Secret fan of game shows. He thinks they’re hilarious— or in his words “highly amusing”

✧ Bought you a birdhouse + birdfeeder for your apartment after he noticed you birdwatching on the last date

✧ Purposely chooses horror films on movie nights on the chance you’ll hold onto him and hide your face in his chest. He’ll laugh and make some remark about being hurt that you’d use him as a shield, but will hold you tighter and soothe you later in the night when you’re too scared to sleep

✧ Random slow dances. In the kitchen on the nights you make dinner together; in his study while music emits from his record player; in the bathroom, sleepily swaying side to side while lazily brushing your teeth

✧ Whenever you're holding hands, he often aimlessly draws random shapes on your ring finger

✧ I think all the LADS men have a default position they fall into when getting close or snuggling up. For Sylus, it’s resting his chin on your shoulder. It’s the perfect place to capture your scent plus, he can hear and feel your heartbeat. Of course he’ll playful bite or nuzzle into your neck, but he rests his head there because it’s most familiar and comforting to him and his old dragon form

NSFW

✧ Road head

✧ Mile high club

✧ Eye contact

✧ Has a secluded sex dungeon even Luke & Kieran don’t know about

✧ Due to the nature of his job, I don’t think he’d engage in explicit sexting. Too many people on his case and has probably dealt with his fair share of hackers. If one of your messages/photos/videos leaked anywhere, it would be the end of the N109 zone and the world as we know it

✧ That being said, if he wants to make home movies, it’s done with a vintage film camera to ensure the utmost privacy

✧ More of a grunter and groaner than a moaner. The few times he does moan, is when he’s buried between your legs

✧ I actually think he’d be into role play. He likes how you always keep him quick on his feet in your relationship, and will often humour and indulging in the change of pace. He’d like this even more in the bedroom

✧ Chuckles to himself and humours you whenever you suggest 69ing bc he knows you’ll inevitably just lay there with his dick idle in your hands, while you whimper on top of him

✧ Stamina coach. His methods for overstimulation are twofold. While he loves the state of you withering and coming completely undone, he also does this to help you expand your limitations and enjoy each other for as long as he can go. I already said he’s a pleasure dom, but he’s a pleasure dom with a purpose

Zayne

SFW

✧ Botanical garden tours

✧ Couples ice skating during the holiday season

✧ Uses his surgical skills to patch up injured plushies [x]

✧ He may or may not have added an extra rest day or two in your doctor’s note to Jenna so he can spend more time with you. He’ll deny it and insist you need the additional rest, and who better to take care of you other than your doctor?

✧ There’s something about the way he holds your hand that’s sickeningly sweet. Gentle, slightly cool to the touch that warms up quickly, with loving caresses

✧ Surprised you to a dessert degustation for your anniversary. Each dish is a highlight of the standout desserts you tried over the year

✧ Occasional late night strolls along the river. He passively recalls scenes from the western dramas you watch and (successfully) tries skipping rocks

✧ Enjoys exploring artistic outlets with you. Often suggests different workshops to try i.e. stained glass studios, culinary classes, candle making, terrarium building, etc

✧ A bit needy nowadays. To experience a love he never knew he could have, makes him hold your hand a little more tightly, hug you a few seconds longer and kiss you twice as many times as he did before

NSFW

✧ Much like Sylus, he’s also big on eye contact (when he’s in control)

✧ Literally the cutest thing ever when you go down on him. He’ll keep his composure, and lustfully tell you what he wants, but gets so flustered and stuttering as the pleasure builds and he gets close

✧ Truthfully, I don’t like to compare Zayne and Caleb all that much, but the love making between you two is also very tantric

✧ If you listen to the way he kisses you, it’s pretty similar to how he eats you. When completely drunk off your juices, it’s like he’s breathing you in. There’s a desperation to his licks and kisses, feening for the taste of your nectar

✧ He’s also the type to spell out his name with his tongue over and over again. Think of it as a spell. He needs to hear you call to him

✧ Incredibly patient. Foreplay isn’t some tit for tat curtesy thing, it’s important to him. He’s less of a tease and more methodical. "Relax into my arms. No, I'm not bullying you. I need you to come for me again. You should always warm up before stretching, and I don't want to hurt you so please, come for me love. Can you do that for me?"

✧ A stickler for clear communication. You must speak in full complete sentences. It’s not enough to say just say “Please.” What exactly are you pleading him to do?

✧ Slight exhibitionist. He’ll never allow you to get caught, but likes the challenge of finding the quickest ways to cover your mouth— using his hand, tie or lips to stifle your moans

Rafayel

SFW

✧ Hates going in hot springs, saunas, or jacuzzies. He’ll say he feels like a boiling crab

✧ Asked to keep your first completed sketchbook that are filled with many one on one art lessons with him

✧ Can’t sleep if some semblance of you isn’t with him. Will literally drag or carry you to the couch so he can take a nap. You don’t have to nap with him, just lay next to him and stroke his hair

✧ Apart from Moments, you’re the only one he’s following on all socials

✧ Always responds with a stream of texts in all caps and several emojis when you send him a selfie

✧ His biggest artistic aspiration is to find just the right pigments/colours that encapsulates you. Next is finding a colour palette that encapsulates both of you

✧ Used to think you were mocking him when you took him on aquarium dates

✧ Your pearl engagement ring was made from the tears he cried while drafting his proposal speech [x]

NSFW

✧ Next to Sylus, he’s a comfort king. Making sure you have enough pillows underneath you during missionary; repositioning you when he notices your head leaning off the edge of the bed; several consent check ins; "my hands aren't too cold, right?"; taking over when your legs start to tire out from riding him, etc

✧ Unpopular opinion, I think he’s the most into period sex out of the five. You really think a MERMAN is scared of the red sea???

✧ Speaking of which, he’s extra sensitive to your scent and the way you feel when you’re on your cycle. Though he won’t necessarily initiate anything

✧ Has you take the week off for Ebb Day. You’ll need the extra down time and he’s more than happy to spend the rest the week caring for you till you're back in good health

✧ On particularly intense— passionate rounds, he starts swearing/speaking in Lumerian

✧ Pretty gentle with you when you go down on him. He’s usually holding your hair back, softly running his fingers through your strands or caressing the back of your neck

✧ The biggest tease when he’s eating you out and MEAN about it too. Giggling when you mewl. That annoying "mmm?” when you start to get louder. "Speak up, cutie."

✧ Best stroke game. Ik I said this last time, but I’m dying on this hill. Dizzying backshots, frontshots, sideshots— literally whatever position you’re in, his hips are steady, fluid, and unrelenting

ꨄ︎ A/N: Thanks for reading 🤍 these lists were a bit harder to make this time ngl. Quite a few bullets from pt. I are now canon— which I’m happy about ofc, but it made it harder to bounce around new ideas since there’s fewer “what ifs”. It’s probably best to end this series here tbh. But I’m definitely open to different content suggestions to post next!

[x] - denotes credit for headcanon inspo.

⤠ dividers by saradika-graphics & anitalenia

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crepezinhos · 2 months ago

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Patriarchy

POV: Waking up back to the 1700s wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be when you had your best friend, Phainon, accompanying you through your new journey. Now you have the chance to begin feminism yourself! How much more advanced will society be if manage to get women equal rights by 1800 instead of 1900?! But, when you were close to getting one right in specific, Phainon’s support of you was suddenly… gone.

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a Yandere SFW work

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Contains: Possessive, obsessive and abusive behavior, a bit of physical abuse, misogynistic behavior and confinement.

— Arranged!Phainon x Arranged!Reader

— AU is: 1700s Europe

“Y/N! You’re back!” Phainon screamed excitedly from the main staircase of your shared palace when he saw you standing in your mansion’s entrance, beginning to step down towards you faster than he was doing previously. “How was it on the streets today?” He asked when he finally finished climbing down and jumped off the stairs, walking towards you with his arms behind his back excitedly.

You, happy to see him too, were quick to take off your hat, jacket and accessories with the help of your lady-in-honor, staring back at Phainon’s joyful ocean-blue eyes.

“It was fine. The army resistance was surprisingly very little today so we didn’t have much trouble doing our protest.” You reciprocated his excitement, bowing to your maid in gratefulness before she could start walking away and taking your things back to your bedroom.

“That’s great to hear, Y/N!” Phainon replied, eyes shining with pure admiration of your courage. “I also have good news.” He blinked to you with a smirky grin in his lips, just waiting for you to ask him about his achievement so he could brag about whatever he’d done.

“Oh? What is it?” You crossed your arms casually, finally putting an end to the classy and formal behavior that you adapted to to follow the societal norms of the town where you two live in.

Phainon decided to fix his throat and tie before he could answer you, trying to make himself a bit more classy and snobby before flexing whatever news he had.

“Our pads and tampons are making such a huge success that one of my investors managed to begin trading our products with all North, Central and South America.” Phainon talked in a slightly sarcastic tone, obviously trying to exaggerate it to you so you could be extra happier with it.

“Are you serious?! No way! All three Americas at the same time?!” You gasped in shock, almost skipping in joy while imagining what would be all kinds of women trying out those items and finding out just how extraordinarily better they are than whatever they were currently using to absorb their menstruations.

“Yessir!” Phainon opened both his arms,welcoming all that joy you were expressing.

Every day, Phainon somehow managed to surprise you with good news and raise your spirits about your current life whether it was because of his mindless kindness and consideration of you or with his intelligent marketing skills. You admired him so much that you didn’t even like imagining what would your life be without him in this universe. You’d probably just find yourself marrying an old man who has zero interest or empathy with you, much less in your feminist ideals, and only gives you the bare minimum attention to keep you sane.

The difference between all men and Phainon is that you and him were modern. While other men thought with a non-industrial mindset of making a few thousands for profit, Phainon, who has lived with billionaires, thinks immediately about the millions he can profit because he knows exactly what to invest in. And while other women were mostly illiterate and solely worried with things like their marriage and birthing dozens of kids for their husbands, you were worried about ‘men things’ such as the job market and human progress and you had knowledge about all sorts of things. Because of this, you two were an extremely powerful duo. Your success was sudden, massive and impressive, leaving every man and woman from all social classes either inspired or envious. You two reigned everything. Either your or Phainon’s presence was highly valued in every party you stepped in, whether as an annoyance, taking everyone’s eyes away from the main objective of the ball, or as a blessing, since your presence meant that the party was entertaining.

After all, whatever the perfect couple interacts with or believes in, many others will want to interact with it or follow your beliefs too.

Yes, you and Phainon were technically a couple that got married a few months ago, but in practice, you two didn’t even sleep in the same room. It was an arranged business that you two agreed to do because women cannot really live without a husband and neither you or Phainon wanted you to be bullied for the rest of your life, so joining family, money and forces was obviously the smartest choice. You two had a little wedding and a marriage certification, but no kiss was ever seen after the fake one in the altar.

Your ‘marriage’ was actually one of the first triggers to awaken women into feminism. It was completely alternative. You weren’t forced to display affection with him publicly, you had all rights to complain and raise your voice to Phainon, Phainon had zero demands to you regarding his satisfaction with his life or kids, while at the same time he’d spoil you nonstop. It made women crave that freedom from their husbands, who all thought you were a greedy witch and that Phainon deserved better. But there was nothing they could do about it. His money reigned the country. So much that it made this sinful way of life of yours affordable and even cultural. It’s not his fault he know as exactly what inventions will be successful or not, but he’ll only keep growing, and whatever you two do will be what people want to do too. ‘His’ idea about creating tampons and pads was actually a request from you. Using random, non-absorbing cloths as pads was horrible and barely efficient, making your routine horrible during menstruation, so you decided to talk to Phainon about it, who immediately went after the creation of tampons and pads. A perfect example of how you two were iconic. Phainon already knew tampons and pads would be an immediate millionaire success, and all women envied the dedication of your husband to you compared their own men.

There is so much Phainon has done to you… He gave you a whole personal room for you to sleep in without him, a whole garden that had all the flowers you wished, he bought you all the dresses and makeup you wanted and every reform and furniture of the house was ordered by you. It felt like his life mission was assuring you a comfortable, almost free life, but it still felt incomplete to you because of one reason. The inferiority of women. Seeing women being sent away at age of 15 to marry a 40 year-old man made your heart ache with anguish. Seeing men shame prostitutes for their jobs and even throw tiny rocks on them made you angry. Seeing men’s hypocrisy to force women into a religion and a cult of purity that they don’t follow on their own made your blood boil… A much larger list of failures in this patriarchal system made you revolt, so you begun using your influence and money to create feminism.

And your ideas were expectedly booming between all women of your country, and Congress was slowly becoming more and more convinced that it wouldn’t be horrible idea to give women a few rights.

“I know I’m awesome, I know.” Phainon used a hand to push his frontal hair back to act even prouder of himself in front of you.

“We’re making so much progress in so little time! I can’t believe we are the first era of feminists and we’re turning out to be so successful!” You tip-toed in the floor, holding your own cheeks with excitement.

“We? No, no, no… you.” Phainon’s fingers suddenly reached to your chest bone and pressed it down, forcing all the credits for the success of the feminist movement to you. “And a lady like you deserves a delicious meal in compensation for her work, don’t you think?” He took away his finger off you, but his face leaned a bit closer to you too, staring at you deeply with admiration. “Follow me, Y/N.” He blinked a bit seductively, making you giggle, and when you looked down, his hands was hanging open in front of you just waiting for you to hold it.

And so you did, inflating your chest with air to show him your excitement and how high were your expectations. Phainon giggled at your behavior, beginning to gently pull you around the house.

You and Phainon silently walked in direction of the dinging room, only a few noises of creaking wood accompanying your steps. The silence wasn’t awkward, only a bit tense due to the circumstances you were in. Every corridor you two walked through, the house would become quieter and darker despite still being early afternoon. Your dining room was in a corner of the house where no background noise could annoy you and him, meaning it was distant from the home’s main entrance. And when you had finally reached the long, dark and narrow hall that led to nothing but the dining room in its end, Phainon decided to break the silence.

“You also have a second appointment today, don’t you? Or maybe tomorrow? Or maybe it already happened?” Phainon turned half of his face to you, staring at you with curiosity.

“A second appointment? I don’t—” Before you could finish speaking, your brain suddenly brought back a memory of you and some of your friends talking about future plans and played it for you.

It was you, Ms. Castorice and Ms. Algaea, the other two co-leaders of your movement, discussing about some great news in Aglaea’s mansion. Congress had accepted to participate in a debate with you and a team of other 5 people about giving women a few rights. You and them were discussing about which topics to bring up, which people to form a team with, and when should the debate happen.

“Cat got your tongue?” Phainon woke you up from your thoughts, laughing at your frozen face and still staring at it now with a mischievous stare.

“I do!” You snapped the fingers of your other free hands. “I-I have to go to Congress by 6 tonight!” Phainon’s eyes widened when you reminded him of what appointment was scheduled for today or maybe sometime else.

“Ah, yes!” Phainon stopped walking and let your hand go. “You were telling me about your plans for it a few days ago!” He pointed to you with a hand, trying to relate to you.

“Yes, yes, yes! I’ve prepared such good arguments to tell the Congress! It’ll be very difficult for them for them to deny our requests, much less with a good reason!” You crossed your arms again, remembering the expectations you had set. “Can you imagine? By tomorrow we might get the right to divorce! Women will get the right to divorce!” Phainon’s eyes widened when he felt the impact of those news.

“Seriously? The right to divorce this early?!” His mouth dropped to the floor as you confidently nodded to him.

“Yessir! We might finally be able to ask for a divorce too!” You laughed at your own additional words, but you quickly realized that Phainon went fully quiet while you were, so you stopped laughed and looked him, only to see he did not reciprocate, still with the same widened expression in his face, but his mouth was not smiley anymore.

“What do you mean?” He asked a bit confused.

“Me and you… Getting a divorce…” You pointed to him and you as you spoke, then you put your hands together only to separate them, representing what divorce was.

But Phainon’s expression turned horrified and almost pale when you separated your hands from each other, apparently taking it as a genuine offense.

“Why..?” His eyebrows frowned, looking as you worried.

“Well.. because we aren’t exactly married… This is all just for survival, remember?” You laughed a bit to try cooling him off, but Phainon’s expression only seemed to sadden even more.

“But… we’re fine together, aren’t we? We’re surviving really well, aren’t we? So why would you want to divorce?” Phainon stepped closer to you once, and this hall started to feel like it’d became narrower.

“W-Well, yeah, we’re doing good, but if I get women the right to divorce and to work independently, I won’t need you anymore… I mean, we were not doing this back in Amphoreus for a reason…” You laughed it off again, but then his hurt expression and silence made you realize you shouldn’t be giving him any reasoning. “What’s going on, Phainon?” You darkened your expression, trying to get straight to the point.

“I’ve been a good husband, haven’t I? I’ve made you happy all this time, haven’t I?” Phainon now sounded visibly anxious, breath almost hitching as he slowly stepped closer and closer to you, forcing you to repel and step backwards.

“Yeah, Phainon, but you’re not actually my husband. No need to call yourself one…” You laughed at his words, not sympathizing with his worry. “This is all an act for us to survive in this society, remember? There is no actual love or dependence between us or anything…” Phainon’s eyes widened with that last phrase as if you said something that just crushed his heart.

“W-What..?” Phainon’s cute puppy eyes stared at you with dying hope, but you still didn’t feel the slightest pity for him.

“Phainon, seriously, what the fuck is going on?” You decided to step forward this time, setting your ground for him to understand he was almost disrespecting your space.

Phainon didn’t answer you at first, only reluctantly staring at your eyes with his shaky blue pupils. It costed him quite a while to build courage to be truthful with you, gulping down his accumulated saliva and turning his head down to avoid the shame of what he has in his mind.

“I… I don’t want a divorce.” His confession came out as loud as a whisper, which made you not understand what he said initially and forced you to guess it.

Jointing the few syllables you’ve heard and assuming the words and articles he’d said with the help of context clues, you’d concluded he’d said ‘I don’t want a divorce’, which immediately triggered you to have a negative reaction. But you still remained quiet, trying to comprehend why would he want to stay married to you. Maybe he’s afraid to live without a wife in this rigid society? But he’s a man… You are the one supposed to be afraid of living without a husband. Or maybe he’s thinking about that? About your safety and comfort living in this society without a husband? Or maybe… that alternative you’ve been avoiding to recognize ever since the day of your ‘marriage’..?

…

No, it can’t be. He would never.

So you just sighed, throwing that thought to the back of your and concluding your investigation. Phainon did not want a divorce, and he doesn’t want it because he’s worried about you.

“You don’t a want a divorce?” You firmly queried, trying to have a bit of confirmation over your guess, a hand of yours moving to the necklace you wore to fidget it while he answered.

“Yes…” He mumbled shyly and you scoffed in pride of having guessed it correctly, still not understanding why was he be acting like this if his intentions were so pure.

“Why?” You inflated your chest again, preparing for whatever he wanted to say now.

“Because…” He tried to answer your question immediately, but the knot in his throat impeded him from finishing. “Because…” And he tried again, a bit less desperately, failing so miserably he looked down to the floor again in embarrassment.

And so, you exhaled, letting all that imprisoned air in your lungs in a sigh. Since he couldn’t say it for himself, you’d do it for him.

“I appreciate your worry for my comfort, Phainon, but I can definitely live on my own. I don’t care about what these people have to say about me and my choices. In fact, they can feel free to bully me as much as they want, I’ll still be milking more money than them in the end of the day.” You spoke less firmly, trying to see if that would make him feel comfortable to be more honest with you. “I can’t even guarantee that we will get the right to divorce in the first place anyway…” You tried to be a bit more optimistic, but then you immediately regretted it in recognition that it is needed to be realistic in a situation like this. “But I’ll still go to Congress today and fight for it. For me and all the women that need to get away from their husbands.” You could see Phainon swallowing another big chunk of saliva when you finished talking, surprisingly having a negative reaction again.

“For you? Why you?” Phainon stepped closer once again, face only becoming more stunned, which truly disturbed you.

“You’re scaring me, Phainon.” You brought your shoulders closer to your body, trying to make yourself more resistant and tolerable to his behavior.

“I don’t mean to scare you, Y/N… I just want to know why do you want a divorce when we’re so happy together…” He tried to argue in a way that still didn’t reveal his reason, but seeing how unmoved and suspicious you still were of him, he sighed and squinted his eyes. “I don’t want a divorce…” He stated his intentions again, but in a weak tone that made him sound like a hungry puppy, trying to make you feel guilty.

And that pissed you off. You believed Phainon was genuinely not trying to intentionally manipulate you into staying married him, but he was still acting unreasonably.

“But I do.” You countered him firmly. “And I will get it.” You wanted to turn away and immediately walk back to your room, but the moment you spun your right foot, before you could even start about turning your full body away from him, Phainon reacted to your words.

“No, you won’t..!” The tone of his voice deepened in such a rapid way that made you stop and look back at his eyes immediately, a sense of danger growing in the back of your mind.

“Yes, I will.” Feeling even more cornered by the hall’s tightness and afraid of Phainon, you decided to turn away abruptly in a speed that would stun Phainon for a moment before he could possibly catch you and bring you back to the discussion.

“Where are you going..?!” You heard Phainon stomp forward harshly, launching himself forward to reach your wrist and hold you tight with his large hand.

“Let me go, Phainon.” You decided to turn your eyes back to his again, trying to use your presence to order him, forcing yourself to control your voice from shaking as you spoke, taking his action as a threat to your security.

“Why are you trying to leave..? Why are you trying to leave me?!” His eyes were fully widened with anguish as he desperately filled you with two questions to answer.

“I’m just… not hungry anymore. I’ll eat later.” You quickly mumbled a fake reasoning, but it didn’t seem to convince him. After all, Phainon’s eyebrows noticeably frowned.

“That’s not true. Why are you lying to me..?” His grip in your wrist tightened in a way that made you grunt from the pain.

“Phainon, you’re hurting me..!” You tried to pull your hand away from him, only to be fully held back, which only made you even more nervous and scared of him.

“I don’t want us to divorce, Y/N… We don’t need a divorce…” He suddenly turned a bit soft again, endlessly trying to argue with you about that despite the fact that he was really freaking you out.

“I-I need to prepare for Congress, Phainon..! Let me go at this instant!” You even tried stepping away from him, seeing if it was possible to run away, but it didn’t work due to his heavy weight holding you back.

“No…” He mumbled, looking the deepest he could to your eyes, still trying to find any bit of pity in you and hope for himself.

“You’re only giving me more reasons to divorce you right now, Phainon..! Let me go now!” You had no choice but to try facing him with your own strength, now trying to use your other hand to grab that wrist of his to pull it away from you.

“No… We can’t divorce…” His repetitiveness finally made you snap.

“Yes we can and we will!” You launched your face forward and screamed at him, trying to shake your hand out of his grip the fullest you could.

But that triggered him snap too in reaction to your audacity in making such a hurtful statement.

“NO, WE WON’T!” He screamed at a tone that you’ve never heard from him and didn’t recognize, also finally releasing your wrist.

But before you give your first step backward, or think about his change in tone, something else stunned you again.

SLAP!

Your body immediately fell to the ground as Phainon’s hand smacked across your face, your feet enrolling themselves with the thick layers of your dress, giving your instincts time to only put your palms in the wooden floor before your head actually hit the ground, meaning you successfully landed sat instead of fully laid. But you recovered a second after the fall, so you immediately placed a hand on the cheek Phainon had slapped to ease the arduous pain he inflicted on you and rose your head up to him, finding him powerfully standing right in front of you, staring at you like a caught prey, jailed in a cage.

Neither of you spoke for the next seconds to process what had just happened and only breathed with opened mouths. The more you thought, the more frightened for your life you became, remembering the sudden change in his tone to one you’ve never heard, the slap itself and the threat it represented to your relationship… But the more he thought, the more calm he became in realization that you were frozen in fear, defeated by his action. And that’s why after a last round of breathing in and out deeply, he shut his mouth and calmly walked closer to you, kneeling down in front of you.

“Y/N…” A hand of his also reached the same cheek you were holding, cupping it gently, which only made your skin shiver with disgust of his touch, begging yourself to scream at him to get the fuck away from you. “I’m… I-I’m sorry…” He briefly wheezed, trying to ease the both of you from the mood. “I didn’t mean to… do this… or… t-to scare you.” He pathetically smiled at you, only making you wish to run away from him even more, but your adrenaline could only afford to freeze your body in that sat position. “I just… don’t want us to divorce… There’s no good reason to do that… That’s all…” He gulped down again.

You knew it. Deep down, you’ve always known it. You just didn’t want to admit it.

But maybe… you should’ve definitely talked to him about it sooner.

Phainon’s kindness… was never just friendly.

And there were always many little signs that rose that flag…

For example, the way he’d stare at you whenever he gave you a gift, sometimes only a few inches away from your face, just waiting to see the amazing reaction he’d rip out of you. Deep down, it always felt like he urged for more of something you couldn’t name until now. It didn’t feel like he just wanted your comfort and happiness because that’s what friends do, it felt like he did it as if he was your lover. These little gifts, perfectly enveloped in a beautiful wrap, felt like little seduction attempts. After all, the next gift would always be better than the next, as if he wanted to show just how dedicated he is, and convince your heart to let yourself fall for him.

The way he treated you during the day of your marriage… In the altar, what was supposed to be just a quick smooch to pose a fake picture of yourselves to the crowd witnessing you, turned out to be so much more touchy, intimate and even… real, like real couples do. And even when the vows were done, he kept throwing himself at you and holding your hands for the rest of the celebration party, for some reason so happy with the day. Friends don��t stick their tongues inside their friends’ mouths when it’s needed to fake a kiss. It wasn’t just an act.

And the one habit that mostly made you icky about thinking about Phainon’s possibly feeling things for you… The way his eyes stoned in you and his cheeks flushed whenever he saw you trying any ball dresses and makeup for the parties you were invited to or even when he saw you in your rendered pijamas when you two were home… They always delivered you a message of lust, and you don’t want any of your friends to lust over you, much less Phainon in such a situation like yours right now. But it was true, Phainon would not react to you being pretty like a friend would.

You should’ve accepted it sooner. But now it’s too late. You’ve let this grow. You are reaping what you sowed.

Phainon liked you as more than a friend.

“But think about it… Wouldn’t it be iconic? The leader of the feminist movement herself doing all of this work to get the right of divorce when she, on her own, does not desire to divorce her husband? You could show them that it is possible to be a feminist and be a married woman at the same time…” His thumb caressed your hand, lamenting that he couldn’t directly reach your fluffy cheek.

But you were still too stunned to say anything, despite the thousands of protests running in your mind, begging to be shouted.

“We are such a good duo… Why would you ever want to put and end to us? Put an end to our influence? Our impact? Our empire?” Phainon looked at you with more pity, assuming his position of total power over you. “We don’t need to be exactly like other couples… I would never force you to do that… We can still be exactly like how we are today, but all I want is to still be able to live in the same house as you… and call you my wife.” Phainon pulled that hand of yours that held your cheek and turned it around, making your palm face down.

And with very slow movements, he smooched your knuckles, smiling softly at them. And then he looked down at your fingers, meeting that engagement ring that the both of you were forced to wear to avoid any accusations or bullying, and that made his grin grow, blue eyes shining with joy. He leaned down and kissed the ring too with more intensity, sucking your skin for a bit to demonstrate just how much he valued that golden ring.

“I just want you to wear this ring with me for the rest of your life… Is that too much to ask from you? I’ve done so many harder things for you…” Phainon laid his cheek on your hand, rubbing himself against it as if it was the comfiest pillow he’d ever laid on.

He kept doing that for a few seconds before he kissed your hand again… and then again… again, again and again, many spots in it becoming a bit moistened with his saliva. He even turned your hand around and begun kissing your palm and its heel as deep as he could.

“I love you, Y/N…” He mumbled in your skin with closed eyes, breath warming up your skin. “I really do…” He made sure his message was clearly sent to you, pausing for a moment to let you absorb it. “But I can’t let you do this to us… to me…” He opened his eyes, staring at you with a weird kind of pity again, as if he wasn’t bothered by your discomfort, like a masochist would.

But then he stood up again, not offering you any help to get up too.

“You won’t go to Congress today.” He stated a bit more seriously, contrasting his previous tone as he stared down at you very firmly, before he started to calmly walk away from the scene as if he hadn’t just done something completely absurd and out of normal.

Your eyes followed his body in fear, watching him walk with his hands holding each other behind his back ao elegantly, each step making the wood planks creak a bit. In the end of the hall, where you two came from, Phainon met one of your many maids standing still with an uncomfortable expression visible in her face, but still forcing herself to do her job as either your or his servant.

“If you see her trying to leave tonight, don’t let her. You understand?” Phainon spoke to the maid very gently, contrasting himself once again.

“Yes, sir.” She nodded, assuming her new responsibility.

“Good. You may call me or the guards in the gate if that happens.” Phainon assigned the maid her permissions, making her nod again, but silently. “Go tell the other maids their new assignment.” He used to a hand to tap her shoulder twice very sweetly.

“Yes, my master.” She gently bowed to him again, making Phainon grin, feeling comfortable enough to keep walking away from the scene.

When he finally turned to the left and fully left you alone, the maid looked at you again, staring at your pitiful situation with mixed feelings. It was a silent communication, but you could still get her general message, the same way she could get yours.

After all the efforts you’ve been doing to push a feminist agenda in your town to all kinds of women and men, you’ve failed to do that in your own home with your own maids. The same women who were stuck in your palace, working 24/7 to keep every detail of your home perfect and make your routine as easy as possible, were neglected by you and your movement, just like how in real life some women were neglected from the early stages of feminism too. And now you were suffering the harshest consequences of it you could suffer. She pitied you and even seemed to wish she could do something for you, but all she was ever taught to do in this sort of job was obey the man’s command, meaning she’d betray her own beliefs and risk her whole career if she dared to think about helping you, which would be disobeying Phainon. So all she could do was give that silent treatment until she couldn’t bare her own grief anymore and begun to walk away in the same direction as Phainon did, beginning to call him by his nickname, her voice echoing in your ears lightly.

How could you forget? You live in a conservative patriarchy.

Phainon is the man in your relationship.

In conservative patriarchies, the man is always the leader. The woman is just his follower. A servant who is always mindlessly ready to please him.

And he likes this system the way it is.

Today he just made that very clear. The roles of the relationship were established.

Taglist: @gaboplaydespacito

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it! <3

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #honkai star rail x you #phainon #honkai star rail phainon #phainon x reader #phainon x you #phainon x y/n #yandere oneshots #yandere phainon #yandere drabble

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coffeefleecy · 3 months ago

Text

The Serpent's Posession

Pairing: Caleb X MC

Summary: You're finding that you're less scared of Caleb's visits and looking forward to them and the relief he brings you. You're also finding that you're becoming more attached.

Warnings: Virgin reader, inexperienced reader, vaginal sex, cunnillingus, incubus!caleb, dream sex, wet dream, panty sniffer Caleb, come eating, multiple orgasms, gaslighting, second person POV

Part One | Part Two | Part Three Part Four

In the following weeks of Caleb’s last visit, you find yourself feeling even more sluggish than usual. Your default lately has been operating on a lower caliber, but something in the last few days has you so drained that you’re barely making it to work on time. The distortion between reality and dreams is becoming hazier and instead of whatever unremarkable dreams you’ve had prior to meeting Caleb are nothing compared to the lasting mark he’s branded you with.

These dreams aren’t quite like the ones where Caleb actually visits, but you can hear his voice whispering things to you and it’s impossible to differentiate between sweet promises and malicious threats. He invades every pore; every nerve and your synapses are firing on all fronts, which serves to only exhaust you further. It’s like he’s taken possession of you and reworked your makeup to respond to only him as he lords the promise of sleep over your head. Caleb is Pavlov, bell surreptitiously dangling in hand as you pant after him, begging for any bit of relief he can give you so long as sleep comes with it.

By ten in the morning, you’ve had three cups of coffee. The caffeine working in tandem with your exhaustion and nerves causes you to become more and more uneasy as the day progresses and the promise of night looms over you. Despite those worries and the fear of the unknown, a part of you longs for Caleb - yearns for the moment you get to see him again. Your anxiety and unease bleed into a raw, intense need that’s been driving you mad. If you called for him by name, would he come?

You lie in bed later that evening in one of your more daring pajama choices; a selection that you’ll never admit is intentional. Despite grappling with the idea that you’re dressing up for a man that the inner machinations of your mind have fabricated, you reason that donning the crimson lace panties is an act of self-love; something that makes you feel sexy and comfortable regardless of who gets to see it. You opt for a thin, oversized tee shirt decorated with apples that remind you of Caleb’s intoxicating scent. God, are you pathetic?

It’s as if he’s bewitching you, mind, body and soul - burning himself into you until you can’t survive without the sustenance he grants you – body withering as if you were in a desert and the sun is sapping the life force out of you.

You’re terrified for him to make an appearance, but every bit of you sings for him, begging him to come. You want to test out the theory that he truly only does appear when you call for it and you’re in dire need of the fix he gives you. Even if it’s only a couple of days of good sleep, you’re in such distress that you’re desperate for it. It’s getting to the point that you cannot rest without him and the pleasure he brings you, so surely what’s the harm in asking for him?

Would it be so bad?

Fatigue overrides any sane thought you might have and this time, you are intentional.

“Caleb,” You whisper, throat raw and dry as his name comes out in rasps of agony. “Caleb, please. I need you, please. Please.”

“Call for me?”

Within split seconds, Caleb’s voice comes from over by your open bedroom door where he’s leaning against the frame, almost too tall to be allowed - not entering like he’s waiting to be invited in.

“You’re - you’re here?”

A sneer flashes across his face and he smirks at you like he’s making fun of you.

“Did you not ask for me? Honestly, you’re kinda stupid. What? What did you need this time? I’ve noticed how exhausted you’ve been looking. Can’t sleep without me, huh? Good.”

Caleb crosses the small distance between the two of you, his every move full of purpose and promises. He stops short of your bed, looking down on you with a face full of a false, gleeful pity.

“Fuck, you look awful,” Caleb lets out a low, chiding whistle. “Let’s fix it, yeah? What can I do for you, princess?”

Caleb graces you with an exaggerated, mocking bow.

“A-Anything, I don’t know what I want - just wanna sleep, please.”

“You want to sleep or … you want me?”

“Can’t it be both?”

What’s the difference?

“Which need is more dominant? I can bend you over and fuck you stupid until you pass out, no problem – but don’t you want a little more than that?”

“I’ll - I will take anything you’ll let me have, please,” You beg hoarsely and even you think you sound pathetic.

“Of course you will,” Caleb sighs and runs a hand through his messy hair. “Look - I’m not in the business of giving people things they don’t actually want. I am here for you; this is all for your benefit. None of it makes a fucking lick of difference to me, so you might as well enjoy it. I can anticipate your every need and nothing, not even the most minute of reactions gets past me. So why don’t you tell me what you really want? I know, but do you?”

“You.”

“You’re probably exhausted so I’ll give you a pass for acting so dumb, but we’ve established that. What? Do you want my tongue on you again? You and I both know that makes you feel good with how soaked you got me - I’m surprised you weren’t so embarrassed that you were squirting all over me.”

“I - yes but,” You stammer, unable to fathom your desires into words.

“Buuuuuuut you want more than that this time,” Caleb finishes for you. “You need something big to fill you up, huh? I felt you clenching around my fingers and my tongue and it wasn’t enough for you.”

“I just want you to make me feel good,” You struggle with the words and the fact that all of this is new to you makes you feel small; weak.

Caleb grabs your chin and forces you to look at him.

“I’ll make you feel good no matter what I do, so HOW do you want me to do it, pipsqueak? Use those words – I see those awards on your walls and I know how smart you are. I’m in charge, but I need you to tell me what you want.”

Despite the rough way in which he’s conveying it, the idea that he wants to take care of you is overwhelming. Not once has he focused on himself or demanded anything of you for his own gain even though his attitude has been less than warm. He’s made your body sing, erupt in ways that you’ve never experienced before and will likely be unable to achieve without him. He’s here for you; this figment of your imagination and likely the conjuring of all of your unspoken needs amalgamating into your perfect idea of what a man is.

“This - this is all a dream right?”

Caleb’s eyes narrow and he cocks his head to the side, his gaze hungry as he releases his grip on your chin and steps back to drink in the sight of you.

“Does it really fucking matter?” He challenges.

“My - my underwear, you - you took them, didn’t you?”

Caleb scoffs.

“Why would I do a thing like that?”

“Don’t - don’t lie to me, Caleb. I’m not stupid.”

“Fuckin’ could have fooled me. I think you like being stupid for me. You like it when I make you go dumb, don’t you? You always have so many big and important thoughts in that beautiful little head of yours that you love it so fucking much when you don’t have to think with me. You like it when I take care of you, don’t you, baby?”

“I just want to feel good and -”

“And you know I can make you feel good no matter what, right? So what you’re saying is you trust me?”

“I g-guess, but -”

“You’re relying on me to make you feel good, right? You know that I can do this. So, you trust me. You’re surrendering yourself to me, yeah? I kinda like that. So touch starved and so eager for me you’re willing to let me do whatever the fuck I want to you so you don’t have to think about it and just feel?”

“Yes!” You cry, frustrated and turned on as you rub your legs together.

“That’s all you had to say, ya know?” He grins at you, crossing his arms as he relishes in your frustration. “You just had to tell me that’s what you wanted. I’m not gonna act on anything here no matter how well I can read your desires. You’ve gotta want it out loud and proud, sweetheart.”

“I do - I do want it.”

“Yeah? How badly?”

“So badly. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat - I haven’t been able to think about anything but you. What did you do to me?”

“You’re just obsessed with me, princess, don’t worry. It’s not your fault, I mean, look at me. How about this? How about you stand up for me?”

You obey as if in a trance, shoving your bedsheets out of the way to free yourself. He backs away from the bed a bit to give you room to stand in front of him and the height difference causes a fresh wave of arousal to course through you.

“Good girl,” Caleb coos, cupping your jaw with his hand, big and comforting as he stares sweetly into your eyes. “Now get on your fucking knees.”

You bite back a whimper at the command and do as you’re told without a remark, sinking slowly to your knees and grabbing hold of his legs as leverage to steady yourself. Caleb leans forward to grab your chin again, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“You gonna do exactly what you’re told for me?”

You swallow the knot in your throat and nod, enchanted by his captivating gaze.

“So sweet of you, pipsqueak. I love how obedient you are - you really need me don’t you?”

“I - Yes,” You manage.

“Say it,” He demands, letting go of your chin and straightening up so he’s fully looking down on you. “Say you need me.”

“I need you, Caleb.”

“Not good enough; be more specific.”

“I can’t sleep without you and I can’t think about anything but you, please, I need you to help me Caleb.”

“So you’re fucking nothing without me, right? You can’t live without me in your life and you’ll take whatever I give you as long as I’m here, right?”

“Y-yes, please, I c-can’t live like this without your help.”

“Awe, you make it sound like you’re selling your soul to me,” Caleb laughs, though the sound is harsh and devoid of any humor. “Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Nevermind, I’ve got something better for you. Can you undo my pants for me or is that too complicated for you, sweetheart?”

It’s occurring to you that despite baring everything to Caleb, you’ve never seen him unclothed. It’s never been something to cross your mind due to his over-attentiveness to your needs and he’s never asked you for anything or expected you to reciprocate, leaving you oblivious to what he has to work with. Taking your lack of a response as the latter to his question, Caleb makes a ‘tch’ sound and unfastens his belt, wasting no time in removing it and dropping it to the floor. He watches your head snap to the direction he let it fall in and smirks.

“What, want me to tie your hands together with it?”

“N-no, I just -”

“Have never done this before? Trust me, I know, but don’t fret - I’ll teach you,” Caleb croons, pausing to tug his pants down his thighs before continuing, “I’ll make sure you learn just what I like so you can do it perfectly for me, how’s that sound? You wanna learn how to gag on my cock?”

Your gaze lazer focuses on Caleb’s simple, black boxers. Though you have no real life experience to compare it to, the bulging fabric indicates that you don’t have an inkling of what you’re about to get yourself into.

“Yes? You wanna learn how to take it all the way in your throat? Speak for me, yeah?”

“Y-Yes, I - I want -”

“Want what? Be more specific, remember?”

“I want to l-learn what you like,” You manage despite your nerves. “I wanna taste you.”

“That’s my girl,” Caleb praises you, slipping his fingers into his boxers to slide those down along with his pants.

His cock catches on the waistband before bobbing free, the movements slow and intentional so you can get the full experience of the show he’s putting on for you. Caleb is long and thick, curving at the end in a way that makes you wonder what it would feel like inside of you. The tip is red and drooling with precum that Caleb collects with the pad of his thumb and covers the rest of his dick with.

“You can touch it, sweetheart, don’t be scared,” Caleb murmurs, reaching for your hand with his free one.

You allow him to take your right hand in his and swallow thickly as he places it on his cock, curling his fingers around yours to make a fist.

“Feel how hard I am for you? How much I’m leaking for you?”

The way he speaks is always shocking for you, yet his words encourage you. Despite the fact that he’s crass and filthy it makes you want to push him to the edge and see how much more he has to say.

“You like it when I talk to you? Like it when I guide you? Just a good girl that wants to be told what to do, huh? Fuck, you are so pretty when you’re following instructions. That’s right, just turn off your brain and listen to me - surrender to me and I’ll make it so fucking good for you - put your lips on the tip, sweetheart.”

You part your lips for him, hovering in front of him as if to wait for his actions.

“No, no - you’re gonna do it yourself, okay? Go at your own pace and I’ll tell you what to do, don’t wait for me to put it in. If you want me to control this I could just fuck your face and take what I need, but you don’t want that, do you?”

The prospect isn’t entirely unappealing, you find yourself thinking as heat floods through your body in needy waves.

“Huh… maybe you would like that. Let’s take it one step at a time, though,” Caleb’s grip on your hand slackens as he guides your hand slowly up and down his cock until he releases it completely to let you take over.

“I just… put my lips on it?”

“That’s the general idea, yeah,” Caleb sounds amused as he peers down at you. “Go ahead; I’ll be good.”

His gaze is intense and the fact that he’s watching you makes you all the more nervous. Worried your grip on his cock is too tight, you loosen it until just your fingertips are touching him. You lean forward, licking your lips to wet them before pressing a gentle whisper of a kiss to the tip of his cock. The wetness of his precum coats your lips, making you curious about the taste. Your tongue sweeps across your bottom lip to collect the slightly salty, sharp tasting liquid and Caleb groans.

“You don’t gotta treat me that genty, you know - I won’t fuckin’ break if you’re a little rougher,” he coaches as you press another delicate kiss to the tip and his fingers find purchase in your hair. “This okay with you?”

You’re surprised he’s asking, but you look up at him and nod, overcome by the sight of his flushed, slightly dazed face. It makes you want to take him apart like he did for you, unravel him completely and have him at your mercy. The newfound fuel from that delicious expression on his face has you eager to see more; hear more of him coming undone for you. You part your lips and take him in until the head is pressing against your tongue, that sharp-tasting precum spreading across it. You swallow it down, wincing slightly at the unfamiliarity of the taste and the sensation and Caleb hisses out your name; something he doesn’t usually refer to you as. You pull your lips off of him until the tip of his cock catches on your bottom lip.

“Like this, Caleb?” You ask innocently, desperate to hear more of him.

He glares at you.

“Aren’t you a little fucking tease? Well, go ahead. You think you can break me? I dare you.”

You know he’s mostly all talk and trying to rile you up - that he’d never let you feel unsafe or like you’re doing something you don’t want to be doing. Dream or reality; none of that matters and it’s a far cry from your mind, a thought so fleeting that disappears as soon as he’s with you. You push more of him into your mouth inch by inch until you feel a gag in the back of your throat, not unlike the feeling of brushing your tongue in the morning. It’s uncomfortable, but manageable, so you close your lips around him fully and taste him with your tongue, trailing it up and down what’s in your mouth.

“‘That’s it, good girl,” Caleb encourages, fingers tugging at your hair and pulling at your scalp as he collects it into a makeshift ponytail, a few silky tendrils slipping from his grip to frame your face.

What you lack in experience you make up for in determination, so set on making him feel as good as he’s made you feel and chip away at that carefully crafted image you’ve already begun to see cracks in. He can’t be as unaffected as he acts and you know for a fact that’s the case when you hear the faintest whimper bubble in his throat as you hollow your cheeks to suck around him.

“Fuck, just like that,” He groans, tightening his grip in your hair to the point that the tugging begins to sting a bit, but not enough to hurt.

You look up to catch his gaze to instead see his head lolling back, the adam’’s apple on his throat pronounced and bobbing as he shakes with restraint. He could take control, shove himself down your throat and fuck your face, but he lets you figure it out slowly as you get your bearings and grow used to the feeling of him in your mouth. A throbbing, aching sensation blooms between your thighs as your pace increases and you begin to sloppily suck him off, drool dripping down your chin with the exertion.

“Quick learner for me, yeah?” Caleb tries to act nonchalant, but the tell-tale signs of his pleasure manifests in the pain you feel as his grip in your hair tightens. “So fucking good for me.”

The ache between your legs becomes too much to ignore, causing you to whine on Caleb’s cock. The vibrations make him hiss and that grip gets even tighter still, bringing tears to your eyes with the combination of him hitting the back of your throat. You take him as far as you can, which admittedly isn’t that far, but he hums his appreciation and refrains from bucking into your mouth, using your hair as leverage.

“I can see you - ah - squirming down there,” he huffs out, voice thick with tension like a rubber band about to snap. “You’re making me feel so good that you’re ignoring your needs, aren’t you? Go ahead, touch yourself while you’re blowing me, it’ll make you feel a lot better.”

His words barely register in your mind, like it’s a foreign concept to you.

Can you touch yourself like that? Do you have the capacity to do both at once? Isn’t this about him?

“This is about you, remember.” Caleb remarks, like he can read your mind. “Take what you need, okay?”

You whimper, the sound again reverberating against Caleb’s skin and causing him to hiss. Drool pools at your lips, spilling over with every thrust into your mouth. With a trembling hand, you reach between your legs to find your panties soaked completely through, the revelation that sucking him off is bringing you so much pleasure is slightly shameful. A desperate, whining sound bubbles in the back of your throat as you shyly press your fingers against your clothed entrance, the friction not nearly enough to satisfy that need.

A slight move of Caleb’s leg has him pushing his shoe against your thigh, indicating for you to open your legs for him while pressing more insistently in your mouth as a result. You focus hollowing your cheeks around him, sucking him as deeply as you can, oblivious to what it is that he’s doing. Caleb lets out a frustrated groan and forces his shoe between your legs and right at center. The pressure has light dancing behind your eyes and your fingers are long forgotten as you subconsciously begin to grind against the cool, textured leather.

“That’s it, baby, ride my shoe - take what you need from me; you’re doing so well,” Caleb encourages as he manages to take control over the rhythm you’ve established with your mouth as to not go too rough, but give you room to seek your own pleasure.

You moan around his length, picking up speed as you chase the feeling of bliss you’ve been craving for the past few days, anxious that if you’re not fast enough, he may disappear. His absence always feel like kick to the gut; a harsh punch back to reality that reminds you of what’s to come – a lack of sleep and this deep longing in the pit of your stomach - something like melancholy that he isn’t real and isn’t actually there for you – that this false man is the most you can get and he slips through your fingers in the form of shadows and smoke.

“Don’t cry, baby,” Caleb chides, fingers slipping from his grasp in your hair to cup your cheeks.

Your hair falls around you in curtains, damp with sweat and tangled from Caleb’s grasp. He brushes it away from your face to tuck it behind your ears as he wipes the tears away with his thumbs, maintaining the slow, lazy pace of his thrusts in your mouth. You let the tears fall, unashamed in your drive for your pleasure as you ride his shoe faster, more insistently.

“You gonna come all over my shoe for me? Be careful, if you get them too dirty I might make you lick it up, sweetheart. Would you like that?”

The slight edge his voice has taken doesn’t go unnoticed by you and if you were placing bets, you’d be willing to put money on the fact that he’s focusing on you so he doesn’t lose that control he’s been clinging to. You can feel him pulsing in your mouth and while you’re inexperienced with all of these new acts and his knowledge outweighs your own, you’re not completely oblivious. Or hard of hearing, you think, as he lets tiny, controlled gasps slip from his lips. The idea that you’re turning him on and making him just as feral as you are sends you into overdrive. You grasp his naked thigh, anchoring yourself to allow more movement and more pressure. The feeling of his shoe pressing against your clit with every grind makes you cry out and soon, you’re falling over the precipice from rutting like a bitch in heat against Caleb’s shoe.

“Pretty, desperate girl,” Caleb soothes, hands delicate and gentle against your face as he cups you almost lovingly, amused at the fact that you’re getting off on anything he’s willing to offer you. “Oh, you’ve made such a mess.”

In your trance, you haven’t even noticed just how much you were leaking against him. You cry out almost hysterically, overstimulated as Caleb takes over and begins pressing his shoe against you, reveling in how much you’re trembling beneath him.

“That’s it, baby. Just feel it, yeah? Fuck, do you feel how hard you’ve got me? Made a mess on my shoe and my cock,” he marvels, gently pulling his cock out of your mouth and sneering gleefully at the globs of saliva connecting him and your lips.

He leans forward to catch you before you collapse to the floor in a trembling, exhausted pile and steadies you before crouching to your level. He presses soft kisses to both of your eyelids, then your nose and then your lips. You faintly register him breathing in through his nose, inhaling the scent of him on your lips and the pleasure it’s brought you, like he can actually smell the arousal.

“Oh, no, you can’t rest -” he chastises as you slump against his chest. “Did you actually think we were done?”

Caleb’s arms are huge as he wraps them around you to pull you to your feet, allowing you no time to rest or revel in the embarrassing orgasm you’ve just been subjected to. Caleb somehow manages to kick off his shoes as well as his pants and boxers before he walks you to the bed and gently pushes you back. You blink up at him as he peels his shirt off, displaying his naked chest to you for the first time.

It should come as no shock to you that he’s sculpted to near perfection, yet you ogle him shamelessly in your post-orgasm haze. His playful disposition and sweet looking face contrast the sight of him naked drastically. Though you’re no stranger to the internet, nothing compares to the sight of the man before you, complete with an arrogant and knowing smile that somehow enhances your attraction for him.

“Like what you see?”

“You’re beautiful,” You say without really thinking twice, averting your eyes when you realize you’ve been caught. “S-Sorry.”

“Don’t ever apologize for looking at me,” Caleb commands, tossing his shirt to the side before leaning over you. “ ‘sides, you did just have my dick in your mouth so I think we can drop the formalities, right?”

You look back at him, this time directly in his eyes. Molten pools of violets with flecks of scarlet gleam back at you, darkened with a raw, unmistakable want that makes you dizzy.

“I think you need me inside of you just as badly as I want to be inside of you, don’t you?” Caleb prompts.

“I’ve - I’ve never -”

Caleb cuts you off with a searing kiss, his lips hot and frenzied against your own. He presses his tongue against the seam of your lips, demanding entrance that you grant immediately. Caleb sucks on your tongue, the kiss devolving rapidly as he pants into your open mouth, not bothering to repress any of his unbridled need for you. His groans are kindling for an open, blazing flame and your whimpers are the gasoline and the catalyst for a wildfire.

“Fuck, this outfit, too - you wear this just for me?” Caleb grunts after breaking this kiss to allow you some air you didn’t know you needed. “These fucking panties…”

“I thought you’d like them,” You murmur, chest heaving with shuddering breaths. “Hey -”

“Mm?” Caleb wonders before trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses against your throat.

“My p-panties, the ones with - the ones with the cherries,” You accuse, not letting Caleb distract you like he did earlier. “You t-took them, didn’t you?”

“Are these some magical underwear or somethin’? Fuck, why does it even matter?” Caleb huffs as he pulls back to look at you.

“If it doesn’t matter then why won’t you tell me?” You tilt your head to the side.

Caleb pulls away to look at you – almost like he’s sizing you up.

“Why can’t you just stop talking about shit that doesn’t matter and let me make you come,” Caleb counters.

“Because,” Your eyes narrow as you stand your ground. “I think you’re lying to me.”

He actually laughs at that.

“I’m in your dreams, pipsqueak - ‘s not like any of this is real, right?”

“I know that you lied about those roses,” You press. “I know that you took those panties. I couldn’t find them anywhere and I wear them all the time – it’s not like I have a bottomless underwear drawer. So… why don’t you answer that question for me, Caleb?”

An unsatisfied, agitated frown tugs Caleb’s lips downward as he stares at you.

“I - I just feel… I feel like I’m losing my mind,” You say softly. “I woke up without them and - and I was still…”

“Still what?”

“Wet,” You cringe as you say it, your embarrassment trickling into your voice with pricks of shame. “Like … like it all… happened.”

“You had a wet dream,” Caleb reasons, leaning forward to hover over you. “Just like you’re having now, right? Perfectly normal and nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“B-but, the underwear -”

“Baby, you probably just lost them in the wash, you know? Sorta like how those machines eat your socks sometimes?” Caleb purrs, slipping his fingers beneath your lace-covered cunt.

“I’m not - you’re trying to distract me,” You cry out when he easily slips his pointer and index fingers inside of you.

“You need me so badly, sweetheart, please just let me take care of you,” Caleb coos. “You’re so fucking wet and I can feel you clenching around my fingers.”

“Caleb -”

“Gonna let me fuck you? Gonna let me be your first and your fucking last?” He demands, scissoring his fingers to open you up before slipping his ring finger in as well.

Caleb’s fingers are long and dexterous, the perfect length to reach places inside of you that you’ve never been able to reach yourself. He sneaks his thumb into the mix to press harshly against your clit, drawing a broken, high-pitched cry from your lips so needy, you’re ashamed of yourself.

“Gotta give me an answer, re-mem-ber,” Caleb taunts, punctuating the words with the thrusts of his fingers. “I can make you feel so fucking good. I’ll put you right to sleep, sweetheart. Make you come all over me while I’m fucking you stupid.”

Your insistence on forcing him to explain himself with your missing panties ebbs away with each filthy promise he spews and the need to have him inside of you outweighs it all.

“P-please,” Your concession is a quiet plea and it’s all Caleb needs to rip your panties off of you.

He moves down your body to flatten his tongue against your cunt, fingers still buried deep as he works them concurrently, collecting as much of your arousal as he can. You blink back pleasure-induced tears to see Caleb gripping his cock, squeezing it at the base while he eats you out like he’s staving something off and the sight has you clenching around his digits as your second orgasm of the evening takes you hostage.

“Fuck, atta girl,” Caleb’s muffled encouragements come from soaked, quivering lips as he drinks up everything you have to give him. “Tastes so goddamn good.”

“C-Caleb,” You moan, reaching for him and finding purchase in his hair.

“That’s it, pull it,” Caleb eggs you on, placing sloppy kisses against your soaked, fluttering cunt. “Use me and my mouth – think I can get you a third time?”

“N-No, need - I need you inside,” You pluck up the courage to voice what you need, knowing Caleb will only grant you what you want when you ask for it directly.

You whimper at the loss of his fingers but don’t have to miss him for too long, because he’s settling between your legs and slipping his cock up and down your pussy without penetrating it. You gasp at the feeling of his bare cock against you, thick and pulsating with need as he ruts against you, his shoulders quaking with restraint.

“Fuck, so fucking wet for me,” He grinds out, head falling back at the feeling. “You want me to put it in? Want me to fuck you raw? I’ll give you every last bit of come I have and I’ll fuck that into you too so you don’t waste a single drop.”

“W-Wait, it’s - I’m just dreaming, I can’t -” You blubber, a feeling of panic rising like bile in the back of your throat.

“Don’t worry, as much I’d fucking love to breed you and knock you up so you’re tied to me forever, I can’t get you pregnant,” He scoffs ruefully. “You won’t catch anything from me, either.”

“C-Caleb, what are you?” You whimper, confused but aching for him to keep touching you.

“Yours,” Caleb deflects and he sounds dejected as he guides his cock so it’s pressing at your entrance, but still looks to you for permission. “I’ll stop right now if you don’t want this. Just tell me. I just need you to come for me, okay?”

You know Caleb isn’t human – that much has been clear to you from the beginning. Though he manifests in the form of the most devastatingly gorgeous man you’ve ever seen in your life, he feels more spiritual than anything. Whether that spirit is malevolent or he truly does exist to please you is unclear, but you’re starting to think that area is more gray than white.

“Want you, Caleb,” You grind against him from below, lifting your hips to encourage him. “Please, make me feel good. Make the ache go away.”

Caleb’s eyes search yours for any traces of hesitation even though you know he can likely read your thoughts or intentions and the double-checking that you’re okay and in compliance makes your heart flutter in a way it probably shouldn’t.

“Say it,” He commands.

“Please, just - please fuck me, Caleb, I - ” You whine, cut off by the feeling of his engorged tip breaching your entrance.

“Keep saying my name like that, sweetheart.”

You’re expecting force or a roughness that never comes and are instead soothed by Caleb’s large, gentle hand stroking your cheek as he feeds his cock into you with the other. There’s an intense, building pressure that doesn’t quite hurt, but feels incredibly unfamiliar in comparison to the size of his fingers.

“It’s - It’s so big,” Your voice is strained as he inches in slowly and you make the mistake of looking to where you’re joined.

Your eyes widen in panic as you realize he’s not even halfway inside of you. Caleb notices your expression and he laughs, his eyes crinkling in amusement when he sees where you’re looking.

“Don’t worry, baby, we’ll make it fit,” He thrusts forward, digging deep into you at a spot you’ve never felt anything reach before. “Look at that, you’re taking me so goddamn well. So good for me, sweet girl. I fucking love you.”

I’m delusional, you think mirthfully as he praises you. I’m actually starting to believe he loves me.

You writhe beneath him as he bottoms out, squirming uncomfortably against him as you try to get used to the feeling of him inside of you. To his credit, Caleb always puts your needs first and he exercises the most monumental display of strength you’ve seen thus far as he stills and allows you to acclimate to him.

“Feel good? Need a second?” He asks softly.

“Feels good - I think I’m okay,” You confirm, wiggling your hips a little to test your comfort levels.

It doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as you thought it was going to, but with the residual wetness from the two orgasms he’s given you, it makes sense that the glide would be comfortable. Any ounce of discomfort melts into a deep-seated need for him to keep going; to chase his own pleasure after attending to yours so diligently.

“Caleb, y-you can - you can -” You stammer, unable to find the right wording and too nervous to speak clearly.

“Huh,” Caleb slowly pulls out of you until just the tip of him rests inside. “I think I remember telling you that you need to tell me what you want from me, didn’t I?”

“You’re - you’re being mean,” You accuse, trembling beneath him in your desperation for him to move.

“Yeah and you fucking love it, don’t you?”

Caleb leans slowly inches back into you at a maddening snail’s pace and leans forward to tug your shirt over your head, a low, appreciative groan wrenching from his lips as he takes in the sight of your bare breasts.

“C’mere,” He demands, tucking his hands behind your shoulders to pull you up to his chest so you’re essentially sitting on him.

The angle changes, gravity working overtime to aid the slide of his cock so deep inside of you that you can feel him in the back of your throat.

“O-Oh,” You choke out. “Feels - that feels so good, Caleb - I think I’m -”

Caleb laughs derisively against your neck, the breaths of air tickling your skin.

“You’re gonna come already? Fuck, you’re really aching for it, aren’t you?” He teases and your delusions fuel you into thinking he’s sounding softer; less malicious and more fond. “Go ahead, let go for me.”

Your hips move of your own accord and there’s a force that you believe to be Caleb’s doing that aids you in your movements. You’re so close to him that every time he bottoms out, you’re grinding against him in a way that makes you see stars, the pressure on your clit and the filled void inside of you too much for you to handle.

“That’s it,” Caleb encourages when he feels your muscles spasming around him, constricting him so tightly you vaguely worry he won’t be able to pull out of you. “Love this pussy so much - love you so much.”

Caleb’s proclamations are your undoing and you detest how much your body reacts to that word. It’s as if he’s lit a fuse on you and every part of you is exploding; your body trembling so violently as Caleb reaches between the two of you to rub circles into your clit, the feeling so visceral and intense you’re sobbing. Caleb doesn’t stop until you’re falling against his chest, limp and breathing so ragged you’re a hair away from hyperventilating.

“C-Caleb, can’t - no more, can’t -” You weakly rest your hand against his to stop him, too exhausted to take any more.

“So good, love it when you come for me,” Caleb whispers into your ear, slipping his hand from between your legs to push your hair away from your face. “That’s my good girl.”

“Wh-What about you?” You panic, the realization that he hasn’t come setting in.

“What about me? This is for you, sweetheart. Can you handle any more? ‘Cause I think you’re done for now.”

“Please, I want you to come for me, Caleb,” You beg, shakily pulling away from your slump against his chest to look him in the eyes.

You can feel him pulsing inside of you as he matches your gaze. He murmurs your name like it’s a warning, clearly worried that you’re pushing yourself for his sake.

“Hey, I really don’t need -”

“Please let me suck you off,” You press. “Please, I - I want to make you feel good, too.”

Caleb is silent for a moment, eyes searching yours for any kind of objection or betrayal of your words and he sighs when he finds none.

“You’re somethin’ else. I didn’t even get to fuck you within an inch of your life the way I wanted to because you couldn’t handle it and now you’re telling me you’ve got enough energy for that? Fine.”

Caleb eases you off of his lap, wincing as his cock catches against your entrance and bobs out, drenched with a mixture of your come and his sweat, angry and red with his need to come. You sniffle at the loss and Caleb snorts despite the fact that he’s so pent up. He leans back on his elbows so he’s still able to see you and looks at you expectantly.

“Well? Not gonna suck itself, is it?”

You grin tiredly at him, throwing every last bit of caution you have out the window in your desire to make him feel good. Caleb fights back a laugh as you clumsily lean forward and shakily rest your arms on his thighs. You swallow thickly at the sight of his cock up so close and it looks even bigger than when you had him in your mouth earlier.

“Pipsqueak, you don’t have to - fuck,” Caleb hisses.

It’s your turn to take Caleb apart as you cut him off by slowly slipping him into your mouth. He’s far too big for you to take all of him, but you apply what you learned earlier and despite the vast space between your different levels of experience, your tongue on his cock has Caleb swearing. His fingers flex and curl into fists at his sides and you suspect it has something to do with him wanting to grip your hair. He fights the urge to just take from you as he lets you explore his cock with your mouth and hand, taking what you can’t fit in your mouth into your fist.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” He coaches. “Feels so good, baby.”

You wince at the taste, somewhat taken aback by the tang of your arousal and his skin, but it’s beyond worth it when you look up beneath your lashes and you see him panting, eyebrows knit together in a way that makes him look almost angry with how hard he’s concentrating. You take a deep breath and take as much of him in as you can, hollowing your cheeks around him as you suck as hard as you’re able and his reaction has you rubbing your legs together.

“Fuck, that’s it, I - I think I’m gonna come, you need to fucking - fuck - pull off, now.”

It’s probably unwise to ignore him, but you want to show him how good you can be and how badly you want him to feel as good as he’s made you feel. Instead of pulling off, you suck harder. Your inexperience serves to aid you because Caleb loves how sloppy you are with it. The image of you with his cock between your lips with drool and precome dripping down the sides of your mouth makes him growl, the sound inhuman and feral deep in the back of his throat.

“Fucking - P-pull off!” He warns, but the feeling is too good for him to fight off and he’s not about to risk hurting you, so when he hits a new depth in your throat that has you gagging around him, he comes undone.

You sputter around his cock as thick, warm ropes of come splash against your tongue. In a panic, you swallow what you can, but globs of his come spill out of the sides of your mouth and comingle with your saliva.

“Shit,” Caleb hisses as his hips flex with the force of his orgasm, every fiber of his being fighting for him to buck into your mouth as he holds himself back. “I told you to pull off!”

Caleb extricates his cock from your mouth and groans as more of his fluid spills out with it. You have a glassy, dazed look in your eyes and your lips are swollen with the exertion of your efforts, slick with his come and your spit.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Caleb marvels as he leans forward to slot his mouth against yours without the grace of an actual kiss.

Caleb bullies his tongue between your lips, darting out to taste as much of you and him together as he possibly can. He laps up as much of the remaining fluids as he can from your mouth, throat working as he swallows it down. Caleb’s hands find purchase in your hair, deep to the scalp so he can be as physically close to you as he’s allowed.

“C-Caleb,” You pant into his mouth, panting for air he’s not granting you.

“Love the way you say my name,” He groans before sucking your tongue into his mouth.

This kiss is longing, deep and greedy as Caleb takes everything from you to your very essence. There’s something real within it; something you can’t place that you haven’t felt in his kisses prior. Caleb doesn’t stop kissing you until your eyelids are fluttering and you can barely keep yourself held up. He lowers you to the bed, carefully placing your head on your pillow.

“Don’t - don’t go,” You snivel. “You can stay here -”

“You know I can’t, sweetheart,” Caleb sounds crestfallen, that mask of his slipping entirely.

Am I imagining that?

“Please, come back then,” You’re almost bartering with him, already missing the weight of him against you despite him still being here. “Please come back tomorrow - Every night - I - I need you.”

“I’ll come when you call,” Caleb promises as you close your eyes with the relief in that knowledge. “Get some rest, okay?”

“Need you,” You babble incoherently as sleep takes you as its captor.

Everything goes black.

As always, you wake up the next morning feeling renewed. You stretch and nearly double over as a sharp ache blooms between your legs. You frown in confusion until the memories of the previous night flash through your mind, vivid and almost tangible. You swallow thickly as his answer from the night before resurfaces.

“Caleb what are you?”

“Yours.”

#caleb x reader #caleb smut #caleb x mc #caleb x reader smut #caleb x you #caleb xia #lads #lads x reader #lnds caleb #love and deepspace caleb #incubus!caleb #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lads smut

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forsaken-headcanons · 1 month ago

Note

Im guessin AUs are on the table, so I made a very silly one that probably takes place in the same universe as Forsaken:

DESERTED - An AU similar to the main Forsaken where CERTAIN SKINS are the ones playing the game, more specifically skins that seem to be/are entirely different people. These skins correspond to who they're skins FOR in Forsaken, but in DESERTED are their own people.

SURVIVALISTS:

Noob - GASA 4 Protagonist, nicknamed Snackbar

> Considering the amount of endings in that game, Snackbar probably somehow ended up in Forsaken through one of them.

> Perhaps an alternate ending to the Toothpaste and Orange Juice ending.

> Snackbar massively regrets his decision.

007n7 - 007e7

> Just 007n7's cousin. Has a way better relationship with his gang of misfits than 7n7.

> Possibly got here from tinkering with c00lgui and teleporting to the very, VERY wrong location.

SUPPORTS:

Elliot - Alien Skin, named Xalloit

> Crashlanded onto Roblox Earth a while ago and was knocked unconscious. Crashlanded in the worst place imaginable.

> Pizzas look unappetizing at first, but are the best ones you'll ever taste.

> Is trying to get the hang of normal Robloxian pizzas and, contrary to Elliot, finds putting pineapple on them a fine dish indeed.

Builderman - Dragondudes3

> The goat from one of the best Roblox ARGs running right now.

> Dragondudes3 ended up here from an Eclipse incident, possibly the one where he saw Ace in the fog, and got taken there instead of how the normal ARG progresses which is he DOESN'T get taken.

> Copes with the rounds with Youtube commentary, is lowkey a competitive, toxic gamer at times and irritates the killers (I mean bro plays TF2, he's gotta have a little spunk in him.)

Dusekkar - LOVESHOT

> LOVESHOT is probably a singer to reference the song she's based off of, who probably got Forsaken in the middle of a performance gone wrong where the structural supports of the spotlights flaked out and one, assumedly, crushed her.

> To all Robloxians, she is MISSING.

> She has a really good relationship with most survivors and finds them all lovely. She sings for them to pass the time and to boost morale.

Taph - Warhead

> Might have to do more research of Warhead's base game, but I can see him being the assigned leader of the group in terms of strategizing their survival for the rounds.

SENTINELS

Guest 1337 - Matt

> An obvious choice. Matt probably got teleported here upon passing out after being shot in the middle of war. Right now, in the hospital, his body is in a comatose state while his soul is in Forsaken!

> The ACTUAL leader of the group and makes sure that everyone is still sane after everything, even when he himself is falling apart.

Shedletsky - Brighteyes

> WOOHOO The Spectre got Shedletsky's wife!!

> Ended up here trying to look for Shedletsky herself and the Spectre said "oh you'll find him. You'll see where he's rotting in for yourself." And she woke up here.

> Another assigned leader of the group and almost never misses her sword slashes. Protective over the younger members of the group, but is skeptical of 007e7 due to his relation to 007n7.

Two Time - Blossom

> Insane Japanese cultist obsessed with the Kami surrounding them. Just Two Time but Japanese probably.

> Their version of Azure is named Sakura.

> Obsessed with Kami relating to nature, life, death, and rebirth, just like Two Time, and sacrificed Sakura on their own wits to appease the gods of their culture.

> A lot calmer than Two Time, but not any less sane.

Chance - Dog Skin, named Kouun [WARNING: implications of animal abuse or neglect]

> A Shiba Inu hailing from Japan who somehow fucking ended up here on a whim. His name means "good luck" or "good fortune" in Japanese.

> NOT Chance. Is an entirely different person-dog thing.

> A morpher, or a Robloxian that is able to change forms (to reference morph pads). His true form is a dog, and hence he cannot speak normally. He has learned JSL (Japanese Sign Language) to cope but unfortunately most of his newest companions are NOT Japanese.

> Appeared in Forsaken in a box labeled "want home." Looked beaten and bruised for a dog so beautiful. The other survivors hate what this implies.

> Prefers to stay a dog, but the Spectre forces him to appear human.

> Actually just a dog, somehow smart enough to gamble and shoot a gun (Kouun baby thats dangerous put it down no NO-). He sounds like KyloTheDoge. Yes the survivors play fetch with him.

oough. killers will be in a separate post

[DESOLATE AU CAST: 1/2]

- 🌟

oh these are so freaking good oml. first of all LOVE the name for the au holy shit?? Desolate... ougsiuhdfi sorry we love words,. that's so sick

L for 7e7 dude 💔 imagine getting desolated when you're just trying to fix ur teleporter bru that is an insane fail. yes we are also talking about GASA4Protag :sob:

aha also RECALLAHOLLOWHEART MENTIONED!! WE STAY WINNING /SILLY

LOVE THESERAGH IT'S PEAK !!

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waynes-multiverse · 9 days ago

Text

Time After Time – Chapter 15

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, back in the present, SB being his charming self and every (bad) thing that comes with it, humor, slightly less angst, fluff if you squint, pining, deja-vus, enemies to lovers to enemies, slow burn pt. II

Word Count: 6.7k

Posted on Patreon June 8, 2025

A/N: Progress? Progress! Finally a "normal" chapter length, too lol. See this as an interlude to calm down a little from the angsty ride we've been on before I slap you again with all the emotions in the next one 😇

✨ Chapter title inspired by The Lady Eve (1941)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 15: I May Be a Thief, but I Am Not a Cheat

Ben should’ve let you go.

After all the shit you threw at him back at the office – after the screaming, every accusation, every inch of distance, the way you looked at him like he was the worst thing that ever happened to you, the threat to toss him back gift-wrapped to the Reds like yesterday’s trash – yeah, any sane man would’ve called it. Cut his losses. Walked out and never looked back. Left you to figure your shit out on your own like you always insisted you could. Anyone with half a brain would’ve taken the fuckin’ hint.

Ben didn’t.

Because somewhere after all the yelling and the crushing silence that followed, he noticed what you hadn’t taken with you: your purse. No keys. No phone either – since you’d left that thing in ‘42 and it was still corroding in a box at his place. Plus, there was also the slight issue of spotty memories.

You just stormed out like you had somewhere to go and something to prove, marching off like you had a plan when you were really just bleeding pride and borrowed bravado.

Fuckin’ typical.

And now, here he was – walking the streets like a goddamn idiot, looking for you, all the while assuring himself it wasn’t about you. He didn’t stalk you because he thought he’d be welcome or even get a thanks – hell no. You’d made it fucking clear he was the last person you wanted to see. He told himself he was only doing a simple safety check. Damage control. That was all – not care.

But that was all bullshit, and he knew it, too. The truth was a lot uglier:

He still gave a damn about you. More than he wanted to. More than he probably should. But nonetheless, he still undeniably loved you. Still wanted to fix what he broke, even if you’d never let him. So he followed because the idea of you out there – alone, angry, lost – felt worse than anything you could’ve said to him.

Even the part about the Reds.

You could hate him all you wanted. But he wasn’t gonna sit on his ass while you bled out in some alley trying to prove you didn’t need anyone, least of all him.

The sun was starting to dip behind the rooftops, painting everything in a buttery orange that couldn’t even make the cracked sidewalks and rusted window grates look poetic.

Ben stood on the corner of 10th Street and Waverly, jaw twitching and arms crossed like a bouncer on break as he leaned against a rusted lamppost and scanned every damn alley, stoop, and corner store on the block in the waning summer light.

Greenwich Village still smelled like weed, dog piss, and overpriced coffee. Same as always. It also had some of the worst goddamn real estate he’d ever seen. One could slap Monet lighting on a shit neighborhood and it’d still be a shit neighborhood.

“Dumb fuckin’ kid,” he muttered and rubbed a hand down his face.

Ben spotted you before you spotted him – easy to do, since you were squinting at every third brownstone like it might suddenly turn into your damn front door. Not to mention, you looked like you’d just walked off the soundstage from The Philadelphia Story.

That damn navy dress still clung to your frame, though it had started to dry and wrinkle in the June heat. Hair slightly mussed, the red bow off-center like it was hungover, while you spun around on bare feet like a broken compass.

Just sheer force of will and bad directions.

You were walking with the determination of someone absolutely certain they weren’t lost, which meant you were definitely fucking lost.

Of course you fuckin’ were.

If there was one thing he could count on, it was your stubborn-ass pride. You’d walk until your legs probably gave out before admitting you didn’t know where the hell you were going. It was a character flaw. And oddly fuckin’ adorable.

Ben pushed off the post and crossed the street, dodging a food delivery guy on a goddamn scooter and weaving between pedestrians.

“Well, well,” he said, loud enough to catch your attention. “Fancy runnin’ into you in the street again.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” You spun around mid-step, scowling. “Are you serious right now?”

Ben smirked. “Missed me?”

You, on the other hand, looked murderous. “Go. Away.”

“Not a fuckin’ chance.”

“I told you to stop following me.”

“Didn’t do that in ‘42 either, if I remember correctly,” he shot back, falling into step beside you without invitation.

“Yeah, and if you’d fucking listened to me back then, we probably wouldn’t be in this goddamn mess,” you retorted and picked up your pace.

Picking you up off the street that day? Still the best fucking decision he ever made.

Ben gave a taunting laugh. “Yeah, you yelled at me to stop followin’ you. Then took off like you knew what the hell you were doin’. No fuckin’ plan. No fuckin’ idea what year it was. Refused help, told me to screw off. Kept sayin’ you were fine like that’d make it true. Sound familiar? You pulled this same shit back in ‘42.”

You exhaled like the air around him was toxic and turned again. Ben followed – again. Because that’s what he did now, apparently. Chasing fucking ghosts who didn’t want him.

“Greenwich ain’t that big, sweetheart. Even you’re gonna run outta blocks eventually,” he quipped patiently. “Where you headed?”

“Home.”

“Oh yeah?” He slowed to a smug stroll. “Need help finding your place, sweetheart?”

“I don’t need anything from you,” you muttered while squinting at street signs.

Ben held up your purse like a white flag. “Yeah? Then whose keys are these?”

Your glare faltered just half a second before you snatched the bag out of his grip. “Give it.”

“C’mon, I’ll walk you home,” Ben said, jerking his chin up the sidewalk. He exhaled a sigh, shook off some of the impatience in his bones, and tried again – a little softer. “Let me walk you home, okay?”

“Fuck off,” you spat and thundered right past him.

Of course. Because why would you make it fucking easy for once?

“You even know what street you live on? What your building looks like? Your front door?”

“Yes.”

“You sure? ‘Cause you passed it ‘bout five fuckin’ blocks ago.”

You sighed in dramatic annoyance, still checking street signs and shops for some kind of clarity. Didn’t look at him. Ignored him – or whatever the fuck you were doing because of your stupid pride.

“I’m looping around, okay? None of your fucking business,” you huffed and spun halfway, glancing back down the direction you came from.

Ben snorted. Couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Loop around? You think Manhattan’s a fuckin’ circle now, sweetheart?”

Your glare snapped to him. “I’m taking the scenic route.”

“Through this shit neighborhood?” Ben cocked a brow. He was still not supposed to laugh, right?

“I have a general sense of direction, okay? I don’t fucking need you to play hero. You suck at it, anyway,” you bit and started down the street toward the food carts again.

“Afraid I’ve still got the directional advantage,” he said, slowing beside you. “You’re not even close to your fuckin’ place. You’re lost.”

“I’m not lost. I’m–” You stopped and blinked around again.

Ben rolled his eyes, sighing under his breath. “Lemme guess. You’re close, right?”

“I am close,” you insisted and then pointed vaguely up the end of the block. “My apartment’s just–… down that way."

What kind of delusional brand of stubborn fucking were you exactly?

Ben turned his head and looked down the street with theatrical dismay. “Really? ‘Cause you’re not even pointin’ in the right direction, sweetheart. Unless your place got up and walked in the last twenty minutes, you’re ‘bout three blocks off.”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

“It’s the third time you’re passin’ the Korean BBQ, sweetheart,” Ben continued, voice full of smugness he couldn’t shake. Somehow he’d missed that kind of back-and-forth with you. “Guy inside thinks you’re casin’ the place. Looked terrified. Think he’s about to call the cops.”

“Why the fuck are you still here, huh? You got what you fucking wanted,” you snapped. “The loop’s done. You’re still you in all your fucked-up glory. We can go our separate ways again. You don’t fucking need me anymore.”

Ben smiled through the pain in his chest. “You’re fuckin’ smart, but you’ve never been more wrong.”

You were never gonna believe him, were you? You were never gonna trust him again. It was like he could finally see all the shattered pieces floating in the vast space between you and him. He didn’t know which ones to reach for first to try glueing it all back together again. It seemed fucking impossible.

You opened your mouth, getting ready to argue again, but were cut off.

“Oh my god,” a guy with a DSLR slung around his neck and a shopping bag in hand interrupted brightly, stumbling to a stop beside you. “Are you an extra on Mrs. Maisel? Is this for season six? You look so perfect. My wife’s a big fan. You think I could get a–”

“She’s not on some dumb fuckin’ show. Beat it, jackass,” Ben barked. “We’re in the middle of somethin’.”

“Sorry! Love the costume though!” the guy called back before jogging away.

Ben watched you cross your arms tightly around yourself, suddenly becoming a little more aware of the people around you.

“What was that about? Who’s–” Your brow furrowed, trying to find the words on the tip of your tongue like they were just hiding underneath it.

“You don’t remember?” Ben licked his lips, watched you timidly shake your head. “It’s a show you used to watch with the girls. Some dumb feminist bullshit. Caught five minutes of it that made me want to slit my goddamn throat.”

“Is that why they all are staring at me? Because of the clothes?” you asked him, and Ben wasn’t even sure you meant to direct the question at him, but you still did.

He looked around as well. Bystanders, tourists, one idiot with a fanny pack trying to take a picture who Ben was fighting the urge to punch. He nodded slightly, focusing back on you. “That, and the fact you look like a fuckin’ bootleg Casablanca extra doin’ the walk of shame – which ain’t a wrong assumption, I guess.”

You rolled your eyes. “Are you trying to make this worse?”

“Don’t have to try.”

You staggered a little then – just a twitch, really. But Ben saw it and felt the worry creep in. He’d seen it once before. A minute later, he’d jumped out of a window at Vought Tower almost a year ago now.

Ben smacked his lips and took a step closer when you weren’t looking. “Listen, how ‘bout we cut the rerun of the pride parade short, and you just come with me instead?”

You whipped around. “What?”

“My place,” he said. “Penthouse. Midtown. Working A/C, real water pressure, clean towels. You can crash there. No strings. It’s quiet. You can get some rest. You look fuckin’ exhausted. Hell, it’s even big enough so you don’t have to see me.”

It worked the first time around. Maybe it would work a–

“Are you fucking insane?” You stared like he’d just offered to dissect your brain. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Figured.” He shrugged coolly. “Still had to ask.”

Worth a shot.

You resumed walking. He followed again.

“Your apartment’s a shitty basement unit under a crumblin’ brownstone. It’s got a busted window latch, cracked blue kitchen tiles, and peeling wallpaper. You can hear every argument from the goddamn street. Really sellin’ the whole ‘modern woman’ vibe in that palace,” Ben muttered. “Never liked you livin’ there.”

“I like it. That’s all that fucking matters,” you huffed.

“You can’t even remember that shithole.”

“It’s still mine.”

Ben exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. Whatever.”

He’d been to your place before – both when you were there and when you weren’t. He’d snuck in sometimes when you hadn’t been home, looked through your stuff as he tried to get to know the real you. Find out who you truly were beyond the version of you he’d met in the forties. He’d stand in the middle of your shitty kitchen like a burglar with no intent. Reading scraps. Photos. Mugs with chipped sides. All of it too small. Too worn.

Not good enough for you – not even close.

“I don’t need your help,” you gritted through your teeth. “I didn’t ask you to be here.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t need someone,” he said softer than he thought he would.

You scoffed in disbelief. “And you think that someone is you? After what you fucking did?”

Ben set his jaw. “I didn’t come here to argue.”

“Good. Then leave.”

“Not until you stop wobblin’ like a fuckin’ baby deer on meth.”

“Fuck you.”

“There it is.” A slow smirk crawled across his lips. “Gotta say – the entertainment value’s fuckin’ great, sweetheart. Watchin’ you try to outstubborn your own brain’s a hell of a show.”

“I swear to God, if you don’t stop following me, then–”

“Then what? Hm?” Ben prompted and met you head-on, although his heartbeat was slightly accelerating. He’d heard it the first time – your threat. “You gonna throw me back to the eighties and the Reds? I don’t give a shit.”

He did. He gave all the shits. God, he was praying big time this wouldn’t fucking backfire. That he wouldn’t antagonize you so much you’d actually do it. But what more did he have than a fucking bluff?

All in or fuckin’ nothing.

You ceased all movements and looked up at him then. Brow a little creased, eyes fierce. But there was something darker in your gaze than just fury or threats – determination.

“No, I won’t bring you back there,” you said, and he would’ve exhaled a breath of relief if your voice hadn’t been so gentle – so fucking calm. “But I will go. I’ll leave. Pick a place in time you can’t reach, and I promise you’ll never fucking find me again.”

Ben’s heart sputtered to a stop. Shit. He hadn’t accounted for that – not for your powers being fully back once you’d returned and not for you disappearing on him again.

Actually, there was a lot of shit he hadn’t correctly calculated. Probably because you were the fucking math genius and not him. And he couldn't exactly turn back fucking time either. All he could do was punch a hole into his own goddamn head and hope that'd make it better.

His jaw locked tight to keep the muscle from twitching. “Don’t fuckin’ do that,” he snarled before swallowing the anger down. “Don’t-... Don't leave… please.”

You stared at him for a long moment then – you angry, him angry (and a little desperate at this point), chests heaving.

“Then finally let me fucking go, Ben,” you said, and the words prickled like knives in his heart.

You wanted him to do the only thing he couldn’t do – that he swore he’d never do. Letting you go was not an option. It never had been. He’d tried it before, so many goddamn times he’d lost count.

Fuckin’ futile.

Still, this time, he almost did. What else was there to fucking do? He was running out of goddamn ideas till his brain reminded him that you’d called him by his name just now. You’d said it. Actually fucking said it.

To him.

As if he wasn’t an entirely different person like you so vehemently claimed he was. So maybe you did see it – saw him like you used to. At least starting to.

Before his brain could supply more brilliant ideas, he caught you staggering another step. One more step backward and your hand darted to the brick wall beside you. You blinked, your knees shook, breaths grew labored. Your nose twitched, and your hand flew up to your face.

The blood came fast – just a drip, then another, your fingertips painted red.

His stomach dropped, his smirk dropped faster. Your knees gave just enough to make him lunge forward, and Ben was at your side in a second, arms reaching for you.

“Whoa, shit–… Hey, easy… I got you–”

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Your voice hit like a whip. Not loud. Not harsh. Just final.

It stopped him cold. The words sank deep. Cut clean. Same tone you’d used back in 1942.

Same shit you said to him when he first offered you his hand and you looked at it like it was a trap. You didn’t want comfort then. You didn’t want it now either.

Ben slowly lowered his hands and backed off – and it hurt like fucking hell.

You leaned heavily against the wall of the corner store and slowly slid down to the cool concrete with a wince. Back slumped, one knee up, blood still streaking down the side of your face. Your eyes were sharp. Distant. Locked up like you couldn’t afford to let him close.

He watched you for a beat, jaw clenching. You were breaking. Physically. But you still wouldn’t let him in.

Of course not.

Ben raked a hand through his hair. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ… Fuckin’ always the hard way with you. You’re goddamn impossible.”

You looked like you wanted to argue but thought better of it in the last second. Just shut your eyes and tipped your head back against the wall.

“You’ve been pushin’ too fuckin’ hard. Same shit all over again,” he swore under his breath, pacing in front of you. “How many was it, huh? Three time jumps today? Maybe four? Five? What the fuck were you thinkin’? You think your brain’s a fuckin’ trampoline?”

No response, just you with your eyes squeezed shut and concentrated on your breathing.

“Every damn time,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Can’t take help. Can’t slow down. Got a fuckin’ death wish?”

Still nothing.

Ben took a steadying breath. “Okay, fine. You don’t want my goddamn help? Fuckin’ fine.”

He yanked out his phone and started tapping that stupid fucking touchscreen, searching for the only number in there that wasn’t his dealer or some idiot from Vought’s PR team.

You peeked at him through half-lidded eyes. “Who are you calling?”

“Someone who’ll pick you up and get you home,” he said gruffly.

“Who?”

“Annie.”

Your brow raised. “Annie?”

“She’s your friend,” Ben clarified, crouching next to you now, still careful not to touch, although he’d love to do nothing more than reach out and brush a loose strand of hair out of your face. “Goes by Starlight in the cape world. Blonde. Church-girl energy, but don’t let that fool you. She’d kick anyone’s ass for you. Kinda talks like a Midwest Girl Scout with a vengeance complex.”

Your lips twitched just barely.

“She might bring her boy toy along – String Bean. Pale and nervous. Has that wet-rescue-puppy look. Talks too much. Always yappin’ about feelings. Makes me wanna drown myself in Listerine,” Ben added and swore he heard a ghost of a snort. “Hell, Baguette Boy and his mutant ninja girlfriend might trail along as well. Probably make it a goddamn team event,” he scoffed and rolled his eyes a little, then looked back at you. “They’re your people. You used to trust them. Don’t fuckin’ ask me why. They’re a bunch of soft-ass weirdos.”

You were quiet. Breathing slow. Still pale.

Ben let out a sigh and then hit the contact he never wanted to use.

“Annie,” he snapped when she picked up. “Yeah, it’s me. Shut up – and don’t fuckin’ hang up.”

He looked down at you. You had blood on your hands now. Smudged across your cheek.

“Your bestie’s on West 10th and Bleeker. Alley next to the weird bookstore that smells like fuckin’ feet... Yeah, that one. Says she’s fine and lying ‘bout it. Looks like shit.” He exhaled a theatrical sigh through his nose and turned his eyes heavenward briefly. “I’m not fuckin’ touching her! She made that crystal clear… You gonna come get your girl or what? Fuckin’ hurry before I duct tape her to a bench.”

Ben hung up.

“She’s comin’. Gonna be here soon and get you home, alright?”

He sat back against the wall beside you then, just far enough not to invade. Just close enough to catch you if you tipped. For a long moment, there was only silence between you. Just the hum of traffic and the soft buzz of a city that didn’t care who was bleeding or broken, so long as they weren’t in the way.

“Thanks,” you mumbled almost inaudibly.

Ben’s head snapped to you, eyes locking on you before he swallowed. You weren’t looking at him, but your voice was clear. Quiet. Honest.

And surprised – like you hadn’t expected him to do the right thing.

Progress?

Ben cleared his throat. “Yeah, don’t get fuckin’ used to it, sweetheart.”

You huffed something like a laugh. Maybe. He didn’t ask for clarification.

You were half-passed out against the wall by the time he heard footsteps coming fast down the block.

When Annie rounded the corner about ten minutes later in a denim jacket and moral superiority, Ben stood and gave you two space, letting her do what he couldn’t.

She dropped beside you in a halo of blonde hair and vanilla body spray. Her voice was soft and urgent at the same time. “Hey, I got you. Oh my God, you okay? We’re going home, alright? Easy now.”

You stirred a little. You seemed to recognize her – maybe not by name but by feel. You didn’t pull away, leaned on her without resistance as she helped you to your feet.

Annie shot him a look as she passed. A quiet one. A little grateful. A little suspicious.

Ben just nodded. He didn’t exactly trust himself either. He watched silently as the two of you disappeared around the corner. You didn’t say goodbye, but you did look over your shoulder at him for a flash of a second.

And then?

Ben followed. A quiet shadow down the sidewalk. Two blocks behind. Just in case. Because if you passed out again, he’d be there. Even if it wasn’t him you wanted. Even if you’d never ask him to catch you.

Because whether you asked or not – he wasn’t ready to stop watching your six.

Because he always would.

It was a bad fuckin’ idea.

Ben knew it was a mistake the second he got off the elevator, walked down that too-clean hallway with the too-bright lights, and stopped in front of the most unassuming goddamn door in all of New York.

He’d stood there for a solid thirty seconds, fist raised, before he finally knocked. Hell, not knocked. He fucking pounded on the door like he was serving a warrant. Three heavy thuds – enough to make the picture frames on the other side rattle.

The kid opened the door cautiously, blinking up at him like someone had just activated his goddamn social anxiety from across the hall. “Uh… hey?”

Hughie. Small. Pale. Looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. Hair sticking up, socks mismatched, holding a bowl of popcorn like it was a fucking shield against intruders.

Ben didn’t wait for an invitation. He brushed straight past String Bean and walked right in. Honestly, the kid should be fucking grateful he didn’t burst through the door like the goddamn Kool Aid Man.

“Ya know, you should really get a chain on that door. You live in New York, not Mister Rogers’ neighborhood,” Ben said, glancing around and scrunching his nose into something that resembled disgust. “Someone could just fuckin’ walk in and murder you.”

“You literally just did that…” he heard the kid mutter under his breath and ignored it.

Everything was fucking soft in here. Ben hated it. The place was small. Clean. A little too put together, which meant Annie decorated it. Warm lighting. Throw blankets. Scented candles. Fluffy pillows. A framed photo of the kid’s dad on the wall.

Jesus fuck.

Ben dropped onto the couch and let out a sigh like he hated furniture on principle. Hughie hovered behind him like a fucking hostage.

“Place looks like a Crate & Barrel catalogue threw up in here,” he muttered.

“Uh, thanks?” Hughie scratched the back of his neck. “I–… uh, Annie’s not here, if that’s–”

“I know where she is,” Ben snapped. “I didn’t come here for her. And would you fuckin’ relax? I’m not here to kill you either.”

“That is… surprisingly not comforting,” the kid mumbled and stepped a little closer.

“Need somethin’,” Ben murmured without looking at him.

“You need something?” Hughie slowly arched a brow.

“Advice.”

“Advice?”

“Fuckin’ Christ on a cross, is there a goddamn echo in here?” Ben grunted in annoyance. “I just said that, right? You gonna repeat everything I fuckin’ say?”

“Uh, right, sorry… No, guess not.” Hughie shook his head, swallowing. “Just–… you know, surprising. You… here.”

Ben just stared at him, deadpan.

“Okay, yeah, uh… what-, uh, what can I help you with, I guess?” Hughie shuffled awkwardly into an armchair like he was about to be interrogated.

Ben rubbed a palm over his face. Jesus fucking Christ. Big mistake. Colossal.

“So…” Hughie’s palms drummed on his thighs. “Advice on…?”

“Women.”

The kid’s brow furrowed so much Ben worried he’d get an aneurysm.

“From... me?”

“Are you deaf?”

“Right, yeah, sorry.” Hughie swallowed once more, then cleared his throat.

Ben looked around the room, jaw grinding. “Look, you’re a scrawny, overtalking anxiety ball in sneakers and a thrift store hoodie who somehow landed a girl ten leagues outta your fuckin’ pay grade. So clearly you’ve got something going for you.”

“Thanks? Is that a compliment?”

“Don’t push it,” Ben grunted. “So, how d’you fuckin’ do it?”

Hughie tilted his head. “Are you asking how I got Annie?”

“I’m asking how you got her to stay.”

“Oh.”

There was a long pause. Ben felt stupid just sitting there. What the hell was he doing? He shouldn’t have fucking come here. Why the fuck did he think the kid was his last resort?

Because you hated him. And not in the fun, flirty, “we’ll argue and make out” kind of way. The real kind. The kind that had teeth.

And Hughie? You liked him. Ben had overheard you say several times over the last year that String Bean was a good fuckin’ boyfriend to Barbie. And if he really thought about it he knew why you liked the kid so much. He reminded Ben a little of himself. He used to be like that, didn’t he? Soft. Still better, but he supposed the mushy heart was the fucking same.

Ben leaned forward and looked at the floor for a second, rubbed his palms. “She hates me.”

“Are we talking about–”

Ben gave him a look.

“Her. Right… Sorry.” Hughie blinked. “Just wanted to make sure, you know? ‘Cause you two… Well, I mean, are you honestly surprised she hates you? You’ve kinda been a dick to her since you’ve known her.”

“I was more than a dick to her,” Ben muttered.

“Yeah, I was trying to be nice,” Hughie retorted and closed his mouth instantly upon Ben’s glare. “So, what? You... like her now? What did she mean when she said you knew? What did you know?”

“Not fuckin’ important,” Ben huffed.

“Man, c’mon, you can’t do that. You gotta give me context. Something,” Hughie argued weakly. “How else am I supposed to help you?”

“Just get to the goddamn part where you tell me how to make her forgive me,” Ben snapped. “And you better suggest somethin’ more useful than flowers or jewelry. She hates that fuckin’ shit. Would probably try to strangle me if I gave her a necklace.”

Hughie squinted his eyes at him, straining himself a bit too much. “Uhm, so… what you said back at the office, that was true?”

Ben stared at him. “What part?”

“The-, uh, the… cum part.”

Shoot him. Or better yet – he’s gonna shoot the fucking kid soon.

Ben just glared silently.

“So you two actually slept together,” Hughie said like he realized he’d entered some goddamn horror movie. “That’s, uhm… Wow, okay.”

“What?!”

“Nothing.” Hughie cleared the awkward lump from his throat. “Just… surprising. That’s all.”

“You’ve said that before,” Ben gritted.

“Do you–…” Hughie stopped and pressed his lips together.

“Do I what?”

“Love her,” Hughie answered. “You do, don’t you?”

Ben didn’t respond. Just ground his teeth.

“So that’s a yes,” Hughie surmised and blew a raspberry, thinking. “Wait…” He cocked his head then, the creases on his brow deepening. “Did you know her?”

“What d’you mean?” Ben prompted with his last thread of patience. Something was wrong with your fucking generation. Fuckin’ seriously.

“I mean like… from the past? Your past,” Hughie clarified.

Ben’s jaw clenched. “None of your fuckin’ business.”

“So that’s another yes,” Hughie muttered under his breath, gaining a little more attitude.

Ben took a deep breath, tongue swiping over his teeth, eyes still on the floor and the godawful carpet. “I fucked up,” he admitted and hated how the words tasted like rust in his mouth.

“Yeah, no shit,” Hughie mumbled as if he still didn’t know after a goddamn year that Ben had super-hearing. “I mean, what, uh-, what exactly did you do? How did you fuck up?”

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” Ben muttered.

“No, uh, trust me – it-, it does,” Hughie said and gave a nervous chuckle.

Ben exhaled a sigh and found the kid’s eyes. “You know what I did. Just tell me how I can make her forget all the crap I put her through this year.”

“I don’t know. Dementia, maybe?” Hughie retorted.

Ben scowled and clicked his tongue. “You wanna get fuckin’ slapped again? I don’t think you’re fuckin’ charged now, are ya?”

Hughie pursed his lips and quietly placed his hands in his lap.

Ben scoffed. “Yeah, thought so.”

“I’m trying to help you, alright? Could be a little nicer. I mean, that’s the real issue here, right?” Hughie shot back.

Well, look at that little shit. Finally grew some fuckin’ balls without the poison.

Ben leveled with him, softened just the tiniest bit. “Just tell me how to fix it, okay? Last year, Barbie was pretty pissed at you, right? What did you do to get outta the doghouse?”

Hughie scratched his head. “Honestly? I just showed up and… listened. You know, no ego, no pressure, no superhero shit. Just let her know that I was there for her.”

“That it?” Ben stared at him like the kid had spoken in tongues.

“Uh… yeah.”

“I hate that.” He slumped back into the fluffy fucking cushions. He wasn’t exactly a patient guy after eighty-one years.

“Yeah, I-, uh, I wasn’t really a big fan of it at first either,” Hughie admitted with a breath of a chuckle. “Still aren’t, actually.”

“Great.” Ben stood with an exhaustive sigh. “Well, this was a waste of my time. You were fuckin’ useless.”

Hughie forced a tight smile. “Glad I could help.”

Ben walked to the door, hand already curling around the knob when he heard String Bean pipe up again.

“Wait, uhm–” Hughie looked at him like he wasn’t sure Ben deserved another second or even something that remotely resembled help, but then he crossed his arms. “Does she love you?”

Ben turned and met Hughie’s eyes, then gave a faint nod, even though he wasn’t sure if that word didn’t belong into the past tense now.

“Okay, uhm… Look,” String Bean started, “for your very… vague situation, maybe remind her what she loved about you in the first place, you know?”

Ben frowned when the kid muttered “if it’s still there” under his breath.

“It is,” he bit but absolutely hadn’t meant to fucking blurt that out. Emotional vulnerability felt like peeling his own fucking skin off. But still, his head bobbed with an idea. “I might know somethin’,” he muttered.

Ben didn’t elaborate. Just ripped open the door and left without a goodbye or thanks.

Your head was buzzing like a beehive.

The stairs down to your apartment felt longer than you recalled. Also more narrow. And steeper. The concrete was uneven and damp with the kind of city sweat that never quite evaporated.

The iron gate creaked as Annie pushed it open. She didn’t say much as she helped you down them. Just stayed close, her shoulder brushing yours like she’d done it before a million times.

By the time you reached the door, you were exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with muscle and everything to do with brain. You never would’ve found this place on your own.

Your front door was green? You could’ve sworn it was red.

“This is you,” Annie said softly, her voice in that tone that she’d probably use for a kindergartner too as she unlocked the door. “Your home.”

Home.

A shudder ran down your spine at the word, skin crawling with fire ants.

And the moment you stepped inside, your senses short-circuited.

The kitchen had baby-blue tiles with cracks. There was a worn couch against the wall next to it. A bookshelf next to the door was crammed with notebooks, physics textbooks, photo albums, and mismatched mugs. A hallway led to the bathroom and also served as a closet, apparently.

It was goddamn small. Ben’s bedroom had been thrice the size of your entire apartment. But it wasn’t just your place – the city as well. Everything suddenly felt too loud, too confined, too hectic.

There was no space to breathe anymore. Worst of all – you didn’t recognize any of it.

But it was slowly coming back to you, bits and pieces crawling back into your mind. You remembered Annie’s last name and her birthday again. You knew that you’d always talked French with Frenchie, which was an easy mnemonic. You’d weirdly remembered Butcher first out of all of them, as if your brain was sorting them all by level of danger to you.

Survival first, friends second.

The apartment looked lived-in. Personal. Even the clutter felt intentional. But none of it truly felt like yours.

Annie hovered behind you for a beat. “Still exactly how you left it. I mean… you were only gone an hour from our side.”

You nodded, numbly. “Right.”

“How long-, uhm–” Annie started and swallowed, “How long were you gone on your side?”

You pressed your lips together, not really wanting to talk about it – at least not now. It had been one fucking long day.

“Five months,” you still replied.

“Wow.” Annie tried not to let her shock show too much, but it was obvious. “And Soldier Boy was there? Like, the whole time?”

You swallowed and gave a slight nod, not saying more.

Annie’s frown deepened. “When–… or where did you–”

“Look, uhm…” you cut in, squeezing your eyes shut with the next migraine attack. “I don’t wanna be rude, but I’m exhausted.”

“No, totally. We can talk another time,” Annie said quickly. “Get some rest, alright? Your couch pulls out into a bed, by the way.”

“Great,” you sighed but still forced a grateful smile. “Thanks. For everything.”

“You sure you don’t need anything? I can stay, you know?” Annie checked, gifting you a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring. “No talking. I promise.”

“No, uh, thank you,” you said slowly. “I think I just need some time alone right now. Sleep. Sort through my stuff. Figure out which shirts are my favorite again.”

Annie giggled, but mostly out of politeness to hide her concern. “Right, yeah. I’ll check on you tomorrow again, okay?”

“Sure.” You nodded and watched her disappear out the door, releasing a breath of relief.

Alone at last. It hadn’t been like this for a while.

You were too goddamn tired to care what shit littered your apartment, or what you remembered and what you didn’t. You knew where your shower was, so that was where you headed first.

You peeked into the spotted mirror for a mere second and barely recognized yourself. No wonder all these people had fucking gawked at you in the street.

You turned on the shower and let it steam up the mirror to hide your reflection. Then you undressed – let the navy dress that clung to your skin finally slide down to your feet.

You’d put it on this morning. But it wasn’t yours. Not anymore.

The water was warm, the spray soothing, even though you barely fit into the small shower. However, none of it truly cured the aches you felt everywhere. But the white noise of the rushing water at least tuned out everything else and let your mind finally quiet.

It all happened too fucking fast.

You got up at 7:39 AM on June 16th, 2023. You knew because your alarm always went off at half past seven, and you’d always hit the snooze button once. It was routine.

Only for you, that had already happened more than five months ago. Not today. Not this morning.

This morning, in 1942 on July Fourth that was, you opened your eyes sometime shortly after six. You didn’t wake up alone. You woke up when Ben entered you and whispered “good morning” into your ear with a lazy, half-asleep smirk like he sometimes used to do. It was almost routine, too.

Then you’d spent the entire day with him by your side. Laughing. Dreaming. Loving.

Now it was nothing. All gone.

Now, you were here.

You used to have a twenty-three-year-old boyfriend, who was equally parts sweet and charming and absolutely fucking unbelievable. He was human. A miracle. A challenge. A secret worth cracking and a man worth loving.

And now? Now he was 104, wrecked, rough, and cruel in ways you still didn’t have names for. Selfish. Manipulative. A fucking liar.

Sure, you knew you weren’t entirely innocent either in all of this. You could’ve walked away back then. Figured it out on your own. You should’ve.

But you let Puck take the wheel, saw an opportunity you couldn’t resist. What was the harm, after all? Solider Boy was awful and vicious. He’d deserve it.

Maybe you’d teach him a lesson, just to see if you could. Maybe you’d find something embarrassing or personal or worthy of blackmail.

But you hadn’t expected to find this. Never thought you’d fall so fucking hard that it’d hurt to get back up.

You never thought you’d fall in love with him. But you fucking had.

What now?

Rough fucking birthday, even longer fucking day…

You turned off the shower and stepped out. Another look in the mirror told you you looked slightly better. Not as rough around the edges like before. You didn’t smell like him anymore either. That both somehow helped and didn’t.

But you still felt him in your fucking bones, your blood, your heart. The hot water couldn’t wash it out of your system. He’d festered in your soul like a cancer – or fucking salvation.

Because truth was, you still fucking loved him. Still saw him – all of him. Still understood him.

And it all made it hurt so much fucking more.

How could he have fucking done this? To you. To everyone. To himself.

Tiredly, your fingers then ransacked through your closet and a stack of t-shirts. You recognized some but not all. You put on the one you’d decided you liked the most and then moved into the tiny living space, pulled out the couch to a bed with a loud squeak, and went through the crate of chaotically organized vinyls next to it before putting one that sounded good on the old record player in the corner.

Then you plopped down and finally closed your eyes. Gave your spinning mind some peace. It took five and a half songs before you heard it – a knock at your door.

Your heart jolted to a halt, released a breath of relief, and then plotted how it could escape your ribcage and jump into his arms. You knew who was standing on your doorstep before you even heard his voice.

Ben.

▶️ Chapter 16: I Don't Care What the Papers Say!

Looks like they have a couple of things to figure out next week 😉 How did you guys like this one? I craved the slower pace a bit, especially after the last one, and loved writing that little deja-vu street chase. Is he still as charming and sweet as he was in the '40s? 😜

Coming Up:

Ben exhaled slowly. “Why haven’t you gone back yet?”

You blinked at him, brow close to reaching your hairline.

“You could, right? You have your powers again. You could go back right to that moment before it all went to shit,” he clarified.

You were quiet for a beat. “I could. Thought about it.”

Ben’s head bobbed thoughtfully. “But you haven’t, right? Otherwise we still wouldn’t be sittin’ here.”

“No, guess not…”

“Why?”

You found his eyes, and he could see the tears gleaming in yours. Then you gave a weak shrug of your shoulders. “‘Cause it wasn’t real.”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t fuckin’ say that. It was. It was real.”

“It was a lie. A fantasy,” you argued softly. It wasn’t cruel – just honest. “I’m not saying my feelings weren’t real. They were. But everything else? It would’ve collapsed. It was inevitable… like entropy. We were drifting from order to chaos. From warmth to cold.”

“You don’t know that,” Ben countered.

“Maybe not,” you admitted and looked at him again. “But it’s not just up to me. Not anymore.”

His brow furrowed. “What d’you mean?”

“It’s your life. You should make the decision,” you told him.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt. 1:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei

@perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming @hunter-or-the-hunted

@k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways @muhahaha303

@ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith @nesnejwritings

@samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02 @impala67rollingthroughtown

@star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13 @lamentationsofalonelypotato

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julesnichols · 3 months ago

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Okay bear with me here because I've got brain fog and tend to word salad but I'm gonna try my fucking best--

Everyone who insists that shipping/romance isn't the point of Severance and that anyone who ships is missing the REAL point about what capitalism does is also missing the fucking point, because it's BOTH

Because yes, it's about what capitalism does and the evils of giant corporations. But it's also about love, and specifically two things about love:

1. That falling in love when you're not supposed to, when you're trapped in hell, is one of the most revolutionary things you can do in a system that wants to crush you into dust. In a system that wants you to obey, loving somebody instead of giving in or giving up IS the most revolutionary choice you can make. This corporation can tell you that you're less than human, they can torture you, but you can still carve out a life and a family and find romantic love, too

and

2. That you cannot create a version of yourself that exists solely to do labor for his entire life so that you can cease to exist for forty hours of the week to escape your grief, and not face the consequences of that action

I think I've made my point about the first one enough as is, so let me just get into the second a bit more:

Mark Scout was choking on his grief over losing Gemma. He drowned himself in alcohol to cope, and either lost or left his job that he loved. He took a job that involved brain surgery to split his consciousness in half rather than confront his grief head on; he can choose not to exist for forty hours of his week, and spend the other hours either drunk out of his mind or asleep (the consequences of drinking being something that bleed into his innie as well).

I think that anyone who's dealt with a traumatic and painful loss can relate to why he would do such a thing. Isn't it understandable, if you had a way to not exist for a while, that you would take it without hesitation? That if you were drowning and confronting it would mean more pain before it got better, you'd run from it if you could?

But what Severance wants us to do is go beyond sympathizing with Mark Scout: it asks us to consider the consequences. Because in severing himself for a reason people can sympathize with him for, he created a version of himself that exists solely to work for his entire life, with no breaks, no rest, and torture tactics when he fucks up-- no matter how small the fuck up may be.

A version of himself without his memories, who has trickles of his grief but none of the love to go with it. Who falls in love with someone he meets down there, because Mark S. was created so that Mark Scout could avoid his grief and his love for Gemma. And thus, Mark S. moved on, because he never knew anything else.

Then Mark Scout finds out that Gemma is alive. He reintegrates without his innie's consent, because he views Mark S. as inferior to him and entitled to his memories. Their relationship is inherently exploitative.

Mark S. and Helly's relationship progresses further. Helena Eagan stalks Mark Scout. And here's something that gets me: you have to have your head buried six feet deep in the fucking sand to not see that they were flirting.

A sane person would've run when Helena awkwardly bragged about who she was and offered to bring Mark Scout to her father. But Mark Scout escalates it, turning it into a flirtatious joke about her taking him home to dad. And yes, he does ultimately go for more brain surgery because he feels guilty and spooked that he was flirting with Helena. Because he escalated the flirting.

Again, you have to be deep in denial to not see that. It relates back to the point about how he feels entitled to his innie's memories and experiences: he feels guilty and unsettled, so he tries to absorb more of them in hopes of more glimpses of Gemma to help him find and save her.

Again, can't you sympathize with that?

And again, the show asks you to consider the ramifications beyond that.

(note: I am on the side that innies and outies aren't cut and dry separate people as they are the same base people with different memories and lived experiences, akin to amnesia)

The first thing that Mark Scout remembers is Mark S. having sex with Helly, specifically as he watches her orgasm for the first time while he's inside of her. An extremely intimate moment, and it's intentional that it's that and not another flash of Gemma. Because the show, once again, is asking the audience to consider the consequences of Mark Scout's actions in severing himself.

And Mark S. recognizes that Mark Scout is exploiting him at the end! Mark Scout demands he find Gemma, save her, and be willing to die (because even if he reintegrates, NEITHER of them will be the same-- I'll come back to this in a sec). He belittles what Mark S. has with Helly and the life he's made for himself. He dehumanizes him. Because Mark Scout created Mark S. to escape, to do labor for him, and again-- he wanted to use him to get Gemma and then cast him aside, furthering how he dehumanizes and exploits him... and there are consequences to that action.

Back to the thing about reintegration I said I'd get back to: the characters within show, and quite frankly a large swath of the audience, thinks that it's Mark Scout absorbing Mark S.'s memories, and just still being Mark Scout with those memories. And yet, the show has shown us that this isn't the case. Petey says his earliest memories of the severed floor feel as far back as his childhood! What I think reintegration does, is create a new version of innie and outie, with both their memories. And that it's probably reliant more on harmony of goals and desires than forcing it; but again, the outies view the innies as inferior. Even the people in the show who claim to advocate against severance don't consider the innies human enough to consider what'll happen to them.

And so of course Mark S. chooses himself for the first time in his life at the end of the season. Because once again, the show asks you to look beyond the surface and consider the consequences.

And yet, too much of the audience also subconsciously (or consciously sometimes tbh) thinks of innies as subhuman, and miss the entire fucking point. Yes, there are obnoxious shippers; there always fucking are in large fandoms, use the block button as God intended. But you are being equally obnoxious and obtuse if you insist that the show does not want us to consider love and romance, too. Because again, it's about both the evils of capitalism and how revolutionary love can be, and how you cannot escape your actions. You cannot separate those two themes, because the show uses the romances in the show as vehicles to explore the evils and consequences of capitalism.

So stop fucking saying everybody who ships things doesn't understand the show, and actually watch it yourself, because clearly you don't either.

#severance #fandom wank #anyone who tries to clown will end up in the clown car btw (my blocklist)#argue with a wall and die mad about it tbh #sick of pretentious assholes acting superior bc they don't ship things #like ok 👍 great 👍 good for you 👍#you don't have to ship things ofc #but don't act like you're superior for it or that the show doesn't want you to consider these romances #and feel conflicted things #bc you cannot separate the vehicle they're using to explore these themes from from said themes

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maspers · 2 months ago

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Hundred Line as a TTRPG AU

Crap maybe this *is* my latest obsession. Anyway here's the AU where Hundred Line is a frankly insane tabletop game campaign being played by people who definitely had no idea what they were getting into. (Spoilers, obviously)

Takumi quite possibly had the most stressful time in the group's previous campaign, and was looking forward to something relatively more straightforward. He was also expecting to have significantly less of a role in the main plot, building a relatively simple Fighter character with a rather generic personality. He just wants to take a break, have fun with his friends, and not think too hard. Obviously this didn't pan out for him, and suddenly he's stuck dealing with being the centerpiece of the most convoluted plot known to mankind. He rolls with it, thankfully, but not without complaint.

Darumi has been begging the group to play a Danganronpa-style campaign for ages, and has finally decided to completely throw away subtlety with her character in this campaign. At first everyone is genuinely annoyed with her for doing this, but as the plot progresses and things get more complicated she starts getting more interested in what's actually happening in the game, which leads to her PC becoming more nuanced as things progress, culminating in some absolutely brilliant moments down the line that the group will remember forever.

Eito is a huge fan of playing very cliched character archetypes and injecting some personality into them to make them fun for everyone else at the table, so at first his character in this campaign seemed very on-brand for him... until suddenly All The Things happen and the rest of the group screamed at him for like twenty minutes straight. He just chuckles and comments that he's relieved none of the other players caught a glimpse of his character sheet earlier in the story and spoiled the twists ahead of time. Then he proceeds to continue playing the most unhinged character in the party. He also incidentally ends up having the most scheduling conflicts later on, but that doesn't stop him from still engaging in shenanigans every time he sits down at the table.

Tsubasa had been hoping to experiment a little in this campaign. When she learned the group had decided on aiming for a sci-fi setting, she thought designing a character around fighting in a vehicle would be interesting and unorthodox (it even required a bit of homebrew). Instead she ended up being this campaign's Only Sane Person, and all those mechanical Skills she got for the car ended up making her the only PC that can reliably do useful stuff outside of combat. She's at first a bit disgruntled about not getting more of the spotlight, but soon changes her tune when she realizes how insane this campaign is.

Nozomi actually wasn't originally part of this campaign, or part of the group at all, but she was a mutual friend of the group who'd expressed interest in playing. Plus, the group really needed a healer. So they let her join. Since she created her character after the others, she decided to give her PC a connection to the backstory of Takumi's character, just to spice things up a little. Since she's new to the game, the GM decided to help her out a bit too by sneakily telling her some of the plot twists in advance, but she ends up not needing much assistance. She takes to the game like a duck to water and soon reveals some really impressive roleplaying chops.

Shion is the campaign's Game Master, who has been working on designing this campaign for over a year and he is SO HYPED to finally show it off to his friends. He slammed the massive binder down on the table, said it was the outline for the campaign, and everyone recoiled in horror. But he'd proven himself to be a genuinely good and fair GM in the past so they were willing to give it a shot, and soon he had them all hooked. Which is good, because despite his massive collection of plans and notes somehow the group STILL manages to go off the rails and he has to improvise... which ultimately leads to him stealing plotlines from other genres.

The rest of the Hundred Line characters are NPCs, because despite them all being extremely cool having over a dozen of players in one campaign is a bit much. I considered Gaku, Kurara, Takemaru, and Yugamu as potential options for a sixth player but eh it wasn't the vibe. Yugamu might be Shion's GMPC? Perhaps most if not all of the NPCs are at least vaguely based on people Shion knows IRL. Gaku seems like the type of person who wouldn't have the time or patience to play with the group but he's still their friend or something so there's an NPC made in his honor.

They do in fact keep playing through multiple Routes. Shion asked everyone to keep backups of their starting character sheets "for reasons" which means implementing the "Special Review" mechanic isn't too difficult, and after everyone got over freaking out about the Day 100 reveals, they soon got really into the whole alternate endings gimmick. None of the group had ever played a campaign with a plot like this one before, and between Shion's extensive notes and everyone else's propensity for derailing things they can just keep coming back to this campaign over and over and over again whenever they have downtime. They all agree having the chance to explore the same group of characters from multiple angles is exciting. Even when they move on to other campaigns, the group often ends up coming back to this one to try out a new route in the form of a oneshot or twoshot game.

Other random thoughts on this idea:

When they finally did the Killing Game Route, Darumi literally shrieked so loudly from excitement that she shattered glass.

It's a running gag at the table that Takumi's character keeps getting love interests in each route. He's genuinely trying to avoid this, but he also cares too much about the game to deliberately prevent it ("It would be out of character!") and eventually he just groans every time another romance arc begins.

Honestly quite a lot of the game is the rest of the group trolling the heck out of Takumi. But he's a good sport about it, and they know not to go too far because usually the games are hosted at his place and he provides snacks.

Tsubasa didn't mean for vomiting to become a recurring character trait, it just kind of kept happening and soon she had no choice but to just kind of let it continue to be a thing. It really shouldn't be funny, but for some reason it never fails to get someone to laugh.

The entire Retsnom Route was Shion making things up on the fly ("monster" backwards? really?) and letting Darumi do whatever she wanted. It was nuts.

Shion does in fact do voices for all the characters, and he invented the entire Futuran conlang from scratch. He's very proud of it, but the players didn't really put too much effort into trying to decipher it during the first route so he just dropped it, disappointed. They didn't realize it was a full conlang until later on, and all of them apologized to him for not letting him show it off more.

The Cult of Takumi Route is this group's Noodle Incident. None of them will ever speak of it ever again.

Since this campaign was her first time playing this game, Nozomi ends up with a very skewed idea of what the game system is NORMALLY like. Now in every campaign she plays since, she's always way more paranoid about crazy plot shifts, even when it's someone else taking their turn as GM and clearly aiming for something more light-hearted.

Eito has never played a character like the one he plays in this game before or since, but because his character in this campaign was so jarring every character he's made since receives tons of side-eye and suspicion from other players. "I swear, I'm literally just playing a normal cleric this time, really! Can't you trust me on this?" "NEVER AGAIN."

Takumi has passed out on the table multiple times.

Everyone agrees Tsubasa is the MVP because of her ability to fix things and otherwise contribute to the party and plot in ways that don't involve combat or assorted shenaniganry. That, or it's because she always brings the food everyone likes, and is the one person actively trying to keep track of all the routes and points of divergences despite that having very little to do with her character.

Everyone has screamed some variation of "What even IS this?!?" at Shion at least twice. And "Are you kidding me?", as well as just exasperated screams and expletives. Shion just laughs it off.

Speaking of Shion, inviting a new player (Nozomi) was actually kind of a risk because Shion's games often have those "GM inserting their fetishes into the game for their own amusement" vibes. Shion isn't actually doing this on purpose, he's genuinely oblivious to just how Weird the Weird Stuff he puts in his games is, but while the group is used to it they're aware other people might get the wrong idea. Thankfully Nozomi's known most of the group for quite some time, so she kind of knew what to expect from Shion.

Just as how Darumi's wanted to do a Danganronpa campaign for ages, Eito has wanted to play a character wielding a scythe for ages. He's had the descriptions of Judge, Jury, and Executioner written down on a WIP Google Doc for half a decade, but in previous campaigns he either couldn't figure out how to make it work or it was just too unrealistic for the campaign setting (scythes aren't good weapons, really). But in this campaign Shion is letting the group do basically whatever they want for combat and Eito is ecstatic.

The whole "Nozomi stays by Moko's bedside for ages" thing genuinely caught Shion off guard despite most of the first route generally going to play, so he needed to make up the stuff about needing to get medicine in order to bait her away. The entire thunderstorm scene was a happy accident. Shion can't believe it worked out as well as it did.

Darumi actually made cosplay for everyone, and they all went to a local Con dressed up as their characters' combat uniforms. Quite a few people noticed and asked questions, leading the group to have to explain themselves and that their costumes were based off of their own TTRPG campaign that they'd been running for over a year and a half at that point. Someone recommended they try doing an Actual Play series. Obviously they couldn't do an Actual Play of their Hundred Line characters (since the audience wouldn't have context), but they still thought it was a neat idea, so instead their Actual Play series was Persona 2 (Darumi is GMing, Nozomi plays Tatsuya, Tsubasa plays Lisa, Eito plays Eikichi, Takumi plays Maya, and Shion plays Jun. And then when they do a second season for Eternal Punishment, Nozomi and Takumi are still Tatsuya and Maya but now Tsubasa plays Katsuya, Shion's playing Ulala, and Eito's playing Baofu).

"Shion I swear if you unfold your GM screen to reveal a laptop with a custom-programmed visual novel on it I will shove my water bottle down your throat."

Nozomi is not a violent person but over the course of the campaign she ends up slapping Eito in the face not once but twice. The second time was because he insisted on wearing sunglasses every time his character wore sunglasses, and pretending it was for the same reason.

All of the players vow to protect the Shouma NPC with their lives. Shion is baffled because Shouma's explicitly supposed to be a tank that soaks up damage and protects the players, not the other way around.

Each player has their own favorite route. Takumi's is the True Route, naturally.

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ana-rinray-art · 10 months ago

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...Just developed an awesome plot for ulquihime comic/fic while I napped.

So! Here's the list of cool big plots I that have more or less worked out at the moment:

Aiichi (in progress: "Outlines", read here!)

Grimmichi - post-TYBW spin-off about how the 'peaceful' 'human' life is not what Ichigo actually wants or needs.

Byaichi - post-TYBW; Ichigo gets dragged into another supernatural conflict! This time, an old enemy of the Kuchiki clan comes into play, and they won't stop at anything to cause Byakuya as much pain as possible.

Ulquihime - post-TYBW; A being is found deep in the deserts of Hueco Mundo, barely alive, almost unrecognizable. Later a Garganta appears near Inoue's bakery.

Attack on Titan major AU. What if there was no humanity behind the walls? Alternate titan lore, closure for Ymir, everyone lives. Possibly platonic Eren&Levi.

Resident Evil, Albert Wesker/Leon Kennedy - a very old idea that I'd like to work on someday. Basically it's Wesker rescuing Leon's sorry ass, and Chris having to help his archenemy to save his friend. Claire is the only sane person in all of this.

...

Help

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seannessy · 9 months ago

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⚠️POLITICS⚠️

haha bet you forgot through the shitposts that i have a bachelor's degree in political science

here's a bunch of reasons why Kamala Harris is going to win the presidency because i can never find the effort to edit this into a video:👇

1. The current polls are VERY biased towards republicans. Most large polls just take the averages of other smaller polls, and right now the GOP has been dumping LOTS OF MONEY into publishing a lot of fluff polls in swing states to make themselves look better and to get more donations. Democrats don't usually publish their polls publicly. Odds are it's another red mirage.

2. The majority of people who Trump is catering to just don't vote. A lot of the latest pushes in the Aiden Ross Gamerbro communities are not reliable voters, even as loud as they are online. You cannot convince me that the twitter edgelord crowd has ever even seen a ballot in their lives.

3. In elections canvassing matters by about 300% more than advertising (my own ballpark estimate, not a specific datapoint, but still very true having worked in both canvassing and campaign marketing). The only people signing up to canvass for Trump are just stealing Elon's money, meanwhile people are flying out from all 50 states to swing states to canvass for Kamala.

4. "This is Hillary Clinton all over again." No it isn't. Hundreds of papers have been published that all agree that the reason Hillary lost (besides the Michigan debacle) was that largely a lot of people already assumed she was going to win, and so they didn't go out to vote. Sean Westwood did a really good paper on this in 2018, the more likely you are expected to win, the less of your supporters turn out. The entire narrative is that Kamala is either tied or behind, so anyone who supports her will NOT be sitting this one out.

5. Kamala just did a MASSIVE rally event in Texas. Texas. In this part of the campaign, any sane strategist would tell you to do ALL campaigning in the swing states, so this makes no sense... unless internal democrat polls are saying that Texas is now winnable for democrats. I will remind you that Texas is not NEARLY as red as the stereotype says, and Greg Abbot has himself previously said that Texas would have gone blue if not for all of the voter suppression he did. I'm not joking. This is real. The only reason Texas is still Lean Red instead of Moderate Blue is because of insane levels of voter suppression by Texas GOP.

6. When turnout is low, republicans win. When turnout is high, democrats win. Turnout is already STUPIDLY high in the early voting metrics. Even higher than 2020 (which i will remind you, we won) in some cases.

7. Voter demographics just aren't on Trump's side here. Lots of republicans have bled out of Trumpism, and in a close enough race as this one looks to be even a few thousand republicans deciding to stay home could make or break it in a lot of states. Additionally, while Trump has made a lot of progress in minority voters (daily reminder that the median voter is stupid enough for "median voter" to be used as a slur in political science communities), Kamala has the white woman vote locked down. And oh no! Look at that! Which voter demographic is orders of magnitudes both larger and more active voters than all of the minority demographics that Trump has been gaining in? Yep! Kamala's lead in the white woman demographic has entirely erased Trump's gains in other communities. Abortion was the final nail in the coffin of republican chances, they took the mask off too early. The dog caught the car and didn't know what to do with it.

8. Voter demographics are STILL not on Trump's side even ignoring all that other stuff, because keep in mind, Trump voters have largely been older people, and the waves of people who elected him previously have... well they've kind of died. Covid really didn't help with that. I mean obviously not everyone, but like, this is a close race, and a very large chunk of those voters have been reincarnated as plants or whatever now.

9. "The X Factor" is 100% on Kamala's side. By that I mean just the force of raw charisma, the Kamala campaign is just more appealing and less unnerving to the general population. I really hate to keep hammering this but oh my god dude have you SEEN JD Vance????? Even after the debate where he performed as best as he possibly could and Walz performed as bad as he possibly could, samples STILL said they supported Walz over Vance by a factor of 85 PERCENT.

10. "The Shy Trump Effect." There's a myth a lot of people believe that Trump underperforms in polls and overperforms in elections because voters are shy to admit they're fans of him. A few things. #1: This was disproved so many times, including in Sean Westwood's previously mentioned paper. #2: Even after it's disproved, many polls already factor it into their calculations, which is actually INFLATING his odds in the polls. #3: Anyone who would have been a Shy Trump Supporter either just isn't going to vote this election cycle or is going to follow the Cheney's lead and vote for Kamala instead. This is probably the one election in our entire lives where Democrats have appealed to the right and it actually fucking worked.

11. Polymarket. A lot of people point to the new Polymarket as evidence that Trump has a lot of support among the average joe crowd. These people have no idea how the Polymarket works. American citizens legally can't bet in it, and the only way to get around that is by using Crypto. How many tech illiterate boomers do you think are going to know how to use both Crypto and a VPN? All of Trump's support there is coming from techbro whales or people in other countries. Infact, I think the number was that about a whopping 30% of all bets made on the side of Trump were sourced back to this one French Billionaire.

That being said, it's not a predetermined victory. Currently I'd put the odds at anywhere between 60-40 and 70-30 in favor of Kamala, but that still leaves Trump plenty of room.

The moral of the story is that things aren't hopeless! We have a very good shot at winning--as long as we all keep pushing like hell!

Oh also, if they try another Jan 6th, reminder that Biden is now the one in control of the military and national guard at the capital. Lol, Lmao, even.

#politics #us politics #us elections #us gp 2024 #election 2024 #election #kamala harris #kamala 2024 #vote kamala #poltical science

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polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup · 13 days ago

Note

I. Am so HAPPY the OfA ghosts are ALSO medically insane. Exactly ONE of these people had a license without (as far as we know. I don’t put it past her.) being a vigilante first and even then she sided in an unsanctioned death grudge match.

All those ghosts are fuelled by rage and “do it for the bit” energy. I’m so so glad there’s everything wrong with them.

Oh there has not been a single one for all that was even remotely sane. Half of them had no fucking context, they had got handed a random hair that they were supposed to swallow from a brutalized and dying man and was like “oh okay we’re doing this now” and just went with it. Suddenly this was their life now and they fucking locked in. All of them died young, bitter, and unfulfilled. They’re nine generations deep into this grudge match and will not fucking stop

Legitimately none of them are from an era of peace. All of them are pre all might. Their version of Japan was progressively less shitty as the numbers go on but absolutely none of them have ever lived in or known a stable society. They look at the shit Izuku pulls on the daily and they are like “yes these are healthy activities for young men everywhere builds character good for a growing boy” and it’s legitimately because 3/7 of them lived through Mad Max: Japan Edition and the other 4/7 were just getting marginally less dystopian over time. all might and five are responsible for like 50% of their collective lifespan because most of them went hard and died within a few years of getting all for one. First, Second, and Third, were all colleagues. Do you ever think about that. All might is the first out of eight users to live a long, successful life with this Quirk and pass it on once he nears an appropriate retirement age. All of these people live with the reckless abandon of someone with the life expectancy of a fucking fruit fly. The past users think Izuku is so so normal because not a single one of them is anything approaching okay

#pez dispenser debris #society was built on the back of First fucking with his brother I will die on that hill #one day he said ‘okay but do you know what would really piss him off’ and second said ‘this better not stick’ and first said ‘oh come on #they’re not gonna be dressing like idiots two hundred years down the line be for real’ and that’s the basis of modern society now #two hundred years ago all for one hated his brothers boyfriend and now Izuku has to have the worst fucking time of his life #Izuku’s told the ghosts that if he dies young tragic and unfulfilled as is the norm with them they all have to go live in mirios bones #his ghosts approve of this Mirio is a very sensible young man who knows how to lock in #Izuku is doing fantastic by shitty societal collapse standards which is horrifying for modern society

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lavendermin · 1 year ago

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Ououghhhh vampire Jing yuan jndjejdjcjr

The soft intimacy paired with the bitter twist that comes with it, in the way he holds you so softly as his teeth press into your neck-

There’s equal parts dread and anticipation when your neck is waiting for that familiar prick of sharpened fangs. The momentary few seconds of pain is something you’ll never get used to. But Jing Yuan feels the way your scent grows thicker—heady with the rush of adrenaline pumping through the veins in your neck.

He gulps almost audibly. Parched.

But he needs to keep up this little ritual, for the sake of keeping sane and not devolving to the monotonous cycle of feeding over and over and over like an animal driven by the brink of extinction. He needs to feel.

cw | blood, suggestive

Not human, no. That’s something he’s long given up on.

Just Jing Yuan is enough. To feel like he was, or who he could be, or who he wants to be. Just… him.

Intimacy, longing, exhilaration—he holds back the primal instinct to feed on the crimson life that courses through you. The very essence that keeps him sane for a few spare nights.

Perched on his lap you lay against him, his hands wandering the plush of your thighs so warm and fragrant. There’s still a bandage wrapped around one of them where he sunk his fangs into their inviting delicacy a couple weeks ago. He had his fill in blood and body, his shame put to rest as you gripped his hair and urged him to where you need him—mind high on adrenaline and blood loss.

His breath is hot on your neck as he licks a stripe along the pulse that quickens under his tongue. A tender kiss pressed just under your jaw. His affections—or his preparation as he likes to call it—made you squirm in his lap. It earns a deep, velvety chuckle from him, vibrations you feel against you where you lean further into him.

“I’m beginning to think you look forward to this little rendezvous more than I do, songbird,” Jing Yuan teases. His fang just barely grazes your skin, pulling a stuttering gasp from you.

“Being the general’s lifeline does things to one’s ego,” you bite back with a breathy laugh. A shiver courses through your body as he teasingly presses his fangs just enough to feel discomfort but not enough to break the skin.

“Noticeably, with how you wear rather… enthusiastic outfits to these meetings. What would the people think?” The question is sarcastic with a playful glint in his eye.

“The general I know doesn’t care for rumors as long as peace is long-standing. Besides, I hear the general is quite fond of my daring little red dresses.”

He chuckles at your quick witted arguments. And this is what he most craves. The faux normalcy—the way you never miss a beat, never treat him significantly different with conversations. Just you. Just him.

He nuzzles his nose along a prominent jugular vein, arms hugging you tighter against him. And he breathes in deep, grounding himself and taking in the sound of your pulse that is all too apparent for him. His hunger is progressing.

Jing Yuan acknowledges he is greedy. Definitely needy. It’s a cruel intimacy he seeks from you often. But this is sound company he’s made with a little unconventional transaction between you both.

Of course you love him. You wouldn’t be baring your neck for him every few days if you didn’t. Going through special diets for blood quality and too many doctor appointments to count—your selflessness was your self-destruction. But you wouldn’t put your fate in anyone else’s hand.

He doesn’t envy your humanity. Nor does he wish to make you his equal in this vampiric curse of abundance. It’s simply you and him and these vulnerable moments before he feels less than himself as he takes from you.

#most normal jy luvr failing to answer an ask in a short manner #I could go on and on #bc vampire hot #and jing yuan hot #so mii will yap #vampire jing yuan 😵‍💫#mii writes #ask stuff 💌#💌 anon #I need that man ASAP #jing yuan x reader #cw suggestive #cw blood

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mistresscitrusslice · 8 months ago

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Why does the intro end with Jayce and not the sisters?

Pardon my shitty screenshots. I know I already made a post about the weird things in the intro, but there's even more that I didn't include in that post, and most of it is weird as HELL stuff with Jayce. This whole intro sequence has been weird as hell and I love it.

(I'll put it here since I'm not going to mention it later, but Ekko's first scene in the intro has his shadow as a clock ticking counterclockwise and I love it, but I won't talk about it again since we all pretty much know what that means.)

Last season's intro ended with our two lead women at each other's throats. That's no surprise. The whole show is about them. This one, though, ends with Jayce, a supporting member of the main cast. Matter of fact, he shows up a lot in this intro.

In my other post, I mentioned how his scene in the intro is eerily reminiscent of the moment he met Mel (other than the Council trial) when she shined a flashlight in his and Viktor's eyes in the hallway.

Could this be an indicator that he is once again meeting someone new who will change his life forever? Or could it be a reintroduction to someone he already knows? It could easily be Mel again, maybe after she's discovered and learned to control her magic? It seems like she wasn't aware of her powers until now. Considering how much the animators love to compare Mel with Viktor, it could just as easily be Viktor after he's gone full Machine Herald. They've already met again in the commune, but maybe they'll meet again when Viktor is more mechanical and Jayce is more... how do I put it politely... sane.

The light in front of Jayce's hand appears twice more, but something tells me it's a different light. Has the light evolved or is it a different light altogether?

This comes right after Mel on the lounge chair looking at the black rose and right before Viktor putting on the mask (we'll get to that). It is SO much brighter than before, less like a flashlight and more like a spotlight. Jayce's arm is more outstretched, too. It's less reminiscent of the hallway and more reminiscent of the moment he stepped onstage for the Progress Day speech. Bright, burning spotlights that he flinched at. Arm outstretched not only to block the light, but to wave at an audience.

The light and pose when he ends the intro also has these qualities.

I know it's a reach, but nothing is ever fucking reaching with this goddamned show.

So what does this mean?? Is it symbolic of the presence of magic in his life? Once a light in the dark, the path to success -- now burning, all-consuming? Is this another hubris metaphor??? I'm so tired of hubris metaphors. Let Man become God!

Seriously, what do you guys make of this? Because I have no clue. I have negative clues. Everything I see only opens new questions.

Okay, on to the Jayvik amalgam. :D

Who. The fuck. Is this.

Two pics since the camera rotates a bit and idk if the slightly different angle helps at all.

If you look at it from far away, the eyebrow ridge and nose resemble Jayce. If you peer closer, the eyebrow ridge looks more like Viktor's, but the nose still seems like Jayce. This person also looks to be at a healthy weight and has thick thighs, also qualities that Viktor unfortunately does possess. I want to say the hand also looks like Jayce's, but it's hard to tell. The lighting also makes it hard to determine their skin color. All in all, everything about this scene would suggest that the figure is Viktor except for the figure itself.

My gut instinct had me thinking it was Jayce the very first time I saw this intro, but then Viktor showed up with his blanket and mask later in the song and has been in said blanket for most of the show. The lack of purple limbs doesn't mean anything since the sisters also lost their tattoos, Mel lost her gold, and Ekko lost his face paint too.

And then we have this shot. Whose hand is that? NOT FUCKING VIKTOR'S.

That's Jayce's hand putting Viktor's mask on him. The hand looks like it fits naturally on Viktor's arm.

This could mean that Viktor will be wearing his mask because of Jayce. Partly in a "you see me as a villain, so a villain I will be" kind of way, but maybe also in a self-fulfilling time loops sort of way.

It's obvious that we're not supposed to be able to tell Viktor and Jayce apart in this intro. I even saw someone suggest that the animators made a whole new 3D model that was a mix of them both to be able to get the effect across. They might have also made one for Viktor with Jayce's hand.

This is basically saying that Jayce and Viktor are so deeply intertwined that they can't even be told apart. That's really ironic considering how different and divided they are right now. Could this imply that they'll end up back on the same side by the end?

#jayce this season makes me crazy #he's almost taking up more brain space than viktor at this point and I can't be having that #and he hasn't even had much screen time #what do you mean this post is Jayvik propaganda #it's clear as day that they cannot exist without each other #no that doesn't sound weird at all #arcane intro #arcane theory #arcane speculation #arcane season 2 #arcane #jayce talis #viktor arcane #viktor #jayvik #analysis #citrus post

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lets-try-some-writing · 9 months ago

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Death Korps and Warframes has my interest, honestly. Days of Old is up there too, ngl.

Though, Warframes would be a very interesting thing to read.

Considering I got an ask for Warframes, imma roll with Death Korps and write a little something for it :)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

"What do we know about this Prime?" Megatron sat back in his chair, finally restored to proper functionality. He'd looked into the Prime briefly before, while he was still little more than a processor hooked up to the abominable scientist's machinery. But at the time he hadn't bothered to look much deeper. All the Primes were the same, each of them fanatical soldiers until the end.

At least, that was how it worked when he still ruled over his Decepticons eons ago. Looking at this Prime though, it seemed Ultra Magnus and his Council had gone out of their way to adjust the program to make their puppets.

"Optimus Prime was originally a dock worker, low caste." Strika, his most loyal general, adjusted the screen in front of him to show images of the young Prime when he was but a newbuild. The Optimus shown in the image was doe eyed, bright and smiling. He had the roundness of the newly framed, his protoform still tinted blue to denote his inexperience. Exposure would dull the coloration eventually, thus indicating that he must have been less than a century of age when the initial image was taken.

"His records state that he was taken in by the Academy sometime after his first century." New pictures projected themselves, showing a young and impressionable Optimus standing in line with dozens of other recruits. They all looked terrified, as was only right. Megatron could only guess as to what torment they were put through in order to turn them into the Primes the survivors eventually became.

"He was unusually optimistic when it came to Decepticon ideals and thought processes, earning him his designation of 'Optimus'." More images, each showing Optimus's training. The youngling in the images looked determined, but terrified. A video even played at one point, showing Optimus running for dear life and pausing to help one of his fellows before getting hit for it.

Slagging Autobots. They beat empathy out of their youth before they even had time to learn what caring for others meant. It was no wonder they threw lives around like scrap metal. To them, it must not have mattered.

"He was apparently beaten quite severely for daring to side with our thought processes, my Lord." Strika huffed. Megatron fought the urge to do the same. What sane nation shut down freedom of thought? Optimus could have been quite the speaker, a freedom fighter. His records indicated that he was startlingly intelligent, and based on what combat Megatron had witnessed, his current battle prowess was nothing to scoff at. And yet here he was, a Prime.

"He developed and extraordinary bitterness toward our cause due to the abuse. This sped along his indoctrination." Another series of videos played, each showing Optimus's progression into the Primely patterns Megatron was familiar with. Long sessions of indoctrination with the Primes in training all kneeling as they were preached to. The Primes rushing across landmines and other hazards, learning to disregard pain and each other for that matter. Sparring sessions that were closer to death matches than anything else. Weapons training with every Prime being meticulously assisted in finding their niche...

The images of Optimus were brutal. He went from smiles and laughter to grim brutality. He seemed to still hate every cut he inflicted, but his optics blazed with rage as he learned to use an axe. He seemed haunted, and many of the pictures showed him covered in energon, be it his own or another's. He never looked happy, and as time wore on, his frame became darker, grayer even, almost corpse like save for the blue and red. He stood at perfect attention in one image, his optics a solid blue without the barest hint of cycling or emotion.

Beside him, two comrades stood. Sentinel Prime and Elita-One, a trainee who never made it through the Academy. Both seemed just as vicious. Where Optimus was stoic, Sentinel practically frothed at the mouth. Elita for her part seemed ecstatic, thrilled to fight.

"Optimus was part of an experimental Prime program meant to group Primes up into 'trines' like our seekers. It fell through after the death of the one called Elita and the subsequent fallout between Optimus and his remaining comrade." Strika informed him calmly. Megatron hummed in response.

Primes, according to him memory, were solitary creatures. They were trained to be brutal death machines. When they were deployed, it was to end something, not to claim data or otherwise act subtly. They often fought one another when they interacted outside of formal setting, usually until one of the duo died. Competitive, cruel, and dogged in their loyalty, Primes were practically feral.

This was new. From the looks of it, the Autobots had refined the technique and created more intelligent creatures. That much was obvious just from seeing Optimus's face. The Primes Megatron knew from his reign were so brainwashed they hardly had a personality, much less self control. The one called Elita and Sentinel Prime matched the appearance and disposition of Primes Megatron knew far closer than Optimus. He must have been quite intelligent even after his indoctrination.

The fallout situation was likely caused by Sentinel, based on the images. He seemed more by the books, and likely killed Elita in sheer jealousy. Megatron simply couldn't see such behavior coming from Optimus considering the fact that he had proven himself capable of caring for his team.

"He was exiled after the death of Elita-One. Supposedly, it was punishment for trying to murder Sentinel Prime on top of losing his comrade." How fascinating...

A final image appeared on screen, and this one caught Megatron's interest.

Optimus stood before a jury, still perfectly composed, almost unemotive. And yet burning in his optics was rage. Carefully controlled rage. He was covered in scars, heavily armed, and ready for war. Yet he didn't flail or fight as he was condemned. A video that played following the image showed him expertly directing his team, a group of dropouts and other undesirables. He was tactful, calculating... and most importantly.

"He didn't kill my Decepticons when he had the chance." He mused aloud, earning an agreeing sound from Strika.

He could use this.

Primes were special units, each given access to highly sensitive data since each was essentially a General. Up until his exile, Optimus was very well regarded. He had to have information. And more than that, his disposition was intriguing. It was possible Megatron might be able to speak to him, and in turn learn far more about the Autobots than he'd had the chance to uncover in millennia.

This could be his key to victory.

"They didn't appreciate you, Optimus Prime. But I most certainly will... once I change your mind about who to offer your service to." Megatron grinned, a laugh bubbling in his throat as he imagined the possibilities.

Now all he had to do was convince-

"DIE DECEPTICON SCUM!"

An axe came flying at his helm, one that Megatron narrowly dodged as he used his blade to block a flurry of frantic attacks from the smaller Autobot before him. Optimus had somehow managed to rig himself a makeshift jetpack, and by the Allspark, he would have been a deadly seeker if he were born a warframe.

"Autobot, you have been cast off. Why do you still serve?" He attempted to speak amidst the chaos of combat, but Optimus was simply too fast for him to properly track. The smaller bot flew between his legs, coming up behind him with a harpoon gun ready to strike. Megatron deflected the attack, but not before Optimus swung at him, throwing his jetpack into his face.

He screamed as the makeshift tool exploded, temporarily blinding him. Optimus was quick to press the advantage, flying at Megatron's legs with his axe.

"Enough!" He grabbed the smaller bot before Optimus could do any more harm, holding him tight enough to dent. Optimus, of course, squirmed. But his team who rushed to help quickly came to a halt, not wanting their leader to be damaged.

"You have been abandoned, Optimus Prime. I've read your records and seen your devotion. It is wasted on the Autobots. They do not care for you, nor do they fight for freedom and peace." Optimus continued to squirm, his optics bright with anger. The other Autobots called out in disagreement, but Megatron simply watched as the Prime in his grasp met his gaze with those oh so calculating optics.

He was listening, even if he didn't show it.

"You want to fight for something greater than yourself. A truth worthy of your devotion." He paused, watching as Optimus stilled a degree.

Good. Very good.

"My Decepticons are fighting to free all of Cybertronian kind. We want to create a home where we can all live in peace." He stressed the last word, noting the reaction it got from the Prime in his grasp. Optimus scowled, the first real reaction aside from sheer bloodlust he'd earned throughout their entire interaction.

"You are traitors who abandoned and betrayed Cybertron." Megatron fought the urge to roll his optics as he squeezed just a bit tighter to make his point.

"We betrayed the Council who sought to enslave us." Looking up, the Autobot medic seemed to agree with his words. The ninja appeared to be of similar mind. They all knew the truth, they were simply too afraid to say it out loud.

"We broke free of our chains." He met Optimus's gaze once more, noting the slight widening of them.

"We can help you do so too." Megatron smiled, and for the first time since he'd met the Prime, Optimus's face betrayed something true.

He showed interest.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers animated #tfa optimus prime #tfa megatron #tfa strika #tfa au #alternate universe #short fic #Death Korps au

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the-music-maniac · 8 months ago

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This is one that ended up way longer than I would've liked but the brainrot has reached concerning levels.

Brief mentions of sephgen, sephgeal, sephzack, multishipping, spoilers for crisis core, rebirth etc. etc.

I've begun realizing the longer I traverse the various pages of FF7 fanworks that when I say I ship Sefikura, the romantic/sexual aspects of it don't matter as much to me as the emotional catharsis of it. And I say this because I feel like sefikura is often used to explore one specific type of fantasy/smut/kink etc. There's a portion of people who like the ship because they like exploring how fucked up it is for post-nibelheim Seph to try to make Cloud into a puppet - this is usually (not always) accompanied by size difference kink, sub Cloud dom Seph, etc. Even in sane! Sephiroth fics, for some reason Seph is still a dom/top. And while I personally despise that characterization common in that interpretation of the ship, it's still valid, cause y'all should be able to explore your own fanfics however you want. An "Ew. Oh well, none of my business." kind of deal.

I would like to make it known though, that as a Sephiroth fan I kind of hate domroth. Block me if you must, we can just agree to disagree lol.

My interest in Sefikura stems mostly from Sephiroth. I'm gonna shamelessly admit here that while I love Cloud as a character, he doesn't intrigue me as much as Sephiroth does. And I know I'm biased cause he's my favourite, but I get easily stuck on characters who were abuse victims that became villains because they gave into their demons, characters who managed to stay kind, up until they were so beaten down they snapped, characters who I think have redemption potential, even if it wouldn't be easy to do. Which can be the case with Seph both pre- and post- Nibelheim.

Post-nibelheim is a LOT harder to write convincingly, seeing as how he actually did fuck up like. Everything. And his victims don't have to forgive him. Not Cloud either, even though I am writing a post about sefikura. The redemption is more about personal improvement, rather than forgiveness. But it's really interesting because a Sephiroth that even has a chance at redemption post insanity, is one who is a mix of before and after. He still has all that rage inside him from how he was treated by humanity, still has visions of annihilation and delusions of grandeur in his head, but he also remembers that he used to love, that he used to have companionship, scarce as it was, and cared for the well being of the soldiers he lead, etc. How does he get to that point in the first place, and how does he deal with it after? With the warring that is likely occurring from those two sides, the festering resentment of knowing he was given so much less than he should've been, knowing that he had a human mother, but since he IS closer in capability to a god than a human, does he think he's a monster because of his heritage still or because he gave in? Does it even matter at this point, what he is? And what will he do, now that he has a portion of his humanity back (however that occurred) and isn't just purely Jenova? How does he deal with knowing that even in the depths of insanity, he still just didn't want to be alone? And of course the turmoil on Cloud and Co's side, usually some flavour of, okay so repeatedly killing him isn't working, I'm tired of fighting him every couple of years, I still have the responsibility of making sure he doesn't fuck everything up again, and of course the hatred they understandably feel for the shit Sephiroth has done. And as Sephiroth kind of fights to recover some semblance of identity and understanding of himself (without destroying anything), watching that occur and knowing objectively that your enemy didn't deserve what he got when he was a child, that a part of what occurred was after he was pushed to that degree - even if you subjectively can't make yourself feel it at the beginning. And then as the story progresses and characters undergo development, Cloud likely wrestling with the fact that he actually is starting to understand Sephiroth's predicament, realizing Seph can be so very human at times. And dealing with the worst sin/betrayal of all, enjoying his company for his company's sake. A Sephiroth that gets through that and finds some semblance of contentment is meaningful because it would take a mind-boggling amount of hardship and work to get there. And tbh here's where the bias comes in - it's what I would say is a happy ending for everyone. I know people would disagree, a lot would say Cloud and Co getting rid of Seph is good riddance, why should he get a chance, why should they have to deal with him, etc. hence why I acknowledge this is biased - but a happy ending to me is one where everyone else gets to stop fighting Seph and move on with their lives and Sephiroth actually gets to live the life he wanted when he was a child. I won't ever be entirely satisfied with FF7 canon for this reason (true of any tragedy). Nothing that happened to him pre-insanity was fair. So. Catharsis.

As for "redemption" of pre-nibelheim Seph, I read time travel fix-its when it comes to sefikura cause I find it more interesting. For anything pre-insanity that involves canon divergence without time travel, sephgeal, sephgen, sephzack, shipping, platonic or poly makes more sense to me, cause those three are positioned better to help Sephiroth in a meaningful way. Also I personally do think Cloud is a little too young for that then (even if I'm also convinced he 100% had a celeb crush on Seph. Which is also not what Sephiroth needs at that point).

So, for sefikura, pre-nibelheim redemption usually involves Cloud getting yeeted back in time, either by the planet or by choice, to stop things before any of it happens. Cloud usually believes he has to kill Sephiroth, so he'd likely be in close proximity. So how would he deal with seeing, first hand, all the ways that Sephiroth was isolated and dehumanized in Shinra? Cloud still hates him at this point, for good reason. So he's here, witnessing not only Sephiroth being a kind/decent (awkward) human being, but also the lab visits, Hojo being Hojo, being paraded around for propaganda, the effect the "betrayal" of the other firsts likely had, Sephiroth being straight up depressed and malnourished and overworked, hearing whatever lies were fed to control him when he knows the truth. How does he deal with the moral repercussions of killing a technically innocent man? Especially when he realizes that a little support and compassion could've changed the outcome entirely? And Sephiroth on the other hand, now stuck with this persistent stranger that doesn't treat him like either an emotionless weapon or a legend, but some secret third thing (is he trying to kill him???? Can't tell, mixed signals are happening). Cloud would also likely help take Sephiroth's mind off things by virtue of existing - not because Sephiroth particularly cares about Cloud at the beginning (why would he, they're strangers) but because Cloud is fucking weird. Not a soldier, still mako enhanced, angry/aggressive at him in particular and seemingly frustrated about it, history that doesn't match up to current behaviours, etc. Hell, Shinra would likely even order Seph to keep an eye on Cloud. Meanwhile Cloud is desperately fucking with the timeline to ensure everything ends up differently, and accidentally becomes some sort of support for Sephiroth in the process. Because while everyone else was so fooled by the propaganda surrounding their hero, leaving him alone to his own devices (despair and depression), Cloud knows that his attention should be on Seph right now. And I don't think he's the type to just leave things alone out of spite if Seph where to, for example, stumble out of the lab, half delirious from Mako, because of one of Hojo's whims. There's also the question of whether Cloud would know to help with Angeal or Genesis' degradation, which could help either clear up some misunderstandings between Seph and his friends, or just ensure that Seph doesn't lose them at all in the first place.

And if Sephiroth were to find out/be told the truth, about his mother, or about the future, HOW is he gonna react to that???? Knowing that okay, so my heritage isn't actually that of a monster, I have human DNA, but ended up snapping and trying to destroy the world anyways - once again, what does it mean to be a monster, and is he one already, if he hasn't even done all of it yet, technically? In this timeline he's likely closer to Zack, maybe close to Cloud, potentially has met Aerith, maybe Genesis and Angeal are still alive, so he's more tethered by a support system, so how would that change his viewpoints? Would he feel guilty? Does that send him into a worse depression?

Sefikura just tends to give me emotional catharsis when it's written like that, because it gives Sephiroth the opportunity to mourn what he should've had, and gives him a fighting chance to change it. It's someone else being shown the decades of neglect, how deep the hypocrisy of Shinra actually went, the systemic abuse, acknowledging all of the bullshit Sephiroth went through before Nibelheim. It's him breaking out of other's expectations of him, Jenova, or Hojo or whoever else, and getting his childhood wish to just be normal. Like Angeal said (quoted loveless I think) "and what do angels dream of?" "Angels dream of becoming human."

This is also why I find very little enjoyment in reading domroth sefikura. Sephiroth isn't someone who reminds me of that type of personality, before he went crazy. He seems like a very awkward, calm and even sometimes soft dude in his downtime. He's literally just some guy. We don't see a lot of his personality because he was trained (tortured) into believing anything other than perfect control is weakness and failure. I don't think he would have any sexual experience. I think he's depressed, and exhausted and alone and is just very good at hiding it. I don't think he even wants or needs sexual intimacy necessarily, so much as he needs someone to feel safe around.

Anyways. This is. Way too long now. Goodbye.

#final fantasy vii #ff7 #crisis core #ff7 rebirth #sephiroth #sefikura #cloud strife #Multi shipping #sephiroth ff7 #sephiroth crescent #professor hojo

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melodygatesauthor · 2 years ago

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Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Three - The Therapist

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

Summary: I arrived in a different universe, and in this one you’re a therapist. I saw your name on one of the doors when the orderlies were dragging me down the hall to a cell. I guess luck was on my side, I wouldn’t have to search very far for you this time, not that I would’ve been given a chance anyway. When the orderlies saw me, I think I scared them and they thought I was delusional. They took my watch, I’ll have to get that back…but I have to find you first.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 3.8k

It was a morning like every other.

You pulled into the parking lot of the Lennox House for the Mentally Insane, coffee in hand, ready to start your day. You loved your job as a therapist, especially when you felt like everything was in order. You had a good handle on your patients, all of them making good progress on their goals; nothing felt more rewarding as a mental health provider.

But you weren’t prepared for the wrench the unsuspecting six foot nine man was about to throw your way.

You wondered if your success was the reason you were assigned the new and highly delusional patient. After getting into your office and pulling out his nearly empty file, you looked at him from across your desk, his eyes calm, but unsettlingly trained on you. He had a slight smirk curling at the corners of his lips, as though he were trying to appear less intimidating. His size alone was enough to make any sane person quiver. He didn’t even try to tug on his restraints though, and that put you a little more at ease.

“Miguel O’Hara…” you said, closing the thin manila folder in front of you. “It’s nice to meet you I’m–”

“I know your name.”

Miguel sat, strapped uselessly to the wheelchair the orderlies had brought him in. He knew he could rip the restraints off at any given moment, but when he’d heard he was being assigned to you as his therapist, he decided to behave. He needed to see you; he needed to talk to you.

This was a change of pace. In his universe, you were a graphic designer. It was something you’d always enjoyed. In the second one, despite working at a coffee shop, you still seemed to have a hobby of creating artwork for some side income. Now you were a therapist. It was unexpected, but in the multiverse, anything was possible. Miguel was just glad that it seemed like in this universe, you’d never met him before, making this a lot easier - he didn’t have to worry about eliminating his alternate -.

“The orderlies said that you were wandering the halls when they found you? They said that when you saw my name you specifically asked for me to treat you. Why?” You crossed your legs and narrowed your eyes at the man.

You were careful while talking to this one. He was massive in size, not only in his height, but this man wasn’t skipping arm day, that’s for sure. You trusted him, despite being told not to trust patients - they can be manipulative - but you knew he was strong enough to rip his arms from the restraints at any given moment, and yet he sat there. To say you were intrigued was an understatement. Who was this man? And how did he know you?

After wasting so much time in the last universe, he wanted to change his approach. He wanted to try being more direct and honest with you. With a deep sigh, he pressed his lips together and looked you in the eye. You looked good all dressed up in your little pencil skirt and white blouse. He’d never seen you in a lip color that shade of red, but he liked it. Even if you weren’t quite the same, he liked the way you looked in this universe.

“Because, I traveled a long way to find you mi vida,” he started, smirking at you rather pathetically, but he was desperate for you to understand, “and I’m going to tell you why you’re going to take these restraints off my wrists and say yes when I ask you to marry me.”

Your patients had said some crazy shit before. Being in an insane asylum, even a minimum security one, naturally you would expect to hear some outlandish things, but that had to be the most delusional thing you’d heard to date. You furrowed your brow, continuing to take notes. You hummed in amusement.

“You’re very bold, Mr. O’Hara–”

“Miguel.”

“Miguel.” You cleared your throat, smirking in an attempt to show that you weren’t fazed by his surprising statement, “you’ve piqued my curiosity, but I’m certainly not sure why you think I would do that.”

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” You asked, scribbling more notes on your legal pad.

“Ask me how I became so wracked with grief that I created a device to travel the multiverse just so I could find you again,” he said, eyes darting between yours to see if you believed a word coming out of his mouth.

You were stunned. You’d seen patients in a catatonic state, but this wasn’t like that, he was far too clear as he spoke. This also didn’t present as the usual schizophrenic case you would expect to see from the majority of your patients. He was completely calm, making eye contact, and very direct in his line of thinking. He was either so deep in his delusion that he genuinely believed everything coming out of his mouth…or he was telling the truth.

“Miguel, why don’t you tell me more about how you got here, let’s start with that.”

Redirection didn’t always work, but if you could find a crack in his story, you might be able to get him back to a basis in reality.

“I used my watch, the one that security took from me. Gonna need that back by the way, very dangerous if it gets into the wrong hands.” He leaned forward a little, eyes narrowing on you. “I used my watch to travel from a universe where you were a barista with a piss poor attitude, to this one where you’re a therapist apparently.”

You scoffed, “I was a barista?”

Miguel could tell you weren’t buying it, so he decided to be more direct now.

“Listen, I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die,” he watched your expression to see how you’d react.

Regardless of how delusional he sounded, something like that would make anyone feel a bit uneasy. You shifted in your chair, putting your pen down on the desk. Miguel’s expression softened, likely seeing that his words had an effect on you. After all the years of you being a therapist, you’d never let a patient make you uncomfortable like that.

“I think that’s enough for today,” you said, standing up and heading for the door.

“Wait!” Miguel yelled, wheelchair creaking forward a smidge when his body lurched to try and stop you. It worked. You turned and looked at him. “You have to believe me. I’m just trying to keep you alive. If you don’t listen to me…you’ll die.”

“Goodbye, Mr. O’Hara,” you said, opening your office door. “You’re going to be reassigned to a different therapist. I don’t think I’m a good fit for you.”

“No no no, wait!” He pulled his hands free from the restraints, something you both knew he was capable of.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, “Help!” You yelled, only resulting in his strong hand covering your mouth quickly.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk,” he said, voice trembling in desperation.

You looked terrified, and rightfully so. This huge man that you’d never met before was towering over you, staring at you with such intensity, you thought you might faint in terror. He took his hand off your mouth and held a finger to his lips.

“Shh, mi vida, por favor,” he spoke softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“G-go sit down in your chair n-now,” you said, legs shaking wildly.

He put his hands up in surrender, showing you that he was willing to comply with your request. He walked over and sat down in his chair, the weight of his body forcing the equipment to sigh under his frame. There was a silence in the room, a silence that made it easy to hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You took a deep breath.

Miguel recognized that face, you were going to run. He sighed, he’d tried a different approach this time, and it didn’t pay off. Instead, his attempt had you rushing out into the hall, shouting for an orderly or two to help you. He didn’t fight them when they ran in, sticking him with a couple of syringes, being too massive for only one to do the job.

You didn’t stop thinking about him for the entire night. His words rang through your mind like a broken record:

‘I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die’.

No matter how hard you tried to shake it from your mind, it was impossible. For a week you managed to avoid talking to him again, but your curiosity - or perhaps it was your anxiety -, got the better of you. Your co-worker, and the patient coordinator, Stacy, spoke to you exactly one week after you’d last spoken to Miguel.

“He’s still asking for you every day,” she said, handing you his chart, “Dr. Harrow doesn’t want to work with him anymore, says he’s not getting anywhere with Mr. O’Hara.”

You took his file from her hands, looking it over, “So you put him back in there with me, knowing how dangerous he is and that he’s targeting me? That doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

She followed you down the hall as you walked, “I said that, but the higher ups insisted that you should see him. They gave him more sedatives and stronger restraints than last time so–”

“So nothing, I can’t believe they’d do this,” you said, tone laced in frustration.

You weren’t sure if you were upset because you were worried he was going to physically harm you, or if you were worried that there was validity to the words that had kept you up every night for the last several nights. You stopped in front of your office door, letting out a deep exhale. Stacy touched your back, patting it gently.

“Well, at least he’s hot.” She chuckled.

You rolled your eyes at her before opening the door and stepping into your office. There he was, sitting in the chair, eyes hooded from the sedatives when he looked up at you. His restraints were doubled, both his legs and wrists tied down with metal this time, rather than the flimsy leather from before. You felt a little better, but you were still afraid of what he might say. No patient of yours had ever been so direct when targeting you before.

“Hello again Mr. O’Har–”

“Miguel…or you can just call me ‘baby’, the way you used to,” he said, words coming out in a slow drawl due to his mentally inhibited state.

“Miguel…” you said with a sigh, “I’ll continue to treat you, but you need to be more appropriate when you speak to me or you’ll have to seek treatment elsewhere.”

“Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He sounded genuine, eyes looking up at you from under his lashes. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting your unease, so you nodded with a meek ‘thanks’, before sitting down behind your desk. He leaned over and wiped his drool slick lips on his shoulder, unsuccessful in cleaning the mess. Inappropriate as it may have been, you weren’t going to let the poor guy sit there in a mess like that.

You took a tissue and walked over to him. Miguel couldn’t believe you would touch him, not after the way he’d frightened you. He thought this version of you would be impossible to get through to after his first interaction with you, but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps being blunt with you was going to work after all.

You held the tissue in your hand and wiped his lips. You damned yourself for mentally commenting on how soft they looked. With a shaky breath, you finished and sat back down at your desk. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t want to talk to anyone else so…go ahead…talk,” you took out a notebook and a pen, waiting for him to start.

“Was that Stacy? Or maybe it was Mira?” He chuckled, watching your eyes flick up quickly to lock onto his.

“So you saw my co-worker’s name plate at some point, I presume? Who let you walk by the front desk of the asylum?” You asked, feeling a pit of unease forming in your stomach at his mention of your two closest friends and coworkers.

He shrugged, “I saw Stacy’s yes, is Mira not your co-worker in this universe?”

He could see you getting anxious. You always clicked your pen incessantly when you did, back in his universe. He wasn’t trying to make you feel crazy, but rather, he was trying to make you realize that he was sane. Finally, you looked at him again.

“M-Mira used to work here, but how do you know–”

“What about Emily? Your step sister…”

“No…no, no, no…” you got up quickly, heading for the door.

Miguel called your name, and you stopped, turning slowly to face him.

“I’m not trying to scare you, mi vida, I’m trying to save your life. If you would…please…entertain me for just a moment.” He rattled his wrists in his chair. “I couldn’t do anything to hurt you even if I wanted to. I’m fucking…I’m drooling on myself and I’m stuck to this damn chair.”

You stared at him for a while, considering your options. If he was insane, which was the most likely explanation, then helping him through this was your duty as a therapist. If he was telling the truth…you needed to try and figure out what he meant anyway. No matter which way you sliced it, the only way you could sleep at night would be to hear him out. You slowly walked back to your desk and sat down. When you picked your pen back up you realized that you were shaking.

“Have you been stalking me?” You asked bluntly.

“No,” he returned your tone. “I know you, I know you well, and if you’ll hear me out with an open mind for just a second, I can explain everything to you.”

You gestured with your arms to give him the floor. He nodded, thanking you in Spanish before letting out a deep sigh.

Miguel told you everything, from the day you first met in his universe to the day you died. He talked in depth about things in your life that he knew only you would know. He damned himself for crying while he explained how much he loved you. Then he went on to tell you about the second universe, where you worked at a quaint little coffee shop barista, but he didn’t express the same emotion toward that version of you as he had the first.

When he was done, you sat there in awe, doing your best to process. Not only did you believe his every word, you were trying not to fall into an existential crisis upon learning that the multiverse might actually exist. You gulped, reminding yourself quickly that if a patient is delusional enough, they can tell a lie and still pass a polygraph test. All it takes is for them to believe that lie to be true with all their heart. If he was a good enough stalker, he could easily be making all of this up, and combined with heavy delusions, you had a recipe for someone too crazy for your paygrade. He needed more care than you could provide.

“Miguel…” you looked him in the eye, unsure of how to respond.

A buzzer saved you, indicating that the time for your session was at an end. He didn’t fight, he’d learned the hard way that breaking the rules of the asylum would get him nowhere. Regardless, he couldn’t continue like this for long, he was wasting too much time. If this version of you wasn’t going to see things his way, he needed to move on.

One more session…

Both of you were thinking the same thing without realizing. You would give him one more session to sway you one way or another, and he would give you one more to make up your mind before he moved forward.

He was already waiting for you in your office when he heard you clicking down the hall toward the door. He heard you stop, and then Stacy started talking to you.

“I texted Mira and she’s down, you wanna come out for drinks with us?” Stacy asked.

Miguel’s heart nearly stopped. Was this it already? Was this the day you’d die if he didn’t stop you from going out with your damn friends? He thought about the last universe though. You still died, even before you were supposed to go out with your friends, as though it were a static event that happened in every universe you existed in.

“Yeah sure that sounds fun! I’ll meet you at your place around seven?”

Once you finished finalizing your plans, you made your way into the office and sat down behind your desk, trying not to make eye contact with the man whose words had kept you up at night over the last week. You averted his gaze until you couldn’t anymore, finally looking at him and sighing heavily.

“Hi Miguel, how was your week?”

You started the same way you started every session.

“If you go out with your friends tonight, you’ll die,” he said, speaking coldly, “I told you that’s how you died before, remember?”

“You really expect me to believe that? Come on. I’ve been wracking my brain all week trying to decide how I felt about what you said and I’m not buying it.” You spoke with little conviction, voice wavering slightly. “Plus in the second universe you said I died getting hit by a car, not from being in a car so–”

“I know, but the days started the same both times, your friends talking about meeting up for drinks and you agreeing to go,” he sighed, “What have you got to lose, hm?” He looked intense now. “If I’m wrong, then you can toss me in my cell for the rest of my days and label me insane, but if I’m right, then you’re going to come back here and realize that I’m telling the truth.”

“How…how will I know that you’re telling the truth versus making this up?”

You’d left out the fact that Stacy and Mira died in each universe as well, not wanting to complicate things by mentioning them. He looked up at you, brow furrowed and face full of frustration. He was hoping that after you finally believed him, that this alternate version of you would be worth all this time he’d put into you.

“You’ll just know.”

He was right.

The next day you came into work, despite having just lost your two closest friends, to confront the insane man who suddenly didn’t seem so insane. If you’d been in the car with them that night, you would’ve died alongside them. You stormed into your office after demanding Miguel be brought in to see you immediately. You’d grabbed his watch from storage, putting it on your desk.

Success had never looked so heartbreaking. Miguel hated seeing you so distraught. Your bottom lip was trembling and your eyes were glossed over with tears. He hated being right sometimes. You pointed to the watch with a shaking hand. Your face held a combination of anger and sorrow etched in every pore.

“You’re saying that this thing is…you can travel to other universes–”

“Si, honey but listen–”

“-going on but I believe you, I really fucking believe you–”

Your eyes were crazed, “mi vida, don’t touch that please, it’s not–”

“-through the multiverse and I mean, you’re insane and I’m insane for even thinking you might–”

You picked up the watch, holding it in your hand and putting it on your wrist while you continued to talk over Miguel’s desperate protests. He started wriggling in his chair, trying desperately to get free. You didn’t understand how that thing worked. It wasn’t made for you.

“-I thought to myself why the hell didn’t I just take this damn thing and prove once and for all that–!”

It wasn’t made for you…

When Miguel built it, he’d put in a failsafe to prevent anyone else from taking it and using it. If someone stole it from him, or he ended up in an insane asylum and had it confiscated, they wouldn’t be able to take it to another universe, leaving him behind and helpless. Since there was no telling where the watch would take him, he wanted to prevent the possibility of ending up in one that didn’t have modern technology, and getting stuck there…without you. So it was hardwired to work with only his DNA, and no one else’s.

It would appear that his failsafe ended up being what killed you in that universe. You pressed the button on the watch, waiting for something to happen with bated breath. Miguel hoped that his device would malfunction. He’d taken a liking to this version of you, but it didn’t. He watched as your body convulsed, flesh bubbling and tearing from the inside out as the energy that would normally transport him from one place to another coursed through you.

Your screams would be etched into his memories for the rest of his days. It didn’t matter that you weren’t the original, it was still your voice crying for help and ringing through his ears. He’d never seen anything so horrific, not even in horror films. You were gone again, and this time he felt despair again. He almost wished that if you were going to die, that you’d gone in the car with your friends instead, that way he wouldn’t have to go to the next universe covered in your blood and with the sound of your cries on repeat in his head.

He managed to shimmy himself over to the part of your blazer where he knew you kept your ring of keys. Tipping over onto the floor he could get to them, moving his wrist in a way that just barely reached the lock holding his hand in place. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, truly, but when three orderlies and a security guard tried to stop him from getting his bag containing his personal items, including that photo of the original you, he had no choice. He even warned them to stay out of his way, but when they didn’t listen, he was forced to make them.

Stepping over their bodies, bag in hand and watch on his wrist, he activated the device. He was still searching for the perfect you.

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Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

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