#just utter bleh

[janiedean]

i got to this age without becoming an hypochondriac i’d appreciate not starting now

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceres CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage. Warnings: Angst Hurt/Comfort Betrayal Polyamory Gone Wrong: Toxic Relationships Emotional Abuse Pregnancy Body Horror Gaslighting Infidelity Isolation Unhealthy Relationships. Previous Chapter 1: Home Is Just a Place You Leave (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 2: Collateral Void

The night air felt cool, brushing softly against your skin as you sat at the dining table, fingers flying across the laptop keyboard. The faint glow of the screen illuminated your focused expression, but the peace was short-lived.

“Boring! Though what kind of work is it? Can I help?” Gojo drawled dramatically, suddenly appearing behind you. Before you could react, his long fingers darted over the keyboard. “What’s this? Spreadsheets? Bleh. Delete. Delete. Delete.”

“Satoru!” You shrieked, smacking his hands away as he howled with laughter, stumbling back like a kid who’d just set off fireworks in a schoolyard. “This is quarterly projections; it’s a highly important document people worked hard on!”

“Oh, come on, you’re working too hard,” he teased, leaning down with his hands on the back of your chair. “Work-life balance, baby. You need more Gojo in your life.”

“I need less Gojo in my life,” you muttered, shoving him off.

The bedroom door slammed open with enough force to rattle the walls. Nanami stormed in like a man possessed, holding up a fractured piece of pottery that looked both ancient and priceless. You recognized it immediately—the Kintsugi Haniwa, a beautifully restored clay figure you’d given him years ago, a piece Nanami revered as a testament to tradition and resilience.

“Satoru!” Nanami said through gritted teeth, his voice low and vibrating with barely restrained rage. “Care to explain why I found this”—he held the artifact higher for emphasis—“chucked under the bedside table?”

Gojo froze mid-smirk, his expression slipping for the first time. “Oh. That—that’s weird. Who would—?”

“You broke it and hid it there!” Nanami growled, keeping the artifact aside, the accusation dripping with certainty.

“Hid is such a strong word,” Gojo replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I simply relocated it.”

“To the floor?” Nanami darted towards Gojo, voice raising with each word, veins practically bulging at his temple.

Gojo sidestepped next to you, standing you up and using you as a human shield. “Look, Nanamin, accidents happen! Why don’t we focus on forgiveness instead of anger?”

The three of you were circling the dining table like children playing a game of tag—except one of those children was trying to commit murder. Gojo kept darting behind you for cover, his grin only widening as Nanami’s rage escalated.

Nanami’s glare sharpened, his voice dropping into a dangerously calm monotone. “First, it was the trimmers. Now this.”

Gojo perked up, suddenly smug. “How do you even know it was me? Maybe she used your trimmer.” He pointed a long, accusatory finger at you.

You stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. “Are you serious?!”

Nanami didn’t even glance your way; his focus stayed zeroed in on Gojo. “Because you are the only one with grandma hair.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like Nanami had physically stabbed him. “Grandma hair?!”

“It’s white, isn’t it?” Nanami said flatly, unbothered, still trying to grab him.

“Excuse you,” Gojo sputtered, sidestepping Nanami and pointing wildly at his own head. “This is platinum perfection. It’s fashion-forward. It’s—it’s a statement.”

“It’s hereditary decay,” Nanami shot back, not giving up the chase.

You snorted, unable to hold back the laughter as Gojo gaped at both of you in utter betrayal, holding you close to his chest by your waist, trying to block Nanami. “You’re both ganging up on me. This is domestic abuse!”

Nanami’s scowl deepened. “Don't change the topic, Satoru!”

Gojo shrugged innocently. “Hey, at least I cleaned it.”

Nanami’s nostrils flared. “Cleaned it?”

Gojo’s grin turned nervous as he added, “Well, you look mad, so I guess not entirely...”

Nanami lunged forward. “You left all your hair on it! What do you even use my trimmers to trim, because you sure as hell can’t grow facial hair, you manchild!”

“You know what I shave!” Gojo called back, then squealed in delight and bolted, dragging you along.

You froze mid-breath, horror washing over you as the implication hit. “Gojo, do you have a death wish?!”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his eye practically twitching with it as his seething glare intensified. “You shaved your fucking balls with my facial trimmers?!!” He spoke low, advancing like a storm cloud as Gojo circled the table, “Then had the audacity to leave it dirty with your… your gross hair for me to find! Like you are a cat offering me dead animal!?!!”

Gojo darted as Nanami chased him with murder in his eyes. The three of you continued circling the dining table in a chaotic frenzy, Gojo skidding across the floor in his socks, cackling like a lunatic.

“We have exchanged so many bodily fluids, and this is where you draw the line?” Gojo mocked, ducking under Nanami’s arm.

“Disgusting!” Nanami barked, seething as he pointed an accusing finger at Gojo. “I swear to God, Satoru, you are the bane of my existence!”

“But you love me,” Gojo teased, skidding to a stop so suddenly that you stumbled into Nanami. Nanami caught you easily, steadying you with one hand, but nearly crashed into Gojo, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Apologize!” You shouted, stepping between them before Nanami could strangle him.

Gojo huffed dramatically, tossing his head to the side like a diva. “Fine, fine. I’m sorry, Nanamin. Truce?”

Nanami grumbled under his breath, clearly unsatisfied. But before he could say anything else, Gojo grabbed his face, leaned in and kissed him square on the mouth.

Nanami’s entire body froze, his eyes going wide.

“There,” Gojo said smugly, pulling back with a grin. “Divorce dodged! Yay!”

You stared at them, caught between amusement and disbelief. It felt perfect—so perfect you almost wanted to cry. The laughter, the banter, the way they made you feel seen and cared for. You soaked in the moment, memorizing every detail—Gojo’s messy white hair, Nanami’s steadying touch, the golden light filtering through the lamps, casting everything in a soft, warm glow.

“Go ahead, ignore me,” you said jokingly, crossing your arms. “I’m clearly the third wheel here.”

Except they did.

The lights flickered.

Your smile faltered as you blinked, realizing they weren’t paying attention to you anymore. Gojo had grabbed Nanami again, pulling him closer. Their voices dropped into hushed murmurs, unintelligible and distant. You opened your mouth to say something, but they didn’t respond. They were kissing again. Fully.

And they were across the table now, far away—too far.

“Guys?” you said, laughing nervously. But the sound was thin, swallowed by the sudden heaviness in the room.

Gojo’s face blurred at the edges, his features smeared like wet paint dragged by careless fingers. Nanami’s figure was rigid, his face unreadable as shadows pooled at his feet, darker than they should have been. The air shifted—heavy, oppressive—pressing against your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake.

“Hello?” You tried again, louder this time. Your voice cracked slightly.

Nothing.

They didn’t turn toward you, didn’t even flinch. They were consumed with each other, as though you weren’t even there. The shadows stretched further now, creeping into the corners of the room like black ink spilling across the floor.

“Stop it,” you said, your tone sharper, though a pit began to form in your stomach. Their forms were blurring further, warping. The golden light dimmed, turning sickly and cold. The dining room, once warm and filled with laughter, twisted into something unfamiliar—something wrong.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from us,” Nanami said, suddenly turning to you. His voice was hollow, devoid of the calm warmth it usually carried. The words sent a chill crawling up your spine.

“What?” Your gaze darted between them, your chest tightening. “What are you talking about?”

Gojo’s head snapped toward you with unnatural speed, his blindfold gone. His six eyes glowed horribly bright, the light of them reflecting like mirrors in the dark. His smile was gone, replaced by something jagged and cruel, something inhuman.

“You didn’t think we’d find out?” he said softly. There was no teasing in his tone, no charm—just an edge of menace. “About them?”

“Them?” you echoed, the word barely escaping your lips. Nanami stepped closer now, his movements slow, deliberate. His face was shrouded in shadow, his features obscured like they were melting into the dark.

“The twins,” Gojo said, the word cutting through the room like a blade.

Your breath hitched as Nanami advanced, the shadows around him crawling along the floor, reaching for you like grasping hands.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” you whispered, instinctively wrapping your arms around your stomach. Your pulse roared in your ears as the room tilted, the walls pressing inward, suffocating you.

“We have to take them,” Nanami said, still moving towards you, his voice distorted, as though it came from deep underwater.

Gojo smiled again, moving towards you, his grin splitting unnaturally wide, the corners of his mouth stretching just a little too far. “We can’t let them live. You know that, sweetheart.”

“No! They’re mine,” you choked out, stumbling backward, your arms tightening protectively around yourself. The table between you seemed to shrink, leaving you exposed as they advanced.

“You can’t keep them from us,” they said in unison, softly, the words curling through the air like smoke.

“Stop!” you screamed, but their forms warped, dark shapes spilling into the edges of your vision. The shadows surged forward, hands reaching—

You jolted awake in the chair with a sharp gasp, your body trembling violently as you shot upright. The room was dark again, save for the faint glow of a screen. Your breathing came in ragged bursts, your pulse thundering as you clutched your stomach, feeling the reassuring movements beneath your palms.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

The laptop sat open in front of you, the spreadsheet forgotten, the cursor blinking insistently in the silence. The apartment was quiet, but the echoes of their voices lingered, a whisper in the back of your mind—a threat you couldn’t shake.

The shadows felt darker now.

“They’re mine,” you whispered shakily, curling in on yourself. “They’re mine.”

Weeks had passed.

You had buried yourself in a new country with the same job because you couldn’t abandon the business you had painstakingly built alone, with your blood, sweat, and tears. It was all you had left of yourself—the last thing tethering you to who you used to be. You ensured no one could access your personal information, locking it away like a fortress. Still, you felt like a ghost, drifting through a life where no one knew your name, where no one could see the haunting memories that followed you.

Your days were a blur of meetings, phone calls, and paperwork. You let go of every luxury, stripped yourself down to the bare essentials—as if even the smallest indulgence might give them a clue, might allow them to trace you. Not that they would. Your days were spent in a tiny apartment that didn’t even feel like a home. The walls were too close, the air too still, and the silence stretched on like a second skin. It wasn’t a home. It was a box—cold, cramped, and indifferent—where you ate alone, worked alone, and slept in fits and starts, the hours fractured by dreams you couldn’t escape.

The nights were the hardest.

Alone in a foreign city, you lay twisted with pain, your body betraying you in ways you didn’t know were possible. Your skin felt stretched too thin, muscles aching like they were being pulled apart, reshaped against your will. The babies—their babies, no! your babies—grew inside you, alien things that contorted you from the inside out. Every sharp twinge of pain felt unnatural, every shift of movement a cruel reminder of what they had left behind. You couldn’t help but wonder if your body might rip open entirely, split down the seams. The changes weren’t normal. Your bones creaked and groaned under the weight of something you couldn’t understand, your body remaking itself to accommodate children who were never supposed to be here.

You worked through it. You worked through everything. The nausea that made your hands tremble. The exhaustion that dragged your eyelids shut. The cold sweat that drenched your skin as the babies pushed against you, growing and moving with a purpose that felt wrong. It was all wrong. But still, you sat hunched over documents and contracts, your vision blurring until your eyes burned, pushing through the pain until the lines of text no longer made sense. Anything to keep the memories at bay.

But they crept in anyway.

Gojo’s laughter. That unmistakable, infectious sound that could fill a room with light. It used to be enough to pull you out of your darkest thoughts, but now it echoed like a cruel reminder of what was lost. Nanami’s quiet, steady presence haunted you too—those rare moments when his stoic mask cracked, when the tenderness beneath the weight of his quiet sorrow slipped through. The fleeting seconds when everything had felt right, when you believed you were loved, when the world seemed like it could wait just a little longer.

Those moments were gone, but they still haunted you. They slipped through the cracks when you least expected it, invading the silence, invading the cold. The life you had left behind wouldn’t let you forget.

You had traded one form of isolation for another.

But at least this one was on your terms. At least now, you were alone because you chose to be. You weren’t the woman who had thrown everything away for them, not anymore. That woman was gone.

Your old phone, now completely untraceable, stayed on out of morbid curiosity. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to see how long it would take for them to notice you were gone. If they ever would. Maybe they were happy you were out of the picture. Maybe your absence was a relief. You kept a new phone for work, clean and also untraceable, and refused to check their social media. You couldn’t bear to.

//

Back in Japan

It started with the ring.

The bedroom door slammed open just as the first pale rays of dawn broke across the sky. Gojo stumbled inside first, his uniform coat discarded in the living room next to Nanami’s coat, tie, and their shoes. His pale blue shirt completely untucked and unbuttoned, almost sliding off his shoulders, revealing his toned chest down to his navel. Nanami stumbled after him, his arm wrapped around Gojo’s waist from behind to steady him, his teeth leaving faint, red marks against the back of Gojo’s shoulder blade. Both of them swayed like ships lost at sea, unmoored and directionless. The unmistakable scent of alcohol clung to them—whiskey, gin and tequila, sharp and sour in the still air.

Gojo turned and pressed Nanami against the wall within seconds, his long fingers tangling into Nanami’s hair, lips dragging lazily along his jawline. Nanami’s face was flushed, and he was uncharacteristically pliant, unresisting. His hands drifted to Gojo’s hips, sliding lower, grounding himself through touch.

“Satoru,” Nanami muttered, his voice breathless, strained—a fleeting attempt at lucidity. “Do you know where she is?”

Gojo didn’t pause, his grin sharp against Nanami’s skin as he murmured, biting softly, “‘She’? Who’s she?”

Nanami’s hands tensed at his sides. “Our wife.” His voice broke slightly on the word. “You haven’t seen her?”

Gojo finally pulled back, crystalline eyes hazy and lidded, his blindfold dangling from Nanami’s wrist again like some forgotten relic. “Of course not. I thought you knew where she went.” His smirk faltered only slightly before he dragged and pushed Nanami backward toward the bed. “Don’t ruin the moment. She’s probably on a trip—working hard, being the boss lady we love.”

Nanami let himself fall onto the mattress with a bounce as Gojo straddled him, hands already wandering over his waist. Gojo pressed and rubbed their bulges together, punching a groan out of Nanami, who breathlessly stuttered as he tried to speak again, but Gojo kissed him roughly, stealing his words. It was messy, desperate—a distraction from something neither of them wanted to name. Still, the nagging thought clawed at Nanami’s mind, like a splinter he couldn’t ignore.

“She didn’t tell me,” he muttered, barely audible between gasps, his hands trying to still Gojo’s ass. “Where she was going.”

Gojo paused for half a second, then scoffed, rolling his hips once more as though to smother the thought. “You think she tells me everything? Haha, funny. She always tells you, though.” His words slurred slightly, dismissive.

“That’s not true.” Nanami said while the table beside them jolted as Gojo pushed Nanami further into the mattress, the sharp clink of metal against marble cutting through the room like gunshot.

Making Nanami still instantly.

“What was that?” His voice was low, tight. The haze of lust and alcohol shattered like glass.

Gojo blinked, lifting his head lazily. “Probably your sanity leaving the room,” he muttered.

Nanami ignored him, leaning to the side and shoving the bedside table back with his foot, earning a low scraping sound as it moved. Gojo groaned, trying to tug him back down as he continued assaulting Nanami’s neck and now his shoulders, which peeked through his half-unbuttoned and completely untucked shirt with bites, but Nanami’s focus was elsewhere. He leaned down further, and the room fell silent to him.

There, half-hidden in the dust and shadows, lay a small, glinting band of gold.

Nanami’s fingers shook as he picked it up. The ring cold against his skin, familiar and damning all at once. He stared at it like it might burn him.

It was her ring.

“Satoru,” Nanami said quietly, grabbing Gojo’s jaw with one hand—who had been too busy biting his shoulder to notice—and turned him to face it. His voice was fraying at the edges as he held up the ring, its gleam sharp in the weak dawn light. “What’s this doing here?”

Gojo stared at it for too long. The color drained from his face, the drunken nonchalance slipping further with every second. “She probably took it off,” he said finally, though his voice cracked. He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “You know she gets eczema sometimes… itchy hands, right?”

The words hung in the air, hollow and pitiful. Gojo didn’t believe them any more than Nanami did.

Nanami shook his head slowly, his grip on the ring tightening as his knuckles turned white. “She always wears it when she’s on work trips,” he said, his voice hoarse, brittle. “She says it keeps creeps away.”

Gojo didn’t respond. He just stared, his wide eyes fixed on the small, damning band of gold as though it held all the answers to everything. Nanami didn’t wait for him. He shoved Gojo off and bolted from the room, his bare feet thudding against the floor as he grabbed his phone from his coat in the living room.

“Nanami, wait—” Gojo stumbled after him, still dazed, but Nanami was already swiping through his phone, his thumb moving in quick, frantic motions.

His heart sank.

Her last message to him—the last sign of her—was over six weeks ago.

Six weeks.

Six weeks, and he hadn’t noticed?

Gojo could have been an idiot, but he wasn’t, or so he had always thought.

The color drained from Gojo’s face as he stared at the screen while the realization spread through Nanami’s heart like poison. Without a word, Nanami reached over, his hand dipping into Gojo’s pants' front pocket to pull out his phone. Gojo let him, watching as Nanami unlocked it and scrolled through the messages.

The screen glowed with the same message. The same day. The last day they had heard from her. The day in the drawing room she had begged them to tell her if they loved her.

A chill settled into the room, sinking deep into their bones, heavy and unshakable. Nanami’s hand dropped to his side; the ring, along with the phones, slipped from his fingers and landed with a dull thud on the floor. The silence that followed was choking. Nanami turned to Gojo, his face blank, but his eyes were wide, wild with a horror he couldn’t contain.

Gojo stood frozen, his earlier bravado gone. He looked smaller somehow, his face pale and slack as the weight of what they’d done—what they’d lost—sank in.

“She’s gone,” Nanami whispered, the words barely audible, like a confession he couldn’t bear to say any louder.

“She’s not gone!” Gojo shot back immediately. He laughed—a hollow, desperate sound—as if the act of saying it would make it true. “As I said earlier, she’s probably just... just out. On a work trip. She’ll be back. She always comes back...”

But his voice trembled at the edges, and they both knew the truth now. The ring on the floor gleamed coldly, like evidence of everything they had destroyed—everything they couldn’t take back. Like a final goodbye neither of them had ever thought of.

//

The same night, after too many sleeping pills in your new home on the other side of the world, your vision blurred and your body felt like it was splitting apart; you opened your old phone to look at old pictures. After a few hours it buzzed, and against your better judgment, you looked.

Toru (DNR): “Where are you?”

The message sat there, glaring. Your heart dropped. Another followed seconds later.

Ken (DNR): “We messed up. We apologize. Please. Just tell us you’re okay.”

You threw the phone, your vision swimming in tears, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps. After more than six weeks of you leaving, more than six weeks of silence, after everything they had done, now they noticed? Now they cared?

It was too late. You had built walls around yourself now, high and impenetrable. The same walls you’d erected when you had realized, too late, that you weren’t loved—not the way you had been promised. They weren’t even the people you thought they were.

The city’s lights blinked outside your window, distant and indifferent, like the glow of a world that had moved on without you. Somewhere out there, they were searching for you, but you didn’t care anymore. You had traded the ghost of their love for the numbness of being alone in this foreign place.

//

Back in Japan

More days passed.

Their apartment remained frozen, a mausoleum of the life you had left behind. Your old laptop still sat neatly on your desk, untouched and gathering dust. The faint imprint of your body lingered on the couch cushions, as if you might walk in at any moment and collapse there, laughing about how long the work trip had been. But you never would. Not anymore.

Gojo filled the silence with noise. The television blared cartoons he wasn’t watching. Music thumped from his phone, but the songs ended too quickly, leaving the hollow quiet to seep back in like poison. He laughed too loud, talked too fast, his words tumbling out like he could outrun the ache blooming in his chest.

“She’s fine,” he’d say to no one. To Nanami. To himself. “She’s just being dramatic. She’ll come back when she’s ready, when her work is over. She always comes back...”

But at night, when Nanami wasn’t around, when the weight of it all pressed against him like an iron hand, Gojo sat in the dark, the only light spilling in through the half-open blinds. He would pull your favorite blanket off the back of the couch, holding it tightly to his chest. It used to smell like you—that soft, warm scent that made him feel like everything would be okay. It never actually did. He’d bury his face in the fabric anyway, clutching it so tightly his fingers ached, as if he could squeeze the memory of you out of it.

“Stupid blanket,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice cracking. “You were supposed to keep her here.”

The quiet answered him. It always did.

Nanami, on the other hand, threw himself into work. The apartment had become unbearable, the sight of your clothes hanging in the closet like a ghost driving him out into the cold. He buried himself in files, meetings and missions, anything to drown out the sound of your absence echoing through his skull. But no matter how hard he tried, you found him anyway.

It was in the middle of a crowded street crossing that he saw you. For a fleeting second, he froze, his breath catching painfully in his throat. A woman parked a convertible just ahead, her hair falling in the same way yours used to, her jacket a perfect match to the one you bought last winter. He pushed forward, shoving past commuters, his heart pounding like it might tear itself free from his chest.

“Honey,” he breathed when he reached her, only to stop dead when she turned. A stranger’s face stared back at him, startled and confused.

Nanami’s apology was soft, choked. He turned away quickly, gripping the strap of his grocery bag so tightly his knuckles blanched. His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall.

Later, he found himself in your office, the door locked behind him, the room suffocatingly still. The desk was untouched, a fountain pen left on your favorite notebook where you had last placed it, its tip dried out. An old grocery list lay discarded by the mechanical keyboard. Nanami picked it up carefully, his thumb tracing over your handwriting, the curve of each letter searing into his mind.

Vitamins. Sticky Notes. Under-eye serum.

The list was mundane, ordinary, but his hands trembled as he held it. He could almost hear you muttering to yourself as you wrote it, pursing your lip in concentration. His vision blurred, and he sank into your desk chair, his free hand moving to his tie, removing it, then wrapping it around his knuckles, gripping it tightly. The silk bit into his fingers as he pulled, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The silence, the unbearable ache in his ribs—he tried to choke it all down, twisting the tie as though it could hold him together.

But it couldn’t.

He’d often do this now, lock himself in your home office, gripping his tie until his knuckles turned white, as if that could choke the guilt down.

Gojo found him there hours later, the list still crumpled in his hand, his head bowed as though in prayer. Neither of them spoke. Gojo didn’t laugh this time, didn’t tease. He just stood in the doorway, silent and pale, his eyes fixed on the man who had always been stronger than this—who now looked just as broken as Gojo felt.

One night, Nanami arrived home to find Gojo sitting on the floor, facing the wall, staring blankly ahead as though he could see through it. The light from the dim lamp cast faint shadows across his face, carving hollows beneath his eyes, which looked emptier than Nanami had ever seen them.

The silence in the room wrapping itself around Nanami’s throat as he shrugged off his coat. Gojo didn’t move, didn’t even blink, his hands limp in his lap, fingers twitching faintly as though they were searching for something to hold on to. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse, hollow—a broken whisper that felt like it had been ripped from somewhere deep inside him.

“I… I shouldn’t have isolated her that day.” He didn’t look at Nanami, his gaze still fixed on some distant point beyond the wall. “When… I didn’t think about what it would do to her.”

Nanami froze mid-step, eyes sharp as they fell on Gojo. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the city outside. Nanami’s expression hardened, though his voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet, cold, cutting.

“You think I don’t know that?” His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. “I know, Gojo. I know exactly what we did to her. How we fucked up. How we forgot about her.”

The words hit Gojo, but he didn’t react. He just let them hang there, sinking into his chest like stones. His lips twitched, a ghost of a self-loathing smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Forgot about her…” he repeated softly.

Nanami didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His jaw tightened, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface, too raw to voice. He watched Gojo slump further, his knees drawing up slightly as though he were folding in on himself.

A few nights later, Gojo was sprawled on the couch with a drink in hand, the liquor doing little to numb the ache in his chest. He stared at the ceiling, thoughts racing, spiraling downward into a dark abyss.

“She’s not coming back, is she?” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips, but they landed heavily in the room, a painful truth.

Nanami didn’t answer, but the guilt in his eyes spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment of their shared failure.

The memory of you haunted every inch of their apartment. Gojo saw you in the pillow he clutched to his chest at night, pretending it still carried your scent. Nanami heard you in the faint creak of the floorboards as he walked past your office, his hands brushing the edge of the desk you used to sit at. They never said your name. It hurt too much.

“We thought we were protecting her,” Nanami said, voice a quiet rasp as he stared at the empty wall Gojo had been fixated on.

Gojo’s lips twitched faintly, a bitter mockery of a smile. “We thought wrong.”

Neither of them slept at nights. Gojo lay on his side, staring at the window with red-rimmed eyes, while Nanami lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, wearing your ring on one finger—he kept rolling it with his thumb absentmindedly. The silence between them was absolute, filled with everything they had left unsaid.

It was the silence you had lived in for far too long.

They called. They texted. They waited. The apartment stayed quiet. Your things stayed untouched. And the void you left behind grew deeper with every passing day.

//

Five months into your pregnancy, you lay sprawled on the bathroom floor, your body slick with sweat, fingers clawing at the cold tiles for stability. You’d slipped and fallen, your phone nowhere in sight, the apartment eerily quiet except for the harshness of your breath.You didn’t know how long you’d been there—minutes, hours, days—time had lost all meaning. Your stomach roiled violently, muscles clenched in spasms so sharp they stole the air from your lungs. It felt as though your insides were being shredded, your bones splintering and grinding, like they were trying to rearrange themselves to accommodate the impossible.

A guttural gasp tore from your throat as another wave of pain ripped through you. You pressed a trembling palm to your abdomen, feeling the unnatural shift beneath your skin. The twins moved—twisted and writhed in a way no baby should, their forceful movements pressing outward like they were fighting to escape or fighting for space, too strong, too demanding. Your skin stretched tight, painfully taut, burning with the strain of holding them in. It felt like something alive and wrong, something too strong for your fragile human body.

The veins beneath your skin bulged out, an intricate web of blue and purple crisscrossing your stomach like angry rivers about to burst. Your abdomen swelled grotesquely, the skin shiny and thin, and for one terrifying moment, you thought it might tear open entirely. The bones in your hips creaked audibly under the weight, the sound a grotesque whisper that echoed through the silent bathroom. Your spine screamed with every slight shift, vertebrae grinding against each other as though your body was folding into itself, trying to protect you from the inevitable.

Tears slid down your cheeks, hot and bitter, though you barely registered them. It wasn’t just the pain—God, the pain—but the isolation that cut the deepest. You had never felt so utterly alone, so abandoned. Not just by the city you didn’t belong to, but by them. By the men who were supposed to love you. Who should have been here. Your breaths came in short, harsh bursts, the sound bouncing off the tiles, sharp and hollow.

“We don’t need them,” you whispered, your voice shaking as you pressed harder against your stomach, trying to soothe the frantic movements. Your words cracked, brittle and weak. “We don’t.”

But your heart betrayed you, aching in your chest like a wound torn open anew. You could still see them if you closed your eyes—Gojo’s infectious grin, his arms around you as though he could hold the whole world together. Nanami’s steady, grounding presence, his quiet strength that had once made you feel safe. Loved. You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to swallow the sob clawing its way up your throat.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they weren’t here, that they had left you alone to bear this. To bear them. Yet, in the silence of that bathroom, the darkness swallowing you whole, you realized you were lying to yourself. You missed them. You missed them so much it hurt.

You blamed it on your hormones, soothing your stomach. It was a miracle you hadn’t fallen in a way that could have hurt the babies. Just then, the twins moved again, a violent lurch that left you gasping, your body arching involuntarily as another jolt of pain seared through you. The sharp pressure pushed against your ribs, a sensation like tiny hands and feet pressing outward, testing the limits of your body. Your skin rippled faintly, the bulge of their movements visible beneath the surface.

You shuddered, your tears mixing with sweat as they dripped down onto the tile. What are you? You wanted to scream, but the words wouldn’t come. The horror of it—the body horror of carrying something so unnatural, so wrong—settled like a stone in your chest. You weren’t sure you could take it anymore.

“Mama will take care of you both,” you whispered shakily, trying to soothe yourself as much as them. Your hand rubbed slow, shaky circles over your stomach. It was the only comfort you had left—this fragile, strange connection. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

And like always, the sensation of their movements softened at the sound of your voice. The pressure beneath your skin eased slightly, the frantic shifting slowing into restless, jerking flutters. It wasn’t much, but it gave you enough space to breathe, to push down the rising panic, to push forward. Your muscles trembled as you moved, dragging yourself toward the bathtub, one hand bracing against the toilet seat for balance. Your body protested, hips throbbing, spine sparking with pain, but you kept going.

“Just a little bit more movement,” you murmured to the twins, coaxing them as though they could hear you. “And Mama will be vertical again. Then we can have some dark chocolate… you know, the one you’ve been craving? The only one both Dadas used to love. We’ll watch…”

The words cut off abruptly as your foot slipped on the damp tile. You gasped, arms flailing, but your body betrayed you. The porcelain edge slamming into your head with a horrible thud.

For a moment, everything was soundless.

A hollow ringing filled your ears, the bathroom blurring around you as your vision dimmed at the edges. The pain in your skull throbbed in time with your heartbeat, sharp and unrelenting. You pressed your palms to your forehead, curling around yourself, trying to shield the twins from the impact.

“No, no, no,” you whimpered, your voice a cracked whisper.

The darkness pulled at you, threatening to drag you under, but you fought it, laying back down to press your forehead to the cold tile. Your breathing was ragged, uneven, your pulse hammering in your ears as you held onto the only thought that mattered.

They are okay.

Your hand pressed against your belly again, searching for the faint, familiar movements beneath your skin. For a horrifying moment, there was nothing. Then, faintly, you felt it—a small, restless flutter. Tears streamed down your cheeks, hot and silent, as you curled against the floor, the relief making your limbs weak.

“It’s okay,” you whispered brokenly, as much to yourself as to them. “It’s okay. Mama’s here. Mama’s okay. You will be okay.”

But even as you said it, the weight of everything—the pain, the isolation, the unnatural horror of what was happening to your body—threatened to swallow you whole.

“Hey! Are you okay?” A voice came from nowhere. Deep, rough, like it belonged to someone who had been waiting for this moment. 

You froze, immediately clutching your stomach as the babies shifted again, their movements sharp and jarring. Had they found you already? How could they have known? How could anyone have known? You looked around, panic seizing your chest. The pain from your fall still burned, but the thought of someone being so close made your stomach churn. You clutched your belly tighter, trying to protect them, protect yourself.

“Hey, I know you can hear me. Do you need me to call an ambulance?” The voice was insistent, but there was something else there, a knowing edge to it that sent a chill crawling down your spine.

You noticed that the voice was coming from the wall next to the tub.

“Who’s it?” You managed to ask, gathering what little courage you had left, trying to steady your shaking voice.

“Your neighbor,” the man’s voice said, his tone low, almost a growl. “I’ve seen you around. I think you’re pregnant, right? With twins?”

You blinked, trying to process what he had just said. How could he possibly know that? Your heart skipped a beat. How much did he know?

“How’d you know it’s twins?” you asked, your voice tight, filled with suspicion. This man seemed too aware, too knowledgeable.

“I’m a sorcerer too, like the men’s children you carry,” the man continued, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate in your bones. “Just the one who deserted the hopeless crusade. And well, my technique allows me to sense things like this, but you don’t have to worry about me. I don’t partake in that world anymore. Haven’t in a really long time.”

His words sank in slowly, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe him. His explanation was coherent, his tone calm, almost reassuring. You were too exhausted, too delirious with pain to think clearly. It made sense in your sleep-deprived and pain-addled state.

“I... I can’t go to the hospital,” you whispered, your throat raw. “Could you just help me up?”

There was a pause, a shift in the air. “I’ll help you,” the man said, his voice now excited, or maybe happy, like he was suddenly hyperactive. “But I’ll have to break the door down to get in. I’ll fix it after, with a stronger lock.”

“Sure, no issues.” Beggars couldn’t be choosers. You didn’t have the strength to protest. You were already lost in the fog of exhaustion, pain, and confusion. He was here. He would help you.

Soon the sound of splintering wood echoed through your apartment, followed by the dull thud of heavy footsteps. Each step reverberated like a low drumbeat, slow and deliberate, growing closer until they stopped just outside the bathroom door. The handle turned once, then creaked open with an eerie calm. You felt a chill run through you, something more than the cold air from the cracked window. It wasn’t just the wind that made your skin crawl. There was something wrong about this man, something dangerous. But in your haze, you couldn’t put your finger on it.

You couldn’t even see him at first—your vision swam from the pain, your body sprawled awkwardly on the cold tile floor. The sharp edge of the sink bit into your side as you tried to sit upright, your other trembling hand pressed protectively against your stomach. The air shifted, heavier somehow, like something massive had entered the room. You forced yourself to look up, squinting through the haze.

He stood in the doorway, tall enough that he seemed to block out the light spilling in from the hall. He had to duck slightly to clear the frame, stepping inside with a confidence that bordered on insolence, like he owned the place. He was broad-shouldered, his form looming and imposing, dressed in a loose hoodie that made him look even larger. His face was partially obscured by shadows, but you caught glimpses of sharp, angular features—a jawline carved from stone and eyes, predatory and unreadable.

“Hey, the fall looks nasty.” He said as he crouched slowly, knees bending with a shift of worn jeans fabric as he brought himself down to your level. The movement was unsettlingly fluid for someone so massive. Especially since he was still looming over you like a giant.

Up close, you could see him better—his face was unnervingly smooth for a man who carried himself like he’d lived through hell. His hair was short and faintly disheveled, like he hadn’t cared enough to fix it. You couldn’t tell if he was young or old.

“Your sorcerer's brats…I can feel it. They’re… restless, aren’t they?” He said matter-of-factly, his gaze drifting pointedly to your swollen abdomen.

The words sent a shiver crawling down your spine, and you became hyperaware that you were only in a flimsy nightgown as you protectively clutched your stomach. “How do you know that?” you managed to croak out, your voice trembling.

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “It’s my hobby to know these things.” His tone was mocking, almost bored, but there was an undercurrent of something darker there, something that made your chest tighten. “And you’re in pain far too often, aren’t you?”

You glared at him, eyes narrowing. “You walk around noticing pregnant women?!!”

“No, the service is exclusive to you, princess.” He said, laughing, the sound so loud it was rumbling in your bones.

You flinched as he reached for you, his hand massive, calloused, and littered with faint scars.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed instinctively, curling tighter around your stomach, but the effort sent a fresh wave of pain ripping through your abdomen. You gasped sharply, vision blurring at the edges again.

The man didn’t pull back, didn’t flinch at your outburst. Instead, he studied you with a quiet, unsettling patience, as though deciding something important. Finally, he exhaled, a sound like a low growl, and said, "Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be."

Before you could protest, he scooped you up effortlessly, his arm sliding carefully beneath your knees and back like you weighed negative but also fragile. However, you stiffened, every muscle in your body tensing as he lifted you, the pressure in your abdomen worsening with the shift in gravity.

“Put me down,” you gritted out, struggling weakly against his hold, but he didn’t budge. The grip he had on you was far stronger than anything you could have fought.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered, sounding vaguely amused again. “You can fight me later. For now, shut up and let me help you.”

Your head lolled against his chest, the fight draining from you as the pain surged again. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, and your vision blurred further. You caught the faint scent of him—smoke, faintly metallic, and something almost feral, something wrong that made the hair on your arms stand on end. He didn’t smell like anyone you’d ever met before.

“Why are you helping me?” you murmured weakly, your voice barely above a whisper

His features softened at the question, and when he answered, his tone was quieter, but no less unsettling.

“Because someone should.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning you couldn’t unravel. You blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes, the edges of your consciousness starting to fray as exhaustion tugged at you. He didn’t look down, his gaze fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, but there was something about the way he held you—something deliberate, something protective—that made you believe him, if only for a moment.

The last thing you heard before you drifted into unconsciousness was the sound of his low, rumbling voice, almost to himself.

“You’re tougher than you look, princess.”

And then the darkness swallowed you whole as he lay you on your bed.

The next day you had woken up feeling human again, or as human as you could feel in your human vending machine state. You were cocooned in far warmer blankets that you didn’t own, surrounded by vitamins, pregnancy pain medications, and food in the fridge that you hadn’t ordered. The front door of your apartment was now reinforced, and by the kitchen counter, new keys were attached to a sticky note bearing a name. His name.

A/N: Feel like throwing your phone yet? Good. 🫠 That means I’ve done my job. Now, let’s talk about him. The towering enigma with predator energy who broke into your apartment like it’s a casual Tuesday and called you “princess.” (✿ ͡👁️ ᴗ ͡👁️) WHO IS HE?! Shadowy savior? Bored stalker? Gym bro with too much free time? Is this Toji’s long-lost cousin? Sukuna in a hoodie? Kashimo on his day off? Choso after therapy? Or someone even worse? 😱 Bonus points if you drop “Gakuganji” in the comments for chaos. (╯ ͡❛ ᴗ ͡❛)╯┻━┻ Team Nanami? Team Gojo? Team Mystery Hunk? Or Team ‘Let Reader Nap in Peace’? 🤔 Drop your loyalty, wildest theories, unhinged guesses, and thirst-fueled fan-castings below because this love story is messier than Gojo’s hair on a Monday. Next chapter: Yaga playing babysitter for two emotionally constipated men who need therapy, not bail money, and maybe why Reader deleted her socials. Until then, stop shaving your hoo-ha with someone else’s trimmers—Gojo would 100% snitch to HR. 💅 And if you’re not on the taglist yet, comment below to join the chaos. 😈

Next Chapter 3 - Corporate Warfare: Protocol The Circus of Two (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth

[ihfmseatsoch]

Hiiii this is Jimmy rape anon again!!!! Your fic was so good and super duper cathartic sooooo X333 Waiter, more Jimmy torture please!!!!!

Can I please get a red room type situation where the reader streams snuff porn of Jimmy after he tries and fails in drugging and taking advantage of them? Or if snuff is too far for you, maybe just in general ruining of his life? Super sorry if this is too weird, I respect your boundaries and I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable!!!

-🥩

I ❤️ SNUFF 😁 smiles sweetly

genre: smut, dark fic

gender neutral reader, genitalia isn't described

word count: 2.2k

warnings/content: dead dove, attempted rape, actual rape, kidnapping, drugging, snuff, jimmy dies 🥳🎉

(>_< this is my first time writing smth like this #sorry if its dumb. bleh)

—

Nights like this were routine for Jimmy; go to a bar, chat up someone that looked the most deprived of their father's affection, roofie them, and take 'em home. Not like anyone would miss a dumb whore in the first place, so it's all guilt free.

Everything was going smoothly with you, although it was frustrating how you kept your hand protectively over your drink the entire time. You also don't seem particularly interested in his advances, so drugging you unconscious was the only course of action. Problem was, the opportunity never arose.

His impatience began to grow. He was not used to being denied what he wanted, and he started to feel irritated by your resistance. You were certainly a difficult target.

Losing interest, his focus diverted away from you, scoping out anyone else that looked drunk enough to make his goal an easy feat. He takes a sip of his drink, grimacing at how it tasted unusually bitter, the flavor lingering unpleasantly on his tongue. Jim dismissed it as a minor quirk. He's just imagining things, the bartender must've made it wrong.

Deep down, an uneasy feeling nagged at him, an inexplicable sense of foreboding settling in his mind.

He doesn't remember anything before everything went black.

When he regains consciousness, he can hear the muffled sound of someone speaking, and through his unfocused, bleary vision, he can see a blinding light pointing directly at him. It takes him a moment to completely get a grip on reality.

Jimmy can tell he's on the floor, but the texture underneath him is similar to... a tarp? He can recognize a camera stand only a couple feet away from him, once his dizziness alleviates.

"Oh, good. He's waking up." He hears an... oddly familiar voice coming from nearby.

Jimmy attempted to move, but all of his limbs felt sluggish and slow. He quickly realized his wrists and ankles were bound together with thick rope that dug painfully into his skin.

"What... the fuck?" Jim manages to groggily mumble, panic washing over him.

"Say hi... um, whatever your name is. I forgot. Probably unremarkable, anyway. I mean... who would care to learn the name of a pig bred for slaughter?" The figure in front of him snickers at their own sentence. A chilling sense of recognition dawns on him.

You.

"Fuck." Is the most fitting word he could utter between his teeth to describe the horror gripping his chest in this moment. "What...– What did you do to me, you psychotic, fucking–" Jim spat, his words still slightly slurred from the lingering effects of the drug.

"Language." You scold, reprimanding him like a child. "I've already heard every insult you could throw at me. Honestly, men like you need to get more original."

He notices a USB cord connecting the camera to a laptop, the screen displaying what looks to be... a live chat, and his body, sprawled pathetically on the ground.

He was being filmed, streamed to a live audience. If he was close enough to read the chat, he'd be met with thousands of people egging you on to make him suffer, using every method in the book.

"Everyone's been so eager to see me butcher another piece of meat. You should be flattered that I chose you. You're gonna be a star." Your tone is eerily giddy.

"Flattered" was most certainly not the word he would have chosen to describe this predicament. "What... What do you want from me?" Jim sounded weaker this time, the fear finally starting to seep into his voice.

"It's not what I want from you, silly. This is about what I can do to you." Your clarification isn't any less threatening. "You tried your hardest to hurt me first, and usually I commend perseverance. But... being so committed to assaulting an innocent person... that's not worthy of praise. Punishment sounds more like what you deserve."

This is not happening. This cannot be real.

"H– Hey, okay, listen. I made a mistake." Jimmy stammers, trying to come up with anything to stall for time. Anything to throw you off. Anything to keep him alive. "Just let me go, I won't breathe a word of this, I swear to god–"

"God? God won't save you. You're not worth it. I don't know how many victims you've gotten your greedy hands on, but even one is more than enough for the death penalty. In my humble opinion." Kneeling on the ground beside him, you grab his face, forcefully turning it to make eye contact with the camera. "You're a pretty boy. Shame you turned out this way."

"Please– Just let me go. I– I'll give you cash, I got money." He pleaded, struggling against the restraints around his limbs. "I'll give you everything. I'll do anything, j–just–" He swallowed, his words faltering under the weight of his desperation.

"Money?" You laugh, like it's the most hilarious thing you've ever heard, and it very well may be. "Aww, you're cute. But no, I don't want your hush money." You position yourself above him, groping his hips, feeling his body up as if you're inspecting an animal.

"Don't–" His body tensed the moment you made contact with him, and he tried desperately to jerk his body forward to get away from your touch, but, well... you can't exactly do much without hands or legs, can you? "–Dont f– fucking touch me!" Jimmy cried out in vain.

"What gives you the right to beg, when the people you've hurt couldn't?" You roll your eyes at his whining. Men like him are always such crybabies.

"Hmm... should we do a poll, chat? Duct tape over his mouth, or no?" You type away on your keyboard, speaking casually to your deranged audience like nothing about this is remotely insane.

His heart thrummed against his ribcage, a cold sweat causing his clothes to uncomfortably stick to his body. "Wait– No! No, you c–can't–! People will look for me, y–you can't j–just–" Every word he speaks ia now filled to the brim with panic and dread, lacking their usual sharpness.

"No one is coming to help you."

You respond plainly. And truthfully, you aren't wrong. Jimmy knows he only has one friend in this entire world, and zero family that ever gave a fuck about him. There's no doubt that Curly would indeed search for him, but the police are useless. He'd file a missing persons report and the case would go cold in a month.

"I've known guys like you my whole life. So which one is it; Daddy issues? Mommy issues? Both? Either way, your parents obviously didn't care enough about you to raise you right. So family is out of the question."

That last sentence got through to him, hitting too close to home. "Shut up," Jimmy's face contorts with anger, "You don't know anything about me, you–" He growled, a weak attempt to hide the shame he felt deep down. He hated how clearly you saw through him. He was truly alone, and it stung.

"I know enough," You reply, without even a hint of emotion. In fact, you were infuriatingly nonchalant. "It's always the same story. Mom and dad fucked you up, so now you're bitter and old, taking any chance you can get to make people feel the same misery you have inside you."

Jimmy winced when you so ruthlessly pointed out the truth he always tried so hard to deny. He wanted to fight back, but what could he say? He was at your complete mercy, literally. So he stayed quiet, his body trembling in your grasp.

You study something closely on your screen, something he can't see, which makes him all the more nervous. "Duct tape it is." You nod to yourself, grabbing the roll you conveniently placed beside you, like you were prepared for this. To silence him. You're not gentle with it, either. You wrap the tape carelessly around his head, the material sticking to his hair and mouth, secured tightly in place.

A muffled protest comes from behind the tape, but it's just as pitiful as his pleading earlier. Your fingers loop around the hem of his jeans, tugging them down roughly. It's honestly a bit more of a struggle than you'd hoped for, with his squirming, plus the rough material not going down smoothly without a fight.

"Don't you think it's stupid to fight back at this point?" You huff, wiping sweat from your forehead when you finally get his pants down to his mid-thigh. "Like, come on. This is the end for you, and you know it. At least you'll be entertaining to watch..."

Dread. That's all he can feel right now. Pure, nauseating dread. Jimmy feels like he's been punched in the gut, struggling to keep the contents of his stomach from rushing to his esophagus. His adams apple bobs as he swallows down the painful, choked up sensation in his throat. He doesn't want to cry. He can't give up his pride just yet.

Jimmy's stubbornness doesn't last long when you yank his underwear down, his soft dick laying limp on his stomach. You straddled his hips, grasping his shaft agonizingly tight, making him involuntarily let out a panic stricken whimper. No one has ever touched him like this, in a way that made his entire body feel violated. He could sit in the shower for the rest of his life, and never wash off the filth.

Jim attempts, once again, to plead for mercy, his brown eyes glazing over with fresh tears.

He's thankful he can't see your face anymore.

You can't make out what he's trying to say, but it's not like you're all too interested to find out, anyway. He feels you shift on top of him, reaching over to grab something off a nearby table. As soon as the cold, metallic barrel of your handgun presses against the pulse point on his neck, his body stiffens, his cries halting altogether.

"That's right. You just stay nice and still." You mutter, maintaining that same calm demeanor you've had since you brought him here, sealing his fate. You've done this before, it's obvious.

It's terrifying.

You keep the gun against his throat as you slip him inside of your hole, albeit with some struggle of course, because he's not hard in the slightest. Jimmy's chest heaves, and he's sure he could vomit at any second. Everything about this makes him feel sick. He's trembling so hard, lightheaded from hyperventilating.

He wishes he would just pass out so he didn't have to feel you use his dick like a toy. Every time you sink back down onto him, it makes him physically recoil, cringing with every muscle in his body. It feels so... wrong. Depraved in a way that's too monstrous, even for him. Which is hypocritial of him to think, honestly. He's put, what, dozens of people in this exact position?

His senses are completely overwhelmed, and he's unable to let out the buildup emotions in a way that isn't letting tears flow freely down his cheeks, out of the fear that if he makes a single noise or complaint, you'd kill him early and continue desecrating his corpse, whilst every single person witnessing his final moments cheers you on.

"At least I'm getting some use out of you," You pant above him, getting off on his sobs, and his palpable, unadulterated fear. "You can be proud knowing you actually made someone cum before you died. I doubt you ever have before."

His eyes anxiously follow the gun as you move it to press it against his forehead. "I wonder where I should shoot you," You hum, deep in genuine contemplation, "I think everyone would like to see your brain splattered all over the wall. Or, I could shoot you right in the heart," You prod the barrel against his chest, "And watch you panic when you feel it stop."

Jimmy wanted to ask you to make it quick. Honestly, he's relieved he'll die when this is over. At least he wont remember a single thing about his fucked up existence when he's unconscious and rotting wherever you throw his corpse. At least he wont remember how he felt in this moment. It's a little comforting to let his mind wander elsewhere, thinking of how blissfully numb he'll be when you end his life.

You could feel yourself nearing your orgasm, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through your body, and if you're being honest, his cock is big, even if it's flaccid inside you. What a shame that it'll go to waste soon. "None of this would be happening if you were a decent man. Isn't that funny?"

No, it isn't.

When you finally cum, he doesn't even have the strength left to be scared anymore. After years of longing for death, his prayers have been answered. It's not the most graceful way to go, but then again, he never expected his last moments to be peaceful.

You grip his hair, roughly twisting his head to look into the camera lense. Surprisingly, even to himself, he doesn't fight back.

"I don't know where you're going, but I hope it's worse than hell." You cock the gun, pressing the barrel to his temple.

The last thing he hears is a deafening gunshot that bursts his eardrum.

—

[fireboltcrystal]

Just a little bit of salt...

Honestly every time something new is revealed about this game since it's reveal. The more I am so fucking thankful I didn't fool myself in to wasting my money.

Even after all this time waiting after Trespasser, almost 10 years.

The back and forth, up and down. Only hearing scraps about the chaotic development. Hoping with little hope that the skeleton crew could make thing work.

Then finally it's revealed/released only to be completely saddened by the husk that appeared shambling around in faux Dragon Age skin.

What a tragic waste of a series...

I'll just save myself further heart break and ignore Veilguard's existence and just sever it from the series. Maybe one day when the distaste and disappointment has passed, I'll revisit the Trilogy with a lighter heart.

"Ah, yes Dragon Age. My favorite game trilogy. A shame that it ended on a cliffhanger. I would have loved to see what happened!"

But I guess we will never know.

Oh and on Varric (who is a alive, safe, happily enjoying his retirement, writing down his adventures and having a strong drink at The Hanged Man) deserved better than being wasted on what the team must have thought was truly 'clever' and 'thought provoking' 'twist'. Bleh...

I will never forgive Bioware & it's writers for that bit of complete and utter nonsense!

[nastyaromatherapy]

Footlong (18+)

Ethan, a boy you bullied in highschool, sees you at a frat party and is hungry for revenge.

saw (this fic) and was like damn, i need an extended version of this.

pairing - dom!ethan landry x bully!reader

one shot length, 1.9k+ word fic

warnings: PIV, creampie, mentions of sh, degradation, tara reader and quinn are all bitches, big dick ethan

“Ethan? Please. I bet he’s never even held hands with a girl.” You quipped to Tara when his name aroused in a game of Fuck Marry Kill. Quinn quickly disagreed, “I bet- No, I know he’s packing. Haven’t you seen the outline in his khakis?” You internally bleh-ed at her wandering eyes. “Quinn, you fucking horndog,” you joked, leaning back in your chair and contemplating the original question: Fuck Mary Kill, Chad, Ethan, Frankie. “Fuck Chad, Marry Ethan, Kill that motherfucker Frankie.”

“Swap Ethan and Chad, then agreed,” Quinn said. Suddenly Ethan walked in in the khakis Quinn was talking about earlier, finding his seat in the back of the class. “Speak of the devil,” Tara tsked. “Yo, Ethan,” you called out. His eyes flickered up to meet yours before quickly dropping back down. “C’mon, why the long face? I heard only fans should be back up tonight, and I’m sure the ladies miss you as much you miss them,” you fake pouted. He just rolled his eyes and focused on copying down notes he borrowed from some friends.

“Ethan!” Tara called out to him, only this time he didn’t look up. “Don’t mind y/n, she’s just nervous. She wants to invite you to her party tonight, wants to see this ‘big dick’ everyone’s gassing.” You smirked and found Tara’s comment as a perfect opening. “Yeah, Ethan, that true? That you hide a footlong in your khakis?” You asked him condescendingly, a flush already flooding his cheeks. “Oh, Ethan,” Quinn gasped, grabbing on the sides of her desk to rock it. “It’s too big, I can’t take it,” she moaned artificially.

Ethan slouched in his seat, wanting to be as far as possible from here.

He was though, he slouched in his seat on the couch at the frat party, beer can in hand. He saw you dancing with some of your friends who he’s never seen before, having not seen you since Highschool. Oh would vengeance be sweet.

He waited until you walked into the kitchen for a drink so that he could approach you without distractions. “Y/n l/n,” he said with false surprise, making you turn around with a gasp. He grew taller, his hair was more put together, he was just hotter. “What a surprise,” he smirked. “Footlong!” You smiled, the name stemming from the joke from 12th grade. “Ethan- sorry. Old habits die hard,” you said. “It’s all good just, surprised to see you here,” he spoke.

“You’re taller!” You said awkwardly, gesturing your hands towards his figure. “Yeah, I guess canceling all those only fan subscriptions helped me grow,” he joked self deprecatingly, sadly smiling. You sighed, hating apologizes. “Oh, yeah sorry about all that. It was just a joke,” you said in the most tone deaf way possible. “Hey I mean, at least those were all rumors. It’s not like it came out that I had a threesome with Paul Keene and his cousin and it turned out to be very true.” Your eyebrows furrowed and your lips twisted into a snaky expression.

“Yo what the fuck is your problem?” You asked him as your temper rose. “Just taking a trip down memory lane,” he smirked before taking a sip of his beer, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You looked at him with utter disgust for his remarks about the past. “Okay, my bad. You have gotten sexier though,” he said, empty hand reaching for your side.

You inched closer, giving into his touch. “Oh yeah?” You asked as you let his feel up your side. “Yeah,” he confirmed before finally landing a grip on your waist, pulling you in close. “You wanna dance?”

You led him to the dance floor to engage in some tipsy dancing. He wasn’t the best, was a little stiff, but you were there to help him out. You grinded on him as his hands rested at your hips. Ethan groaned as he felt his erection slowly growing as your ass rubbed against him.

“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing you by your wrist, and you complied to follow him up the stairs. He slammed you against the paneled wall and kissed you hungrily, groaning into your mouth. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a littler turned on by this, your stomach churning.

You slowly slipped your tongue into his mouth, moaning into the kiss as his hands reached to fumble with your tits.

“Fuck,” he said after pulling away, wiping the extra slobber on his face with his palm. He grabbed you by your hand this time, leading you into an empty bedroom, being quick to lock the door.

“So, Footlong,” you started while walking into the room. “We gonna test if the rumors true? And I’m gonna guess you’re a virgin. Sex isn’t the same as porn, and girls aren’t like those cam girls I know you like to watch. Just to let you know.” He grimaced at your words, seeing that you obviously haven’t changed at all.

“Sad to see you haven’t changed,” he said. “Still a bitch,” he said with a smirk. “A sexy bitch,” you said. “According to your words.” Ethan was quick to correct you, “I said you were sexier, not sexy.” Your expression quickly faltered. “God I can’t believe I kissed you. You probably have herpes,” he said while wiping a hand down his face. “I-I don’t-”

“You know I used to burn myself? Almost everyday after school?” He asked, completely shifting the mood. Your face filled with shock, up until now unaware. “Ethan- I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me-” “Cause it was none of your fucking business!” He yelled, making you inch back a bit. “Just like it was none of your fucking business saying those things to me, knowing what I already had going on in my life.” He said, referring to the death of Richie and his father’s coping mechanisms.

“But I know why you’re here, y/n. It’s not because you like me, it’s not because you want to make up, it’s because you’re a fucking loud mouthed whore.” You opened your mouth to deny it, but you just couldn’t.

As he stood he started to unbuckle his pants, letting them drop to his knees. Your eyes grew wide at the visible bulge in his boxers, maybe not 12 inches, but still huge. “What? You need a step by step tutorial?” He asked, eyeing your blank expression. His words made you quickly snap out of it and get down so your knees touched the cold wood.

You tugged his boxers down, allowing his dick to spring out. He shallowly hissed at the cold air. Your mouth watered at the sight, he was perfect. You eagerly took the tip of him, feeling the rumbles of his groans. “That’s it, shut up and take it,” he grunted, slowly thrusting himself deeper into your throat. You rested your hands on his inner thighs and moaned on his length, finding yourself extremely turned on.

“Is this gonna be our secret? Are you gonna be too embarrassed to admit to your friends that you got face fucked by Ethan Landry?” He asked, his thrusts growing more aggressive. Your eyebrows contorted upwards, and with every thrust your mouth made a wet clicking sound.

You continued moaning around him from the pleasure of being used, eyes now glossy and red. Ethan slipped his hand down and pulled his cock out of your mouth, making you sigh from disappointment. “Stick out your tongue,” he softly demanded, and you quickly complied. “That’s a good whore,” he groaned as he jerked himself off over your tongue. You found yourself reaching your tongue up, just for a little taste. “Does the slut want my cum?” He asked, growing close, face completely red. “Yes,” you moaned. “Beg for it.”

You pouted, hungry for his cum. “Please cum for me, Ethan. I want your cum s’bad!” You whimpered out. Ethan threw his head back as he shot his cum directly in your mouth, a little making its way onto your lips. You licked it off your lips sluttily before swallowing all of it. Ethan tilted his head slightly, “Not even a thank you?” He asked, annoyed. “Thank you,” you corrected.

He looked down at you on the floor, eyeing you still in the dress. “Turn around.” After you turned to face away from him, he unzipped your dress to help you take it off, taking his shirt off as well. He hooked your black thong in his fingers and moved them to the side, eyeing your glistening pussy. He spit on it before giving your ass a slap, making you yelp and bounce forward.

“Face down,” he ordered, making you lay your face down on the cool floor. He took his cock and rubbed it up and down your pussy, leading you to whimper. “Please fuck me, Ethan,” you moaned. He slapped your ass again, “Yeah, you want my cock, slut?” You nodded furiously. “Please, need your cock in me,” you whined, pushing your ass back in an attempt to gain more friction.

“Fuck,” he groaned when he slid into you, grabbing a hold of your waist. “Ethan!” You moaned out. Never in a million years would you ever think that Ethan fucking Landry would be stretching you out. “That’s it, take my cock,” he groaned, ego boosting from how much you enjoyed it, from how you whimpered on his dick and clenched around him.

“So big,” you whispered, which he picked up on. “Yeah? You love my big dick stretching you out?” You nodded in response. “Yes, fuck I love your cock, Ethan!”

He got so much pleasure out of watching you submit for him, the girl who tormented him for years just from her words, going dumb on his cock. “Mm, slap my ass again please, it felt s’good,” you slurred out. He smiled and was quick to comply, leaving a red mark on your cheek. “Slut love when I smack her ass?” He asked smugly. “Mhm,” you whimpered.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as you struggled to find anything to grab onto, reaching for your discarded dress to scrunch in your hands. “Not gonna say anything bitchy?” He asked, thrusts growing deeper. “Where’d your confidence go? Fuck you’re pathetic,” he smirked. “Pathetic slut who likes getting her pussy ripped apart by absolutely anyone.” You moaned at his words, growing close as tears formed in your eyes.

“So close, Ethan,” you whined, your stomach twisting in the most pleasurable way. “Oh yeah? Beg for it,” he grunted, slamming into you harder. “Fuck- please let me cum Ethan, your cock feels s’good,” you begged, cunt squeezing his length so tight. “That’s a good fucking whore, cum on my cock,” he groaned. You released all over him, squirting for the first time.

The liquid spurted onto his thighs and the floor, making you feel somewhat humiliated. He continued to fuck you, having not came yet. You screamed from the overstimulation, moaning uncontrollably. “Fuck, oh fuck. Ethann,” you whined as he chased his own high.

“Fuck!” He groaned with one final slam, filling your cunt with his thick cum. He was quick to pull out and watch his cum slowly drip out of your pussy. “Come taste yourself,” he said. You shifted around and bent over to suck his dick, covered in a mix of yours and his cum. He cursed under his breath as you overstimulated his cock, grabbing your head and pushing you down on his length, throwing his head back, groaning as you deepthroated him. Then he lifted your head up to see your fucked out face, wet with sweat. “Be useful and open your legs.”

[avatarmerida]

Hey fellow losers I’m back with more beta huntlow fluff. I know I’ve written some Paulina/William stuff before but this is based on the most recent even more beta huntlow we got from the leaked show bible. So we’ve gone from awkward little prince and fumbling quirky girl to feral witch hunter and equally feral creepy plant girl and I also love them too so hope ya like it 💛💚

———

“And if the water boils here how do all the plants live?” William asked, balancing on the fence along Paulina’s garden as she did some maintenance and planted some new seeds they had found in the forest. She never tired of answering his many questions about the demon realm, especially about the flora and fauna.

“The same way they do in the human realm I suppose,” she said with a small shrug. “I think the stems here have more coating than the plants you’ve seen, but a lot of plants close up during the rain to protect their petals.”

“Interesting,” he said, jumping down to look at her work closer. “How do you persuade the ones with teeth not to bite you?”

“I just keep them well feed, they don’t nip unless they’re hungry or scared,” she said. “But feeding them the food that helps keep their teeth healthy is tricky because it smells kinda gross.”

“They can smell it?”

“They sure can.”

“Fascinating,” he marveled, looking at them closer to see if he could understand how.

“Can I ask you a question?” Paulina asked, wiping some stray dirt from her glasses.

“Of course you may,” replied William, sitting on the ground beside her.

“Why are you still so upset with Luz?” She asked, changing topics. She saw his body language shift.

“I think it’s very clear why,” he said softly.

“You know she didn’t wake you up early on purpose,” she said gently. “She’s really a very nice person, and she genuinely thought she was helping you. Is there anything she can do to prove she’s sorry?”

“I’m not upset that she woke me from my slumber, I'm upset that she was able to,” sighed William, hugging his knees.

“What do you mean? Do you not want to be here?” Paulina asked, hoping it wasn’t the case. Selfishly, she liked having him around.

“When it happened… my uncle told me I’d awaken to a better world. That the suffering and confusion I was around would be gone. That I’d be awoken gently by my…”

“By who?”

“… by my true love.” He said under his breath, almost as though he was embarrassed to utter the words.

“Oh, so you think that Luz is your-.”

“Ew! Bleh, no!” He exclaimed in disgust. “Er, sorry that was rude. No, no I don’t think that. But I think she able to awaken me the way she did because I don’t have a true love.”

“Oh,” Paulina breathed, seeing the genuine hurt slip though the cracks as he tried to keep his lip from trembling. She ventured this was the first time he had said the sentiment aloud. “Or maybe the spell just wore off.”

“Or maybe it just gave up,” he said with a hurt chuckle. “I mean, it makes sense; maidens didn’t favor me before, why would they ever start now? I was better off sleeping forever, giving the world some peace.”

“William, don't say that,” she said, taking his hand. He didn’t flinch at her dirt covered hands.

“It’s true, is it not?” He sighed, focusing on her knuckles decorated with grass stains and tiny scars from the thorns she did not fear. “I cause you nothing but trouble despite you showing me nothing but kindness.”

“Well technically I did threaten to feed you to my plant,” she reminded him. It was certainly a unique first impression.

“Twas for my own good,” he said. “Plus knowing you as I do now, I know it was merely a jest to teach me a lesson. You are kind and patient and I’m just a nuisance.”

“No you’re not!” She insisted. “Okay, well maybe a little at first, but you’ve changed! You’re still learning and adapting, growth doesn’t happen all at once overnight.” She gestured to her garden as proof, a mixture of progress and color. “Love is the same way, ya know. Usually you have to get to know someone first before you label them as your ‘true love.’” She carefully plucked a vibrant yellow flower and placed it behind his ear.

“So… you don’t believe in love at first sight?” He asked timidly as she went back to her gardening.

He remembered when he first saw her, how there was a rosey spotlight around her like a halo. How time slowed down so he could soak in every detail of her beauty, memorize her voice and her movements before reality set back in and with it brought a new breed of confusion. He didn’t know better, but upon reflection the whole ordeal felt like what the poetry he had read in secret during his studies labeled as the phenomenon of love at first sight. His eyes had not seen such a thing before and ever since.

“Hmmm, not really?” Paulina pondered. “I think it’s different for everyone, but I also don’t think I’d want to marry someone I don’t know who kissed me while I was sleeping.”

“That is a fair point,” William chuckled, leaning over to help her make another hole in the ground for her next round of seeds. “You’re correct, as usual.”

“Exactly, and I’m also correct when I say if you want to fall in love then you will,” said Paulina. “You just have to give it time, it’s not something you can force.”

“You know… much about love then?”

“I mean, my dads really love each other but they didn’t get married the second they met,” she said. “They got to know each other first and they didn’t meet the way they thought they’d meet their spouse. Everyone’s story is different.”

“But it’s also possible that some of us aren’t meant to have a story.”

She couldn’t deny that, but she refused to accept a world where a boy who seemed to cherish love so much wasn’t meant to have it. “Maybe she was able to wake you because she was meant to introduce you to your true love.”

“Perhaps,” he said, his mind fully focusing on how she had been the first person Luz had introduced him to. He couldn’t complain about that logic.

“It also might help if you had a crush first,” added Paulina, carefully pressing the dirt back into the ground as though tucking it into bed.

“Like a duel?”

“Oh well, a crush is like… what comes before someone is your true love,” she tried to explain without divulging how complicated they could truly get. “Like, having positive feelings about someone, and wanting to spend time with them without, like, getting married after a few days. Just like thinking of them romantically.”

“I think I may… have formed this crush.”

“Oh! On who?” She asked with enthusiasm that made him quiet. Paulson wore her heart on her sleeve, but he had trouble expressing anything that was not deeply rooted in fact. Or at least, the facts he had been feed. A few moments ago he didn’t have the words to describe his feelings let alone validation their were sinful. He didn’t know the proper way to share them.

“Wel… um…”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Paulina quickly, sensing the answer was hard for him to bring forth. “I didn’t consider it could be someone from your original time. I’m sorry if that was too forward, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“And… not wanting to share it doesn’t make it wrong?” William asked.

“Of course not,” she assured him. “You’re allowed to have secrets, and if you want to tell me eventually that’s fine too; you decide when and if you’re ready. I mean, I’ve had tons of crushes on very different people but sometimes they’re just something small, ya know? Sometimes they take awhile to figure out and sometimes they go away on their own, each one is different.”

“Has there ever been one you weren’t able to escape?”

“Well, I don’t know if I would word it like that,” she chuckled. “Having a crush is supposed to be fun, it’s exciting. And sometimes scary, but that also makes it fun. Like a rollercoaster.”

“A roller… coaster?”

“Oh yeah I forgot,” she giggled. “I’ll have to show you one.”

“A… crush?”

“No a rollercoaster,” she said.

“Ah, haha yes of course,” he laughed nervously, painfully aware that he could not seem to stop. “So w-what does one do if they don’t wish to have the crush dissolved?”

“Well I guess you could ask the person you have a crush on to go on a date with you.”

“And a date is like… a courtship, yes? I would seek to woo them?”

She giggled. “Yes, you would seek to woo them.”

He didn’t know what he said that was so humorous but he’d say it everyday for the rest of his life it meant getting to hear her laugh like that.

“Ah, well then. That’s another obstacle, as I know not the way to do so,” he said with a slight frown. “Especially in this foreign, modern land I feel that any outing I plan would not be up to her standards.”

Paulina’s ears perked, her first suspicion dashed as William made it clear the person he liked was someone he had met since he had awakened, which meant it was more than likely that she knew the person as well.

She wondered how well she knew them.

“I mean, like you said I still have much to learn about this world and this time,” he sighed. “But regardless, I’m still myself and I can’t help but feel as though someone discovering I have this crush for them would be most unwanted.”

“I don’t think so,” said Paulina. “I think they’ll think it’s sweet.”

“Surely you jest,” he scoffed. “You’re kind to spare my feelings but I’m sure if this person was aware of my thoughts regarding them they’d be repulsed and uncomfortable.”

“Well I’m sure they’d be perfectly fine with it,” she insisted. “After getting to know you these last few months I can tell you’re actually really sweet, even if you don’t think so. Give yourself more credit.”

“Oh so if I were to tell you I fancy you and wish to spend my days with you, you wouldn’t find it revolting?” He asked as though it was the most comical thing he could imagine.

“No.”

“Oh.” He said, surprised at how quickly and confidently she replied. He cleared his throat and dared to continue. “S-so if I were to say that I would consider it an honor to hold your hand and escort you anywhere you wish to go, you wouldn’t find it inappropriate?”

“No.”

“A-and if I told you you have the most captivating, soft eyes I’ve ever seen and that they make precious jewels envious you would be… okay with that?”

“Um…” Paulina found herself speechless, struck by his words like they were an arrow destined for her very heart.

“Oh yes of course that sentiment is made of cheese, as you might say.” He laughed, slightly embarrassed. “I should have realized my attempts at poetry were novice at best. I apologize if the example was offensive, I should have-.”

“No, no it was very nice!” she said quickly, not wanting to prevent him from saying such lovely things. “It was a beautiful thought, Will. I think anyone would like to hear that.”

“Truly? Uh, well thank you,” he said, unable to hide the blush that danced across his freckles. “Eh, but I’m sure you hear things such as that daily from your suitors.”

“My suitors?” She repeated with a snort. “Oof, now that’s a good one.”

But William did not find it humorous. “I’m sorry, I’m confused.”

“Well let’s just say when other witches my age notice me it’s usually not for the best reasons,” she said. “Most of them think I’m weird or creepy.”

“My apologies again, I’m still getting accustomed to the colloquialisms of this time, do those terms mean something different now?”

“No, I’m pretty sure they mean the same thing now as they did back then,” she said with a small smile, secretly recalling how when they first met William had a similar impression of her, though in fairness it was more about the witch aspect than her specifically. She wondered when exactly that had changed. “I’ve never been very popular. In fact, after Amity stopped talking to me and until I met Augustus most of my closest friends were plants.”

“Well perhaps it is because those plants have the sense to appreciate being in the presence of a rose.”

It was her turn to blush now. “Well, aren’t you the secret romantic?” She giggled, impressed with how quickly he had provided the response. They sat in silence a moment as William realized he hadn’t complimented her hypothetically this time and that something in her tone had shifted. As much as Paulina was willing to try and spare his feelings, he knew she would not lead him astray in this manner. She would not lie to him about this, but did that mean her words applied to her?

“Miss Park… I have a favor of sorts to ask of you,” he began, taking a deep breath.

“Of course,” she said, and he was taken back by how quickly she had agreed. She didn’t even ask what was in it for her benefit, like he was worthy of her assistance without any bribery.

“I will admit I know little of the courtship rituals from my time and even less about the present ones and I was hoping that you would be willing to help… educate me.”

“Oh yeah?” She said with a smirk, scooting closer to him. “How so?”

He could feel his hands get sweatier under his gloves. “Well, would I perchance be able to take you on an outing I believe suitable for expressing such… feelings,” he said as he cleared his throat as though the word made him dizzy. “And you advise me on if it was a suitable choice? I can compensate you for your time, I’ve been saving the snails I’ve acquired in exchange for my sewing and tailoring skills. We can have a grand collection of treats!”

“That sounds really nice,” said Paulina, adoring the way his full smile was on display and she could see the gap in his teeth without him shying away, too caught up in his own hypothetical excitement. “I would love to go out with you William.”

“Okay, wonderful,” he managed to squeak, and his eyes lit up in a way Paulina had never seen before. “I will uh I shall make all the arrangements! What day favors your schedule?”

“I’m fine with whatever day works best for you.”

“The sooner the better!” He exclaimed, louder than he intended to. He swiftly adjusted his volume. “I-I just mean for research purposes. I look forward to the learning aspect of the evening, heh.”

“I’m excited too,” she said and he couldn’t control the wide grin that consumed his whole face. She began to pat down the dirt to help support the budding bulb she had been keeping an eye on, ready to bloom any day now. “Do you think at the end you might be ready to tell me who you have a crush on?”

“I think that if everything goes as planned… I will be. Yes.”

[snexy-the-snail]

Lazy blurb

“You’re an absolute guppy.” Triton murmurs, Percy rolling his eyes at the jab. “Guppy this, guppy that, you forget I’m not half fish like you so bleh.” He responds, shoving against the soft flesh pressing against him. He had gotten more used to this than he liked to admit. It had taken some time to get used to, but half the time he swore Triton sought him out specifically for this. “I'm not half anything, I am a God, and I look how I wish.” 

Percy crosses his arms, allowing the glowing organ to move him in a rocking motion. Despite everything it was...oddly calming. The stomach wasn’t overly warm, but it was enough that he felt comfortable, and there was liquid in there as well. He didn’t exactly want to think about exactly what he was breathing but it soothed his lungs, so he wasn’t going to complain.  

“And anyway, this is getting old, I can protect myself.” At least he could for the most part here. It was just actual sea monsters that had some weird vendetta against him. Which was a lot. He closes his eyes when the light brightens slightly, groaning in frustration. “Mhm, as you did against the kraken.” Triton responds, Percy could practically feel the sass in the god’s tone, kicking at a stomach fold in retaliation.  

The Kraken had caught him off guard, and besides it wasn’t like Triton could always use that. “It got you too, don’t even try that. I know dad took it out.” He whines crossing his arms. “Father helped yes, but I was fine by myself.” 

There was a pause, Triton tensing up slightly, the muscles around him clenching tightly. “Hey? What’s wrong?” Percy asks, squirming within the tight confines of the stomach. Everything was getting brighter too, which was mildly concerning. “Triton? What’s going on, is there- do you have to fight? Let me out.” He shifts, his hands trying to search upwards. Everything felt like it was falling, and the flesh tightened more around him, making him wheeze in surprise, the off feeling of being upside down and weightless making him kick his feet out of reflex. “Triton!” he screams, his nerves feeling like lightning under his skin. Something was attacking his brother, and he couldn't do anything. He couldn’t fight, or taunt or even be a lookout. “I’m fine Percy.” Triton responds, sounding a tad annoyed, the muscles around him relaxing. He felt off, like he was floating more than usual.  

“What the FUCK was that.” He hisses out, his hands flittering around the grooves in the stomach, pressing out. It was so terrifying being practically blind to the world outside, and that was starting to fuel the fire. “That was Father deciding I too needed to be held.” Triton grumbles, the movement becoming more disorienting for a moment as Triton probably righted himself. Then Poseidon spoke, only Percy had no idea what the god said, he sure as Hades felt it thought. The rumbling was like a storm, vibrating him to the core. He covers his ears out of reflex, his heart rapidly pumping. “What the fuck.” His voice shaky as he tried to process what the utter hell was going on.  

“Ah, I apologize. Father is not...exactly in his mortal form as of now.” At least Triton had the decency to sound sympathy. This whole thing was freaking Percy out. He thought he’d burn up in the presence of a god in their divine form... That's one thing that always stuck with him, no matter what. “How am I not sand right now?” He asks weakly, relieved when he felt a pressure against him, pressing into the touch with a slight whine.  

There was another deep rumble as their dad no doubt said something but he was more focused on Triton. Focusing on the rush of the salt water into the gods lungs, the steady studding of his heart, and hell even the stomach noises were becoming a comfort. “He’s alright, I’m careful- I did try to warn you.” Triton murmurs, Percy leaning further into the gentle rubbing his brother was providing. “Father didn’t mean to frighten you; he was unaware you were tucked away.”  

“He ate you- he ATE oh...he ate me too- he double ate.” Percy cuts off curling into the stomach walls. This was a lot. The whole eating thing had been a surprise to begin with, but the fact that he was in two gods was absolutely insane. He swallows thickly, wincing when more rumbling vibrated the space he was in only...it sounded...vaguely familiar. It wasn’t really- was this a song? It sounded like a song, the words were extended.  

Soon Triton started as well, the words sounding more like words. He slowly uncurls, taking a shaking breath in as he forced on the sounds. It was...a different language, that was for sure, and he could make out a few words. The rumbling with the actual words was actually...comforting.  

“...Alright...alright...it’s fine. I'm okay.” He mumbles after a feel verses, resting more comfortably. He was still safe, he was just...more safe. He sits up more, bringing his legs to his chest. “Just a bit...overwhelming?”  

[skellymom]

“Who Delt It?” 

The THIRD Bad Batch Comedy One Shot in the ONE SHIT SERIES!

To read #2 in the series:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/740278235151106049/bombs-away?source=share

Background: Five people on a small ship with one bathroom. Need I say more?

Word count: 392 words

Warning: Farts, stinky humor, pretty tame stuff for Tumblr

“Well, I’m ready for a nap!” Echo leaned back in the co-pilot's seat and closed his eyes. 

“Likewise. Unfortunately, the Marauder won’t fly herself.” Tech sipped his caf enthusiastically, firing up the ship to take off. 

The Batch had just finished a mission on an Outer Rim planet and made friends with the locals there. The locals insisted they share a huge cauldron of stew the community ate together... 

...unfortunately, it ran through EVERYONE in the squad by varying degrees and resulted in some...flatulence. 

“OOF! WHAT THE KRIFF??? WRECKER!!!” Echo screwed up his face in utter disgust. 

“HEEYY, it wasn’t ME!”  

“You ALWAYS state that Wrecker. Whomever smelt it is NOT definitive proof of whomever delt it.” Tech pinched his nose while speaking, his voice sounding comical with a partially obstructed airway. 

Echo frantically waved the offending vapors away, “BLEH!” More dramatic facial expressions. 

Wrecker sat angrily, arms crossed, sulking he had been wrongly blamed. 

At that moment Hunter emerged from the fresher, clearly not “privy” to the current conversation, “You know lads, I...” He stopped DEAD, sniffed, coughed, choked, eyes starting to water. “WHAT THE SUN BAKED BANTHA TURD IS THAT???” 

“Wrecker farted!” Echo fanned his face and grimaced. 

“No... cough...can’t be...cough. Doesn’t have the same smell. Undertones are ALL wrong.” Hunter now had his “Tracker Face” on trying to discern the source of the stench. 

“What! You can IDENTIFY people’s farts by their SMELL???” Echo was incredulous. 

Tech interjected “Of course. Hunter IS known for his enhanced sense of smell. That is how Crosshair became LEGENDARY for his flatulence. He earned the ‘Silent But Deadly” moniker. No matter what mission we were on, or who we served with: The 212th, 501st, Coruscant Guard, or any other. Hunter never failed to pick out Crosshair with a shipload of Republic ration eating clones.” 

Hunter chuckled, “Got to be a game for Crosshair after awhile. Silently drop one and watch all the Regs get mad at each other for stinking the place up. He was proud of it really...but Crosshair ain’t here.” Hunter turned to look at the offending party. 

Everyone else turned to face Omega, silently sitting next to Wrecker hand over her nose and mouth. 

“SORRY!” She yelled embarrassingly, jumped off the chair, ran to the refresher, and slammed the door. 

Wrecker threw up his hands, “GEEZ! I CAN’T CATCH A BREAK WITH YOU GUYS!!!” 

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[blackstarchanx3new]

Would you say Link is obsessed with Dark or the other way around? 👉👈

Their relationship is...INTERESTING and I'm really excited to explore it down the line.

My current idea for them is thus:

Dark Link for sure is fascinated with the pieces that make up Link, his colors. but when it comes to Link himself he's very...Bleh about it. XD

He's looked through his memories and is interested in him enough but Dark was in a way made to break Link apart. (Been through this in the comic but drawing the four sword was kind of meant to keep Link split obviously that's not how it panned out in the story but Dark prefers Link split as like, a subconscious thing due to that.) He likes toying with Link at his core, loves to analyze him, to mimic him. Even if that's not something he realizes he's doing. He's a twisted reflection of Link.

Dark spent 7 years as a mindless curse around Link being miserable so Dark just kind of associates Link with sadness and misery. Dark is a deeply depressed individual to begin with. He reflects Link's depression, laziness as well as isolation, his utter desperation for contact and love. Because he's someone who's constantly seeking a high to keep himself happy (Or in most cases manic), when faced with someone like Link he feels very "bored" by him.

Link on the other hand...

He can't quite fathom his life without Dark Link's influence anymore and craves to be close to him. NEEDS IT. He spent 7 years with it.

He's desperate for contact as he got isolated from everyone. And Dark Link is literally tied to him. Unlike Shadow who could leave whenever. And I think that level of security that Dark is essentially trapped with him brings him a level of peace.

I would for sure describe them as codependent. Dark Link is being kept alive by Link's life. And Link feels like he needs Dark to survive.

I think who is more vocally obsessive it'd be Link while Dark is a lot more subconsciously drawn to Link but is less invested in Link the individual as a person. Which may or may not change.

But yeah they're just my lil guys.

[waitmyturtles]

Dead Friend Forever: I managed to catch up in time to watch the finale, and here are my immediate, uneducated, "holy shit" thoughts

First off: I acknowledge I am an utter interloper on this tag, having written exactly zero meta words about this mostly great show. Second: everything I know about slashers comes from my childhood memories of "Scream," and my recent conversations with the lovelies @lurkingshan and @neuroticbookworm. So I'm not an expert here. Thirdly! I was inspired in part by them to watch this, and also by the friendies who jumped into comments on my recent KinnPorsche liveblog watches for my Old GMMTV Challenge project. I've been waiting these past few weeks to finish Dead Friend Forever before putting pen to paper on my KP rewatch thoughts, because I thought Be On Cloud did something fabulously experimental with DFF as its second major serial drama.

Anyway: all of this is to say that now that DFF is over, in the near future, I'm gonna write a bunch on KP and a bit more on DFF -- but I want to offer just some quick wandering thoughts on DFF now.

I think like many of y'all, I found the tone of the last PheeJin moments to be discordant with the tenor of the rest of the finale episode. The way I'm calculating this, as I'm sure many of you are, is that I think there was a commentary on fate and Buddhist purgatory, particularly with New/Tan being able to hear from a thankful Non one more time before New's passing. New suffers, it seems to me, the least painful death, and I think that was in part Non’s doing.

In order to conclude the tone on PheeJin, I do wish that we would have seen a flashback back to PheeJin at the house. I guess we’d assume that Phee and Jin never regained their consciousness, that the antidote didn’t work, and that their cyclical fate would be returning back to the lakeshore, only to be haunted by Non again. While it seems to me that Tee, in whatever realm of fate they ended up in, got his appropriate ending — I don’t think that the PheeJin cyclical ending at the lakeshore assigned enough “blame” of fate to either of them, especially Jin. I know @lurkingshan notes that that’s a nod to the need to appease any hopes of surviving ships, and I agree with that assessment. But also — god, BLEH, they sucked, we were left with PheeJin?! JIN??? My boy White, my bubbala, he’s the good one that got really in-your-face off-ed? Wah. (But I do see and understand why White needed to die, to make Tee’s residual fate the utter living hell he deserves.)

Like I said: on a more macro note, I’m gonna have thoughts about DFF, Be On Cloud, and KP in the coming days, because I just like that BOC is dabbling with some experimental writing while allowing solid acting to really shine. (And I compare that to what’s happening at Idol Factory and the recent writing miss that was The Sign.) I wish the ending wasn’t as milquetoast as it was, but BOC still traffics in BLs, and I guess they felt they needed to throw the fans some kind of BL bone (huh huh).

But overall? I am REALLY GLAD I watched this, and it absolutely belongs on the OGMMTVC syllabus. This was incredibly new for the Thai BL genre, and I gotta give BOC — AND ESPECIALLY BARCODE AND TA, WOW — their flowers for taking Thai BL into this new direction. For the most part of this run, I had a great time with this show, as brutal as the content was.

[bugzrc00l]

Small Sam Winchester rant

(Spoilers for season 3-4 of spn!!!)

Okay so why do we not talk about Sam? like his whole character arc was having his bodily autonomy taken multiple times and having to cope with it. Specifically I’d like to talk about the demon blood. The fact that he was so young when Azazel first fed him demon blood, there was nothing Sam could do about it, just sit in horror as he realized that his feeling of being an utter outcast was warranted, that he would never be the same. He thought he was a monster.

It’s especially prevalent after Dean’s death, like- his brother, the one person who always loved him, who he later found out to be favored by literal angels- had sacrificed himself for Sam. So it was such a clear reason why Sam started working with Ruby, he wanted to use what had happened to him in a way to protect others from the same fate, like Dean would have. He wanted to turn his damage into “good damage” never anticipating that he would become addicted.

By god, that’s when it really gets hard, the addiction, the way it got him through the weeks, he felt powerful, he felt like he was doing something to control what he hadn’t before, he knew it was wrong but he still went through with it. It was sick, it was gut wrenching and guilt ridden but it felt good. He felt like he had autonomy again.

This is just a small messy Bleh of my thoughts bc I haven’t finished the show yet (I’m knee deep in s11). But trust when I do I will be rewatching and really looking at the way Sam changes and why.

Anyway, here’s a little doodle for the soul!

[vashsmunch]

Being enough NSFW

Millions Knives x Transmasc! Reader (MINORS DNI!)

Synopsis: post trimax knives and you have some quality talk before fucking LMAO Warnings: 2.1k words, hurt/comfort (that's all i write), extremely subby knives, pre-op reader, body dysmorphia, self worth issues, plant pussy WOOO, overstimulation, dacryphilia, pretty bitch knives A/N: okay im ngl, i had a really hard time trying to figure out how to write this LMAO. it was initially a birthday gift for my friend but i had never written transmasc stuff before, so i struggled in how to make it not feel like just fem reader stuff. i think i did alright though! transmasc people deserve more love <3 i also kind of missed knives (bleh), and i enjoy the thought of post trimax him having a crushing amount of guilt. hope yall like it ^^

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

“Nervous, huh?"

You blew into Nai's ear, and he flinched, leaning away from you. "Not... necessarily."

Sitting back on your heels, you cocked your head at him. He was lying, that much was clear. His eyes were purposely avoiding yours, and he was as stiff as a board. Sure, this was... new, but that didn't explain why he was acting so evasive. Did he not want this? Your fingers instinctively fiddled with the blankets on the bed you two were on, trying to ease your own nerves that were starting to stir up. Dark thoughts ran past your mind as the silence grew even more heavy. Maybe... no. You wouldn't start with that.

You hesitated before leaning forward to take his hand, making sure to not tighten your grip too much. Your voice was quiet as you murmured to him, trying to be calm for both of your sakes. "Hey, I know that this is your first time, but it's gonna be okay. You can back out anytime you want, and I promise I'll be slow. Unless.. there's something else you want to talk about?"

There was another long pause before Nai sighed heavily, turning his body to face yours but still looking down. He tightened his grip around your hand, and you noted that his own was trembling. "It's hard for me to explain."

"I'm smarter than you think. Try me."

His thumb pressed against the flesh of your knuckle, his leg starting to bounce a bit. "This is something I want, something I desire. That's not something I want you to doubt, nor is it something I've ever had second thoughts about," You breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he said this. At least it wasn't what you were dreading. "The issue lies more in whether... I deserve it."

Frowning, you leaned forward to put your face in front of his, your hand raised to cup his cheek. "Hey, hey, none of that. I wouldn't be here if you didn't, I don't fuck people just for shits and giggles, ya know."

Your joke made his lips curl into a tiny smile, but there was still something there that you knew he wasn't telling you about. Thumb brushing against his cheek, you gave him a soft kiss. "I'm not gonna do anything unless you're fully transparent with me. I don't want you to regret this. Please Nai, what's wrong?" 

"I just..." His voice quivered as he whispered against your lips. "Are you not frightened? Are you not aggrieved? The people I hurt... friends of yours that I may have killed... do you not mourn for them? Is this truly something that you want with me, of all people? I will never be able to take that away from you, no matter how many years go by or how many apologies I utter. There will always be the knowledge of knowing you're with a murderer, and I would rather you be happy than drag you down to the hell I've built myself."

A pang rang out in your heart as he finished, and you couldn't help but feel so utterly destroyed. Here you were, thinking he was having regrets about being with someone like you while he was still grieving the suffering his actions caused. You were quiet, trying to think of an appropriate response. 

Finally, you spoke up. "I'm not going to discount the lives of people who were hurt. But I won't ignore the hell you went through either. You were just a child when you saw Tesla, Nai, and people grieve in different ways. This doesn't excuse what you did, but I can understand. Please know I will never hold this against you, nor will I resent you for it. You're trying to repent, and that's what matters," You saw tears well up in his eyes and you gently wiped at them before continuing. "You deserve to feel loved as much as anyone else, and I do love you. I love you so much, Nai, that it aches every time I think of you. The way you treat me, and the softness I see in our interactions, I know you're doing your best. Let me love you, and I promise I'll do everything in my power to make you understand this. I know it's hard, but I'm asking you to trust me. Can you do that? For me?"

He finally met your gaze and salty streams started to flow down his cheeks as he nodded. You moved to hug him, and he clutched at you, crying silently. Rubbing his back, you continued to coo and assure him, your own eyes brimming with liquid. He truly was a tortured soul, and you couldn't blame him. Eventually, you pulled back a bit and smiled at him. "Now, are you going to let me fuck you or not?"

A soft chuckle left his lips as he closed the distance again, kissing you. You helped him remove his sweater and pants, having him lay down on the bed. As your fingers grazed down the length of his muscular stomach, he reached down to grasp your hand. You looked up at him quizzically and saw his cheeks flushed a faint pink. "I must warn you, dove. There might be a bit of shock when you see what's there. I'm not... normal. At least in terms of anatomy humans usually have."

"Do you have something I can eat out?" His mouth dropped open at the vulgarity of your question, and you couldn't help but laugh. "Then I'll be fine. I promise, Nai. If anything, I'll probably be fascinated. Strange genitals don't even compare to the fact that you can manifest literal knives." It wasn't like you had the place to judge, considering your own body. 

With that in mind, your fingers absentmindedly traced the dips of his stomach, wondering how to approach this next part. Eventually, you managed to speak up, voice cracking a bit as you looked down. "You're not the only one who's had doubts about this. But I have... for different reasons," Nai didn't say a word, making you rush to fill the empty air with explanation. "You know I'm not biologically male. We talked about it a bit before, but I never really went into detail; mostly because I didn't know how to continue with the topic. But it's made me wonder if you'd prefer to... I don't know. Be with someone who has the means to please you? In a way I just can't." 

You bit your lip, knowing it wasn't just about that. There were often times when you felt.. unfinished. Impure would be a better word. Especially when you were with someone like Nai, someone who literally embodied the definition of a fallen angel. He was beautiful in a way that was so inhuman, that it made you wonder if he was truly happy being with someone that happened to be far from the definition of perfect. At least in terms of standard bodily expectations. 

Nai's hand came to take you in his palm, tilting your head up to his gaze. His face was riddled with guilt, and it made your heart ache. It was your last wish to make him feel bad for anything, especially with your own foolish little worries. He came to press his forehead against yours, his words in a low whisper. "I've witnessed many things in my years of living. I've seen looks of distress and heard cries of horror, many of which were caused by my hand. There are few things that I would consider to be dear to me, as I thought I wasn't capable of feeling such things," A small smile graced his face as he thumbed at your cheek, trying to comfort you with sadness in his eyes. "But you... you are everything I don't deserve and something I refuse to lose. I've spent so long looking for something to fill the void that was left in my heart after witnessing the death of my sister. And I finally found it. I regret all I've done thus far, but I would do it again if it led me to you once more. Please believe me when I say you mean the world to me, and I've seen the world. Nothing could compare to the beauty you are."

You weren't going to cry. You weren't. Fuck you were crying.

Swiping furiously at your eyes, you laughed softly. "You really know how to make someone feel good about themselves, you know that?"

"I simply said what was in my heart. And you are my heart."

With a loud sniff, you looked back at him with a playfully agitated face. "Can I fuck you now or are we going to stay here and bawl our eyes out until dehydration?" He chuckled as a soft pink graced the tips of his ears, finally letting go of you. With a comforting squeeze of his hip, you waited for him to nod his consent before coming back down to his crotch and tugging down his underwear. 

...

Petals? You tilted your head a bit, examining closer. Yeah, petals. Reaching out hesitantly, you gently stroked the length of what seemed to be a flower twisted up on itself, and you heard him let out a quiet hiss. Soft-hued PLANT marks lined the length of his thighs and pelvis, his anatomy resembling a pussy more than what a guy usually had. If you remember correctly, the petals would be covering what was the pistil.  The more you touched him, little tendrils of what you would assume to be the stamens crept their way from the opening as the petals parted themselves. They wrapped around your wrist but made no move to stop you as you encouraged the petals to reveal more.

"H-hah... Wait...!" Nai cried out as you slid your fingers up and down the outside of his hole, lathering them in fluid. His eyes fluttered shut, his breathing becoming more and more labored. You looked up at him, encouraging him to stop you if needed, but all he offered was a pathetically submissive look through half-lidded eyes. Taking this as an incentive, you continued to explore him, growing increasingly curious about the swollen nub that sat prettily nestled between his folds. It must be the PLANT version of a clit.

You took the bud between your fingers and gave it a gentle pinch, and Nai bucked his hips up into your touch, whimpering. "S-sensitive!" There was something so salaciously intriguing about seeing the usually composed man become undone, so you continued. Rolling and caressing his clit whilst bringing your other hand to prod at his entrance before sinking a finger into him. He let out a soft whine as his body tensed up, pleasure visibly coursing throughout him as he came from the pressure alone. You coaxed him through it, pumping your finger in and out until he was writhing around and begging you to stop. 

Nai's voice was weak and strained, calling your name out in broken chants. You didn't though, knowing that if he truly wanted to, he could forcibly make you stop. Seeing as he didn't, you kept fucking him, eventually adding another finger whilst curling them against his puffy, slick walls. You felt around, paying attention to each arch of his back and twitch of his body, making sure to adjust your ministrations in turn. Tears started to build up in his eyes as he shamelessly humped your fingers, seeming to relish in the lewd wet sounds his cunt was making. He was so beautiful like this, it wasn't hard to believe he was a PLANT. Especially when his glyphs gradually appeared on his skin, pulsing with a soft light in time with each of his moans. He was ethereal in every sense in the world, and you were breaking him to his very core. 

Nai cried pathetic little pleas as you felt his walls clench around your fingers even tighter, growing close to his second high. "Please... please I- I can't-!" 

You hushed him, coming up to kiss him softly as you kept hitting all the places that had him melting into your touch. You rubbed harshly against his clit, your lip curling into a smile. "You can." He wailed, his hands scrambling to find something to clutch onto as he came again, his body spasming as his patterned skin glowed brighter, almost blinding you with the way they lit up the room.

Finally easing up, you gingerly pulled your hand away from his dripping hole, fascinated by the glittery cum that enveloped your fingers. You scissored your them open and closed, becoming acutely aware of Nai still recovering from his intense orgasm. His chest was collapsing in on itself, arm draped over his face as he panted hard. You gently pulled it away from his eyes, having him meet your gaze. A tilt of your head and a laugh left your lips as you caressed his cheek. "See? Not that bad, now was it?"

He spent a few long moments catching his breath before he smiled back weakly. "You'll be the death of me, dear." 

[gyuswhore]

it’s the karina requester again from before 🤭 i really really loved the karina fic and it’s been on my mind for a while 😵‍💫 if the drabble game is still ongoing then could you do another fic of her confessing to fem!reader? just overall really fluffy please? 🫶 (it doesn’t have to be a part two to the other one but it would be nice 😔)

hiii im so happy you liked that one, hope you enjoy this one just the same <3

this can be read as a standalone, but I continued it from the first ask!

also im really sorry I took my sweet time with this, I've been vv distracted lately :(((

lawyer!karina x femlawyer!reader

masterlist

part 1 | part 2

***

You aren't entirely sure why you agreed to this considering you can barely utter a sentence around her. But alas, you sit in front of her at a restaurant table, trying not to stare for too long.

It was jarring when she had asked you to dinner, to what seemed like a casual meal between co-workers, but one that you accepted without thinking.

"Have you opened the Maher files yet?" you ask quietly, trying to fill in the silence.

"Let's not talk about work here, that's bleh" she responds, placing a bit of meat in your plate, "try that it's really good"

You slowly pick up your utensils and bring it to you mouth, giving her a nod of approval as you chewed.

"Did you finish painting that wall in your living room yet?" she asks out of the blue.

You didn't know she remembered that.

"Uh, yeah I did. Had to get some help though, but it finished up pretty nice"

"Why didn't you ask me? I love painting walls, it's so therapeutic" she exclaims.

"Oh", you respond, "I didn't know. I need to repaint the lobby too actually-"

"Perfect", she cuts you off, "don't ask anyone else. I'll help you"

Before you can refute she starts again, "Do you wanna get ice cream after this? I know such a good place down the road. They're family owned too, their stuff is the best"

The smile she has on her face as she rambles about her favourite ice cream place is enough to make you heart swoon for the 20th time that night. She was so effortless, and it was enough to have you doing cartwheels.

"Sure"

After Karina was satisfied with your stuffing of food, drinks and dessert, she proposed a walk in the nearby park.

"It's mostly empty around this time. No annoying children, I promise"

And so you oblige, once again, because god forbid you ever say no to anything this girl says.

"There's a reason I asked to hang out with you tonight" she starts, halting her steps as you do the same to face her.

Your heart sank.

Oh.

This wasn't because she wanted to get closer. This was for a favour.

"I need to talk to you about something, and it's kinda serious." she continues.

"I'm not sure if this is out of the blue or not but, I was kind of hoping you'd realise and maybe say something"

She stops for a minute, and looks up from her shoes.

You had no idea where this was going.

"I really like you, Y/n"

[bonefall]

Gosh thinking about this, sometimes i wonder just how many characters the Erins missed out on making black and white. What i mean is, not all characters have to be kind to their family deep down while still rude to the outside. Not all need to regret their choices or be influenced by some deep tragedy. Maybe, just maybe, some characters would genuinely take dominance and ambition over family. Maybe some characters would actually take adventage of any people they have extended their olive branch to. Leopardstar could be written as somebody who KNOWS she has done wrong, WANTS to change, but never does. Because that's how she is, and there is NO redemption in the end.

A beautifully tragic character, who never changes, is written as being weighed down by their mistakes but choosing to carry them all their life. Because changing their attitude would mean the end of the world for them.

Blackstar, i'm also looking at you here. And you, Clear Sky.

Any characters you think should also be like this?

Clear Sky is the biggest one. So many of DOTC's problems would just not exist if it wasn't building towards its utter failure of a redemption arc. He's a fantastic villain, a complete bastard, and it makes a much better story if Gray Wing's story is supposed to be realizing that he is enabling a tyrant.

But him aside... surprisingly, Thornclaw. He was a Dark Forest trainee. They keep using him as a low-stakes antagonist. He's always had motive as one of the more "traditionalist" members of ThunderClan. Thornclaw makes a great villain... but they won't let the fan favorite 1st arc patrol guy be the bad boy he could be.

All of the Dark Forest Trainee survivors, really! Damn shame that so many of them died!! I'll argue that MOST of them should have survived, and more of them should have been Breezepelts who fought to the end.

I feel similarly about every cat who's ever really been an antagonist, because they have a weird problem about just... never addressing the horrible actions of smaller characters. Crowfeather looks at Breezepelt nicely and suddenly he's fixed. Blossomfall never confronts her hatred towards her mom and sister. Bumblestripe was just a major supportive antagonist in TBC and we're not talking about that in ASC.

And like... I LOVE redemption arcs. Don't misunderstand me. I would be satisfied if all of those last three HAD redemption arcs. But like... we didn't. Breezepelt hits me particularly hard honestly. I hate the fact that Crowfeather abused him but then was able to have a mild epiphany and suddenly poof! All Breeze's own agency in his choices is gone. My shitty dad's sort-of apology filled me with redemption.

Bleh. More Clanborn villains, basically. Less Evil Foreigners who come out of nowhere.

[crying-fantasies]

Killing me Softly with his song (4)

Masterlist

Part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4: Bite and cry | part 5

CW: blood, consumption of food (as in meat, insects, human, etc), body horror, depiction of bodies and corpses, vomiting, slight impression of starving.

The first time it happened Soundwave was worried, being as gentle as he could when he took the little larvae from Mayhem's servos, looking directly with a frowning visor to the rangers and you, giving one another food, eating these creatures.

Since a long time ago Soundwave accepted the fact of your need to consume other living beings in order to survive, he did it when your presence in his life was almost a must and didn't mind it when you finally touched his spark, but seeing his sparkling putting the carcass of a processed creature in his intake is where he paints the red line, taking a little cube of energon and putting it in his child's intake instead, getting a little of struggling against his actions when Mayhem tried to escape it but accepting anyway like the good sparkling he was and drinking all.

"It's just good ol' boiled weevil larvae" one man tells him while eating the little thing in amusement, you doing the same, trying to inform him and prevent any fear from it doing any harm to the sparkling, "tastes like deep fried pork-"

Soundwave's "Do not feed Mayhem unnecessary materials" was his way of informing and making your newfound friends almost jump by the fear of finally hearing Soundwave speak after so many years of knowing him.

The second time it happened Mayhem was with the cassettes, Rumble and Frenzy, maybe it wasn't the best idea but it was indeed funny, going around any little human settlement and spend time there, if the settlement was far and secluded then they would go with their holoforms and see around, when they go to the cities they just go along with it, but now they had a sparkling with them, bound to attract attention and that's what Mayhem did when he escaped their watch, a kind woman in a street food stall gave him warm food when she noticed he was alone and hungry, not caring that Mayhem was a bot when she noticed how desperate he was for some food, not even sure if he could eat it but pleased when the little guy started to eat like a starved man.

The twins found the sparkling when he was already finishing his chichinga, saying thanks and paying what he eat with shanix, maybe giving more than it really was needed but in a hurry to take the kid to any clinic, blessing the allspark for finding Soundwave's child in one piece, not uttering a word to him about what happened or the fact that Mayhem could eat human food when the sparkling was as good as new days after it.

The third time it happened Mayhem was what you called "maybe 10 or 11?", when Soundwave was with his son and Laserbeak while on patrol in a sector where the dry season got harder, Mayhem looked at the horizon, where a little body of water was being infected by the rotting corpse of a hyena, an animal that perished by the hard environment of the year, Soundwave looked how his son took the body of the animal and put it in another place, maybe then others could consume what little water was there, then Laserbeak shouted "Stop!", scared, Soundwave froze, almost terrified, when Mayhem put a piece of the rotting meat on his intake before he could do something, the casette impacted his whole body with the sparkling's faceplate to stop him but it was already too late, Mayhem swallowed the thing before making a face, Laserbeak taking his helm in his wings only to notice the strange expression on Mayhem.

"Bleh, it's horrible"

"Why did you do it then?!"

"It smelled funny!"

Mayhem puked the meat and all the energon he had all night long in some weird rainbow colored goo.

"How come that this didn't happen before?"

"Before?"

"Frenzy, you fragging idiot!"

"Explain: Before"

"Boss, it was an accident, wait, no, no, don't look at me like that!"

At that point Soundwave was worried, finally getting the information from the twins on what happened years ago.

"It can't be that bad" you told him, when Mayhem finally stopped his bizarre display, "he is supposed to have organic traits too"

As it's normal, you could feel the desperation behind your husband's visor, his worry going deep on the protected optics underneath, "any one, even a bot, can get a stomachache when eating something rotted, 'Wave" you took his index and middle in your hands, making him feel secure in your words and own understanding of organics being one, "He will grow out of this soon"

And Mayhem did, not wanting to eat anything that was organic for a while, taking his fill of energon at his hours much to Soundwave's delight, staying away from human's settlements and cities, also showing that he did go behind yours and Soundwave's back to eat organic food in every city on every country when you moved for Soundwave's work, now almost running away when the smell of organic food was near.

From time to time Mayhem acted a little more slow, almost dizzy, zoning out occasionally, but no medic found out what it was, only taking it for stress and telling him to take more energon.

It was all good, Mayhem had what you called "maybe sweet fifteen" and he was with Soundwave again in a patrol that took a turn to the worst when Ratbat found what they were searching for.

Humanity can be good or bad, sometimes both, just like his people, Soundwave learned that a long time ago, and he thought so again hearing the profanities said and cries of the staff in charge of the stolen buffalos of a national reserve when he got them where he found the headless bodies of some animals.

They still had hope the rest were alive.

It took a little moment, one when Soundwave was more concerned with searching for the poachers than centring on his son, more focused in his thirst for vengeance over other things, letting himself be dragged by his feelings, that has always been his downfall.

When he found the poachers camping zone, he found the skulls of the animals, he found many others and also some alive, cowering away, scared by something, he didn't find any human around and if he looked with more detail he could've realized that he wasn't the only cybertronian there, only noticing a track of blood that was dragged to the forest.

Nothing could've prepared Soundwave for the fourth time he found his son eating organic matter, or the fact that, what Mayhem had in his intake at that moment was the torso of a human, many other human bodies scattered around with missing parts, blood painting his armor and derma.

Mayhem, in his starving state, could only stop ingesting the meat in the ribs when Soundwave stopped him with all his might while shouting his name, stopping his son from continue such deviant act.

No one said a word, returning home when he could clean the mess, leaving the matter as closed when you greeted them, saying how sorry you were that things didn't go as planned while putting a hand on the side of your son's helm in an affectionate display.

Mayhem cried while hugging you, and Soundwave didn't say a word, if only he flinched a little while his EM field displayed how uneasy he felt by his son actions, you would never know, for sure, but Buzzsaw made a strange sound at your side, you just took it like they had a really bad day.

You weren't wrong.

[izunias-meme-hole]

One Villainous Scene - Love Fading Into The Bleck

Considering this this month is around the same time as Valentines day, I chose to focus on a villain that was created from love, a loss of love to be exact. Said villain comes from Super Paper Mario, and if you've played this game, you know exactly who I'm talking about. If not then allow me to explain the story of Count Bleck.

When the player first meets Bleck, he's presented to be as dangerous as he appears, being a ghastly figure with a white top hat, a white cape, a monocle, a glowing red eye, and a glowing mouth. He also wants to destroy the universe using a book called the Dark Prognosticus, and a destructive power born of a false love, known as the Chaos Heart. While he certainly has menace and a big goal, he comes off as slightly hammy due to a little speech quirk, like bro goes "BLEH HEH HEH BLEEECK" and talks about himself in the third person sometimes. In other words on the surface he seems like just another fun yet terrifying one-shot villain that these Mario RPG's like making. I mean just look at him.

However as the game progresses, through both the main story and the 7 memories of someone called "Lord Blumiere", we pick up some very interesting information on our big bad. Blumire is a member of the Tribe of Darkness who fell off a cliff and got nursed back to health by a human named Timpani. The two fell in love and they were seemingly inseparable, though their fates ended up being one big Romeo and Juliet level of tragedy, with Blumire's father wiping Timpani's memory and cursing her, and Blumire searches endlessly for her after his father told him that "she no longer resides in this world".

When we end up looking at the seventh memory Blumire ends up believing that Timpani is permanently gone, and decides to go to an extreme. He goes to obtain the Dark Prognosticus. His father makes an attempt to stop him, but Blumire responds to him with a few simple words.

"I do not care, Father! A world without her is empty. A LIFE without her is empty."

Blumire makes his stance obvious to his father. He's given up on life, not just his own life, but on all life. Timpani was his world, and as far as he believes, she's gone, so he might as well bring an end to it all. As the nihilistic Blumiere opens up the Dark Prognosticus he utters a laugh that is all too familiar to the player before its prophecy and declaring that he will wipe every inch of the worlds. His father once again pleads for his son to stop, but Blumiere says this...

"Blumiere is no more! I am Count Bleck! And no one shall stand in my way! BLEH HEH HEH HEH! BLECK!"

Count Bleck was Lord Blumiere. Count Bleck, the entity who wants to commit mass omnicide, was a man who found true love and it ended in tragedy thanks to forces outside of his control. And to honestly make matters worse, Timpani was implied to have been the original form of the pixl, Tippi, meaning that while she may not have been dead and just didn't remember him until they met again in World 6, it just means that Bleck set into action a prohecy that ends in mass omnicide for nothing. The mere idea of loosing the one he loved more than anything, set him on this path, and as we reach the finale we see him acknowledge that how massively he screwed up, and encourages Mario, a hesitant Tippi, and the rest of the party to kill him if they want to save everything, until Dimentio decides to hijack the finale as the final boss using the Chaos Heart.

So yeah, Count Bleck everyone. (Apologies if this seems half-assed, my ass is getting kicked in college due to an essay that's due on tuesday)