#its just one of those things where its like

[saturnsocoolioyep]

Also there's the fun thing I've been dealing with lately where sometimes you actually DON'T have the energy to do low effort low stakes hobbies. I love drawing, making jewelry, I just started watching Haikyuu and adore it so far, but most days lately I have had the energy to... lay in bed. Play a mobile game. It's a real mindfuck when you can't even do the video games and crafts and TV watching you want to, especially because people get... weird about it, I think.

Sometimes it feels like people want to imagine I'm on some long extended vacation where I just get to lay around and be lazy and do whatever fun stuff I want. It feels like they dont really understand that this SUCKS, actually. I would love to be pursuing my hobbies and interests rn! But there's so much that feels impossible to do when its like... how am I supposed to do tedious things I wish I didn't have to, like shower or eat, when I can't even bring myself to do the fun, exciting, fulfilling, or relaxing things? The things that "should" make me happy? And how in the ever loving hell am I ever meant to have a Real Job when this is my reality?

And as mentioned above, it gets a little difficult trying to sit through people's... well-meaning advice about what kind of job or career I "should" go into or try when I KNOW that I wouldn't be able to do what they suggest, and the consequences for even trying it would be personally disastrous. Everything seems to contain some element of "I can't do that" which people tend to interpret as some kind of defeatist or pessimistic attitude, when in reality it's an assessment of my limitations and what I'm capable of handling. Again, the amount of effort/energy required to Work far far exceeds those limitations, especially considering how much time I spend where the amount required for Leisure already exceeds them. It feels like this concept is just. Incomprehensible to most people, and so rather than trying to actually empathize and understand, they default to what they were taught as kids.

"If you're too sick to work, you're too sick to play." It's such bullshit.

Kinda wild how most people generally recognize that the "too sick to go to school, too sick to watch tv/play games" mindset our parents had was bullshit but still impose essentially the exact same rules on disabled adults and scrutinize them for enjoying low-energy hobbies while being too fatigued or in pain to work a full time job (or any job at all)

[thegreatyin]

What, precisely, is fallen London, and how can I play it? Ive been told it's a browser game, will it work on my phones browser or only my computer's?

SWEEPS EVERYTHING OFF MY DESK. SLAMS MY HANDS ON THE COUNTER. you're in luck because advertising this game is apparently my specialty.

fallen london is a free browser game that works on anything with an internet connection!! laptops, phones, tablets, the decade old 3ds you have stashed in the back of your closet- if you can open a web browser, you can run fallen london. the UI obviously differs between desktop and mobile, and desktop has the benefit of extensions that can make your life marginally easier, but that's all a strictly optional affair.

as for the game's actual contents; fallen london is a text-based horror game closely reminiscent of classic "choose your own adventure" books. you play as a new arrival to an alternate history version of victorian london that now flourishes in a deep, dark, marvelous (and more than slightly eldritch!) cavern known as "the neath", with the goal of making your name and ultimately pursuing one of the four possible ambitions that brought you here to begin with. along the way you encounter a wide variety of strange and inexplicable things, including but not limited to;

men with the faces of squid (who are not truly men)

actual real soul-stealing devils (who originate from Actual Real Hell, which is also london's next door neighbor)

snakes that are eternally bound to the realm beyond mirrors (who have an infamous feud with sapient talking cats)

treacheries of time, law, and all that which the gods hold dear (including the ability to bypass death itself)

sirens who are convinced they're dead (in a place where, as stated, death is easily bypassed)

sentient landmasses that get REALLY annoyed if you don't pay your taxes on time (and are also single and ready to mingle)

fabric that is not fabric (which is held in quite high value by certain giant bat monsters)

spiders that eat eyeballs (but are, fortunately, easily distracted by shakespeare)

genres of colors you didn't think possible (in seven fantastical flavors!)

batkissing (not canonically, but in our hearts)

batfucking (this is, somehow, marginally more canon than the above thing)

batmarriage (no.)

batdivorce (in comically large spades)

The Hat Man (who's in love with and yearns to become like a sentient island)

gay people (a lot of them)

trans people (also a lot of them)

doomed love, in all possible forms (as well as those who try and collect it)

this thing (this thing)

and last- but certainly not least-

a pitiful hope that perhaps, just perhaps, all shall one day be well. (even when you know it won't be.)

it's a game with lore as deep as the ocean, and a staggering wordcount (4.5 million!) to boot. it's not perfect, but it's something i've grown to love deeply, and in my experience? if it doesn't click for you, that's understandable. but if it clicks for you, it really does click for you. i recommend it to anyone and everyone who so much as looks its way. who knows! it may just surprise you 🦇☀️🦀🌃

as a further incentive, here are some out-of-context items and excerpts:

as stated, you can play it right now for free at fallen london dot com. there is a subscription and a small bounty of microtransactions on offer if you want to support the development team, but at no point is this ever required, and you will be playing for years before you reach the end of stuff to accomplish. all major content updates are free and available to all players, and FOMO to this day remains virtually non-existent. as once again stated, the browser specs are non-existent. if you can run google, you can run fallen london.

so head on down!! give the neath a try!! follow admiralty orders and dump a bunch of bombs directly into the zee (underground sea) whilst accidentally waking up a giant grieving sea urchin that screams fire and violently pursues your demise!! (that's what we're all doing right now, anyway.)

if the browser game isn't for you, there's also other outlets with which to explore the universe. you can find the spinoff games Sunless Seas, Sunless Skies, and Mask of The Rose available to purchase right now on steam, and there's recently been a very successful kickstarter to adapt the game into a TTRPG. it looks very cool so far. im very very very excited for it :)

in lieu of having to come up with a conclusion for this ask, im instead going to direct you to the MoTR stupendium song (which you'll find linked below). it says far more and advertises far better than i could ever dream of. also, it's a straight bop, and "all ends/swords pens" has lived rent-free in my brain for months.

welcome to the neath, delicious friend. we hope you enjoy your stay ❤️

[dcxdpdabbles]

Clark: Mr. Wayne, can I ask some questions for the Daily Planet? Bruce: Certainly, especially for a reporter as handsome as you, Mr.-? Clark: Clark Kent. Bruce: A name as lovely as the man. Fitting. What questions do you have? Clark: There have been hundreds, if not thousands, of paranormal incidents reported within the Gotham Clock Tower, built and owned by your family. Do you believe these rumors have any weight? Bruce: You mean the legend of the Ghost Boy? Well, it's an interesting story, but in all the years I've been inside the clock tower, I've never seen the famous Phantom. Of course, I also haven't been inside it often, as my Grandfather closed it to the public due to safety concerns, and that included my family. Clark: Then you think that nothing is inside the tower? Bruce: I think the paranormal is real, especially with aliens like Superman being real, but I genuinely believe the Gotham Clock Tower ghost is just an old wives' tale. Clark: Hmm. Including the Lure? Bruce: Yes, including the Lure. As any Gothamite can tell you, the legend states Phantom's singing lures children into the Tower to never be seen again. Children are cautioned not to walk near the Tower after sunset or fall victim to the Lure, but I visited the Tower multiple times as a child, and many other children did too. It's often a dare Gothamites do as teenagers, practically a rite of passage. Clark: Quite a dare. Bruce smiling: It keeps things lively. You know how kids are. They claim they aren't scared, but everyone who does the dare is shaking in their boots. Clark: On the topic of those dares: What are your thoughts on recent rumors claiming that the string of missing teenagers are victims of Phantom? Bruce: I know Batman has made a statement, indirectly, since Commissioner Gordon was the one at the press conference - that he believes Phantom is behind this, but there is just no proof. Personally, I would rather a real detective investigate the missing cases than a man who hides behind masks. Even if Superman agrees with Batman. Clark: You don't seem to be much of a Batman fan. Bruce laughing: You seem to be one. I can tell I upset you with my opinion of him, but really, I think Batman is worthless and necessarily violent. He only punches at the problems but doesn't seem to fight for a better life quality in Gotham, and that's where crime really comes from. Clark is annoyed: Batman risks his life for this city. Bruce: You risk your life walking through the city. But I digress, if people want to believe Batman's warning of Phantom waking to kidnap teenagers, well, that's their opinion. Clark: Thank you for your time, Mr. Wyane. I'm sure many Gothamites will agree with a man as knowledgeable as you. Bruce: Thank you! And hey, if you're inclined in the same gender, I'm free this- Clark: Good day, Mr. Wayne. Tim watching Clark leave: What was the point of that? Bruce: Kent has a sway over the public; if he writes to take the warning seriously, then the people will listen. How was the stakeout? Tim: Oh, there is definitely something in the Tower. Its glowing green eyes locked with mine six different times, no matter how much I moved on the roofs. I was far away enough that Lure couldn't reach me, but I did hear a faint singing in the wind. Phantom is back. Bruce: Then tonight, we contact Zatana and John. That thing is going to give the kids back.

[batlovebites]

Thinking about how the beasts would deal with a mortal partner's mortality catching up to them. Here's some quick thoughts on that.

Content Warning: death (via old age or sickness) and murder (because these guys do not handle it well.)

Shadow Milk seems like the one who deals with the idea of his partner's mortality the best, up until his partner is on death's door- if its sickness, he'll stop at nothing to find a way to cure it. If its age, though...

I think he'd try to find a way to make his partner immortal, too. But when that fails, I think he'd immortalize them as a puppet. Its not the real them, no, but its them from before age started to take them from him. Its them in whatever the 'best' period of their life was.

After they pass he uses it to cope but he has to control the simulacrum's actions so it actually just makes him feel worse because its obviously not them. It looks like what they looked like at one point, it acts how he remembers them acting, but how he remembers them isn't the same as how they actually were. But he doesn't stop because he'd rather try to convince himself of the lie they're still around than live with the truth that they're gone.

The illusion/puppet he makes progressively becomes less and less convincing as his memories are altered and exaggerated with time and repetition. In their absence, Shadow Milk starts to glorify them in his memory, completely disregarding any of their flaws or negative aspects that made them an actual full person; Which then makes the puppet act progressively less and less how they actually did.

Eventually probably disregards the simulacrum as its no longer even slightly convincing. But sometimes, when he thinks about them again and his heart starts aching, he conjures it up again to try to live the lie that they're still here again, just for a little bit longer. It always falls apart again, but there's brief moments where he can almost convince himself, so he keeps doing it.

Burning Spice is. Complicated! Would also want to make his partner immortal probably, but if that's proven to be impossible... I think he 'mercy' kills them, before age can affect them too much. When their hands start shaking, their memory begins to slip, their body slowly turning to dust beneath them, so slow they can hardly tell its happening- but Burning Spice has seen time claim a hundred thousand lives before, and can see it happening to them all too clearly.

Burning Spice doesn't want to let time take his partner from him, so he does it himself. Having control over their demise makes him feel better about it, if only slightly. Doesn't let them know its going to happen, because he wants their last memory of him to be pleasant. Just embraces them- and then promptly snaps their neck. Quick. Painless. Over before they could ever even know it happened.

He does view it as an actual mercy in a way, but its mostly a matter of him needing to feel like he was in control of when and how they died as opposed to them being taken from him. Change and destruction is his domain, he does not like it when those things are happening beyond his control, so he takes control of the situation himself.

Burning Spice is also quick to redirect any other emotion into anger because that's easier to manage, so the stages of grief he goes through are all just filtered directly into Anger and used as fuel to destroy more things. No one else would even be able to tell he's mourning at all, but deep down, he is, even though he doesn't want to. He's seen this happen over and over again, it shouldn't affect him anymore. He's angry at himself for letting it affect him. For letting himself grow attached to something- someone- he knew would be nothing but ash beneath his feet within a century in the first place. And yet...

Mystic Flour would perhaps put some effort in looking into how to make her partner immortal, just so that they could see everything else be reduced to flour with her before they both also were reduced to nothing. But she's not too torn up about it if unable to.

She starts to treat her aging partner as if they were already dead at a certain point, which certainly doesn't feel great for them. Comforting them about their inevitable and rapidly approaching fate is not a very nice thing to hear when they are currently still alive, probably have at least a few years of life left in them, and would probably like to enjoy those last few years rather than just think about their approaching death the whole time.

If their old age comes with any particularly high amounts of pain or memory loss, she's likely to speed up the process as a 'mercy'; Inflicting them with the Pale Ailment, which kills them within the day.

The whole day she holds and comforts them until they are reduced to flour, telling them soon they will feel nothing- no joy, yes, but also no pain. That there's nothing to fear. She sits there for a little longer after they're gone, still speaking comfort. Then she gets up and leaves; She feels nothing about it. Nothing at all.

Yet... a part of her, buried deep under layers of apathy, does wish they had lasted longer. Been at her side to see the rest of the world be reduced to flour first. Oh well.

Also, while I can't give proper thoughts until she's released, I think Eternal Sugar would probably Sleeping-Beauty her partner. Lock them in an eternal rest where they're basically dead, but their body does not age or rot further, and they're technically still breathing, so its like they're still there with her! (<- Coping extremely hard.)

[xxcrumbxx]

:>> yes im so tired of ppl miss using words or making up slang for stuff i actually deal with. Also calling ppl with mental illnesses a red flag just bc there mentally ill . Gtfo my back also those ppl who pretend to have them like its awesome or makes you more interesting like yah sure it can be fun sometimes but you know what's not fun. Constant paranoia,fearing for the lives of loved ones and pets then that fear turning into hallucinations and having to listen and see it and suffer in silence bc ppl wont take you seriously/ its un acceptable to react , getting so lost in bable and inconsiderate speech that you shut down or have a panic attack bc nouthing you say makes scentce and with every word you see ppl pitty you get annoyed or scared of /for you awhile nothing is making scene and you cant here over you're own melting mind . Being detatched from reality to the point you dont know what year it is , findeing youre self back in the place you where abused .The world looking un famileur and seeing horrific things based of of trama and youre lovelyest day dreams ,the preifural face flouters of faces scraming in agony and anger there mad at you they all hare you you are bad and need to peel off ur skin you stole it???. the near constant night terrors thet leve you waking up crying and shaking two weak to stand and to sick to lay down relieving you're trauma almost every night stuck in dreams feeling every emotion , hearing your pets be brutally torched and all who you ever love suffer what you have knowing the situation isn't real but the fear and anxiety anger and heart brake is. I have greaved every thing i ever loved over and over for what feels like an eternity of loss and the worst part is with each time they become more and more dead and i no longer have the same feelings for them and i become detached even tho they are beside me and i can never explain to them that to me they or i am a ghost and what we where will never be the same because with every fake death a pice of my love dies as well . Im a schizo franic person with c-ptsd major depression disorder anxiety disorder ( can't remember what its called ) dpd and some other stuff i haven't gotten diagnosed with but have strong suspicion of and this long ass text is the sky to tne ice burg of issues that come with being mentally ill and i dont see it as a compatition and ofc every ones excperianses and reactions are different and i do feel a little "cringe" listeing my stuff out but cringe cualture is dead for a reason and given that I've serviced 20 years of tbh near constant physical and psychological torcher o van proudly say.

It gets "better" the symptoms become manageable the pain a back ground noise you learn tricks and ways to cope sure im medically insane (not a flex idk why it would ever be one) but at least at very rock bottom least my socks are warm and my joints hurt a little less today, i may be insomniac and hungry but im anywhere enough and not in to mutch pain to tell that im hungry ,the it snowed and i hear birds . I may be lonely but not alone you can always talk to the trees and rivers to the bierds and to the walls They never speak over you or tell you how to dream

Things I'd love for the Internet to leave in 2023:

• misusing the word "delusional" or saying "delulu"

• public freakout videos that are just someone displaying psychotic symptoms

• "I'm in your walls" and other paranoia triggering "jokes"

• schizoposting

• misusing the word "psychotic"

• baiting and triggering people online who are openly psychotic or displaying psychotic symptoms

• excluding schizo-spec and psychotic people from any neurodiversity/mental illness awareness

Let's just all try to be better to schizo-spec and psychotic people. And hold others accountable as well.

[mullermilkshake]

Even praise hurts

Part 5 <- Part 6 -> Part 7

The association dinner goes mostly the way Jinwoo expects, yet he suspects that something darker is at play.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags - Mentions of unprotected sex/public sex/gore and violence/murder/drowning, mentions of babies/pregnancy, dark thoughts, intrusive thoughts, mild treats, alcohol, drinking

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

“What took you guys so long?” Baek leant on the bar with a whiskey swirling in his hand.

Jinwoo thought it best to say nothing. If he had it his way, he’d tell the whole restaurant and bar exactly where he was and how deep, just for his own entertainment. Though he doubted you would have appreciated it.

“Traffic.” You said casually, your hand still in Jinwoo’s like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hm,” He did not sound convinced. “Sounds about right. There’s always jackasses on the road. Glad you’re here, we’re all sitting in the back room waiting for you.”

Jinwoo fought hard to hold in his smugness, keeping everyone waiting whilst his load was dribbling from your thighs was potentially one of his top five moments in his life so far. He led the way behind Hunter Baek right through to the back room where the others were talking and smiling, Jong-in noticed you immediately and smiled, putting Jinwoo's back up immediately.

So irritating. 

“You’re here,” he grinned with his glass. “We almost thought you’d gotten lost.”

“Lots of traffic.” An adorable laugh left your lips. “Lots and lots of traffic.”

When you grinned back, Jinwoo watched Jong-in closely. Were those kind eyes, or ‘fuck me’ eyes he was giving you? Yeah, they were definitely ‘fuck me’ eyes. Just what the hell was that?

“It’s good that you’re finally here Hunter Sung, we were beginning to worry.” The Chairman did not address Jinwoo directly, rather he was looking at your hand entwined with his, a knowing stare that flitted every so often.

“We apologise, Chairman. It wasn’t our intention to arrive late.”

Jinwoo took his glances as a contest, doing the exact same towards him and Jin-chul, an all knowing glance for the conversation preciously, noting how he was studying you and Jinwoo just as closely.

The Chairman grinned and allowed you and Jinwoo to sit. “It’s quite alright, now we can make a toast to the happy couple.”

Happy couple… that’s rich coming from a man that gave them no choice.  

Hunter Lim sat next to Jin-chul, totally impassive. His arms folded the way they were signalled that he wasn’t entirely present, not until he took notice of Jinwoo. “Hey, glad you two finally made it, Yoonho’s been boring the hell out of me with random crap.”

“Were you waiting long?” Jinwoo asked with caution, according to his calculations, you and he were only late by ten minutes.

“Eh, we all decided to meet a little earlier, you didn’t get the message? So its more like forty minutes, no one could reach either of you.”

Oh shit. Well, in this case, you and Jinwoo would have arrived late regardless if he’d fucked you in his car or not, somehow it didn’t make the situation as dire as it could have been.

“Oh,” Jinwoo pulled out his phone and pretended to check through it like it actually mattered. “No, I didn’t get anything sent to me.”

Lim dismissed it and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Maybe you’ll see Yoonho get drunk this time, that can be entertaining.”

“Right… uh, where’s Hunter Ma?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s off somewhere. He couldn’t wait much longer for you so I think he went to get a light bite. He’ll be back shortly… but I guess we can get to celebrating the happy couple as happy as they can be, being forced into this like they have.”

Out of the two, Jinwoo had faith that you and he would be happy, but he saw right through the facade that Jong-in and Hae-in put up, and it fascinated him. So much so that he let one of his shadows go and attach itself to Jong-in. Just out of curiosity behind closed doors.

Jinwoo pulled out your seat for you and only then did you let go of his hand, he waited until you were seated properly. He watched the interactions between them as a toast was announced, you said something to Hae-in but his concentration picked up on the little things.

Despite popular belief, You and Hae-in rarely spoke the last two months, and even before then, it seemed to be more of a show for the public eye rather than a genuine friendship. The act of survival when one’s life is threatened to change often brings people together, and Jinwoo saw that it was that case with you and Hae-in.

She wasn’t entirely invested, it was obvious by the extra few inches distance her chair sat from jong-in, never touching hands, always at her side unless picking up her glass of water. Jong-in was more invested in you than the mother of his child, barely making eye contact with her or exchanging more than a word or two.

Trouble in paradise. And the chairman thinks it’s appropriate to berate us, instead?  

“Hey, guys!”

“Oh,” Lim snorted. “There you are, big guy. Thought you got lost too.”

Ma chuckled and flopped down in the seat next to Baek with a satisfied grin and a fleck of sauce on his cheek. He noticed you and Jinwoo and waved. “Hey you two, thought you were never gettin’ here!”

Before anyone could address that elephant in the room further, the Chairman stood up to command the room with his scotch glass. “Let’s toast to the first step in the reclaiming of our country's security and the future of the Hunter’s association… To Hunter Choi and Hunter Cha!”

Everyone toasted, raising their glasses whilst the Chairman ordered food and ordered everything to fill out the table. The mood seemed fruitful, enthusiastic, despite the ominous response to it two months ago. Even you seemed more on board with it now, chatting more and smiling a little warmer than previous weeks.

The others might not have seen it, not even you, yet Jinwoo could think of nothing else. Chairman Go and Jin-chul’s watchful eyes on everything across the table. Watching closely, Jinwoo found that as the night progressed, Jong-in and Hae-in became touchy.

A hand brush every so often, a little whisper in her ear with a smile sweeter than treacle to rot the entire table’s teeth for endless cavities. Though when those moments vanished, Jong-in was clinging on to you, with the hope of what, exactly? That he’d eventually come clean to how in love he was with you, or try to convince you that he was a better person despite having a child with another woman?

Just the thought made Jinwoo brood, grit his teeth through the boring dinner during parts he wasn’t listening just to think of ways he’d kill the man in a fit of fuelled jealousy that Jong-in even had the gall to talk to you with such familiarity-

“Jinwoo.” 

He blinked, looking down at you with softer eyes. “Hm?”

You leant closer and whispered. “You’re spacing out… are you feeling okay?” 

God… Those eyes staring up at him so innocently when Jinwoo knew you weren’t the innocent persona you allowed the public to perceive you as. If only publix sex was legal, and he definitely would have had you over the dinner table and no one could have stopped him. That would have set Jong-in straight.

“Y-yeah… I’m okay. Just tired, I think.”

You seemed to buy it. “Okay… we’ll leave soon?” 

“Sounds good.”

The Chairman cleared his throat and addressed Jinwoo properly for the first time with full eye contact. “So, Hunter Sung, when will you greet the association with the good news?”

This went against Jin-chul’s advice on keeping the night about the Hae-in's pregnancy. It was a direct threat too. Every hunter alive treated the Chairman with the respect and decency someone of his position and temperament dictated, but Jinwoo saw straight through it like glass.

By this threat, Jinwoo suspected that the Chairman had another agenda.

Why is he so hellbent on getting results this eagerly?

He glanced up at the system's quest screen, still unchanged. It wouldn’t give him an unobtainable quest so pregnancy was still possible, but with the Chairman’s urgency, something told his gut to shut it down immediately.

At the end of the day, whenever you finally fell pregnant, you and he were keeping the baby close.

“Well, we’re trying our best, Chairman. Each week we’re hopeful.”

In other words, it translated to, back off old man. 

“Well I look forward to the happy news, I have high hopes for you both.”

Long story short, what he meant to say was, hurry the hell up you two, I’m growing impatient. 

“You’ll be the first to know, Chairman-” The eruption of Jong-in’s laugh pulled Jinwoo out of the conversation.

“It’s true! Ask Yoonho.”

“Don’t ask me anything.” Baek turned away and chugged his drink with heavy eyes.

Jong-in chuckled and took a sip of his own drink, clearly giddy. “While we’re guild rivals, we get on better than others think, even Tae-gyu knows what I’m talking about- oh… maybe not.”

Hunter Lim snored away on the table, dribbling and nursing a bottle of Soju. The table acknowledged the humor and Hunter Ma commanded the table with anecdotes. Jinwoo wanted to join in, he did, because it made him understand the people he spent the most time with, but his gut told him to observe Jong-in closely.

You were unaware of this, watching Ma chuckle and tell embarrassing stories of a drunken and foolish Baek. Jong-in stole brief glances at you now and then, each time softer than the last. What was he thinking about?

About you? Friendly or intimate- no doubt there were intimate thoughts going through that head of his like a neanderthal. 

He bet Jong-in had all kinds of lewd thoughts up there in that head of his, all fabricated of course. Seeing as Jinwoo had seen you naked, touched the curves of your body and came inside you most nights, whatever Jong-in could conjure up in his mind sure as hell wouldn’t be anywhere near the real thing. Jinwoo had that edge over him, though it never got rid of the intrusive thoughts. The darker side he’d been battling with since he killed that staff member, well, even before then. Maybe after the first person he'd killed.

Each thought darker and more violent than the last though he never usually acted on them.

Since having you in his grasp, Jinwoo found them cropping up more and more often and the thought of being in a position that he’d be expected to let you go in a month didn’t help alleviate the symptoms.

It made his eye twitch, seeing another man look at you the way Jong-in did, he wanted to hurt him in a way he'd never recover with all of the mage healing in the world. He wanted him gone from your life completely, eradicated and wiped from existence.

How could he look at you the way he was doing right now when the time came and you had a newborn baby in your arms? Jong-in had a reputation to uphold as a guildmaster and having a child of his own would make quite the scandal if he was pursuing another woman.

Though Jinwoo simply wouldn’t have it, he couldn’t just get rid of him in the way he was fantasising about.

A quick dagger slice to his throat to watch the red slip out all over the floor, to see Jong-in gargle and panic because his mana would slip away with his consciousness and no amount of stupid fire would save him.

Maybe drowning him in a water dungeon, so that the only way his fire attacks would serve him any purpose would boil the water until his flesh melted from his face.

It had to be something slow… something painful. Something memorable-

“Jinwoo? Are you ready to go?”

Had he zoned out again? “Yeah, let’s get going.”

“I’ll see you in a few weeks, Hunter Sung.”

Another threat from the Chairman. Jinwoo saw it on the shining rim of his scotch glass, Jin-chul watched him too over the edge of his sunglasses. He stood and waited for the Chairman, allowing him space to pass and land a firm hand on Jinwoo’s shoulder.

“I’m counting on you.”

I bet you are, Chairman Go. 

Jinwoo was counting on it as well, to keep you close to him and take care of you. There was a lot to think about, much to discuss with you. Many concerns he wasn’t so sure he should come out with until he could investigate further.

Though his quest remained the same.

To get you pregnant within the next month.

Part 5 <- Part 6 -> Part 7

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! Thanks so much for all the support on this likes, reblog and comments appreciated! ❤️

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@chahaezii, @athanasia10

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

Angstrom Levy plays his hand. You fuck it up. [Invincible Variants x reader]

[Part one]  [Ao3] [5]

6 * Bad Dog [5.5k]

"Since all those lost years when I thought I was the monster,

It turns out I was really the prey

Masturbating and waiting for the raid,

And hating every little thing about you all the way!"

The Ruminant - Go Hang

        The acrid breeze makes his blue curtain of a mask flutter. "Give us our shit." You almost don't think it's Mark talking, his voice is so different, so stereotypically New York native.

        The man standing on solid air ignores him. Good eye sliding from one Mark to another. "You're down one."

        "We're down a lot more than that, numbnuts." Mohawk throws his arms out. Gesturing to the empty space where other Marks could have been, but weren't. 

        "To be expected. This reality is much more resilient than most." At that, the men surrounding him bristle.

        "You meant for us to die." Baldie accuses, crossed arms tensing with the need for violence. "You were never going to deliver."

        The man, Angstrom, though you don't quite know it yet, laughs. Holding a scarred finger out to point at you. "I have though, haven't I? More than half of you wished to see this one again."

        You are slack in the arms of your savior. Conscious but head spinning with the sudden change of atmosphere. It was a good thing none of them could see your face behind the mask, see that you were awake and biding your time. 

        But he knows you're awake. The one holding you, the warrior raised on Viltrum from birth. He feels your pulse pick up under his hands, hears the skip of your heart, the faint smell of fear induced sweat under your armor. The others aren't close enough to sense it, you hide your feelings well, play dead good as a possum, but he knows. And he tells nobody.

        "You've all had a turn, so I think my end has been delivered." He finishes.

        The one with a bare face looks at Angstrom, confused. "I have no idea who that is. Where's William?"

        "Yeah." Backs up the long masked one. "Like I'd even give a fuck about some... whatever." he waves his hand, uncaring to find a word for some insignificant bug.

        Despite the backlash, Angstrom smiles pleasantly. "I'm aware in your realities, you didn't know or care for (Y/n) (L/n). That is perfectly acceptable. Don't think I've forgotten about the deals we've all made. But to fulfill them, I'll need you to find this dimensions Mark Grayson and bring him to me."

        Eyes twitch. Lips curl.

        "No," Scars finally says. He looks to you in the arms of that straight-laced Viltrumites arms and barely contains a smirk. He's going to enjoy ripping you out of them. Tearing his arms off for touching you. "I've got what I want. I'm done with this place."

        "You are aware I could leave you here or somewhere worse, correct?" Angstrom doesn't sound the least bit concerned regarding the mounting tension. The cracking knuckles. The nasty grinning-snarls, thirsty for a little more blood. 

        "You won't." Lensless hums, "We'll kill ya before you get the chance."

         "Then we'd actually be stuck here forever, dumbass." Mohawk barks. "We'll just torture him instead, duh." 

        Angstrom rose a brow. "There's only one of her left in all existence, remember that before you threaten me."

        You are consumed by crackling green light that seems to statically stick to your armor. You are falling, then not, draped over Angstrom's arm like a coat. Still trying to play knocked out. "I have the perfect reality ready for her if any of you move." He says before you're settled. "Pit of man-eating octomen I've been starving for months, waiting right here." A ring of power encircles your body, not touching you but threatening with its presence. "Move and she's there."

        "I don't care, man." Long Mask says. 

        Angstrom ignores him. "Get me Mark Grayson."

        "You've got ten of him right here," Emperor says. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll drop it."

        Angstrom laughs, nastily. So hard he shakes you in his grip. "Am I dog now, Mister Grayson?"

        "You're no better than one," Emperor replies.

        "Look at you all- looking at me like you want me to die. After everything I've given you." Spit flies off Angstrom's lips, landing on your visor. "I met so many of you with snot dribbling out your noses over this thing," he jostles you in his grip as you grit your teeth, "this worthless animal who in so many dimensions joins your conquest. Just some regular human who adds absolutely nothing to nearly every timeline. I don't get the appeal, but I don't have to. Do as I say or she dies."

        You observe the Marks. Ready to pounce. To throw caution to the wind. Some are hesitant, actually using their brains but enough of are ready to fucking shred you think you might get eaten by whatever an octoman is.

        It leaves you with no other choice. It was just a bonus it'd get him to shut up. You were dead tired of hearing this guy's voice. Hearing any guy's voice.

        You let out a weak, groggy groan. Catch Angstrom's attention, which is all you need. Watch the grin spread across his busted face. "Look who's awak-"

        "Bite off your tongue." Blood comes out of your nose in such a rush it splattered against the inside of your helmet. Power ripped from you all at once, used on this guy you didn't know, but definitely didn't trust. 

        Drip, drop atop your helmet. Then came the rivers of blood down his chin. Weaving through his beard. Tongue stuck all the way out his mouth, teeth grinding down, down, down. Sawing, squelching. He blinks, tongue half removed from his mouth, when your hold snaps. A scream that was more a gargle, splatters more blood across your visitor. You're thrown, ass over heel.

        His words are thick with pain and a brand-new lisp as he says, "Bad dog!"

        The sickly green light surrounds you as a portal opens up behind your back, snapping shut before the closest version of your ex could reach you. The last thing you saw was him smiling with blood bubbling over his lips. 

        Your landing was surprisingly soft. Skidding to a slow stop on silky tan sand. Scrambling to your knees to see where the portal was. Gone. No green, just a cloudless, hazy sky. Sun fat in the sky. Beating down harsh on the black metal of your armor. Around you there is nothing but more sand and ruins of a society long forgotten. 

        You don't know what happened. Don't know how to process what happened. Calling out to the nothingness, "Bring me back!" To no reply or help at all.

        ***

        "You-!"

        Biting off your own tongue was something the deeply deranged and suicidal did. Despite that criteria, Angstrom Levy had never wanted to do such a thing, but there you'd been- making him do it. 

         He was in acute shock. Slow. Unable to dodge the hands grabbing him, the fists beating him, not with his tongue dangling half-cut out his mouth. Threats came pouring in quick as they were delivered. Ribs broken. Ligaments torn, good eye gone red with burst blood vessels. 

        It'd lasted thirty seconds, maybe less, but a voice cut through the violent haze. "We can't get her back if he's dead." Said the boy who killed his father and wore his cloak. God, if Freud were still around. 

        The words didn't calm them, but soothed the blows like a balm. Mohawk had him by the collar, choking him with it. "Open the portal, cocksucker."

        Angstrom rose a hand, the only one he had left after that Viltrumite loyalist chopped the other off. He let it open slow, teasingly so. Power roiling under his skin, revenge on the mind. They'd thought they'd had him down and out, but he was nowhere near dead. He never planned to keep them along for the full ride. The plan was always to betray them. This was much sooner, and much bloodier, than planned. So be it. 

        "There." He heaved. They turned, looking into the opening to a new world. A world so dry it'd evaporate the marrow out of your bones. 

        Phantom didn't speak. Just shot his black and blue body through. One down, nine to go. 

        "That world," he begins, tongue awkwardly flailing over the bottom of his mouth, blood spilling down his throat just to be hacked out, "-that world has major time dilation. She could be very far from the origin point by now. Miles. It'll take him too long to find her... I can't-" He let the portal waiver, looking unstable, "I can't hold it long."

        "You can and you will." The ex-prisoner grabbed him by the balls. Through Angstrom's pants but still. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. 

        If guilt tripping wouldn't work, he had no other choice. "Wait... I can.. I think I've found her." More portals zap open all around him. Nine in total. "Do you see?" They turn, just to watch the portals shoot closer, swallowing them all whole before snapping shut. Leaving them to fall in the sand and Angstrom alone to his devices. 

        ***

        You'd tried it all. Screaming. Looking for an exit. Digging. Trying to call someone, anyone on your phone that had not a bar. All while the sun beat at your back. You didn't give up, not really, just resigned to moving somewhere else. Powers, you knew, were stupid. Angstrom could find you again even if you'd left the dropoff.

        You walked. Migraine gnawing at your temples. Power stores drained out. Boots dragged in the sand, prints sifting away as soon as they were made. Moved from wreck to wreck for the tiniest slivers of shade. Baked inside your helmet until you popped it off, wiping at the drying blood with your gloves. When there was a breeze, it felt like a hairdryer, making your eyes water.

       Two hours, you'd walked to find nothing.

       The sun moved slow, the sky fading to a dull purple, but you knew the second it dipped below the dunes, you'd be dead without a fire. Deserts don't stay hot without sun. Planks were easy come by, old wood waiting to disintegrate into the sand. You rooted through the tool belt attached to the body armor. Tear gas, a high-powered taser, a flare, a knife, ammo for a gun you didn't have, and a to-go first aid kit. 

        You tried the taser on the wood. It made the old thing crumble in your hands. You tried again to the same result. Again and again as the sun crossed the sky and the heat began to ebb. 

        ***

        He flew through the desert, combing it in a gird. Square mile by square mile, searching. Growing more desperate by the second. Head filling with what if's. 

        It's faint, a mere vibration in his left ear. He banks hard. Following. Forcing his hearing to it's limit- catching grains shifting below his flight path. Then it comes again. Audible this time. Bzzt. Lil more to the left. Bzzzzt! Not long now. He starts to slow right as the sound pinged from below. BZZZT!

        "Fuck you, motherfucker." Came out from a line of beams fallen together to make a concrete tent.

        He landed gently, trying not to make a dust cloud and scare you away. Watching your back as you tried to light a plank ablaze with a taser. It crumbled in your hands. You scoff, kicking debris into a cloud that makes you violently cough. 

        You could turn and see him. Husky purple dusk not yet camouflaging his blue-black body suit. But you don't. Instead, you keep trying to tase the remaining sawdust into flames. It doesn't work. 

        He floats above the sand, slowly rolling into your view. 

        ***

        Chaos. Total, absolute, chaos.

        Nine of them in the middle of some desert planet, tenth fucked off God knows where. No Angstrom to take them out. No (Y/n) to soften the blow. The rage settled in like a beat behind their eyes, a thrum under their fingerpads. They wanted to choke each other for existing. 

        Their personal genie had betrayed them, left them for dead. 

        He wasn't the first to blast off into the desert. Searching for a way out, for you. He was, however, first to shoot into the sky for a birdseye view. The atmosphere thinned, going from an ugly yellow to the familiar dark of space. Above the sphere, he hovered, seeing only sand. Around the planet he went, hoping, then finding those hopes were something juvenile. 

        The search extended into space. For other planets. He noticed then, flying through the cold dark there were no stars or gas giants or distant worlds. Only the planet they landed on and the too-close sun. 

        As if Angstrom Levy had found the one reality in all of existence with one dead world. One big, sandy, uninhabitable world. The perfect place for them all to die. The search could be expanded later, with more of them looking, but he doubted even their Viltrumite bodies could reach any planets if he couldn't see them. 

        He was angry, but couldn't fault the guy. He was going to rip off Angstrom's balls after all. He'd find a way out of this, the same way he'd found a way out of that hell of a Viltrumite prison. Scarred beyond recognition. Coming home to find the love of his life dead and long buried. 

        Except that now you were down on that sandball, somewhere. Hopefully alive. So why was he angsting up in space? 

        ***

        The taser shot out, connecting thick prongs to his suit. Electricity traveled fast through the carbon fiber, penetrating to his skin. He didn't seize and drop. He took it like he was nothing but thin air, like you were imagining him in a wave of heat induced hysteria.

        The prongs retracted and he took that as cue to step down into your concrete hut. Coming closer, slow, hands up over his chest like he wasn't going to hurt you- as if you'd believe that.

        You hear it. Something moving so fast the air splits around you. 

        You don't know what you're going to do. Shout? Duck? Gasp? You don't get to decide because he's on you. Holding you hard against himself, feet inches off the ground, hand pressed firm over your mouth. Head tracking the sonic spec in the sky as it passed over. When the coast is clear, he sets you down and backs off. Not leaving your nothing of a camp, but any space willing given by these freaks was noticeable. 

        "Leave." Power doesn't even bother to tickle your throat. You had jackshit left. Wouldn’t have jackshit for days if your luck stayed bad. You'd only blown yourself out like this one time- that day at the beginning of the end of your life. You'd never used your power on someone else powered before. Barley used it period. Only on little, meaningless, petty things. Until you used it all at once to save his life. Then on him. Blowing out you out like a tire. Failing. 

        Now you were here. Staring at a fully masked version of him, unable to control him or your life again. 

        Yet you try, "Go." The taser finds its home in your belt, replaced by the tear gas canister held over your head. "Or I'll set this fucking bomb off if you get any closer." It's a lie so obvious you couldn’t put your chest behind it. "I'll kill us both, I swear to God."        

         He doesn’t move. Your helmet sits on the ground at your feet. You wonder how fast you could set the tear gas off and put the thing back on. If the GDA-enhanced tear gas would make you go blind.

        As you fingered the pin, he pulled something from his belt. A short, metal pin. He approaches the pile of wood you’d made. You back up, knowing he'd catch you if you ran. Knowing you didn't have energy for any more running. He cracks the metal against a shred of concrete. Sparks rained down on the dry material and then there was fire. Small but as he stepped back, blaze growing. 

        Technically, you knew what he was doing. Starting a fire so you wouldn’t freeze to death, the breeze as the sun went down already cool. But mentally? You had no idea what he wanted. You knew that he was one of the ones that asked for you, that knew some version of you and decided thousands dead was worth it. Even though he was the first to your side on multiple occasions, you couldn’t know what he wanted. If he wanted something in exchange.

        The sky had gone a deep gray. Cold settling in between the sand dunes like an old bone's ache. You could leave, but the growing fire was your one and only shot of living. Just a guess, but the taser thing wasn’t going to work. 

        "What do you want?" You asked, shuffling closer. Still gripping the tear gas hard, reared over your shoulder like a weapon. "Tell me or I'll set it off."

        "I'm not going to hurt you." Through that demon of a modulator, you catch a softness, Mark whispering a secret he hadn’t told anyone else. More genuine than you’d heard from any of these alternates. 

        "How do I know you're not lying?" But there is no reply, and you don’t think he is. He's done talking and you're done fighting. 

        He sits first. On the edge of an uneven slab, leaving plenty of room for you. You watch him carefully. Sure he's going to lunge, a lurking predator luring you into a false sense of safety. So you lean against the wall instead, watching him and the fire. 

        He does lunge eventually, ten minutes later. Dashing forth to stomp out the fire as another body streaks across the sky. Tense as you both watched it go by. Waiting until there’s nothing but the night. Then he was back on his knees, cracking the stick onto new planks.

        "What is that?" You're still standing. Arm lifting the canister overhead once again.

        He looks up from the fire at you. Black going brown in the light. Tentatively, tortuously, and against every nerve in your body, you sit. Slip the tear gas canister back into your belt. Hoping he'd talk if you seemed a little less hostile. 

       "Tell me where I am. Who the fuck was that?" 

      You’re not shocked when he says nothing, only annoyed by your acceptance of it. He can’t bring himself to ruin this moment with you, finally alone. Hearing your voice, even angry, was like an angel’s song for the damned. Your face like something out a dream. Any nervous tics, little movements, shifts in your weight, was studied and tucked away to categorize and compare to what he knew. 

        You at seventeen, nervous and shy and sweet. Could you have become this bitter thing had you lived? Surely not. He'd have made sure you were taken care of. Made you into a wife with nothing to fret over. He hates him. The Mark of your dimension. Wants to turn him inside out for letting whatever happened to you- happen.

        You watched him right back with no knowledge of what his gaze meant. None of the same interest, but watching for the same things, instincts of being prey. Wondering when the slowly stalking fox was going to pounce, if the gaze was a challenge. In the thickening night, he was starting to blend in. You could still see his outline and the dark lenses reflecting back your stare. You try to look past them but can't, can't read anything from the blank, dark slate. You look away, wanting a momentary reprieve, backing down from the challenge. Movement. Your gaze right back, tense all over. Hand on the taser holster.

       The mask is off. Chin up, he is bare. There is stubble dark on his jaw, skin paler than you recalled Mark ever being, his hair a shaggy mess that hung past his ears, eye bags deep, nearly purple. He was Mark, no surprise there, the surprise was the slate blue of his eyes. Just like his father's. 

        You pull the taser out, but not wanting to escalate further, voice almost a whisper after you’d grown used to the quiet. "What do you want?" He looks up at you under dark brows and long lashes. It reminds you so much of your Mark you want to strike him, but think better of it. "Answer me." 

        It comes out breathy, hardly audible. "I just-" Two syllables and his voice breaks. Cracks right down the middle. He shuts his mouth, hand going to his throat, thumb massaging. He swallows, tries again but all that comes out is a hoarse sigh. His brows knit in frustration. He’d talked more than he was used to in the past few days, and with the dry air and nerves, what was left of his vocal cords wasn’t going to cooperate. 

        You don’t know what’s wrong with him, but now you understand why he wore that modulator.

        The mask goes back on. He's given up trying to talk, trying to show his belly like he wasn't a threat. You suspect violence, harassment, almost get up anticipating it, but it doesn't come. You're about to settle down when the ground shudders just outside your camp. You don't get the chance to check what it was because it steps inside between the concrete pillars.

        "We've been working together to find a way out of this shithole and here you two've been, love shackin' it up." His mask flutters in front of his face as he talks. Sand stuck to his tracksuit where blood had wet it. "Jesus, yer lucky I found you. Those other dudes have been losing they's fuckin' minds."

        Phantom rises, dashing the small fire away. He'd know his alone time with you would be short. They'd find you both eventually, but he was glad to have had it. Even if you looked at him with such disdain. For so many years, that's all he wanted. His voice failing him was punishment for letting you die, for letting this version of you get stuck in an unending desert. He'd make it up to you. Find a voice to say what needed to be said.

        He steps towards the other. Long mask, long face, you don't quite know what to mentally call him yet- steps back. Making room for Phantom to exit the ruin. 

        "I'm not leaving." You tell the newcomer, though you grab the helmet. To throw at him? To cover your head from the cold now that the fire couldn't ward it off? 

        "You dunno if I've found a way out or not and yer just gonna act like that?" His laugh is humorless, "Glad we weren’t a thing in my world."

        Behind him, Phantom jerks his head, a 'come' gesture. Wind, not a breeze, cuts through the dunes and sends winter cold through the cracks in your armor. Settles under the fabric, making you shiver. 

        "Do you have a way out?" You demand.

        "Would'a left your ass behind if I did." He says, stepping further back. Annoyed but understanding you wouldn’t come within a certain distance; despite how fast he could liberate your head from your shoulders. "Come on," he lifts inches off the ground, "the longer you're gone the edgier those shitheads get. I can't take it anymore." 

        You really, really, really did not want to see any of them. You look back to your concrete shack. But. Survival is easier in groups, right? You know what else is easier in groups? Mass murder. The second you got your powers back, you were taking them out like you'd set out to do. Sure, you'd probably only kill one or two more of them but it'd be enough to kill Mark Grayson four times before you went to hell. Only then did eternity of torture sound bearable.

        You also couldn't make a fire, it was freezing, you had no food and you'd be starving soon, and you had nothing to drink but codeine, which was a bad idea. 

       Phantom waited for you on the ground. Tracksuit, ah there's that convenient nickname, hovered low in the sky waiting. "Let's go already." You can't fly and something tells you Tracksuit isn't willing to walk however many miles it is back to camp. 

        Phantom taps his masked cheek. At first you're disgusted, thinking he wants you to lay one on him but realize, he's telling you to put the helmet on. You'd seen those old stories of superhuman and regular-Joe-human romances going bad because their lover flew too fast and all the human's skin was flayed off. You didn't want to go to the others, but you really didn't want to go without skin.

        You put the helmet on and he moves towards you. Slower than the first time he scooped you up and took you to the sky. He definitely felt bad about dropping you. Elbows move under knees, strong hand supporting your back. Lifting off gently this time. Accelerating slowly enough for Tracksuit to scoff and shout, "Dude, move it!"

        You'd never been flying like this. Before, it was too quick to process, too much adrenaline. Now you were burnt out and empty enough to actually process the passing dunes. To feel your body relying on his for support. You would have liked it, really, if it wasn't one of the crazy Marks- which was pretty much all of them. Horrified at any time he'd drop you or dangle you by an ankle until you cried, "Uncle." He hadn't seemed the type, but he also ripped off Psychopomp's arms the second time you met him. He wasn't as forward as the others, which made him less predictable. 

        The whole flight you were scared shitless, because the second it was over, things were only going to get worse. The bright side was, things were always awful before they got better. Thinking about killing Mark calmed you down a fraction.        

        Even in the distance, you could see the camp. No mountains to hide its orange glow. The only thing of note for miles upon miles. 

        Tracksuit sighed with relief, "Thank God." He shot forward, gone, leaving you and Phantom to meander along. You'd noticed he'd significantly slowed. Sucking up all the remaining alone time with you he could get. Hovering hundreds of feet over a massive bonfire. Figures below, waiting with baited breath. 

        Phantom contemplates the success rate of leaving. Running with you. Surviving alone together. His black boots touch down on the sand. He sets you down, keeping a hand at your back as you wobble to your feet. Unaccustomed to flying. Human heart fluttering in your chest.

        You get no peace or relief. 

        Just Mohawk flying forward and almost knocking you over "Dickhead," he hissed before his fist sent Phantom careening into the desert night. Phantom catches himself, but stays further back, hidden in the dark. It was chilly but this planet was nothing compared to the vacuum of space. To what his life had been before seeing you again. The fire, here and there, were for you. Warmth and signal. He would keep watch from the shadows. 

        The perpetrator turns to you, sand stuck in his mohawk. "You good?"

        You don't meet his eye. Opting to stumble closer to the bonfire, trying to avoid eye contact with the Marks standing around.

        "I thought you'd need it," Omni-Wannabe says. 

        "Where are we?" You stare into it. Hoping they don't notice the answers aren't forced out of them. That they don't piece together the only reason you're not going batshit is because you're powerless.

        "A desert," Lensless kicks at the sand, "Duh."

        "What desert?" It's hard to keep the venom out of your voice. 

        Emperor stretches his legs over a rock. Leaning back in his low earthy chair, looking like he meant to be stranded. "You tell me. You're the one who got us trapped here."

        You don't bite the bait. You can't fight back, so opening your big mouth is the last thing you should do. But he's looking at you like he wants to chop you to pieces. You go for fawning but not too out of character. "Wasn't expecting anyone to end up here with me."

        Under the yellow fabric, his brow twitches. "After all the chasing and defending, you didn't expect backup?"

        "I didn't ask for backup." You say, "I have no idea what's going on. One second I'm working, the next this guy," your arm gestures to Mohawk who grins, "is beating the shit out of my boss."

        Emperor's muscles tighten. You'd said the wrong thing. Towed the line too willy-nilly. He says, "You really must be dumber in this world if you haven't figured it out yet. Don't speak to me until you do." And goes back to watching the fire.

        Crisis averted.

        Somebody thinks it's a good idea to rest their fat, meaty hand on your shoulder and say, "Are you okay?"

        When you turn it's the bald one. Wearing an expression you think is concern.

        You can't help moving away and snapping, "Get off." 

        "D'aww, somebody mad their geriatric handler didn't pick them up?" Scars is right behind you. Not close enough to touch, but too close for comfort. He could push you into the fire and you'd be roast dinner. "Not expecting to deal with the consequences of your actions, were you?"

        This time, for real, you hold your tongue. Stuck straight to the roof of your mouth. You are not fucking with this guy.

        He touches you the same place Baldie did. You're scared to shove him off. Baldie was a mistake, one that could've gotten you killed. Scars would be a mistake that would get you killed. 

        "Hey, look, she's afraid of me!" He announced like it was an honor. "That's a smart girl, but where's that fighting spirit? Come on, I wanna see you try n' hurt me again."

        You don't reply. Don't move. Don't breathe. 

        "Your heart just skipped a beat, there, Dregs. Don't tell me you're gonna avoid me by killing yourself again." His fingers tighten on your shoulder. Nearly bruising. "I won't let it happen again." He's masking his anger being here with nine of himself by playing with you. Relieving stress. 

        "You're wasting your energy antagonizing her." The grip lightens immediately, someone else to play with. Scars' violent attention turned toward the bare baby-faced version of himself. 

        "You telling me what to do?" Tension cracked off his split lip.        

        "No." The other says evenly, "But we're stuck in an alien desert. Now's not the time to pull some master-slave dynamic bullshit on some girl you don't even know. Be smart."

        Scars slipped around you, prowling toward the sat man. "And how do you suggest I 'be smart'." 

        He started counting off on his fingers, "Get more firewood if you don't want her to freeze to death. Search ruins for something that could get us out. Look for food. Rest, conserve energy, because we don't know how long we'll be stuck here. My guess is until we get ourselves out because there's no way Angstrom is coming back for us."

        "He will," Lensless says with unwarranted confidence. "He has to know we'll find him and kill 'im. It's dumber to let us be mad n' stuff."        

        Maskless shakes his head. "He chose this planet because he expects us to die. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not fighting you guys over some human I don't know. If you're smart, you'll do the same." He slides off the rock and lies himself sideways in the sand. Head propped on his elbow like a pillow. "At least shut up or go to sleep so you can kill echother quicker tomorrow."

        Scars took two steps toward him before an arm jutted out, stopping him. Omni-Mark stood between the two like a wall. "He's right. We should sleep while it's cool. Search more tomorrow."

        "Who said you're in charge?" Emperor snipped despite being deeply unhelpful.

        "I'm not trying to be," he said, "it's just a suggestion."

        One you take. Moving away to the other side of the blaze while their bickering went on and on. You sat on a rusted pipe. Maskless a few feet to your right, brow furrowed but eyes closed. The Viltrumite to your left, arms folded behind his back. Posture painfully straight. His eyes flick over to you, head not moving. 

        You don't see it, but he's content with the situation at hand- for now. He could take the others. Savvy enough to survive in the harshest conditions where the others surely weren't. He'd conquered harsher planets than this without help. Atop of all that, you were choosing to be by his side. That is enough for him, for the moment.

[morikosa]

hiii i hope u are doing great i have a request can u write a ff where reader is a massive crush on gojo for 2 years and he rejects her really harshly and she decides to move on from him and she gets a guy who really love her like love in first sight of thing and later gojo regrets and realizes what he lost you can end it however u like

IT'S TOO LATE

You had always known, deep down, that the kind of love you felt for Gojo Satoru was one-sided. It wasn’t something he’d ever say out loud, but you saw it in the way his eyes flicked over to you just before he would laugh with his other friends, how his attention always wandered, and how he dismissed your feelings in that way that only someone with too much power could.

For two years, you had quietly fallen for him. It wasn’t a glamorous or fast-paced love. It wasn’t like the stories or dramas that flooded your mind in moments of loneliness. No, your love for him was the quiet kind, nurtured by little moments over time.

You couldn’t even say exactly when it had started, this crush that would turn into something much heavier than you had anticipated. Perhaps it was during those long nights in the library, the way his laughter echoed through the halls after missions, or maybe it was when you found yourself alone in the same room, and you realized just how much he pulled at your heartstrings with every casual smile. But you were patient.

You were waiting for a moment when he would see you—not as the second-strongest sorcerer, not as his teammate, not as the girl who was too shy to speak up—but as someone he could love. And that moment came, one fateful afternoon.

You had decided, finally, to confess. It was a quiet day at Jujutsu High, no missions, no curses lurking in the corners. Just the two of you in the garden, under the canopy of trees. Gojo was lounging lazily on the grass, his sunglasses perched on his head, eyes closed as he half-listened to you babble about something you didn’t even care to remember.

But you cared about him.

So, gathering your courage, you whispered, “Gojo, I… I need to tell you something.”

His eyes fluttered open lazily, and for once, he wasn’t smiling. It was just you and him. The kind of moment that, in hindsight, should’ve felt perfect, but instead, felt like it was setting you up for something worse than you could have ever imagined.

He sat up, brushing a lock of hair from his face, clearly waiting for whatever confession you had in mind. “What’s up?”

“I like you,” you said, heart racing. “I have for a while. I... think I’ve loved you.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between the two of you. The world seemed to hold its breath. You waited, your fingers twisting nervously in front of you, hoping, praying for him to say something kind, something that would make you feel like the decision you had made was the right one.

But instead, Gojo burst out laughing. Not the easy, carefree laugh you were used to, but something harsh, something detached. “What?” He wiped his eyes as if your confession were the funniest thing he had ever heard.

“No. No way, don’t be ridiculous.”

You froze, that familiar ache starting to grow in your chest. He stood up, pacing slightly, still laughing in disbelief, and then turned to face you, eyes glinting behind his sunglasses.

“You and me? That’s a joke, right? You’re like a little sister to me, don’t make this awkward. Besides, I’ve got too much on my plate with being me to entertain something like that.”

The words cut deeper than any curse he could have thrown at you. A little sister. You had always been more than that to him, hadn’t you? He brushed it off, acting as though it didn’t matter. But it mattered. It mattered more than anything else in that moment.

Your heart shattered into a thousand pieces, but you kept your composure. No tears, no visible crack in your voice. You stood, nodding slowly, feeling a coldness descend upon your skin.

“Yeah, I get it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

With that, you turned and walked away, leaving Gojo to his comfortable oblivion.

You could have stayed. You could have let your heart linger in the space where Gojo’s rejection had made its mark. You could have waited for him to come around, to realize how wrong he was, to apologize and see the way you had always seen him. But you knew better than that. You knew you had to move on. You couldn’t keep hoping for someone who didn’t see you.

It was time to stop being his shadow. It was time to become something more.

Months passed, and life at Jujutsu High went on. You became more focused on your training, your missions, and your own personal growth. No longer did you wake up hoping to catch a glimpse of Gojo. No longer did you wait for a random moment where he might look at you the way you had always wanted.

And then, one evening, you met him.

Kaito.

He was a civilian—a regular person, completely unaware of the cursed world that surrounded him. It was a chance encounter. He had gotten lost while traveling, and you had helped him find his way. You didn’t think much of it at first. He was kind, funny, with a quiet intensity that seemed to balance you out. But then, as days turned into weeks, you realized that he saw you. Really saw you.

He wasn’t intimidated by your strength or your connection to the world of jujutsu sorcery. He didn’t fear you. He didn’t put you on a pedestal.

He simply loved you.

Kaito fell in love with you easily—like something destined to happen, like fate’s gentle hand guiding him toward you. It wasn’t an overwhelming love that hit you in a rush. No, it was slow, steady, building in the space where Gojo’s rejection had left you empty. And you allowed yourself to love him back.

It wasn’t instant. It took time. But with every smile, every shared moment, you saw him. You saw Kaito—the man who was everything you had needed but never thought you could have.

Gojo noticed it first in the smallest of ways.

You didn’t greet him with your usual soft smile in the mornings. You used to light up when you saw him, a subtle wave or quiet

“Good morning, Satoru.” Now, you barely glanced at him in the halls. If you spoke, it was out of duty—curt, professional.

He chalked it up to awkwardness at first. Maybe you were embarrassed about your confession. Maybe you needed space. But weeks passed. Then months.

And your silence didn’t fade—it hardened.

Gojo had always been surrounded by attention. Admiration followed him like the sun, unyielding and predictable. People wanted his power, his charm, his approval. He’d gotten used to it. Complacent. But you?

You’d always been different.

You were soft-spoken, warm in ways the world wasn’t, but you never asked for anything from him. You offered kindness freely—never expecting, never demanding.

And he—he had destroyed that.

At first, he convinced himself he’d done the right thing. He wasn’t boyfriend material. He was too dangerous, too complicated. Getting close to him would only get you hurt. It was better to crush your feelings early than to let you suffer later.

That’s what he told himself.

But now? He wasn’t so sure.

Because the version of you that existed now—quiet, distant, unreadable—was a stranger.

He missed your voice. He missed your dumb little jokes, your way of bringing tea to the library when he was passed out on the desk, the softness in your gaze that no longer belonged to him.

He realized he hadn’t just lost a confession. He had lost you. And that realization came with a bitter twist when he saw you in town, laughing—really laughing—with someone else.

Gojo had just finished a solo mission and was grabbing some sweet from a bakery when he caught a glimpse of you near the bookstore across the road.

You were with a man.

Not a sorcerer. Just… someone ordinary.

But the way he held your hand, the way you leaned into him, the way your eyes sparkled—

It gutted him.

[em1989ts]

𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐮𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

five hargreeves x fem! reader smut

masterlist

word count: 4.2k

warnings: 18+ (reader and five are both 20), sex pollen so dubcon?, unprotected sex, breeding kink, thigh riding, fingering, oral (m recieving), hair pulling

summary: you and five, your best friend, get stuck in the apocalypse together. he's immune to the radiation that lingers in what's left of the world, but not you, so when you find a unique flower that sprays an interesting pollen at you, five is more than happy to help you out with its side affects

author's note: i have been reworking this fic for weeks because i just did not like where i was going with it every time but now i finally sat down and finished it, i think i was trying too hard to make it too detailed plotwise but now i really like it, its not proofread so i'll go back and fix any mistakes if i notice any but i hope you enjoy!

The world was different now, what was left of it at least. 

You were holding on tight to your memories of what life was like before the world ended, but your headaches, growing ever more constant, made them gradually slip away. 

The more obvious details were easier to remember: green grass, blue skies, animals, breathable air. You missed when nature meant beautiful, thriving life. 

Now, the only things growing were spiky weeds and vines, the occasional fungi. 

The air was too dry, filled with ash, and the radiation levels were too high for much to grow. 

You had your theories about what could’ve happened to the world, so did the only other human still alive: Five Hargreeves. 

~~~

Years ago, when you were just 8 years old, your parents believed it would be best to move directly next to the umbrella academy. They cared heavily about your safety, so heavily in fact that they homeschooled you, and almost never let you leave home. It was dreadful, for your curious nature wanted to explore your new surroundings in the city. You often leaned out your window, trying to get a peak at one of those superpowers kids who got to see the world. 

One night, as you read by your windowsill that overlooked the alleyway separating your apartment building from the academy, you watched as the children filed one by one out of a bedroom window, down a fire escape, all giggling with sneaky excitement. They snuck out for the first time in their young lives, noticed you and extended an invitation to join them, and the rest was history. You got along well with the Hargreeves children, particularly Number Five. 

He shared your love of retaining knowledge and the passion of wanting to explore the world, as well as prove your ability to sustain yourself independently. The two of you used morse code to speak through your windows at night, and you told each other just about everything. He told you all about his father, and how he wanted to prove him wrong about his time travel abilities. You encouraged him to try them out, to go to the future, and he agreed, as long as you came too. 

On that November morning in 2002, you were waiting in the alley for him to finish breakfast, and once he ran out and took your hand, your lives had never been the same. 

~~~ 

Now you were about twenty, realizing that spending the rest of your life with your super human best friend may be more difficult than you ever would’ve thought. 

Firstly, whatever ended the world resulted in nuclear fallout, which led you to believe a giant explosion abolished the Earth. While Five was genetically immune to the radiation, with the energy that emanated from his spacial jumps, you were a perfectly average human who couldn’t resist the symptoms of radiation poisoning. It was slow, with average headaches interrupting your already rough days and confusion messing up your already decaying memory, but you both knew you couldn’t last forever in this world. 

Secondly, being stuck with your childhood best friend who you happened to fall in love with was absolute torture. Somewhere along the way your immature intellectual astonishment turned to adolescent romantic admiration. Being the last two people on Earth made it so tempting for you to just tell him how you felt, but you couldn’t even fathom how’d heartbroken you’d feel if he turned you down as the last girl on Earth, you’d probably toss yourself into nuclear waste just to rid yourself from the embarrassment. 

The two of you had gotten quite close over the last ten years. He held you in his arms at night, just to protect you from the cold, he made sure you were the first to eat, just to make sure you don’t starve, and he did his best to make sure your sickness wasn’t worsening, just for your survival, of course. What you didn’t know was that he was constantly worrying about you, not that he didn’t want to be the only person alive but because he couldn’t imagine a world without you. You were the only one that listened to him, that believed in him when no one else would. The only one that made him feel like he was worth something in this world. His worst nightmare had already happened to him, as he had to bury the bodies of his adult siblings, but his new one was losing you. It killed him to watch you slowly but surely grow more sick, and he wanted to defer your inevitable end for as long as possible. He was in a race against time: time travel you both out of here before you took your last breath. 

~~

The weather was a sure sign that spring was finally arriving. You believed it to be April, the ten year anniversary of the apocalypse, with the back and forth sunshine and rainstorms. Currently, you and Five were walking down the side of the freeway, dragging along wagons full of your belongings and your apocalypse buddy, Dolores. It was almost dark and you were starting to look for a not too busted up car to take shelter in for the night. The fields looked like death. They were filled with dark, spiky vines and grass that looked permanently dried to a crisp. 

You adjusted the bandana over your nose, growing frustrated at its tightness, and pulled it off your face entirely. The air wasn’t as smoky as it used to be, the rain helped clear it out, and you could feel another storm on the way. Your lungs took in the air and whatever microscopic particles were floating about. 

“Put it back on, Y/n,” Five scolded, disappointed in your disregard for your health.  

“You tied it way too tight, it was getting uncomfortable,” you answered back. 

The two of you kept walking side by side until you came across a van that appeared large enough to store your belongings and to allow you both to stretch out comfortably. 

You followed this same routine every night: you’d scavenge, find a suitable vehicle or building, then break in. 

As Five used a swiss army knife in an attempt to open the back door of the van, you leaned against the side doors, your eyes scanned over the fields to examine to your surroundings, looking out at the vast field of dried up plants, not expecting to see anything different, until your eyes caught on a small, bright plant growing not too far from the road. 

Without a word, you immediately pushed off the van, quickly grabbing Five’s attention. 

“Y/N, what are you-”

As you ran through the field, you felt the dry plants scratching your shins, creating the tiniest, painful cuts, but you didn’t care. The fluorescent flora became clearer as you got closer, eyes entranced by its glowing color before Five blinked in front of you, causing you to crash into his chest and almost tackle him. He stabilized the two of you, grabbing both your arms and holding you tight to stop you from running off again. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Five started, “First of all, don’t run off like that. Second, you don’t know what that is.” 

“Oh, please,” you said frustrated, trying to shimmy out of his grasp, “It’s a flower.” “Yes, I know,” he deadpanned, “But there’s no way a normal flower could grow in these conditions.” 

You freed yourself and knelt down to admire the beautiful flower. Its petals glowed brightly as its orange pigments had you entranced. Five cautiously stood behind you, ready to pull you away any second, but he wasn’t fast enough. 

As you leaned downward to smell the flower, the anther puffed out quickly, spraying a cloud of glowy pollen directly into your face, before the petals closed in on itself and encapsulated the flower. 

“Y/N!”

Stunned, you fell onto your back, eyes wide and face burning as the pollen covered your cheeks and infiltrated your nose. Five quickly leaned over you, he had pulled his goggles down and used your bandana to wipe the pollen off your face before he noticed a drop. Then another. Then three more dripping onto your flushed cheeks. 

The rain snapped you out of your daze as you sat straight up. Five cautiously held up his hands and waited for you to say something, “You alright?” 

“I think?” You didn’t feel any different really, besides an oncoming sneeze. 

He helped you stand up and the two of you ran back through the field and to the van, where he continued to pick the lock. Once he got it open, you both worked rather quickly to get settled so as to not get drenched. You gently placed Dolores in while he tossed in any items from your wagons that couldn’t get too wet. The two of you covered them with a small tarp before he tied them together around the tire with a rope. You jumped into the back of the van, Five following suit, and quickly shut the door. 

It was dark in there. You tried the overhead light but you knew the battery ran out years ago. Other than that, the van was in good shape, with a couple dusty blankets in the back, a case of water and a small stash of granola bars which the two of you scarfed down rather quickly. 

“This might be our best find in a while,” Five said, leaning against the wall, looking down at you as you laid on one of the blankets, trying not to chug the water. 

He had been keeping a close eye on you since the flower, worried there was something you weren’t telling him. And he was right. 

Ever since you stepped out of the contaminated yet refreshing rain, your body had felt uncomfortably warm. A cold sweat covered your body, which felt like it was almost buzzing, and a growing sensation of desire was settling in your lower stomach. You kept your eyes on the ceiling, not waiting to catch another glimpse at Five, worried about the thoughts he would give you. With the two of you sharing the small space, there was no way to relieve the pressure between your legs. You could feel his eyes burning into you, of course he’d notice if you tried getting any friction. 

“Hey, look at me,” he said, breaking the silence. 

You still didn’t want to face him, you knew he knew something was off, that the flower did something to you. Instead of turning your head towards him, you faced the opposite wall and closed your eyes. 

When he reached over to take your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him, the action alone dampened your underwear as you stifled a whimper. 

He knew something was wrong. Not only were you unusually quiet but you looked flushed and sweaty, and almost like you were in pain. As he started into your eyes, he could see how bloodshot they were, your pupils incredibly dilated. 

He kept his hold tight on your face, moving your chin around to inspect every angle before you took hold of his wrist with both hands, trying to pull it away. 

“That flower did something to you, I know it,” he stated, as if it weren’t already obvious, “How do you feel?” 

How on earth were you supposed to answer that? The pain of not being touched was increasing quickly, and the urge to jump his bones and ride his thighs to relieve the pressure was becoming harder to suppress. You could only hold back so much longer, but you knew if you let go, your friendship would be fucked. 

You finally peeled his fingers off your face, holding his hand in front of you, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from sucking his fingers right then and there – God, what was wrong with you? 

Groaning, you released his hand and turned over onto your side, sliding your hands down your face. Thankfully, your clothing was dark, so he couldn’t see the damp spot of your uncontrollable arousal leaking out of you. 

Your behavior scared him at first. If that flower was poisonous, and you died a slow agonizing death as your body slowly shut down, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he could have prevented it, if only he had been more careful with you. But as he analyzed you further, he became much more relieved to piece together what the pollen was really doing to you. 

The flush of your skin, the soft gasps you let slip from your throat, the way you indiscreetly squeezed your thighs together, the look of complete and utter desire and desperation swarming your eyes. 

He’d seen small glimpses of that look over the years, but he’d always thought it was his increasingly delusional imagination considering you were the only girl alive on Earth, and he was nothing but a hormonal boy. He thought of those years spent feeling ashamed of how his mind could turn you, his closest friend, into an image of his own desire as he would imagine your hand wrapped around him instead of own, as he got himself off while you were dead asleep next to him.

Selfishly, he was glad you were in pain, because he was the lucky last soul on Earth who could relieve you. Although, not without a little more teasing first. 

He combed his fingers through his shaggy hair, attempting to hide his smirk before grabbing your arms and sitting you up. 

The way he moved you with such ease made you think about how he could move you into whatever position he wanted, and how easily you would let him. 

He settled you upright against the wall of the van, you almost teared up at the feeling of his strong hands leaving you, before he started unzipping your sweatshirt. 

“Let’s get some layers off you before you overheat,” he explained. 

“Okay, that’ll help,” you quietly agreed, trying to keep your composure as if watching his hands undress you wasn’t torture. 

“Arms up,” he instructed as he slipped off the next layer, a grey long sleeve shirt, leaving you in a white tank top. 

You have to admit, you did feel much cooler, but the moments where his fingers would graze your arms was driving you insane. 

He then wrapped one arm around you to lift your hips up slightly off the carpeted floor of the van, so he could remove your cargo pants with his other hand. 

You could’ve screeched with excitement, though thankfully you buried your face into his shoulder to contain yourself. You had a layer of boxer shorts before your panties, but you felt exposed compared to him, as he was still fully clothed. 

“Any better?” he asked, still in close proximity to you. His face seemingly inching closer to yours. 

You nodded. 

Not trusting yourself with words. 

Not trusting yourself at all. 

He knew. 

Just from looking up at his face, you knew he knew. He wore the same face he always wore when he was right about something. That smug know-it-all face you’ve grown the desire to completely smother with wet kisses over the years. He knew what you needed and this son of a bitch was daring you by holding it over your head. 

“Ready for bed?” he asked with an innocent voice, contrasting from the dark look in his eye. 

It felt as if all those years together led up to this moment. The moment where the two of you did nothing but sit next to each other. Inches away from the other’s face. Eyes staring into the other’s, occasionally breaking free to stare down at their lips. Daring the other to be the one to break over a decade of friendship. Once he saw that glowing twinkle in your eyes, amidst the darkness of dilation, he knew you’d break first. 

He caught you in his arms as you pounced on him, your last shred of composure was ripped away as soon as your lips met his. Five was the only thing on your mind. 

His lips. His hands. His arms. His fingers. 

Him. 

You wanted it all. 

The kiss wasn’t gentle at all. It was harsh and wet. The two of you had no patience, you had the rest of your lives to be gentle and loving. You wanted each other at this very moment. As you made out, he continued to peel off the last of your clothing. He lifted your hips, sliding down both your boxer shorts, tossing them into the passenger seat of the van. Before removing your panties, he moved to feel how damp you got them over the fabric. He almost growled into your mouth as he pulled his slick fingers away, finally pulling the soaked fabric down your legs. 

His arms moved to cage you against him, which felt like absolute heaven, and when his hands lowered to grab your ass, dragging you across his thigh, the moan you let into his mouth was angelic. 

That needy feeling between your legs finally being relieved was enough to make tears fall, cooling your flush cheeks, as his tongue continued to dance with yours. 

He moved to kiss your jaw, leaving a soft trail of saliva until he moved under your chin, and down your neck, leaving harsh intentional marks.

With your head tilted up, and your mouth free, all you could do was moan as he continued to drag your bare, slick cunt across his clothed leg. You were so sensitive that every time he pulled you across the fabric of his pants, you could’ve come. 

As he bit every inch of your neck, he brought his hands to lift up your top, already noticing how you’ve forgone a bra, and grasped your breasts. So engulfed in the pleasure, you’d barely noticed how you had been left to move yourself against his thighs. He swapped his hands for his mouth as he wrapped a hand around your throat and squeezed slightly, while taking a nipple into his mouth. 

You gasped, rutting your hips faster against him, with one hand holding onto his hip for dear life while the other was entangled in his hair, pushing his head into your chest. As your gasps and whimpers grew increasingly higher in pitch, you began to hump his thigh with more need, chasing your high that was steadily building up. 

You could feel him smiling smugly into your tit, then you realized you’d been moaning his name, begging and pleading for him to let you come. 

He moved his mouth back to yours, quieting your desperate pleads as he brought both his hands to your tits, pinching and twisting your nipples, stimulating you enough to finally push you over the edge. 

You shuttered against his thigh, your chest arching into his, and your moans losing themselves in his throat, you rode out your orgasm, gradually slowing down the pace of your hips until you were slowly dragging them through the puddle on his leg, sliding your slick across the fabric. 

Five buried his face into your neck as you slowly recovered, arms wrapped around your middle, moving you to sit closer to the bulge in the front of his pants. 

Instead of feeling relieved from the effects of the pollen, you felt the need rush right back between your legs. 

You leaned back in his arms to take him in with your eyes — his messy hair, his swollen lips, flush face. He was still fully clothed, contrasting your completely naked figure. 

Five noticed you scanning his jacket, coming to the conclusion that yes, maybe it was a little unfair that you were the only one completely exposed. He lifted you into his arms and brought you over to the other end of the van. Then he shuffled back a few feet and watched you sit there, naked and needy, waiting for his next move. 

He then carefully removed everything he was wearing – his jacket, his now stained pants, his two shirts – and before he could remove his boxers, you crawled over and did it yourself. 

You kneeled before him as you took him out of his boxers, and into your mouth. 

“Fuck-” he groaned as he felt your warm tongue under his cock. 

He was big. You almost choked when you tried taking him down your throat as far as you could, you just needed to taste him. He took your hair in his hands as he guided you, not wanting to push you too far, and not wanting to come down your throat just yet. 

When he felt the pressure building, he quickly pulled you off him by your hair, taking a second to admire your dazy eyes and the drool dripping down your chin. 

Five then tackled you, literally throwing himself on top of you, your head landing on your pile of clothes, as his lips once again crashed into yours. He quickly pinned you down and held your wrists together in his left hand, his other snuck down between your legs, sliding through your folds. You could feel his cock hard against your stomach, practically leaking onto you. His fingers were soaked as they slid back and forth, over and over, until you got fed up with his teasing and started moving your hips to feel more. 

“Hold still,” he said, trying to be assertive yet laughing a little at your desperation. 

“Please, Five,” you frowned, your neediness was no laughing matter, “Just put them in alread-”

You cut yourself off with a moan as he slid to fingers into you, immediately setting a strong pace, curling them to perfectly hit that spot inside you, making you squirm. 

He brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles until your eyes rolled back into your head. Your orgasm was sneaking up on you, and he could tell by your more frequent gasps and higher moans, as well as your cunt tightening around his fingers. Before you tipped over the edge and the pleasure could wash over you, he pulled out his fingers, watching intently as the built up pleasure disappointed.  

“What- Five!” you whined, your hurt eyes met his as he sarcastically frowned, before he smiled once again, and lined himself up with your entrance. 

You’re lucky that you and Five are the only people alive, because that means the two of you can be as loud as possible. When he pushed himself in, the two of you groaned so loud it could’ve been heard from miles away. You both had to hold still for a few moments, as to not come immediately. The two of you were completely engulfed in each other, arms wrapped around the other, pulling them as close as possible. Once he started to move, you felt like nothing you’d ever felt before. Every time he thrusted into you, it sent a wave of pleasure through your whole body, as your cunt tried to suck him in. 

Five had never felt so good in his entire life. He’d imagined what you’d feel like before, but you were so much better than he’d ever imagined. So tight, with your wetness drooling everywhere. He buried his face into your shoulder as he rutted into you, appreciating the smell of sex that filled the van. You buried your fingers in his shaggy hair, occasionally giving it a tug that made his dick twitch inside you. 

“Ah — I’m close,” Five grunted, his thrusts sloppy. 

“Me too,” you whimpered, feeling a familiar pressure that was begging to be let go. 

Five reached one of his hands between the two of you to circle your clit once more, giving you the stimulation to come one more time, knowing he’d soon follow. 

“Five, ahh – I’m gonna-”  

The wave hit you, your body completely let go. Your cunt spasmed around Five, coming harder than you ever have before. You barely registered it, as your brain went fuzzy, but you could feel your come squirt all over your legs, Five’s as well, as he kept thrusting through the sticky mess, moaning loudly before stilling. His body shook as he came inside you, face buried in your chest as he tried to pull himself as close as possible. His come was warm, filling you entirely. 

The two of you laid there on the itchy carpet of the van for what seemed like forever before Five slowly pulled out and sat up, hearing a hiss from you that ached him a little, before he watched his come spill out of you, as you laid there, completely fucked out. 

He dug through his bag to find the cleanest cloth he owned to clean the both of you up with. He made sure to be as careful as possible with your sensitive areas as he wiped the come off you. 

He went through your bag to find new underwear and a tank top to redress you with, before he put new boxers on himself and settled back by your side. 

“You better not forget this,” he grumbled playfully as he kissed your forehead. 

You smiled lightly with your eyes closed. 

“How could I?” 

~~~

taglist: @misakiisstupid @lveegsoi @groovydazephantom @tremendoushearttaco @spidermansfangirl @madscamp02 @beanzwritez (send a request in the inbox or comment to be added!)

~~~

[hwaretic]

Accidentally Yours | j.yh

Chapter 6 : Can't Stay Away

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note : pray for me my mock test is literally in 10 hours 🧍‍♀️

pairing : roommate! yunho x roommate! reader

genre : fluff, comedy

word count : 2.1k

chapter 7

The air between you and Yunho had been thick with unspoken feelings for weeks, a slow-burning tension that neither of you could quite name aloud.

But tonight—it reached its boiling point.

Dinner with friends had ended hours ago, but neither of you had wanted the night to end. You found yourselves back at your apartment, the warm glow of the living room casting soft shadows on the walls. Music played low from your speaker, a chill playlist you’d made without thinking it would soundtrack this moment.

Yunho sat next to you on the couch, knees brushing. The space was too small for the silence to be comfortable anymore.

He looked over at you with a tired smile. “You know I had fun tonight.”

You nodded, hugging a cushion to your chest. “Me too.”

There was a beat. One of those moments where the world narrows, and you become hyperaware of the details: the way his eyes dropped to your lips, the way your breath caught, the way time seemed to slow down.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, voice quieter now.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Are we… pretending we don’t feel something?” His eyes searched yours with disarming honesty. “Because I don’t think I can anymore.”

Your heart stumbled in your chest.

The moment hung between you, delicate as glass.

“I’m not pretending,” you whispered. “I just… didn’t know if you were.”

He let out a breath—part relief, part disbelief—and leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His hand lingered against your cheek.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured. “In the best way.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

Because when he leaned in, slow and hesitant like he was giving you time to pull away, you didn’t. You met him halfway, lips pressing together in the softest way possible.

It wasn’t rushed.

It was full of warmth and years of friendship turned to something more. His lips were gentle, his touch feather-light as he cupped your face, tilting your head to deepen the kiss just a little. You let yourself melt into it, sighing softly into his mouth, one hand finding its way to his chest, the other curling around his wrist.

Kissing Yunho felt like coming home.

When he finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together, both of you catching your breath. He smiled shyly.

“Been wanting to do that for a while.”

You laughed quietly, brushing your nose against his. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He groaned. “I’m terrible at hiding things, aren’t I?”

“Painfully.”

Yunho chuckled, his hands finding your waist. He gently tugged you toward him, guiding you to straddle his lap. Your arms wrapped around his neck as your knees settled on either side of him. The position felt oddly natural, like you’d done it a thousand times in your head.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he said, resting his forehead against yours again. “I care about you too much.”

You felt it in your chest, warm and strong and overwhelming. “Then don’t mess it up,” you whispered. “Just stay here with me.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

His hands slipped under the hem of your hoodie—not to undress you, just to feel your skin. His palms rested at your hips, thumbs drawing slow circles as he kissed you again, deeper this time. Still unhurried. Still sweet. But filled with a quiet hunger that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with longing.

The kind of longing that made you grip his hoodie in your fists just to ground yourself. That made you sigh into every kiss, your lips parting to taste more of him, even as your heart beat so hard it echoed in your ears.

Yunho kissed you like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it properly.

You lost yourself in it—every soft sound he made, every gentle pull of his lips on yours, the way he smiled against your mouth when you accidentally bumped noses. The way his hands cradled you like you were fragile, like this moment meant just as much to him as it did to you.

“I’m so scared this will ruin everything,” you admitted breathlessly between kisses.

“It won’t,” he said quickly. “I won’t let it.”

You believed him.

The kisses slowed again, becoming lazy and lingering. His mouth trailed along your jaw, peppering soft kisses below your ear. You giggled when his breath tickled, and he smiled at the sound, burying his face in your neck.

“You smell like vanilla,” he mumbled into your skin. “God, how do you always smell so good?”

“You’re just obsessed with me,” you teased, fingers playing with the ends of his hair.

He leaned back just enough to look at you, his brown eyes serious and soft. “I am.”

Your smile faded—not from discomfort, but from the weight of it. The truth.

“I think I am too.”

He leaned up and kissed you again, slower now, lips molding to yours like a promise. Your fingers curled behind his neck as he held you to him, mouths moving together in a kiss that lasted for minutes, not seconds.

It was everything you hadn’t let yourself want until now.

And now that you had it, you couldn’t imagine going back.

When you finally pulled away, you tucked your face into his shoulder, breathing him in.

Yunho rubbed your back slowly. “You falling asleep on me?”

“No,” you mumbled. “Just don’t want to move.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Because I’m not letting go yet.”

Later that Night

You stayed curled up on the couch, tangled together under a blanket. The TV played some cheesy romantic comedy in the background, but neither of you paid it much attention. You were too busy whispering secrets and dreams to each other. Little things.

Yunho told you about the first time he realized he liked you—two years ago, at a friend’s birthday party, when you wore a hoodie twice your size and beat him at Mario Kart.

You told him you liked him long before that. But you didn’t think he’d ever look at you that way.

He stared at you like he wanted to kiss you all over again.

“Can I stay?” he asked softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Just to sleep. Nothing else.”

You smiled. “You already knew the answer.”

So you fell asleep in his arms for the first time—wrapped in his warmth, his scent, his steady heartbeat—and everything felt exactly right.

Not rushed.

Not scary.

Just... right.

taglist !!

@moonlitarcade @yunniverse @flambychan @ecriggs1990 @beljakovina @stefanoiswithme @blue5ummer @blehno

[eeuni]

what was i made for? ❀ b.e

fluff, depression, relapses, ed, sh, childhood memories

billie came home; the sixth time she'd come home this late. it was almost 4 a.m. and she assumed you'd be asleep in bed, waiting for her. her steps were vague, trying to see through the darkness of the house where she was walking. she noticed the television on, the large couch with its back to her.

when billie approached to turn it off while yawning, she noticed a figure lying right there. her heart nearly leaped out of her chest, but she soon realized it was you. wait—what were you doing here?

"baby?" your girlfriend's voice reached your ears, yet you didn't move.

maybe you were too sad to react to anything anyone said, or your mind no longer knew it was real. you had recently visited your childhood home, yes, the one that still haunted your dreams. you went alone, without billie, you hadn't dared to ask her to accompany you because she seemed too busy, going back and forth to the studio or to meetings.

the only thing that came to mind and stuck like a stake were those letters that were in a box under your bed, names of relatives on each one. they were the kind of letters you only write when you slowly put hundreds and hundreds of pills in your mouth to end your misery.

it seemed unreal until today the way you had treated yourself, cutting your skin, stopping eating to become lighter than a feather like in your childhood. maybe that was the whole point of what you did in the past, to feel like a little girl again. hurt, fragile, maybe, just maybe someone seeing you like this would take care of you.

but not even the ghost of your mother appeared there to hold you, and that was something you would always carry with you.

billie noticed your open eyes, you weren't asleep, you were motionless, your eyes dry with no tears left to cry. her heart ached, the few times she had seen you after you had returned from your childhood home she had seen you discouraged, and every time she tried to ask the alarm went off to go to the studio. she felt a guilt weighing on her soul, even more so when she noticed a plate of food on the coffee table.

the same plate of food she served you before leaving without warning. the food was in its place, you hadn't even taken a bite. but how would you do it? how could you eat with such profound sadness occupying every space in your body, including your stomach?

"baby, please talk to me." your girlfriend sat next to you, right where your legs were. "i know you're not asleep."

you were a little more hurt by the way billie spoke, you could tell she was tired with her yawns.

her hand rested on your waist, caressing it gently. that was the action that made you burst into tears, so simple but so full of love that you couldn't believe it. you trembled slightly, hiding your sobs in your hoodie. you didn't want her to see you cry, you didn't want to agree with her that you were so bad that you couldn't be alone.

"can you stop pretending for a moment?" she asked, not firmly or harshly, but gently, wanting to help you open up to her. "come give me a big hug, sweet girl."

with that you got up from your place, loud whimpers coming out of your mouth you were able to approach billie hiding your head in her neck. it's been so long since she hugged you like this.

she did nothing but stroke your back, humming a soft song to help calm you down.

you couldn't be mad at her, not when you were the one who had kept everything to yourself. it was like blaming a baby for crying. you stay there, on her neck, your lower lip constantly trembling. you felt weak; you hadn't eaten anything in a few days, which only made you feel worse. you wanted to talk...to tell billie everything that was bothering you, but now you couldn't, even looking at her was difficult.

"baby, you're shaking too much," she whispered, very worried. she slowly pulled you away, noticing how you looked.

you looked over at the piece of furniture where the television was. pictures of yourself as a child were there. you were dying to show them to billie, but she'd been very busy.

"did you eat, angel?" that question made you look at her. you could tell billie the truth or lie. your heart sank and you denied it. "nothing? why, love?"

"i wasn't hungry." was the first thing you said. she looked at you as if you were lying. "it's true, i'm not hungry, billie."

she remained silent for a few seconds, stood up slowly —not before giving you a kiss on the forehead and making you comfortable on the couch— and grabbed the untouched plate of food.

your girlfriend came into the kitchen, serving some food you two had in the fridge after giving the other to shark, she heated it up quickly and brought it to you. you looked at her as if she had placed a very heavy weight in front of your eyes. she sat back down, grabbing the fork and with little food on it she brought it up to your mouth.

you didn't open your mouth.

"billie, i don't—" billie interrupted you.

"please." she begged you, her eyes slightly covered by some hairs from her bangs. "i know you don't want to, my baby, but you have to eat, okay?" she tried again to bring the fork closer.

it took you a while to open your mouth but you did it anyway, the food invaded your palate and you let out a sigh as you chewed. you closed your eyes for a moment, convincing yourself that you were doing this for billie and for yourself.

"there you go, my sweet angel." she took your hands, caressing them. "i'm so proud of you for trying."

you wanted to cry again, but this time you didn't. Instead, you threw yourself into your girlfriend's arms again, closing your eyes tightly, as if what you were experiencing was a bad dream. she placed her hands on your waist, placing you on her lap, rocking you gently like a baby. you could feel her breath on your forehead.

"it's all right, i got you."

you felt a little better, but that feeling was mild. you still felt a deep wound in your soul, a desire to ask billie why she didn't stay a little longer before going to the studio. you looked up, conflicted with your own thoughts.

"why did you leave without warning?" you whispered.

billie seemed to tense for a moment, her mind filling with guilt. maybe if she had paid more attention to you, you wouldn't be like this.

"finneas called me, told me i had to come quickly to hear something new he had." she replied, caressing your left cheek. "but anyway, sorry for leaving so quickly. i missed you."

the last thing she said made you feel a little —just a little— better, you couldn't stay mad at this woman, not when the look on her face looked so real, so guilt-ridden.

you got up from her arms without saying anything else, she became a little desperate at losing the physical contact she had with you a few seconds ago.

"where are you going, babe?—" you didn't answer her question.

your barefoot steps echoed in the large house you two shared. you reached the furniture where the television was and grabbed a couple of photos of yourself. not just any kind of photos, but photos from when you were just a baby. the same ones you brought from your childhood home. you sat back down, now next to billie, and passed her the photos.

the first photo was on your 5th birthday, you were sitting in a chair in the kitchen of your house, your hair in a simple ponytail, the cake in front of you, you blowing out the candles. the second was you in the park, your little hands trying to catch a pink balloon, your expression full of life. the third photo was one of your right eye, next to a dandelion flower, your favorites, the brightness of your eyes in the sun only stood out more, a vivid color. the fourth photo was where you were lying face down on the floor, a dollhouse decorated with recycled things, your hands holding a barbie. you were looking straight into the camera, laughing.

each photo stayed stuck in billie's soul, her eyes stung, she wanted to cry. the tips of her fingers traced your small figure in each photo; the world in her mind had stopped. you remained silent, nervously playing with your hands.

"i see myself there and isee myself today. i don't really know what to do with myself, billie." you started. she looked up, her eyes watery. "i didn't want to worry you. i feel like you're not made for this, so i didn't say anything. i didn't want to burden you with this. you have a whole life out there waiting for you."

you started crying again, this time billie did too. she pulled you into her arms, desperate, making you want to feel her love for you.

"don't say that. you'd never be a burden in my life, but rather the person who helps me bear the full weight of what the world expects of me." billie sobbed. "you don't know how good it feels to have you around, you're the only thing i look for when the world stops seeing me through a screen."

tears remained impregnated in billie's chest.

"i don't know how to feel, billie." you confessed.

"you don't have to solve this now, okay baby?" she stroke your hair, she was trying to convince herself that she was okay so she could hold you.

but the truth is that you two felt the same, so you decided to hug each other and cry together.

"sorry i wasn't there." your girlfriend grabbed your face, asking you—or rather, begging you—to forgive her.

"it's okay, bils, i love you. i'm sorry for keeping all this to myself." you let out a slightly bitter laugh, wiping away your tears.

she held you tighter, shark jumped onto the couch with one of his toys to play, but the dog quickly noticed something was wrong. "oh, shark." you whispered, calling him to lie on top of you.

the dog came quickly, lying on your lap, his expression sad now. you petted him, letting him know everything was okay.

that one day you would remember how to be happy.

"do you want to watch a movie?" your girlfriend asked softly, noticing that you were calmer, your breathing soft against her neck, tears now dry on your cheeks.

you nodded slightly, she stood up so she could look for the remote, but not before putting that photo of you playing with a barbie next to one of her photos when she was little. in her photo, she was playing with another barbie, the photos were so similar.

you smiled softly at that, billie sat down next to you again, pulling you closer. she put on any barbie movie, the first one that came out.

billie, you and shark were lying on the couch, hugging each other, watching the movie. everyone felt less heavy for you, even for your girlfriend. after a few minutes you both started laughing like little girls watching the movie scenes. you looked at the beautiful woman at your side, stealing a kiss on her cheek.

"thanks, bils." you whispered.

her eyes connected with yours, she looked at you full of love, so much that it touched your soul.

"you don't have to thank me for loving you, baby girl."

you two moved closer, joining your lips in a sweet kiss, leaving aside your problems, even your uncertainties. being like this with billie made you feel more than good, she was perhaps your only medicine.

forever.

"finch, i think i have the idea." billie smiled.

despite all the pain she suffered and not only her but also you, she was now in the studio, the hairs of her bangs all over her face, it was night, but she had already thought about the idea.

"about the barbie song?" he asked, turning around and stopping playing the piano.

she nodded, showing him the whole idea. the song, the reflection of barbie's life, the uncertainty. and she wrote everything from barbie's point of view, but also from yours.

"...something i'm made for." your girlfriend's smile was evident, her —now— red roots decorating the small pink baby tee she wore.

it had been a while since you'd disconnected from yourself. billie made it clear to finneas that even though she had all the inspiration in the world, she needed to take care of you. he quickly understood. she stopped disappearing in the morning, she started singing to you every night so you could sleep, helping you face your fears or questions, she truly accompanied you.

you were able to feel better, you started accompanying billie to the studio which only made her more inspired. she showed you her lyrics, the ideas she had and she asked you if it was okay to be inspired by you.

you felt honored, happy to be that bridge that connected billie to the peak of her creativity. when she finished the song, you were the first to hear it. you cried a lot, feeling something inside you healing.

your childhood.

they had given it back to you. billie had given it back to you.

you stood up, clapping proudly, your eyes filling with tears. everyone behind you stood up, causing a standing ovation.

(...)

"of course, you know...i've had a lot of inspiration from barbie, not just her, for sure." billie explained to the interviewer, moving her hands.

staring at you.

"i couldn't have made this song without...you know, my girlfriend— i don't know, it's all easier if i write from someone else's perspective."

applause was heard, you smiled, remembering the photos of you and billie when you were little girls playing with barbies.

that song honestly saved your life.

billie saved you too.

[purplemoonfox]

On and in defense of Commander Fox and the Corries, and why I think they were set up to fail

Summary at the bottom because I like to go on.

Things we know for sure about clones and Fox and the Corries in the strictest canon sense (which ain't a lot):

1. They are stationed on Coruscant.

That is definitional, now remember what Coruscant is.

2. They have no Jedi in charge of the Guard, they report directly to Palpatine.

Although I adore the fanon that Quinlan Vos is their Jedi, it’s not canon.

3. Clones love their brothers dearly.

That is almost without exception, even the clones we see acting against the Republic (hi Slick) at least believe they were acting in their brother’s interests.

4. They seem to accrue extra responsibilities as the war goes on, up to the point of being the ones we see Palpatine with in ROTS.

Even if they don’t, the idea of a law enforcement/military unit answerable only to Palpatine is a shit idea. There’s reasons people worry about accountability in real life, and sneaky little shits who act all nice and innocent at first but eventually show their true colors once they have power in the bag is one of them.

These are all very obvious.

In very short terms, it's very likely Palpatine uses the Coruscant Guard to sow public dissatisfaction.

And all those that hate Fox fall for it by proxy, because I think you're essentially seeing of him (and the Guard, and by extension the clones) what Palpatine wants the public to see and think of clones.

The Coruscant Guard are probably the most consistently accessible and visible of the clones in the galaxy to its biggest cultural and political hub. Most of the time the 501st or 212th or any other seems to drop in, fights a battle, and apparently fucks off afterwards? Obviously, planets like Ryloth have a stronger personal connection--some GAR contingent seem to have been there practically the whole damn war and Howzer was obviously very familiar with the Syndullas, and they with him (and look how personable Howzer is, and how quickly and somehow easily he extricates himself from the rationale clones held about their orders; maybe it makes sense to think of it like how leaving your little hometown where everybody thinks the same affects a person)--but otherwise I feel like the clones, to the rest of the galaxy, are (expensive) theoretical constructs.

The vast majority of the public aren't likely to have any personal experience with a clone, let alone a develop personal rapport with one, unless they happen to go to specific places like 79s where they can be found, and that still doesn't necessarily lend itself to extended relationships since most of the clone patrons would only be on Coruscant temporarily. Some fics portray clones as being refused entrance to establishments (especially later in the war when people were protesting clones themselves) or restricted in where they can go (like grocery stores, etc.). I think that's plausible, even realistic--but it doesn't seem to be a focus of canon aside from showing some protests so I'll let it alone.

What we know of that IS canon is that clones aren't allowed to even think about having families or doing anything with their lives besides being soldiers (even though all of them have thought about it, even just secretly; I'd wager that all of them have secret dreams they don't share); it's against regulations as we see with Cut Lawquane in season one of TCW. So to effect this, clones are probably actively or passively discouraged from forming close friendly relationships with anyone who isn't a clone and who they have no reason to be speaking with—aka most people besides Jedi (and if the fanon can be believed, if decommissioning/euthanization is a concern, they would have the motivation to avoid even the perception of such a relationship). Obviously there are going to be exceptions, but you can scrutinize a stable population a lot better than an itinerant one.

The point is, if your only tangible frame of reference is a rigid hall monitor that doesn't demonstrate much of a personality (even though clones have real, complex personal lives beneath that surface) and is behind a faceless mask--and we see so little of the Guard that what exists of their personalities is, let's be real, nearly all fanon--then you never really have a chance to acquire a sense of their humanity, and a strict enforcement of regulations tends to breed resentment in a population for whom strict adherence to regulations isn’t normalized. There will be cultural differences in play.

This is not the clones' fault, they neither asked to be created nor put into this position, they’re only doing what they’ve been asked to do, but it plays directly into Palpatine's goals.

Moving on.

Sure, the Guard answers to Palpatine in the chain of command, and we see them actively serving him in ROTS, but Palpatine definitely isn't doing shit for fuck for the Guard's administration in a daily sense, so Fox basically runs that whole bitch by himself in every practical sense--a clone, with no rights of his own, considered property, in a situation increasingly hostile to him and his.

Now let's think about the clones we see: as far as we can tell, clones' social lives are largely insular. They mostly see and talk to each other, and that's not necessarily by nefarious design (as discussed above), that's just what happens (military people tend to hang out with other military people, that’s just how it is; you’ll spend most of your day around other military people, most likely stationed in a place you’re not so familiar with that it’s easy to do anything else). Remember: we as viewers get access and insight that people in-universe don't.

And, significantly:

The Corries do not have a Jedi. The Jedi see value in their lives beyond their merely being expendable, faceless, and unthinkingly obedient droids wearing flesh, this point was made multiple times--and the Jedi are able to walk the line between orders and the bigger picture, which rubs off on the men they lead. Go watch Nala Se’s (bitch can catch these hands) comments about the Jedi’s influence on the clones when she’s speaking to Dooku.

I can see leaving the Corries without a Jedi being another saccharine, oh-so-magnanimous moment from Palpatine (he has so many of these) in the vein of expressing confidence in the clones' capability and in being very undemanding of the Jedi, in order to “free up” Jedi (whom he so totally trusts) to fight the war…but in effect leaving the Guard without anyone familiar with Coruscant and equipped to play referee with the environment and peoples they're bound to serve, and with no one batting in their corner or showing them any other way to exist and think.

On a side note:

Fox is an interesting clone commander anyway, not least because he doesn't have a Jedi to bounce off of. In a sense, whether or not Fox had his chip activated, we’re probably seeing how a clone commander was originally going to behave on their own initiative: see problem, address problem, think no more deeply than that. The Kaminoans did not want creative thinking in the clones. The clones were trained to fight the enemy they’re pointed at with singleminded intent, it stands to reason that that straightforward directness would transfer to other instances which might have been more kindly served by a different mindset. Their mindset isn’t even like a real life military where you’re still obligated to think about the nature of what you’re ordered to do—just following orders hasn’t been a valid defense since 1945.

TBH I've got a lot to say about fandom, the fetishization of actual violence through the lionization of fictional violence (although I don't think that fictional violence breeds actual violence; rather, I think people who were already interested in it go looking for things they think reflect their beliefs), and why we even have war crimes as a concept (and the absolute ignorance perpetrated by an increasingly illiterate populace), but...

I digress.

You cannot claim to have sympathy for clones without acknowledging their humanity and that includes for the ones who didn’t have the chance to grow beyond the limitations built around them. It was awful that Fox killed Fives, but it’s a tragedy like so much else in this franchise, not proof that Fox is awful. Part of the horror of what we see everyone go through in clone wars is how many times Palpatine’s plans almost derail but it never happens.

If your complaint is that Fox didn’t think any more deeply than what was right in front of him in the moment, remember that that’s exactly what’s been expected of Fox and all other clones: obey orders, and it’s not their role to determine what those orders are. Abstractions are for those who are not expendable, made to die. Orders are orders, and good soldiers do what again? He quite literally all but says “my opinion doesn’t matter” when he tells Ahsoka that he doesn’t blame her for (apparently) killing Letta, but she’s under arrest anyway.

Fox is put in a position of having to wield authority in a very different way than any other clone commander, has no direct support from or evident collaboration with the one group of people who generally see clones as living beings worthy of compassion, and deals with the public while having been trained to lead a war campaign. His is a war of attrition, not dropping in on a planet and fighting a battle, and he’s responsible specifically to Palpatine, who is literally the big bad. Fanon tends to think that Palpatine either activated his chip early or tortured him; honestly either one tracks, it's Palpatine after all--and in two major instances, we don't see what Palpatine says, to Fives or to Fox--but the fucker is a masterful manipulator so anything and everything is still on the table.

But in the midst of all this, because clones aren’t unthinking or unfeeling, and the dissonance is tragic but not absent:

Clones do give a shit about their brothers. Fox is no exception; he's audibly upset when he asserts that Ahsoka killed three troopers. And the immediate order to shoot to kill is pragmatic--he only issues it after he believes she was willing to kill clones to escape. That’s a fair order; if she’s willing to kill clones as he believes she did, then his men should at least be able to defend themselves as well as they can. See issue, address issue.

I mean. Shit, he doesn’t stick around after he shot Fives; we see his face once and that is not a triumphant posture. If he wanted to gloat or be an asshole about it he had the chance. Rex probably would've gone for the throat, but he had the chance.

The way he dies also suggests this. He could have thrown somebody else under the bus--called the men who fired on Vader defective, shifted blame somewhere else, somehow. He did not. There was one thing Fox ever had control over in his life, and that was how much he let anyone else take the fall. Hell, his answer wasn't even that bad, but Anakin (who is on my permanent shit list for not putting two and two together from the Sifo-Dyas reveal and what Fives told him earlier) probably did have it out for him, because Vader is an asshole. He's a Sith, it comes with the territory.

So, to summarize:

Clones are trained from decanting to do as they're told regardless of their personal feelings, and Fox in nearly so many words states that he acts regardless of his personal feelings. He is not likely to be in a position where he's shown a different way to behave, or interact with anyone that does anything but reinforce that expectation.

(Side note, I feel like Palpatine would have a great time tormenting Fox by sending him off to do shit he personally disagrees with but is technically correct according to the letter of the law..................)

Fox essentially is on his own in an environment unlike what most clone commanders deal with that he probably wasn't trained to understand much of (cultural understanding is important); it's rather likely the Guard hews very close to their training because of that. They'll stick to what's familiar and what's expected of them as they understand it. That is a very normal human response.

Leaving the Corries without a Jedi means that, as well as lacking anyone who sees them as individuals worth more the money it cost to make them and who treats them as such, they lack a go-between and likely familiarity with the population they're policing but are subordinate to, legally speaking, as clones are seen as government property, not people. This is going to breed resentment; somebody is going to bitch that no clone has the right to do bla bla bla.

The vast majority of the galaxy is going to take cues from Coruscant whether they like admitting it or not. If Coruscant has a bad impression of clones, then the vast majority of the galaxy—for whom the clones are (expensive) theoretical constructs—will have a bad impression of clones. Clones may not be in a position to pursue close relationships with someone not in their near orbit, and may be likely to actually avoid them because of regulations.

The vast majority of the galaxy would likely see them as unthinking, rigid hall monitors (whereas non-clone troopers, stormtroopers, think for ourselves and we wouldn’t act that way..........).

Which all gives Palpatine an excuse to give in soooo magnanimously to the public's demands to stop using clones as troops.

[dantes-jacket]

My Angel

Dante x fem angel reader

Author notes: ahhh this is my first request ever so I’m a bit nervous. But I saw this and got so excited. Angel reader who looks a bit like Columbina from genshin, mentions of being experimented on, Dante is so sweet in this. I kinda also wanna make more parts to this

Dante is walking around some back woods to find this demon the person frantically called to tell him about. The demon apparently was big and scary. What a description, how is he suppose to find this thing if he doesn’t even have a clue on what it looks like? He really has to start setting some ground rules for this job.

He keeps walking for a little bit longer until he feels like he’s just been going in a circle. He’s about to give up until he hears a scream in the distance. Dante then takes off in the direction of where the scream came from. He knows he’s getting closer by hearing the cracking of branches and trees.

Dante sees the demon trying to go after something. He takes a look at it though, it’s not big nor scary. Oh well he has a job to do. He quickly grabs rebellion and dashes towards the demon. He uses a stump of a tree to jump off of to get himself higher into the air.

Once he’s above the demon, he pierces it in the neck with his sword and drags it down its back. The demon screams in agony and falls to its side as it dies.

Dante lands on the ground then laughs, man that was easy. But so not worth the hours he’s been out here. He turns his head to see you sitting on the ground with your back pressed against a tree. Ah so you must have been the one that screamed.

Dante walks over to you and you try to back up more and frantically wave your arms around, “Please don’t kill me!”

He freezes at your fear. He gets why you’re so nervous. It doesn’t help that he just killed the demon and is now still walking around with rebellion in his hand. He’s quick to throw it on his back and slowly walk over to you with his hands in the air.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help you get out of here safe okay? Let me get you back home.”

He reached out a hand to you and you hesitantly take it. His hands are calloused and rough but they feel so warm. It’s comforting to you.

Dante helps you up and that’s when he gets a good look at you. You have these white strips on your face that cover around your eyes, he questions to himself if those are bandages. He then sees wing behind you. They’re not super big but they aren’t exactly small either. You’ve obviously been out here for a while since your pretty white wings are now brown and muddy.

You also had very long hair that look silky. You then made eye contact with him and he is captivate by your eyes. They are so beautiful. It’s like you have gems for eyes. He finally notes you have a long white dress that flows in the wind. He also realizes that you are smaller than him. But that’s normal, he is super tall and buff after all that’s what being half demon does to a man.

Dante thinks you’re beautiful though. So he questions how you got out here.

You’re intimated by the man in front of you. He has suddenly gone quiet and is staring you down. You’re use to the looks at this point and are ready to hear all the judgmental things he’s probably going to say. It’s not like you haven’t heard them before.

But you can’t help but stare at him. He is very tall and muscular. You’ve never seen a man built like this before. He looks so handsome. His beautiful long white hair and those gorgeous blue eyes, you really don’t want to take your eyes off of him.

But his staring is getting a bit intense, “Um so…”

Dante snaps out of his staring. Damn he must look like a creep, “Oh sorry. I’ve never seen an angel before.”

You look away from him after his confession, “I get that a lot.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

You snap your head back to look at the white haired man in front of you. Did he really just say that? “What did you say?” You ask him wanting to double check to make sure you heard him right.

“I said I think you’re beautiful.”

You blink owlishly at him, “You think so?”

Now Dante looks confused, “Yeah, wouldn’t everyone?”

You shake your head. “No one has said that to me. I only got picked on growing up because I don’t look normal. People thought I was just dressing up but once I got older and grew into my features, everyone got scared.”

“Why were they scared?”

“They thought I was going to hurt them or something I guess. That’s why they called these scientists to get me.”

“Is that why you’re in the woods?” He questions. He mentally slaps himself because this sounds like an interrogation now. He hopes you don’t see it that way.

“Kinda? I ran away because I had enough of their experiments. I wanted to actually live and not be a test subject.”

Dante thinks to himself for a second, it’s not the first time he’s heard of people testing on others to try and understand demons. But you’re a different case, what is there to benefit out of testing on you? All he knows is that he’s mad you had to go through that and suffer for so long.

He reaches out his hand to you again, “Since you don’t have a place to return to, let’s go to mine alright?”

You take his hand more confidently this time and smile up at him. This is the first time you get to choose where you go. You wonder what his place is going to be like. After all he is a demon hunter so you bet it’s going to be an interesting place.

You are standing outside a building with a big sign saying “Devil May Cry”. You look at him confused, “Uh is this your place?”

“Yep.” Dante emphasizes the “p”. “It’s my shop and house. A two in one if you will.”

You look at him even more confused, “Two in one?”

His eyes widen at your question. You must have really been locked away for a while if you don’t know basic slang. “It just means combining two things into one. So double the benefits for one thing.”

You nod your head at his answer, “Okay I think I got it!”

He laughs at your determination. You really are cute. He leads you inside and winces once he turns on the light. If he knew he was having a guest over he would have cleaned.

The mess doesn’t seem to bother you though. You walk past him and look around. You see weapons lying around, stuff hanging on the wall, and a picture frame of a lady on his desk. This is all so cool! Having a place to yourself must be really nice.

You are so giddy walking around you don’t think about how some spots are a tight space. You spin around to look at different things on the wall you don’t even notice your wing hit something leaning against his desk. It made a loud thud and you jump back. You turn around to see you knocked a different sword to the ground.

You look at Dante terrified and start to freak out while apologizing, “Oh my gosh I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to knock it over. I was just so excited to look at everything I didn’t notice my surroundings. I am so sorry, I didn’t break it did I?”

Dante just laughs and it stresses you out more. Seeing that you’re actually serious he stops laughing and goes to pick up the sword.

“Sweetheart if a sword would break that easily there is definitely no way I’d keep it. So no it’s not broken and it’s alright. Plus I knock stuff over all the time when I’m in my devil trigger so don’t worry.”

“Wait you’re part demon?”

Oh shit he didn’t realize what he said until you are clarifying again. “Yeah. My dad is Sparda and my mom was human so boom. Part demon part human. I can transform into a demon form, I don’t do it too often though.”

“That’s so cool! We are opposites, but I feel so comfortable with you. It feels so right being by your side even though we just met!” You excitedly say. “Oh um by the way what’s your name?”

Damn you two really know some interesting facts about one another before even exchanging names.

“My name is Dante.” He holds out his hand towards you. You take it and shake his hand while telling him your name.

“A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You blush at his compliment and look away from him again. “Your name is really pretty too, and you are too.” You mumble out the last part of the compliment though. Not having the confidence he has to openly say stuff like that.

He smiles even though you both know you can’t see it since you’re choosing to look away. “Thank you.”

It’s silent for a bit until Dante breaks the silence calling for you to look at him. “Wanna take a shower and head to bed? You must be tired and want to sleep.”

“Oh sure!” Dante leads you to his bathroom and starts the shower for you. He places towels and a pair of clothes to change into. “So I know I’m bigger than you but I don’t know if my shirts will be comfortable for your wings. If we need to cut the back when you’re done we can do that. I have plenty of old shirts we can cut up.”

Dante is really thoughtful you thought to yourself. You didn’t even think about all these details when he took you back here. You were just happy to finally live your life how you wanted to.

“That’s really sweet of you Dante, thank you. If we do have to cut them it hopefully shouldn’t be too big.”

He just nods at your answer, “Take as much time as you need to wash up. There’s no rush.” He then walks out of the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

You step out of your dress and take off your white strips off your face. You look at the scars under them and run your fingers softly over them. It hurts remembering your past but thinking about your future is actually fun now. You can do anything you want now. You can look forward to the rest of your life instead of wishing the next day would be your last.

You quickly then hop into the shower and wash yourself off. Dante’s soap smells so good. The smell is comforting to you. He really is your night in a shining leather jacket and you wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

You don’t take too long of a shower because you want to sleep. You did make sure to wash yourself super good to make sure everything is clean and neat again. You turn off the shower and step out to grab the towels Dante left out.

You wrap your hair in one then dry your body off. Once your body is dry you move to your wings. You delicately dry them to make sure not to hurt yourself. When your wings are all dry you slip on Dante’s old clothes.

It’s a black long sleeve shirt, black boxers and gray sweatpants. Each thing is a bit big on you but you don’t mind. But your wings are a little crammed. You wait to ask Dante for help because you want to put your white strips back on. You’re not ready to show him your scars so you quickly put them on then let down the towel that tied your hair up. You towel dry your hair the best you can or at least until your arms are tired.

When you finished that you open the bathroom door and walk out into his bedroom. You see that he’s sitting on his bed and you call out to him, “Dante?”

He looks over at you and smiles, “Feel better?”

“Yeah but could you cut the back for my wings? They’re a bit uncomfortable.”

Dante gets up and goes to the nightstand by his bed. He pulls out the bottom drawer and grabs a pair of scissors. He walks over to you and spins you around so your back is facing him.

He starts by your shoulder blade then cuts down most of the shirt. He finishes cutting the shirt and throws the scissors off to the side. “Do you mind if I touch your wings? I want to help you get them out of the shirt.”

“Yeah go ahead.” You brace for the feeling of his warm hands on your wings. You don’t know how you’re going to handle it.

Dante lightly touches your wings and guides them out each hole making sure they can move freely. He reaches for the scissors again and cuts some more so they have a bit more movement. He taps your shoulder and says “All done.”

His touch was so soft and careful. You’ve never had someone touch your wings like that before. You want to savor that feeling but you know right now you can’t. Maybe another day when you two are closer you can ask him to touch them again. But you’ll have to wait till that day.

“Thank you and I mean for everything tonight. You really are a great person.” You say while turning around to face him. Once you’re facing him you give him a light smile.

He smiles back down at you, “No problem, I’m just happy I can help you. Let’s call it a night though. Take my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch, and no arguments about that. Tomorrow I’ll take you out to look at the town and have you eat at some of my favorite spots.”

He didn’t know your eyes could glimmer anymore than they did now. You look so happy and excited. Dante promises to himself that he will always make you look like that from now on.

“Yay! Sounds like so much fun, I can’t wait.”

He laughs and starts to walk out of his room. He pats you on the head when he walks by, “Goodnight and sleep well.”

“Goodnight Dante. May sweet dreams come for you tonight.”

Dante is then shutting the door as he leaves again. Your heart races with excitement. You can’t wait for tomorrow and to get closer to him. It feels like fate is finally in your favor. Dante might be part demon but he is your angel.

@moonlighteevee

[sketchalicious]

by god you understand

ramble under the cut i wanna geek out about this so bad lol

sorry to ramble a bit about the layton family, but their flaws in constantly trying to live up to this standard/deal with their main conflict is so interesting because you almost don't expect it from the children of layton of all things. like ,,, sure you'd understand the expectation, but like from an outsider standpoint it feels so strange, like youd think there should be some sort of proper maturity about it at least. at their core they really are like their dad though

im not gonna go on a tirade about how neglectful layton may be as a parent but they all have a common trait of going after some adventure rather than handling what's important. an example for layton is him going after katrielle's father despite there ,,kind of not really being a large benefit (and also generally not being in the picture anymore.) he's smart enough to understand that the pros dont outweigh the cons in possibly leaving katrielle completely alone, should something go wrong. if the canon considered alfendi, the same goes for him as well - neglecting the both of them for the sake of some fruitless adventure with the idea that it could possibly be righteous. those stakes are all for only one child, might i add.

outside of his kids though layton just has a huge problem with neglecting his main responsibilities - dude was never a detective but is very frequently treated to be like one, so much so to the point where his kin decided to take up that role. as a professor he put his job in jeopardy tons of times for the sake of adventure.

katrielle and alfendi neglect their main conflicts in their own ways. (i gotta replay mystery room to get a proper grasp at it so forgive me if this portion of the ramble is stupid lol,) the both of them are clearly at least a little bit tormented by the loss of layton, especially since it happened at such a young age. i feel like the both of them handle these emotions through some sort of escapism and dancing around the issue, though one is clearly more angry about it than the other.

katrielle is hopeful and sees her father in a better light, but wants so badly too to become her own person despite him. either way she misses him dearly. alfendi however is a lot more blunt about how he feels towards him. and i don't have a lot of proof regarding his opinion, that line of dialogue "forget hershel, I am layton" really gives me the feeling that he's not on good terms with layton. though i doubt he's addressing this anger properly with how infrequently layton is mentioned in-game.

all that said i do really like the idea of them having arguments about layton himself. the idea that katrielle is constantly defending their father while alfendi is trying to make her see him for what he thinks he is is SUCH an interesting thought. i do believe that they'd both be too emotional to have a genuine talk about it, and my personal headcanon is that they're apart solely because of this conflict (and also just arguments about who should "take his place," with katrielle probably winning by taking up the logo and the hat silhouette). but in canon i really don't think that's the case and that is greatly upsetting lmfao

to answer your question that u probably dont want answered but im gonna answer anyway:

i have an inkling the canon is that they could've been raised separately, hence why we haven't had a genuine canon interaction, and that mystery room takes place after layton is found. (like directly after.) that said i only have one piece of evidence for this idea and its a spoiler lol so i wont state it, plus it's pretty weak. but i think their timelines just clash big time and level 5 just never figured out how to organize it properly.

i really really hope we get a season 2 of the anime because lord knows what i would give to know the canon dynamic of the family and if they really did argue/have conflicts. they are such a perfect fit for a "functional" dysfunctional family and i think it would be REALLY sicknasty for it to be one of layton's flaws to be a kind of crap father despite how great of a man he is. it humanizes them in a way i love sm i have so many ideas i want to draw . okay ramble over sorry to anyone who had to scroll this far ty though pray emoji

hi heres another interest.uhhh layto n siblings arguing about who deserves the layton name . ft an adultish design of flora

[pugh-bug]

His Promised Sin

———————————————————————

Remmick x reader

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: smut, nsfw, lots of mentions of religion and Satan, brief threat of sa

Finally posting this, sorry for the wait I’ve had a lot to sort out this week planning a funeral but I adored writing this. I’ll definitely be writing for Remmick again and for other Sinners characters. Any comments are appreciated so much <33

——————————————————————

In the fierce heat you trudged home, the journey only seeming longer with each step. The centre of town was five miles away on foot but there was nowhere else to buy groceries so walk you did. What you couldn’t afford to buy you grew and what you couldn’t grow you borrowed, from old friends who also couldn’t leave town. No one ever left and those who did soon returned, even the Moore brothers couldn’t stay away but you saw little of them.

Once the path shrunk into a pitiful thing only you could follow you knew you were almost home. You glanced at your ring finger thinking of Chris and the promise he’d just made before leaving. The promise of marriage. Soon. Guilt rang in your chest, working its way down to your gut and settling there.

It wasn’t just that you didn’t love him, that most suitors could live with, it was that you didn’t particularly like him. He didn’t make you laugh or cry. He didn’t make you feel anything worth much and yet you’d agreed. To Chris your politeness was excitement but you knew the truth. No man had made you excited since that night.

Creek

You pushed your weary door open with one hand and clutched your bag of goods with the other. Home at last. It was modest, nothing special, and yet it was the one place you felt comfortable. Peaceful. Some deep part of you hated how safe those words had become, how you prized surviving over thriving and hid from the world. Something better had to be out there, something you wouldn’t just settle for but embrace. Something to fuel you, fill your soul with purpose and set your nerves alight. In your lifetime nothing had matched that description except…

“Where are we going?”

You followed your new friend and classmate into the woods missing home already. If your Mother knew you were alone with a boy at night you’d be in more trouble than you could handle. No amount of grovelling would appease that woman.

“I should get home, they’ll be wondering where I’ve gotten to.”

Johnny ignored your worries, snaking an arm round your waist and pulling you close to his warm body. You froze. “You’re gonna enjoy this.” He grinned, before planting a sloppy kiss on your unsuspecting lips and attempting another.

“Get off!”

But he wasn’t concerned, not until -

“Listen!” You hissed, shoving Johnny away. Something was lingering in the trees watching your every movement. Your Daddy had taught you about hunting animals and in that moment you felt at one with his prey. Hunted. Somehow you knew where to look to see your predator, catching its gaze a few yards away.

Your heart began pounding loud as Johnny’s voice telling you to stop wasting his time. That didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. Nothing else existed but you and the glimpse of a face among the branches. A face with eyes you could hardly make out in the darkness except for red. A grin, a gleam in his eyes and a finger to his dripping lips telling you shush.

Nightfall approached as you sleepily unpacked your things, cursing yourself for craving more than you had. For daydreaming about anything but the wedding, if it ever happened. He’d only kissed you once the day his Grandma, who’s life was sadder than her death, gave her blessing. It hadn’t been the love you’d read about in books or witnessed between Smoke and Annie. It hadn’t been love at all and to worsen the blow, to fuel your disappointment, it hadn’t been lust either. A marriage of convenience.

That night you read until your eyes grew heavy and the book slipped away. You dreamt of the face from years ago, the face of something evil.

If it hadn’t have been for the open window you’d have slept through the howling wind.

Rising from your bed to close it, you heard it stop as quickly as it had started. Silence. You were left only with silence as a companion in the twilight except it seemed to want something. It stirred in the air and within you. A deep longing for a cure to the emptiness that had buried its way into your bones through years of sorrow.

Cautiously, you lit a lantern and held it to your window. Something ancient had awakened and somehow you knew Satan in the flesh was just outside. He’d been just outside all your life watching and waiting. Biding his time until you’d abandon all hope of a lasting morality and gladly give in to your sinful desires.

It seemed that night he would no longer idly watch.

Tap tap

Taking a deep breath before doing so, you walked towards the sound. Your front door. You ought to have walked like a traitor on a plank, like a person approaching death with terror. You didn’t, although a rhythmic thud sounded some alarm in your chest as you opened the door.

But there was no one there.

Relief should have been your immediate and only feeling but although it was there you felt a wave of disappointment overpower it. Had the tapping been in your head, or had the wind sent branches tumbling to your front door? The wind that had ceased long before the tapping…

You stood there for a moment letting the night air cool your body until a whisper of your name set your nerves alight.

“Y/n…”

Again, unmistakable a second time. You were not alone.

“Y/n…”

Taunting and nearby, the voice was beckoning you outside. All you had to do was answer. There was nothing but miles of forest between you and the nearest human soul. To answer would be inviting death.

As you made to enter and lock the door the air around you changed as if a gust of wind had ran through you. Alarmed you turned away from your house only to see him standing metres away. In every way he was the same demonic presence you’d encountered all those years ago without a mark of time on him. The only difference was his face, his mouth, was clean from blood. He would have looked to anyone else normal. Human. Harmless. You knew better.

“You know my name.”

A nervousness rang in your voice that only amused the visitor.

“Darlin I know lots of names, names are easy. Bet you’d even know mine if you thought about it long enough.”

You tensed at his words, his unnervingly charming manner of speaking and his grin and yet you did know. You’d always known, somehow he’d told you in the spiritual sense. In a different realm, perhaps in a different lifetime.

“Remmick.”

He bowed as if accepting a great honour, always remaining a few steps from you and your door.

“That’s what God gave me.”

His sardonic smile told you he was mocking your beliefs before he spoke again, eyeing your small house.

“Hasn’t given you much has he?”

“I have enough.”

That was the truth. You had more than you needed and less than you wanted, same as everyone else from town.

“But are you happy?”

You pursed your lips.

“I’m content.”

Remmick simply tutted, leaning closer to you with a demonic shine in his eyes.

“Ah sweetheart, contentment is the enemy of joy.”

Suddenly the emptiness you’d carried within you felt encompassing. Impossible to ignore. When your eyes met Remmick’s you knew he could see it on you, even smell it. A moment passed before you considered the small yet powerful distance between the two of you.

“Are you going to ask me to invite you in?”

Remmick rocked back on his heels, smiling comfortably to himself seemingly.

“No need to.”

You cocked your head.

“You already let me in.”

He ceased rocking.

“I didn-“

“You called out to me, you’ve been calling for my kind a long time.”

You thought of every celebration, every lonely night, every passing year you’d spent longing for something to take you away. A part of you had always felt heard, understood by some invisible force of nature - perhaps God. But God hadn’t been listening, Remmick had.

“Why now, after so long?”

He didn’t answer.

“Will you answer if I let you in?”

The light of the moon flickered in Remmick’s stare. He was undoubtedly the flame to your moth and he knew it, smiling as all those do who know they’ve won. It wasn’t just foolish to let him in it was suicidal but you felt a strange peacefulness with your decision. It was like he’d said: you’d already let him in.

Remmick watched, impressed, as you opened your door fully and gestured for him to come in. He hesitated only for a moment before slowly following you down the hall and into your kitchen. As he eyed your home, you glanced at the drawer you knew housed several knives.

Inside Remmick could almost pass for human, even to you. His eyes didn’t have the same demonic gleam they possessed outside. You watched as he ran a calloused hand down your armchair and caressed the tassels of your lampshade, like a child left unsupervised. He seemed in awe of everything and you found yourself feeling a solemn sense of pity in your heart. What kind of life did he live? Did he have a home of his own? These were questions amongst hundreds others you craved answers for.

“Why now?”

Remmick turned toward you, still keeping a few metres distance. The air moved differently around him, sensing he did not belong. It parted for him out of fear and perhaps on some level respect for he was more ancient than any other being. He smelt of the earth as if he’d been born from roots, not a Mother’s womb.

“You weren’t sure what you wanted, til now.”

“And what do I want?”

He just smiled as if the answer was obvious and perhaps it was. You turned away from Remmick pondering his words…escape.

“That’s it.”

That voice, he spoke like a serpent. A siren. Everything the local preacher warned you about was standing before you in your own kitchen. Invited.

“Don’t look so afraid now darlin, you wanted me here.”

That he knew you couldn’t argue with, no matter how horrid a truth it was. It hadn’t been delirium or the forceful hand of another that had led you to sin. You’d had the same teachings as everyone in town, the same goodness and voice of God. It had never been enough and looking at Remmick, sensing his sinful ferocity, you knew only he would be.

“I know...”

It had barely been a whisper but you knew he’d heard. Resigned to your fate, you stared solemnly at Remmick. He stared back with the sight of countless forgotten souls.

“Will you leave…”

You let out a shaky breath, finding the floor easier to talk to.

“My body…will you leave it here when it’s done?”

Remmick took slow, almost careful, steps toward you. Once his face was mere inches from your own he shook his head, looking down at your tearful eyes as if you were a thing to be pitied. Pitied and played with.

“We’ll see where the night takes us.”

You felt weakened by his words and yet no encounter rendered you so energised. None except…

“Johnny.”

Remmick ran a sharp tongue over his sharper teeth.

“Don’t worry. He’s out of reach.”

You thought of Johnny’s incessant touches, his threats.

“Is that where anyone who meets you ends up?”

“Just the ones who deserve it.”

You looked up at Remmick taking in the shape of his jaw, the line of his nose and the unruliness of his hair. He shouldn’t have been appealing, not when his very existence went against God, but he was. With every look, every word uttered you felt yourself being pulled by an invisible force into him. Shrouded under his being.

“Do I deserve it?”

“Deserve?”

Remmick’s eyes were transfixed on your neck before he pulled away to speak once more.

“Forsake that word, it means nothing to you.”

His eyes bored into yours, you heard his words run through your entire body. You felt the sudden urge to nod in blind agreement as after all it had been Remmick who’d saved you. Answered your callings. He had been your saviour so you’d worship him as you saw fit.

“You don’t have to hide your true nature from me, I smell it on you.”

Before you could think of a reply Remmick moved, slow but purposeful like a hunting snake. You watched him mouth agape as he lowered himself down…down…down until his eyes were level with your thighs. There was nothing between you and Remmick but a thin layer of linen and yet he made no attempt to rid you of your clothes. Instead he looked up at you with a face as innocent as you believed him capable of having. He was asking for permission.

“Chris…”

Your stomach churned at the thought of him at home, eagerly telling his family of your plans.

“Isn’t here is he?”

Remmick’s voice took you out of your head, snapping you into submission.

Your only response was to lift your nightdress, keeping your eyes on his. You waited for the judgement, from who you didn’t know. There were only sinners present. Remmick took a long look, drinking in the sight before he tasted you.

“Mnghn…”

You let out before clasping a hand over your mouth. Remmick peered up at you, grinning.

“Don’t gotta be quiet for me sweetheart.”

If you were thinking of speaking there was no need, Remmick dived back in without another word. His tongue felt feverish, its movements unrelenting and hungry. You clung to the kitchen counter as he tasted every inch of you, his tongue seeming longer by the second.

“Jesus…”

But he wasn’t present, only Remmick and his tongue could end your suffering. Only the warm feeling of lust could envelope you, your mind unreachable and your soul his. No man on Earth ever made your body sing, it was as if Remmick had done this a hundred times before. You knew this feeling had been chasing you, and you it, long before the knock at your door and worse still…that you’d miss it tomorrow.

“Sweetest thing these lips have tasted.”

His words were purest filth, his mouth ancient sin spurring you on. Your hips involuntarily bucked into his mouth demanding, praying for more. He gladly obliged by adding a finger to your torment, circling your clit whilst his tongue had its way. Your grip on the counter tightened, your eyes pleading to close but Remmick’s eyes on you said no: don’t look away. Savour every minute. Savour him.

It was too much: Remmick’s devouring, his words, his scent and the feeling of oblivion growing hotter in your core. Your hand found its way into his hair, gripping him harder than the counter only invigorating him.

“Yes angel, just like that.”

Every cell in your body felt magnetised to him as you came with a howl of his name and fire in your lungs. You hardly registered Remmick’s awe filled eyes on your shaking body, pre occupied with seeing every star in the universe. The room, the house it all felt small. Inconsequential. You were rising above it or perhaps sinking below, you no longer cared.

“Better?”

Remmick rose to steady you with strong arms, not waiting for an answer. His fingers and mouth were wet with your slick but he made no effort to clean himself. You had half a mind to grab his face between your hands and bite, kiss and lick yourself off him but his words halted you.

“Are you ready sweetheart?”

He traced the shape of your face with his index finger admiring you almost like a lover would, a starved one. Your breath hitched when his hand found your throat and ever so gently squeezed.

“Your blood is louder than most.”

“You can hear it?”

“Always have.”

You pictured Remmick following your pulse to Johnny’s chosen spot, basking in the cover of twilight before draining him dry. It was an image you’d torn apart and rebuilt countless times when trying to forget. But in your kitchen, with Remmick’s teeth so close to your neck it and your escape in reach it seemed almost comforting. The inevitability of it all eased your lost soul, the knowing that no force on Earth could steer Remmick from your path. His path was yours and yours his, always had been.

You craned your neck for him, closing your eyes to bask in what would surely be the beginning of something unholy but no bite came. Remmick guided your head back in place, a solemn finality in his gleaming eyes.

“Dawn’s comin.”

He gestured to your window and sure enough a sunrise was brewing, threatening to end your night of living. Your mouth opened to speak but no words came out.

“I’ll still be here when you wake.”

Remmick licked what was left of your slick off his fingers, tasting as if you were a delicacy. In the time it took for your eyes to blink he was gone yet the scent of him lingered. You imagined it always would, that a part of him as he said would remain with you. He’d doomed you both, promised without such words to end your stagnant suffering and damn you to Hell.

You dreamt of following him there gladly, knowing your time would come soon enough.

——————————————————————

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[localplaguenurse]

quietly shuffles in on my hands and knees softly begging for some capitano fluff o lord and savior

I gotchu <3

Too Sweet

Notes: Mostly fluff but there is some description of Capitano's rotting body, but that's as far as it goes. Also a pinch of angst but it's like adding salt to sweets, it just enhances the flavours :3

While he is by no means fragile, not by a long shot, the Captain hasn’t been able to simply walk off his injuries like he used to. As time passes on, he requires more maintenance and care in order to heal from those wounds. Sometimes “heal” feels a little generous for what he has to do to recover. You fear for the day he’s delivered a blow he cannot bounce back from, or that all the things you do for him will one day stop working.

You push the thoughts of the inevitable down. Right now, the tender loving care you have for your husband is working, and it’s working to delay the inevitable. 

You reenter the bathroom, a jar tucked under your arm, and see the Captain, in all his towelled, scarred and rotting glory, sitting on the edge of the tub. While the sight of blackened patches meshed with blue veins still pains you, the shock has long since worn off. He looks up at you when you step inside, and though there is little change in his expression, his eyes meet yours with warmth. 

You offer the jar to him. “Could you be a dear and—”

He doesn’t let you finish asking before he takes the jar and immediately, effortlessly pops the lid off. He looks at the liquid gold inside before he hands it back to you. You take it and set it on the sink counter for a moment, just so you can push his hair out of his face. 

It was something you discovered by pure coincidence. You were seeking out advice for your own beauty routine, and had heard all sorts of praise for the benefits of smearing honey on your skin. It led you to do your own research on the matter, discovering honey is antibacterial and, when stored right, does not rot. This then led to you learning of its use as an embalming agent in some cultures. The puzzle pieces all lined up and snapped into place, and you bought the largest jar of honey you could find for your husband. 

You begin the process of gently cleaning his face. You had done this just half an hour ago so you could stitch the large gash in his cheek, so you’re making sure you haven’t missed a spot. You are careful where you touch; there are parts of his body that have rotted to the point the nerves don’t work, and the nerves surrounding them are often exposed and functional. His tolerance for pain may be high, but he still feels pain, so you apologize when you get too close and see his eyes twitch for a split second. It’s not a lot, but you take your time with it, and he doesn’t mind that.

The day you suggested this sort of skincare routine to Thrain, he was a little perplexed. Not so much by the science of it, he actually seemed interested when you regaled your discovery to him, but more by the mental image of you slathering him in honey. He at first told you such treatment would not be necessary, and that it would really be a waste of good honey to use it on him as his condition cannot be reversed and is not the same as cadaver rot, but he ultimately relented. He understood where your interests and concerns stemmed from, and while he had accepted this fate, he knew you didn’t like it. He figured there was no harm in indulging you for an evening, even if it felt uncomfortably sticky. The rest, as they say, is history.

“Was this not originally for you?” Thrain asks as you dip your fingers in the jar.

You scoop up a generous portion and turn back to him. “Yes, but your skin is much more delicate than mine. I can find other remedies.”

He chuckles. “Only you would describe me as delicate.”

You gently smear and spread honey on his forehead. “I’d bet good mora that your associates would call you delicate too,” you tell him, “if they weren’t so scared of you.”

“I know that you cannot be referring to the other harbingers,” he replies. 

“Maybe, maybe not.”

By now, the routine is pure muscle memory. You scoop up honey, you gently knead it into his skin, and then you repeat the process on another part of his face. You do not knead it into his exposed wounds and his rot. As the honey needs to set for a bit before you can wash it off, you begin the routine for his wounds. 

You take a moment to wash your hands so you’re not getting honey all over the bathroom again. With clean hands, you find the bandages and begin cutting them into adequately sized strips and patches. You then undo the hard work of washing honey off your hands by soaking (or rather, slathering) the bandages in honey. 

After the honey has set, you carefully but thoroughly begin cleaning it off your husband’s good skin. It’s a bit of a process, but you’re successful once more. As soon as that is done, you begin the process of applying and layering the honey dressings over his rotted, wounded skin. You continue mumbling apologies when you press into raw, live nerves. 

You layer on the final bandage, and pull your sticky hand away from his face. You observe your work, making sure everything is sufficiently cleaned or sufficiently covered. Thrain just waits for your okay to get up so he can try and get dressed.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat when you abruptly plant a kiss on his warped lips. You pull back, licking your lips, and grin. “Tastes sweet.”

He just smiles. “Surely not as sweet as you are, my dear.”

You lean in close again. “I’ll have to double check.”