#like he Would but there are Complications!!!! his life is Not Good and it tends to scare people away!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kenwio · 1 month ago

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Joker's kid! reader

Route: Recovered dove: How they and batfamily got close

Author's note: Route: Recovered dove will be consistent of parts that describe the future of Joker's kid! reader, who succeeded in getting close with batfamily, so you can say it`s more hurt/comfort, maybe fluff (?) In my masterlist, you could see another route (Route black fog), and this one will be the opposite to Route: Recovered dove Warnings: Grammar (as usual), mental traumas

Ideas for some parts form here This part is here despite everything, so please enjoy reading 💖

The first person who you got close with was, of course, Alfred. Seeing how clueless and helpless you were with basic living stuff and how eager you were to learn and help made old butler realize that you were not a threat, you are just a child. And a very sad one at it. It seemed like you didn't understand how a kid should behave. Kids shouldn't be scared all the time, and kids should not flinch in various situations. But then again, have he even seen a normal kid in this family? Of course not. You were traumatized just like the rest of the kids. And he knew he had to be gentle with you.

Even if you thought that on the family movie night you were alone, watching the rest of the family having happy time, you weren't alone. And weren't that sneaky. Alred watched you. He saw your silent tears. He understood your pain and how you were hurting. And that's breaks his heart. He knows that you were struggling with a lot already, new life that was too complicated for you to navigate and get used to, new things, new home, new people, but same weight of judgment from others on your shoulders, and you were facing this alone. So he decided to stay by your side. Every morning , he wakes you up, cheeks up on you. You are invited to help him cook, but he keeps an eye on the knives and other sharp objects, especially after scissors incident. You are invited on afternoon tea time, and he is invited on your TV time. He also introduced you to various old classical English soap operas (Firstly, yes, he watches them, secondly, would show detectives, but he doesn't want you seeing something disturbing), which you watch with interest, try to understand how people act. He practiced speaking with you, helping you talk instead of mumble. He also is the one who tells you about family, telling you about each and every one.

Alfred, I'm happy to see you figuring out your likes and dislikes, considering all of you try is new for you. You liked the breakfast? He will cook it for you more often. You liked the tea? You will drink it on the afternoon tea.

For you, adjusting to your new life isn't easy. You have specific habits you can not control, and he knows some of them, Jason had similar, for example, hiding the food in your room or eating once a day. So he has to make you eat more, and explains to you why hiding food in your room is not a good option. He also notices your other habit that you do not notice. You make your wounds worse without realizing it. One time you accidentally cut yourself by breaking a cup, accidentally of course, and he doesn't blames you, even if you do not belive him, but he noticed your fidgeting with wound, not letting it heal fully. But unlike Jason, you have other habits that he can describe results of trauma. Flinching is just one of them. You tend to stay away, have distance, and you are always too quiet. He sees how you are afraid of showing your emotions, how you prefer to choose something natural, for example when he was bandaging your cuts from broken cup he was about to use bandages with animals, kids patterns Dick choose and forced on Damian, and you asked him to use a simple white one.

Alfred is here for you, and he wishes others would be too. So, of course, he had a stern talk with Bruce about your situation. And Bruce remembered what was escapism his sight. Yes, you. When you were in medbay, your condition was critical, so he was on alert, but since you recovered and started to stay in manor, he allowed himself to relax. You were on every breakfast, so you were fine, right? Wrong! After talking with Alfred, Bruce decided to pay more attention to you, but without an immediate approach. That was also the time he noticed your new haircut. Yes, he definitely needs to give a closer look to you. And he noticed those worrying habits Alfred told about. Okay, Bruce, we have a child who are traumatized. What will we do to help them without taking them in? Lead them to therapy! But how do you accept this idea? So he slowly started building the communication with you. It started with check-ins, when small questions about your likes and dislikes. And then there opened the opportunity to talk with you about going to therapy. One time he saw you watching a documentary on TV, he joined in. And while putting his cup on the coffee table, he saw you flinch. Making you talk about it wasn't easy. You just stared at him, looked, as if trying to construct perfect answer just from his reaction, but at the same time, knowing that answers that worked with Joker won't work with Bruce. He knew you needed his patience, his understanding. You needed safe space, and he decided to give you that. And when you did talk, he held his breath. He knew things were bad, but hearing this from you made him feel worse. He reminded you that you were safe now, that you had him. He gently hugged you while you needed him and comfort. And when you calmed down, he introduced the idea of therapy for you and met your confused look. He had to explain it simply, and after some time, you agreed. Although it took some time, he now drives you to every one of your therapy sessions, making sure you feel alright and fine. And when you were well enough to go to an explore city, he made it a point to show you good but quiet places in the Gotham. It started from little garden park, when quiet book shop, and small cafe.

On one of those days, he was driving you back, he left his tablet with open files on the latest investigation about the Scarecrow dashboard, he was looking through them while waiting for you, trying to figure out unusual composition of the toxins, he couldn't find it in his date base, and Tim was asleep after whole week of all nighters As you saw the tablet, you couldn't help your curiosity and look at it, and as you recognized what you saw, you quietly said.

- it is an incomplete product of the conversion of ibotenic acid to muscimol

Now that got his attention, he looked at you, a bit confused that you said so, but decided to see if you could say more

- I've run tests, it didn't recognize it as such

- It's probably because it's incomplete, frozen by other chemicals. In this state, it provides both effects. Father used to use it in this state.

- How do you know this? - he asked, a bit of suspicion in his voice

- well, I was in his lab... and I know this because he tested it on me, too.

Bruce regretted that he asked, remembering how much of a trauma you had because of your father. He put his hand on your shoulder in a comforting way

- You are not there anymore - he said gently, on which you just nodded.

- Do you work with that sort of things a lot - you said pointing on the tablet

- Yeah, more than I would like - Bruce said, a bit tiredly

- Can I see it? I might recognize some more.

Bruce looked at you, analyzing your words and your body language, and seeing that you are sincere, he said

- when you are about to have an excursion in a real lab.

From that moment, you became a welcome guest in batcave. Of course, Bruce keeps an eye on you while you were there, but you've never done something to make him distrust you. And this way, your knowledge may be used in a good way.

You were surprised when one day, you heard knocking on your door just after breakfast and saw Dick. He was smiling at you and greeted you happily when you opened. He started happily bubbling about something, and you couldn't quite keep up with him, so you just looked at him confused, yet you were still happy to see him, happy that he kept his promise.

- So, are you going? -he asked, his tone giddy

- where?

- I promise that we will hang out, and considering good weather I decided we can go for a outing in the garden - you looked at him confused.

Dick heard from Bruce and Alfred that you were making progress to go outside, but yet you didn't do it regularly enough, but you vitamin D! And, since he promised to hang out with you, and the weather today was good, he decided that it was the perfect opportunity to interact with you to sun. He understood you didn't want to go far from home, so the garden seemed like the best choice.

Before he came to get you out, he prepared a cozy little hang out spot, comfortable chais, and table with boardgames and snacks. It wasn't in open sun, but it was lightened just fine. He wasn't sure if you liked boardgames or were familiar with them at all, but he knee it was a good option for bounding.

When he checked, you were all set to go, he lead you outside, walking slower than usual so that you could catch up. Seeing your cute curious eyes taking in all the surroundings of the garden was endearing.

When he led you to the spot, he told you about games, letting you decide in which play first. For every game, he explained rules, as good as he could remember them. Although he guided you through each and every game, he was enjoying it, enjoying seeing your reactions, enjoying seeing sparkles of happiness in your eyes. Even if he knew you deserved the chance, seeing you now made his resolve stronger. He couldn't help but feel protectiveness towards you. He couldn't help but want to be a reason for your smile, Gods, he wants to see you smile so so much.

From that day, every time he is in manor, he pays you a visit. He will take walks with you in the garden, or he just joins your activities. Watching birds? Okay, he is in and even talks with you about them, and by the way, he bought you puzzles with robins and nightingales (he thinks this way he will make you even closer to the family). Watching TV, he is in, sitting next to you, asking you opinion. Oh, by the way, you are attending family bounding events. He will drag you there and beat up everyone who will disagree with him on it (but of course, not on your eyes)

And when he saw in in batcave, seeing how you talked with Bruce about some sort of toxin, he was amazed by how good you were in it. He was happy to see how you were fitting in both civilian and vigilante sides of his hectic but lovely family. He can't help but smile.

Jason had the opposite reaction on seeing you in batcave. What the hell were you doing this. How the hell you were able so easily to differ between toxins and their components. It wasn't just right. You weren't right. You shouldn't be here. Was it some sick prank from the clown that Bruce, Dick and even Alfred ignored? Okay, Dick is gullable, but Bruce? Was his habit of picking up children for his collection that bad? And Alfred.... he knew the man knew he was more he was letting on, so it confused him.

He seemed to see every step you made as wrong, and he wasn't about to stop until he started watching. He knew that neither Bruce, Alfred, or save goodness, Dick never would hit you, and considering how long you were here, you still was flinching. He noticed how you were hesitating to do things you should not hesitate to do. How you were, unlike your father, reserved and quiet, as if afraid to show yourself.

It made him think. Think really hard. Were you really a monster he saw you? Or were you a victim yourself? After that, he couldn't help but see similarities. Another child who grew up in a crime alley, another child taken in by the Bat, another child whose life was impacted by Joker.

Broken. He was broken by clown, so were you. Even when he was broken, his family didn't see him as lost cause, so why did he immortal thought you were one?

He decided to give you a chance. After 6 are not a monster .... yet.

Though he planned on tolerating you in distance, one time he couldn't just stay away. You were in the living room, but instead of watching TV, you were trying to read a book outloud, probably practicing speach (he can vaguely remember how Dick and Alfred discussed it), but seems like you were struggling. Some words were coming out broken, in your stuttering voice, but you weren't giving up

He walked up, sitting next to you, quietly looking at the book, not skipping the fact that you flinched. The situation was a mess. He never was good with kids, demon-brat is his witness, but he can do at least something, right?

- A knight - he read for you, voice more gentle than usual one - and that one is responsibility.

Reading with you slowly, helping you to promote and understanding words was oddly calming experience. Maybe you weren't as bad as he thought. Maybe you are even cute. Well. You really rubbed onto him.

While Tim also keeps his distance from you, he does study you. And he notces all the sings that you weren't in your previous predicament by your desire, which is obvious, who would have choose such a fate, he never did. Yet, you make him worry. He can't control it.

All the data shows that even though you were a real kid of Joker, you became Joker Junior after Tim. That means that after Joker failed with Tim, his attention went to you. It doesn't put right with him.

He knew that he shouldn't feel guilty, yet he could not. All he can do is just ignore you when you come in to bring him coffee, duty you help Alfred with.

But when he, after much needed sleep, expected to continue Scarecrow case right when he left off, that horrible toxin, only to hear you helped solved it and find antidote, he was more amazed than horrified.

He decided to make an investigation of his own. He purposely left different printed chemicals formulas around, so you would notice and comment. Although he thought you won't recognize any of them, you did recognize them, but couldn't name every one of them scientifically. He could tell you had knowledge, and thay it could be really useful, but you didn't get structure for it in your head, so he decided to help.

Kindred spirit, that how he felt about you when he saw oh so familiar thirst for knowledge in you. And you were learning quickly, too. You hand your own struggles. But he saw that you worked to overcome them.

And well, he liked teaching you, telling you about his tech. He liked going you actually listened. He liked how, after a few study sessions, you, though timidly, were asking him real questions. That made him want to spend time with you

One day, when you were supposed to study with him, he decided to help you study something else : games. Yes he had to choose 0+, so that he could be sure I won't trigger you, but now he was a game parter. And Dick sometimes joins in.

Now, he can actually look at you. Smile at you. Not only did you 6 his interest but won a place in his heart.

Damian, grumpy as always, was taking out his anger on training dummy. He just had not one stern talk, but three! Subject: you. What does his father mean that he should try and understand your situation? What does Alfred mean when he says that Damian should be nice to you? What does Grayson (Even Grayson!) mean when he says that you and him should get along? Him? Damian Wayne, get along with sorts of you? Have you done anything in your life for it?

You may be smart in chemistry and quick lerner, but he is smarter! He is better in general. And you are weak, clumsy ... maybe that's why everyone is protective of you. Tt. That makes you even more weak.

Though Damian can see how you try to get along with others, how you try to get used to manor. How you try to avoid him. Wait, he is the only one in manor whom you avoid. At first, he didn't mind, Drake and Todd avoided you as well, but now. He is alone in this avoidance game. And he feels like he is losing. He hates losing.

- What's so special about you? - he thinks, as he walks to your room, the furtherest one, he noticed. You are avoiding him.

He watched you do different things, watching birds, reading, and solving puzzles, as if you avoided him.

He shouldn't even be this pissed off about it. Why should he. But he is.

He can't believe he talks with Grayson about how to spend time with you. He can't believe he asking Father for special crayons, once that would be easy to your for someone who never held them before. He can't believe he is asking Alfred about your living room visits. But here he is, sitting that paper and crayons on the table. Waiting for you. Once you are in the room, the trap is closed. He says that you WILL draw with him, and you do.

He feels oddly proud when you say that the bird he drew is pretty. You should admire him after all. But he can't help but smirk. He feels oddly concentrated when he explains to you how to draw, his voice calm, as if it was his only purpose to make you understand how to do it.

Surprisingly, he doesn't mock your works. He just looks at your reaction. You seem as monotonous as ever, yet he can see that happy glint in your eyes, of which Grayson told him. He feels oddly satisfied.

Though he would never admit it all outloud, to even to himself. This knowledge is inside him, warming him up, more than he thinks. By the way, he scheduled his next art class for you already.

It takes time to build trust. It takes time to get used to, but it seems it has been enough time for you to finally become a real part of batfamily. But, of course. It's only the beginning of the story

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Thank you for reading! Feel free to share your opinion and have a good day 💖

Tag list :

@socially-embarrassing , @leovergurl , @deathbynarcisstick , @cryptic-arr0w , @lynns-cornerr , @cxcilla , @charlotteking23 , @ninihrtss , @lillycore , @pix-stuff , @tfamidoingwithmylife , @linoalwaysknows , @00hellohello00 , @lilithskywalker , @bagofrice , @lenaisaloser , @devilslittlehelper , @camilo-uwu , @l3v1us , @eyeless-kun , @stargazingbutgayer , @wpdarlingpan , @weirdothatreads , @maybea1

if i forgot to add someone to the tag list, please let me know, and i will add you to the next part

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zenruu · 1 month ago

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A Needlessly Thorough Analysis of What Hardening Actually Means for Alistair

You can also read this analysis in a Google Doc if you find that format more palatable: here.

(I do recommend desktop for the comfiest viewing in either case, but both should be serviceable.)

Disclaimer: If critical discussion of a character’s feelings, motivations, and reactions to certain in-game choices could be personally upsetting to you, maybe don’t read this. None of this analysis is me judging you/your choices as a player, I am simply looking through the lens of Alistair’s characterization and the in-universe consequences of choices. Of course this analysis will be colored by my own bias, it’s inevitable. I can’t realistically include every potentially relevant line of dialogue, but I’m always happy to discuss if you think there’s something crucial I left out.

Hardened Alistair is often described as learning to stand up for himself and becoming more assertive, but why? Is it an accurate assessment? Even Alistair himself reacts to the hardening dialogue by saying he’s going to start thinking for himself and looking out for himself more, so surely it’s true… right?

To the contrary, I would actually argue that hardened Alistair tends to put others before himself more than unhardened Alistair. Let’s start by looking at how he becomes hardened.

The Hardening Process

After meeting Goldanna, Alistair is understandably devastated to find that the family he’s been dreaming of his whole life is not what he had hoped. He’s just been yelled at and turned away by the sister he’s never met, the only family he’s ever had a chance of knowing. He’s lost his hope at finding that sense of connection and belonging he’s always been looking for.

If the Warden wants to harden Alistair, they need to tell him, “Everyone is out for themselves. You should learn that.”

The message being sent is basically: suck it up, move on, grow up. This is the way the world is. Stop being so idealistic.

The message Alistair seems to receive, however, is a bit more complicated. In the follow-up conversation after meeting Goldanna, Alistair tells you that his takeaway from the hardening dialogue was that he needs to look out for himself more. This is, obviously, perfectly in line with the common belief that hardened Alistair is more assertive and more willing to stand up for himself.

But is that the reality that we see reflected in hardened Alistair’s choices?

Pre-hardening, Alistair tells you many times that he feels like no one cares what he wants; he believes it’s unfair and openly complains about it. Hardened Alistair, however, knows that no one cares what he wants and he accepts that as the way things are and must be. Unhardened Alistair will freely say he doesn’t want to be king and fights against it until he can fight it no more, while hardened Alistair will accept it, even going as far as to say he wants it.

Why would he change so suddenly from saying it’s his worst nightmare to saying he wants it? Does he mean it fully? Is this truly him seeking to fulfill his own wants and meet his own needs?

What actually changes if he’s hardened?

he is seemingly less reluctant about becoming king

if romanced, he will agree to a threesome with Isabela

he will agree to make you his mistress if you push the topic

if not married to Anora and chosen to fight Loghain, he will execute Loghain and take the throne

if not chosen to fight Loghain, he will insist on being made king

if married to Anora, he will become king instead of being exiled if Loghain is spared (Alistair will still leave your party, however)

he will approve of executing Jowan in Redcliffe

With the idea of “hardened Alistair putting his own wants/needs first” in mind let’s break them down one by one:

Note: some lines of dialogue have flags for “hardened”/“changed”, alternatively referred to as Alistair’s motivation being changed from “good to glory” or “Alistair 2”. These all refer to the hardening mechanic. The screenshots do have text that’s a bit small, because I wanted to be sure that I included the flags that show when lines are exclusive to hardened Alistair.

Less reluctance about becoming king

All along he’s said he doesn’t want it. You could potentially make a case that he didn’t truly feel that way and was only saying it because he’s insecure (which he is), but I don’t find this to be a terribly compelling argument.

This is hardened Alistair’s response to being told he would be a good king after he’s decided to sacrifice himself. There are several lines like this that I feel contradict the theory that unhardened Alistair only says he doesn’t want to be king because he’s insecure in his abilities. It’s not that his insecurities are not a factor, it’s that hardening him doesn’t get rid of those things, meaning that this factor alone would not change his attitude about accepting potential kingship. In fact, he still believes that realistically Anora is better suited.

I’d argue that someone who has consistently said one thing without fail and is now only changing the tune after basically being told to shut up and grow up may not be expressing their truest desires. He is going along with what Eamon is telling him, with what the Warden is telling him, with what he’s told is his duty and responsibility. For the greater good, not for himself.

And you might be saying that can’t be true, hardened Alistair says he wants to be king!

Personally, I’d argue that Alistair saying he wants to be king is much the same as your average person saying they want a job. Do most people want to go to work every day? No, not really, but you have to because it’s just what you need to do. So when asked, you’d say you want a job. Of course you would, because you have to have one. But removed from that necessity, would you still say the same? Likely not. I believe the same holds true for Alistair. If he wasn’t being told at every turn that him being king is what must be done, he wouldn’t feel a need to bow to that.

Hardened Alistair confidently wanting to be king is often accepted as plain fact, when it’s really not so cut and dry. We can dig into some of his dialogue and really look at his feelings on the matter.

Hardened Alistair is saying he wants to be king. Even he’s surprised by it. But what is the context of this line? He’s about to sacrifice himself. He believes that his sacrifice–not living to rule–is the single best thing he can do as king.

But is it pure happiness and willingness, or is it a man simply trying to make the best of a situation he’s locked into? I vote for the latter.

I often see the argument that having a Warden queen would make him happier with the idea of being king, but by all evidence it really doesn’t seem to be the case. Here is his response to the Warden confirming that she does want to be queen. Alistair still doesn’t like the idea of ruling. This isn’t a line exclusive to hardened Alistair, he will always have this line available.

“I wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for you” … “you owe me” … Even hardened, Alistair seems to see being king as something negative being thrust upon him. A punishment, perhaps? What would his response be to being told that being king is not a punishment?

On the surface, he agrees, but take a look at that VO comment for his actual feelings on it. He does consider it a punishment. This is indeed a line for hardened Alistair, as it occurs during the mistress conversation, which is a hardened Alistair exclusive.

Even if hardened, Alistair would prefer to stay a Warden if he can.

And if you don’t make hardened Alistair king? He’s grateful. Happy. Happier.

Agreeing to a threesome

Unhardened or hardened, he will push back when you suggest this. However, only hardened Alistair will relent and agree to it. Unhardened Alistair will simply refuse. Which one sounds more like someone standing up for his own wants?

This is the path the conversation goes if Alistair is hardened. His initial refusal and discomfort with the situation remains, but if you tell him to go along, he will.

He is, regardless, clearly not as comfortable with the situation as one should be. It certainly isn’t the kind of enthusiastic consent one would look for when asking someone to engage in a particular sex act. But he had fun, so it’s okay, right?

Well… did he have fun? Isabela jokes about borrowing him in the future and it seems quite clear that he isn’t interested in a repeat occurrence. Not only is he not interested, he’s awkward, uncomfortable. “Oh, but he makes a joke about wet frocks right after this!” He does. But it’s Alistair. He’s constantly making jokes to mask his discomfort.

Agreeing to making the Warden his mistress

Again, he will push back on this at first, only relenting if he’s hardened and you push the issue. If unhardened, he’ll stand by his original statement that he feels it would be wrong. Is he just saying he believes it’s wrong, or is that what he truly believes? Based on what we know of Alistair, I’d say it’s far more likely that he truly does find the idea of making the Warden his mistress to be disrespectful both to the Warden and to his wife, and that he is somewhat disregarding his own beliefs on that to bend to the Warden’s insistence that he take a mistress.

Whether he’s marrying Anora or not, his views on the matter are the same. He intends to be loyal to whoever he marries, and he knows he cannot do so if he continues the relationship with the Warden.

It’s clear that he finds the entire idea distasteful.

Much like the threesome, you do have to press him to get him to agree. He’s quite set in his beliefs on the matter, but he will acquiesce if the Warden pushes it.

Insisting on becoming king in the context of dealing with Loghain

These are the choices where I’d say there is potentially a case to be made that Alistair is making the decision he wants to make. However, I wouldn’t say that the decision being made is that he wants to be king. I would argue that becoming king is simply a means to an end to give him the power to get revenge in the way he wants.

In the first potential scenario here, Alistair will insist on being made king if he is not chosen to fight Loghain. Why? He wants Loghain dead, and he isn’t being given the choice to make that happen. He wants the power to make that choice, all else be damned.

Here you can see that hardened Alistair insists on taking the throne while making it abundantly clear that the reason for doing so is to take care of Loghain in the manner he wants.

Unhardened Alistair does the same. Why? Because the motivation remains the same whether he’s hardened or not. Unhardened Alistair simply hasn’t become so resigned as to pretend he’s any less displeased with it than he is.

In the second potential scenario, Alistair is chosen to fight Loghain and kills him. He finally achieves the goal he’s been working towards all along: getting his revenge on Loghain. He’s running on that high when Eamon immediately suggests he take the throne, he says yes, he’ll do it. There’s not really anything to break down dialogue-wise in this scenario, as his acceptance of the throne is the exact same dialogue as it would be in any other case. He simply says he accepts when it’s proposed.

Is it what he truly wants? Maybe. You could make a case for it. However, I interpret it more as running on that adrenaline high, feeling powerful and not fully thinking it over in the moment.

Accepting being king & marrying Anora if Loghain is spared

Alistair has been tunnel visioned on getting his revenge on Loghain the entire time, and this is the only circumstance in which sparing Loghain will not result in Alistair leaving and becoming a drunk. He both accepts marrying Anora (which he isn’t happy about) and sparing Loghain (which is very counter to his wishes).

He doesn’t like Anora and doesn’t want to marry her, but he does anyway. Hardened Alistair knows that marrying Anora is politically advantageous and prioritizes that over his personal desire to enact his vengeance, though he makes it clear to the Warden that his personal feelings on the matter have absolutely not changed.

Hardened Alistair goes along with marrying Anora after Loghain is spared and leaves the party, unhappy with the Warden’s choice to spare Loghain. If this line alone didn’t make his displeasure clear enough, there’s also this one:

He refers to the Warden’s actions as a betrayal. He’s obviously not happy.

Unhardened Alistair, however, stands his ground and refuses.

Approving of executing Jowan

Another case of a changed tune to go along with what the Warden is doing. Unhardened Alistair actively disapproves of the Warden executing Jowan. We could assume that hardened Alistair is just more pragmatic, or perhaps simply more willing to accept it when the Warden tells him this is what must be done.

There is no Alistair specific dialogue to look at here, just the approval points, so it’s really just a matter of looking at what we know of him and the situation. I would say in general Alistair values life and values mercy. Are there exceptions? Yes. Loghain, for example, whose crimes Alistair has judged worthy of death. Clearly unhardened Alistair does not feel that way about Jowan. Hardened Alistair though? He approves of his execution, but is it because he personally thinks it’s best or is it because he accepts the Warden’s judgment?

I would argue that it’s the latter primarily because it’s completely in line with everything else we’ve seen from hardened Alistair. There really are just no solid cases of hardened Alistair asserting his own will when compared to unhardened Alistair, so I don’t see this case as being any different.

In Review

In each case of behaviors changed by hardening Alistair, we see him putting his own wants and needs on the backburner in favor of an externally imposed sense of duty or to bend to another’s will because he accepts that his personal feelings are irrelevant. I’d go as far as to say that hardening is really a misnomer, because what we’re really looking at would be better called resignation.

I actually didn’t include every single line I found of hardened Alistair expressing the sentiments I’ve laid out in this analysis because I didn’t want it to be too long, but there is more in the game. Now I will get into less concrete analysis and a bit more of an explanation of my own personal opinions on hardening.

Aside from looking at what hardening actually means for Alistair, we can also question its necessity. Do you need to do it if you want to do certain things in Origins (threesome, mistress ending, etc.)? Yes. But I often see people argue that hardening Alistair is necessary for him to grow or mature as a person, and I completely disagree.

My personal opinion is that hardening Alistair is neither necessary nor kind.

In terms of helping Alistair to grow as a person, I maintain that Alistair will become more naturally “hardened”, or more accurately, he will mature on his own if you give him the chance to do so. Why do I say so? Look at Alistair in Inquisition. That is not the same idealistic young man we see in Origins, and this remains true regardless of hardening status. Whether it’s Warden Alistair or King Alistair, he’s clearly grown and changed.

Sure, you can mod the game to make the hardening dialogue more palatable, but that’s an entirely different discussion. As is, you’re required to essentially kick him when he’s down, and I simply do not find it to be necessary for his own personal development.

If it’s not already completely obvious by me doing all of this in the first place, I really, really love Alistair. Of course I’m quite settled and happy as an unhardened Warden Alistair truther, but I’m always happy to discuss and debate. I’m very interested in any thoughts you might have, whether you agree with my assessment or not (as long as you’re nice).

Thank you for reading my (almost sickeningly thorough) little analysis if you made it this far!

As a treat (or unhardened Warden Ali propaganda depending on your perspective), here's my Warden, miss Neria Surana with her very happy unhardened Warden husband:

#dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #da #dao #alistair

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awkward-walking-potato · 7 months ago

Note

Do you write for charles xavier?? If so cloud we get a reader who just keeps bothering him while he is working cause they want his attention and every one else is busy? I hope you have a good day!

I hope you don't mind I wrote this Pre Wheels Charles

The afternoon sun filtered through the large windows of the Xavier Institute, casting warm, golden light across the vast room where Charles Xavier sat, surrounded by papers, books, and a holographic display projecting data from Cerebro. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his mind focused on the delicate task of tracking mutant activity across the globe. The mansion was unusually quiet, with the other X-Men off on various missions or training sessions. It was a rare moment of peace, one that Charles was determined to use to catch up on work.

And then, you appeared.

“Charles?” Your voice broke the silence, drawing his attention away from the screen.

“Yes?” He looked up, his expression patient but slightly distracted.

“What are you doing?” You leaned against the doorframe, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Just some work,” he replied, hoping that would suffice as an explanation.

You nodded, stepping further into the room. “Looks important.”

“It is,” Charles confirmed, his eyes drifting back to the hologram. He tried to refocus, but he could feel your presence, still lingering, still watching.

“Everyone else is busy,” you continued, moving closer to his desk. “Scott, Jean, Logan—they’re all off doing something. I’m bored.”

Charles glanced up again, his lips quirking into a small smile. “And so you’ve come to bother me?”

“Pretty much,” you said with a grin, leaning on his desk now. “What’s that?” You pointed to the hologram.

“Mutant activity tracking. I’m trying to—”

“Sounds complicated,” you interrupted, picking up one of the pens on his desk and twirling it between your fingers.

“It is,” he said, still smiling despite himself. He could sense your playfulness, and though he knew he needed to focus, he couldn’t help but be charmed by your persistence.

You sighed dramatically, putting the pen down and plopping into the chair across from him. “Can I help?”

“I’m not sure this is something you’d find very interesting,” he said diplomatically, though the idea of you sifting through the data with him did amuse him.

You groaned and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Why is everyone always so busy? It’s like this whole saving-the-world thing never ends.”

Charles chuckled softly. “It does tend to keep us occupied.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, Charles thought you might have given up. He returned his attention to the hologram, his fingers hovering over the controls.

But then, you spoke again. “Charles?”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever just—” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Do you ever just want to take a break from all this? From being the wise professor and the leader of the X-Men? Just…be Charles for a while?”

Charles looked at you, truly looked, and saw the sincerity in your eyes. It wasn’t just boredom driving you to seek him out; it was a desire for connection, for a moment of normalcy in a life that was anything but.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, the work momentarily forgotten. “Yes, I do. More often than you might think.”

You smiled, a warm, understanding smile that made something in his chest loosen. “Then maybe you should take a break. Just for a little while. You deserve it.”

Charles regarded you thoughtfully. “And what would you have me do during this break?”

“Well,” you said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin, “I was thinking we could take a walk in the garden. Or, if you’re feeling adventurous, we could raid the kitchen for some of those cookies Hank made yesterday.”

Charles laughed, a genuine, light-hearted sound that echoed in the quiet room. “Cookies and a walk in the garden, you say?”

“Maybe even some tea,” you added with a playful wag of your eyebrows.

He shook his head, still smiling. “You’re very persuasive.”

“It’s one of my many talents,” you said, standing up and holding out your hand.

Charles looked at the work spread out before him, then back at you. The world could wait a little while longer. With a nod, he reached out and took your hand, letting you pull him to his feet.

“Alright,” he agreed, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Let’s go see about those cookies.”

As you led him out of the study, chatting animatedly about all the things you wanted to do, Charles couldn’t help but feel grateful for the interruption.

#charles xavier #charles xavier imagine #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier oneshot #professor x imagine #x men imagine #xmen 97

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pa1nrema1ns · 2 months ago

Text

In a Sea of Fire || Sung Jin-woo (Part 3 of 3)

Siren!Jin-woo x Deaf!omega!reader

A/N: Hello everyone! I'm so excited to finally bring you the conclusion to the siren AU trilogy. This is my first full-fledged fic, and it was a true labor of love. To mark this milestone, I commissioned this absolutely drop-dead gorgeous artwork of Jin-woo's siren form from the amazing @ekkurea. She is super kind and an incredible artist. I highly recommend checking out all her beautiful art and commissioning her.

I have been overwhelmed by the positive reception to this series and I am so grateful for all of you. I also want to personally thank my good friend and dedicated beta-reader @forbidden-sunlight for supporting me in the creation of this story. I could not have done it without her 🖤 As always, please pay heed to the content warnings listed below.

╰┈➤ Previous Chapters

🐚Prologue by @forbidden-sunlight 🐬Part 1: Master and Apprentice 🧜🏻‍♀️Part 2: Two Intertwining Melodies

Content warnings: 18+MDNI, mutual pining, afab!reader, implied smut, a/b/o dynamics, heat cycles, mating bites, courting rituals, objectification of reader, obsessive thoughts, angst, possessiveness, violence, mythical creatures au, yandere!Jin-woo, mentions of corruption, derogatory & misogynistic language used by a side-character towards the reader, ooc!Jin-woo, mildly ambiguous ending.

Word count: 12k

Summary - Autumn approaches Jindo Island and with it flourishes new love. But lingering doubts and conflicting desires threaten to cast shadows over your romance with Jin-woo. Just what terrible secret was he hiding from you?

Header artwork created by @ekkurea exclusively for this series. Please do not repost, edit, or use for your own fics, headcanons, or drabbles.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @anitalenia

At the heart of the shopping district on Jindo Island…

For the first time in his life Sung Jin-woo found himself at a loss as to what to do.

The siren nervously runs a hand through his hair as he studies his appearance in the full-length mirror. His reflection looks back at him clothed in a partially unbuttoned dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up at the forearms and a pair of tapered trousers. It was a polished look that drew attention to his athletic frame and emphasized his stormy grey eyes.

Jin-woo chuckles when he notices Iron giving him a small thumbs up from the reservoir in his shadow. His soldiers were doing an excellent job of boosting his morale but the same could not be said for him. Jin-woo couldn’t help but remain somewhat self-critical.

The siren tended to gravitate towards darker clothing while disguised as a human. This was partly due to their resemblance to his actual color scheme. Of course, this meant the only options that interested Jin-woo were those in differing shades of black. While this allowed him to retain some semblance of his true self, he worried that black may be too drab of a color for your liking. He was also starting to feel very out of his element in this stuffy little fitting room.

To make matters more complicated the sales associate at this posh boutique was quite the chatterbox, an incompatible match for the introverted siren. The older man had been particularly insistent on helping Jin-woo find an outfit that would ‘knock his little lady’s socks off’ after he mentioned needing clothes for a date. His very first date to be precise.

With you.

Jin-woo was determined to make this a memorable experience for the both of you, and the first step involved picking out the appropriate attire.

Unfortunately shopping proved to be a far more tedious task than he thought. At least dungeon raids had the benefit of being relatively straightforward.

As he idles in front of the mirror a contemptuous voice lingers in his head jeering at him.

“How much longer do you intend on playing human, Sung Jin-woo? This reckless relationship has consisted of nothing but lies and deceit on your part. Have you ever considered how your beloved omega might feel after discovering you’ve been misleading her? It’s only a matter of time before your house of cards comes tumbling down.”

It was like listening to a crude mockery of himself, tone, inflection, and delivery of speech the exact same as his.

“In the end this farce will result in nothing more than heartache and tragedy and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

The malicious words hang heavy in the air like an omen. An unwanted reminder that beneath that thick veneer of invulnerability Jin-woo was indeed malleable.

“Just because Ashborn was accepted by his human lover doesn’t mean Y/N will do the same for you. That woman has no obligation to love a monster who preys upon her own kind.”

He grits his teeth at the intrusive thoughts bidding them to disappear. To grant him a moment’s respite from the terrifying possibilities of all that could go wrong.

It’s to no avail.

“Would she look at you the same way if she knew you weren’t human? If she knew a siren wanted to fuck her like some insatiable animal? You still have the taste of her in your mouth, don’t you? So soft, sweet, and willing for her alpha. Yet you refused to claim her right when she was in the palm of your hand. You pathetic coward.”

A preternatural violet hue alights Jin-woo’s body, and his muscles draw taut. A sign that he is well and truly pissed. The entire room threatens to crumble under the suffocating pressure.

“Tell me, just how many times have you woken up in the middle of the night? Hard, desperate, and starving for her touch. You must’ve lost count by now.”

A low growl emits from his throat. “Shut up! Shut the hell up!” He silently screams at the voice as it exposes his repressed sexual urges.

“What if she lashes out at you in anger? Do you really expect her to stay civil and calm after she finds out you’ve been lying to her this entire time?”

It was for her own good! I had to lie to protect her! Jin-woo finds himself mentally pleading with his internal monologue. Begging for it to understand the reasoning behind his deceptive actions.

This only incites it to twist the knife further.

“Why not just take her then? After all that’s what you’ve always done with every obstacle in your path, every thorn in your side. You destroy and take from it until there’s nothing left. And that woman will be no different, but this time it will be a triumph greater than any other once she’s yours to possess.”

Jin-woo couldn’t form a rebuttal at this point. He was livid and positively shaking with rage.

For months he had been struggling with conflicting feelings for you. Every single aspect and idiosyncrasy about you resonated with his being. From your feistiness and fierce independence to your infectious smile and compassionate nature, Jin-woo was wholly and unconditionally in love with you.

He knew from the moment you took him into your arms on that desolate beach that you were a genuinely kind person with a good heart. Someone he’d want by his side for an eternity.

Perhaps one day you could even find it in yourself to love him the same way he loves you.

But another side of him, a primal side of him, sought nothing more than to devour you.

To corrupt you.

To desecrate you.

To free you from those worthless shackles of human morality…

And shape you into a wanton goddess capable of handling his brand of darkness.

Not even sleep would grace him with the mercy of a reprieve; Jin-woo was often plagued by vivid dreams of you. Explicit images and sensations of fleshly pleasures that elicited the worst of his bestial nature. On more than one occasion he’d awaken to his knot swelling with need and a deep-seated longing for your warmth.

He knows he should be ashamed for fantasizing about such depravity, for perverting the friendship that had gradually cultivated between the two of you.

But he can’t bring himself to care.

Jin-woo would give just about anything if he could have you in the same way as his dreams.

And he can envision you perfectly.

Your shapely thighs wrapped around his narrow waist, urging him deeper inside you. A dazed expression on your pretty face as he thrusts into you with sheer, masculine drive. Honeyed moans spilling from your lips as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses across your jaw, down your neck, and over your collarbones. Your supple breasts heaving with exertion when you finally topple over the edge with him. And your sated form pressed against the firm ridges of his body as he soothes you in the wake of your earth-shattering climax.

Jin-woo hisses and bites back a groan as he feels himself growing hard against the inseam of his trousers. Shit. He’s never wanted someone so badly in his entire life.

It was terrifying how easily you had him wrapped around your finger. You tempted him, left him on the brink of insanity, and you weren’t even aware of it.

How? Just how did it come to this? Meeting his comeuppance at the hands of a beautiful woman.

The siren was supposed to be a hardened warrior. An indomitable force born from the outcome of hundreds of harrowing battles. Time and time again Jin-woo overcame insurmountable odds and arose from the ashes. Ever stronger, ever colder. With Ashborn’s guidance he had rebuilt himself from the ground up and molded himself into a successor worthy of the title Shadow Monarch.

Jin-woo was not some naïve boy who believed he could woo you with flowery language and saccharine declarations of love. Nor was he some unruly beast whose restless soul could only be placated by carnal satisfaction. He was better than that, more disciplined and pragmatic…

At least he believed himself to be –

“Hey, kid! Are you alright in there? You’ve been awfully quiet for a while now.”

The sound of the sales associate’s voice instantly breaks his train of thought.

“I’m fine, I was just mulling over all my options,” he responds evenly hoping to not draw attention to himself.

“No worries kid. Just let me know if you need anything.”

Once the man’s footsteps fade Jin-woo slumps into one of the chairs in the cramped room. He then lowers his face into his hands, too disgusted to look at himself any longer.

The minutes tick by but Jin-woo doesn’t budge from his spot.

“My liege! Please, I beg of you, stop tormenting yourself!” Beru, the newest of his shadow soldiers and the only one capable of speech attempts to talk some sense into his king.

“…” the siren doesn’t provide him with a response.

Beru continues, “My liege, I cannot bear to see you so despondent. My lady is not so cruel or callous that she would cast you aside merely for being a siren.”

“I am a monster Beru. Nothing will convince her otherwise once she knows the truth.” Jinwoo replies flatly.

“My liege please forgive my impertinence, but do you truly believe she thinks so little of you? I’ve seen the way she looks at you and there is nothing but adoration in her eyes. My lady will not forsake you regardless of who or what you are.”

Jin-woo gasps at the sincerity of Beru’s words. The shadow had been more perceptive than he initially thought. He feels the beginnings of a smile form on his lips.

“You’ve been acting surprisingly obstinate today Beru. What’s gotten into you?”

The ant almost immediately bursts into a fit of tears causing Jin-woo to regret his choice of words. The weeping shadow then prostrates himself before his king.

“My liege I am so sorry! I only meant to –”

“Thank you Beru. I really needed your pep talk. My mind feels much clearer now.” Jin-woo interrupts before the ant can misinterpret him. Beru sheepishly raises his head, feelings of shame now overtaken by pride.

“I won’t falter again. You have my word, all of you do.” He addresses his entire army this time.

A collective sigh of relief spreads throughout his soldiers. Because their souls were inextricably tied to their king’s every emotion Jin-woo experienced was shared firsthand with his shadows. They felt his happiness, his sadness, his anger.

And his desire for you.

It must’ve pained them greatly to see him in such a distressed state prompting Beru to act. His loyal soldiers needed a strong and centered king to guide them.

He would not submit so easily to despair again.

Jin-woo glances at his wristwatch; it was a quarter past one o’clock. He had three more hours to spare until your agreed meeting time at four. The siren really needed to get a move on if he had any hope of being prepared for the date. And to think that he had balked at human decorum before you stepped into his life…

He changes back into his street clothes and folds his chosen outfit into a neat pile. Before stepping out Jin-woo reaches into his inventory to examine his final courtship gift to you, a lustrous necklace composed of teardrop shaped mana crystals and pearls he harvested from his latest dungeon raid.

He spent hours meticulously crafting the jewelry by hand, working feverishly to ensure it was flawless. A one-of-a-kind item that no one else could hope to replicate or exceed. Still as he thumbed the necklace in his hand, he couldn’t help but replay those twisted words spoken by the disembodied voice.

Why not just take her then?

He tightens his grip on the necklace before hurriedly stowing it away in his hidden inventory. Next to it the Holy Water of Life lay untouched, burning a hole in his pocket.

The ball may have been in his court, but you would have the final say.

He'd make sure of it.

A sense of anticipation pervades the air as glowing neon lights come into view. You stop just shy of the entrance to a large commercial building, the chosen location for your date with Jin-woo.

A quick glance at your phone tells you that it’s a quarter till four. You still had another fifteen minutes to go. Ever the punctual one you always sought to arrive well ahead of schedule. This applied to your personal life as well.

From the corner of your eye, you think you see a deliberate movement in your shadow, one that does not match your own. You blink. Once, then twice. When you stare at the sidewalk again your shadow is as it should be, nothing but an intangible effigy bound to the push and pull of your own will. Weird, you think, had it been a trick of light? Your eyes then wander back to the front of the establishment.

Despite being the middle of the day, the bookstore’s sign remained lit by garish hues of yellow. You recall how many of the locals disapproved of the business when it first opened. To those who spent much of their lives in this quaint region of the Korean archipelago it was yet another ploy of gentrification from the mainland. To you, this bookstore served as a haven during your formative years. You spent countless hours getting lost in the worlds of your favorite authors here.

From the provocative narratives of Anne Rice to the gritty prose of Stephen King, your love for reading was fostered here. It only made sense to share this special part of yourself with Jin-woo, the beguiling alpha who was starting to consume your every waking thought.

As time draws nearer to your date you ponder over your last few months on the island.

The filming of ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea’ wrapped up earlier this week and your colleagues were clamoring for a congratulatory celebration, something you wanted no part of. From personal experience you knew a constantly flowing stream of alcohol did not pair well with a room full of self-serving narcissists. You also hadn’t forgotten how rude the other make-up artists and stagehands had been to you on set. The fact that your date fell on the same day as the party was just the cherry on top.

Which brings you back to your dilemma, figuring out where you stand in your relationship with Jin-woo.

Throughout the entire twelve weeks of filming, you were both meeting in secrecy. Devoting this time to strengthening your bond tête-à-tête.

You learned much about Jin-woo and he about you, but you could tell he was harboring some kind of secret. Every time the topic of his personal background came up, he would steer the conversation in a different direction. In addition to this there was an ever-piling list of excuses for why he couldn’t divulge more about himself. This had you second guessing everything he was willing to share.

You really liked Jin-woo and you had no doubt he returned your feelings but you were also becoming highly suspicious of him. If you could wear your heart on your sleeve around him then why couldn’t he do the same for you?

Guilt was eating away at your conscience for even entertaining these thoughts. It’s through this haze of turmoil that your mind wanders to the more lighthearted moments between the two of you.

You think of the all the times he joined you on your early morning treks along the beach. Both as a companion and a protector. You had teased Jin-woo about it initially asking if he intended to use his ‘scary dog privilege’ to ward off other alphas. He scoffed at this suggestion clearly nonplussed by the comparison.

Yet despite your cheeky attitude you had readily taken up his offer. Your friends’ schedules often conflicted with yours, which meant they were usually working on the days you had off. What began as a nice change of pace from walking alone transformed into a cherished part of your routine. His warm, calloused fingers interlaced with yours as dusk bled into dawn.

There was also Jin-woo’s determination to communicate with you. Unsatisfied with written words alone, he had taken it upon himself to learn sign language. Jin-woo showed up one day with a step-by-step instruction manual containing illustrations. A cute shade of vermillion dusted his cheeks when he showed the book to you. You grinned from ear-to-ear and readily agreed to teach him.

He ended up being more adept at sign language than Cha and Jinho. By the end of your first session, Jin-woo was able to grasp several simple terms and phrases, a feat that greatly impressed you. Now he was bordering on being fluent. It was astonishing just how quickly he progressed.

And then there were his many gifts to you.

First a glory-of-the-seas cone in sumptuous tones of burnt ochre and golden brown. Then a bluefin tuna, a much sought-after and rare delicacy, captured fresh from the brine. And most recently, a natural South Sea pearl that appeared almost otherworldly in its splendor. Each offering a unique and thoughtful portrayal of his devotion.

The ritualism and intimacy of these gestures was not lost on you, and it left your heart racing. No one, save for director Jinchul, was ever this attentive towards you. And the latter had only done so on a professional basis. But Jin-woo treated you with a tender affection usually reserved for lovers. A title that was not either of yours to take. Not yet at least.

But both of you were well on the way to getting there.

Everything came to a turning point three days ago when your enigmatic friend finally worked up the courage to ask you out. You remember the bashful look on his face and the endearing image of his rosy cheeks. No sooner had Jin-woo finished signing his question than you found yourself excitedly leaping into his arms. At last, at long last you were both taking the next step in your relationship. So overcome with joy you completely overlooked all your unanswered questions and concerns about him. Nothing else had mattered at that moment.

Jin-woo effortlessly caught you and brought you into a twirling hug. You felt laughter bubble up from within you. It was as if a massive weight had been taken off your shoulders.

Just a few months ago you had been virtual strangers completely inconsequential to one other. Now you embraced as two intertwining melodies coalescing into one song.

When Jin-woo placed you back on your feet he had one more favor to ask. You watched intently as he brought both hands towards his face and formed them into half circles. He then placed the tips of his fingers together before puckering his lips. It was the sign for kissing. He wanted to kiss you.

You froze stunned by the unexpected request.

Apprehension painted Jin-woo’s handsome face. He was waiting, imploring you for an answer. Without missing a beat, you brought yourself closer to him. You didn’t stop until you were in such proximity your breath intermingled with his. You lifted your head and locked eyes with Jin-woo before lowering your gaze to admire his parted lips. After a flicker of hesitation, Jin-woo closed the gap between you and captured your lips with his.

Your eyes fluttered shut.

Gentle. It had been such a gentle kiss at the beginning; petal soft and languid. However, there was a palpable shift in mood the instant Jin-woo ceased his rhythmical movements to slip his tongue inside your mouth. He slid it across your teeth, coaxing you to open more of yourself to him. And you willingly surrendered, moaning into his mouth and allowing him to stroke his tongue against yours.

Jin-woo’s kiss soon devolved into a scorching clash of teeth and tongue that left you breathless. The last of his restraints snapped and he was not holding back. He fisted a hand in your hair and tilted your face at a better angle so he could deepen the kiss. He then circled your waist with his other arm pulling your pliant figure flush against him. This prompted you to grasp onto the front of Jin-woo’s shirt for purchase, pressing your breasts into his chest. You were so close to Jin-woo that you could feel the vitality of his rapidly beating heart. He nipped at your lips before parting from them to mouth at your jaw, the curve of your neck, and the cleavage exposed by your tank top.

You shivered though from fear or want you did not know. This was an animalistic side of him you had never seen or experienced before. It was electrifying.

Your breath caught in your throat when you felt one of Jin-woo’s incisors graze over the junction of your neck and shoulder, threatening to break skin.

And then, just as quickly as this act of madness had started, it came to an abrupt and sudden end. Jin-woo’s eyes regained their focus and his ministrations stopped at once. He slowly raised his head from the crook of your neck and turned to look at you. A heart wrenching expression of guilt distorted his face.

He had lost control of himself and succumbed to his baser instincts.

And if he had bitten down on you back there, he would’ve marked you as his mate for life. Because that area on your neck contained some of your scent glands.

An alpha will bite an omega’s scent glands while mating with them to stake their claim. This also mixes the alpha’s and omega’s scents together securing their bond. It was an irreversible process and Jin-woo came within an inch of forcing it upon you.

He released you from his grip and took several steps back, placing him some distance from you. Wisps of ebony hair obscured his eyes, making his face difficult to read.

You ran towards Jin-woo attempting to grab his hand, yet he pulled his arm away from your touch. But your resolve was strong, and you refused to give up. After a few more tries, Jin-woo finally acquiesced and let you come near him.

As soon as the two of you were face to face, you leant forward and cradled his face in your hands, forcing him to look you in the eye. The guilt was gone but now it had been replaced by fear. Fear of what he had almost done to you.

You were having none of it. Nothing about Sung Jin-woo scared you, not in the past and most certainly not now.

You dropped your hands, letting them fall to the side before raising them again. Then you began signing to Jin-woo, doing everything in your power to reassure him. You let him know that you were alright, you weren’t afraid of him in the slightest, and that both of you would be okay. What happened earlier was purely instinctual and would not draw a wedge between you. And most importantly you told him that you had absolutely no regrets about the kiss.

‘I wanted to kiss you,’ you signed, ‘I’ve been thinking about you as more than just a friend for a while now.’

‘So please, Jin-woo,’ you pleaded with him as your hands shook ‘let’s give this a shot. I want to be with you.’

He exhaled sharply before taking your smaller hands into his own. You really were his greatest weakness. He couldn’t resist you even if he tried.

You eventually managed to convince him to move forward with the date. The time and location were arranged shortly thereafter, although on slightly awkward terms given the circumstance.

Later that night while you were tucked away in the privacy of your bedroom, there was an unrelenting heat building between your thighs. The type of heat that set your nerves on fire and left you aching for release.

You hadn’t taken your heat suppressants in a while, and your body was paying a heavy price for it. You should’ve known better than to let yourself fall by the wayside, but you no longer cared about taking your medication anymore. It was like you were daring your heat to come, to wash over you and rid you of your inhibitions.

When the flames of your desire became unbearable, you slipped a hand underneath the waistband of your pajamas hoping it would slake your lust. However, as you stroked yourself to completion you couldn’t help but imagine it was Jin-woo’s deft fingers that were caressing your slick folds instead.

In the corner of your room an unknown presence watched you with rapt interest. It greedily drank in your sinful actions, the dips and curves of your body, the steady rise and fall of your chest. And as you reached your peak tendrils of shadow danced across your skin like silk.

After you fell asleep a lone hand emerged from the darkness and gently ran its knuckles over your cheek…

“ – !?”

You’re startled from daydreaming when the familiar scent of lavender and sandalwood perfumes the air. It was the tell-tale sign that Jin-woo had just arrived. You check your phone again and are shocked to see it’s already a minute past four. You totally lost track of time while standing outside the bookstore! Embarrassed, you turn and are greeted by the sight of your alpha.

He looked incredible, like a god amongst men. You loved the color black on Jin-woo, it brought out his sharp features and contrasted wonderfully with his fair complexion. The outfit he was wearing for your date exemplified this. His dark trousers and dress shirt were perfectly molded to his body creating a sleek and streamlined appearance. You slowly dragged your eyes across the hard planes of muscle bulging underneath the tight fabric. When you reach Jin-woo’s face there’s an amused glint in his eyes. Oh crap! He noticed you were ogling him. Heat blossoms across your cheeks and you self-consciously tug at the hemline of your cable knit sweater.

Unbeknownst to you Jin-woo had also been eyeing you up albeit in a far more discrete manner. The leggings you wore clung lovingly to curves like a second skin and your high heeled ankle boots completed the look giving it a touch of elegance. You were strikingly lovely, like a flower coming into bloom.

After several seconds of silence, Jin-woo break is the one who breaks the ice.

‘You look great, Y/N,’ he signs to you, ‘I’m so happy to see you again. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.’

Jin-woo must’ve had known you’d been embarrassed about being caught red-handed, so he didn’t bring it up. Instead, he complimented you. God, how could he be so smug yet so charming at the same time?

Precious boy, you muse.

You greet the raven-haired man back with a smile before pulling him into a hug. Jin-woo returns the embrace and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. All the tension and uncertainty from the past few days had dissipated allowing you to relax and enjoy each other’s company. It signaled a return to normalcy, to better days ahead for both of you.

‘Ready to head in?’ Jin-woo signs to you with a grin on his face that matches yours.

‘Let’s go,’ you respond with a jaunty spring in your movements.

You grab his hand and lead the way, threading your fingers through his.

The next two hours are spent perusing the bookstore’s massive collection. It was one of the largest retail booksellers in Asia boasting over 100,000 different titles on its shelves. Jin-woo’s eyes widened when he walked in. He’d never seen so many books in one place before.

‘Overwhelmed?’ you ask him, nervous that you made the wrong decision on choosing this bookstore for your first date. The size of it alone could be daunting to newcomers.

‘It’s amazing,’ he answers, excitement evident in the fast motions of hands. Your chest fills with warmth at his display of enthusiasm.

You share your interests and favorite genres with Jin-woo, showing him the many novels you read over the years. Jin-woo seemed particularly drawn to the paper- and hardback books in the ‘Classics’ section. He picked up a copy of The Odyssey and leafed through its contents making you curious about his tastes.

One of your hands was clutching onto a large special edition hardback so you typed your question on your phone this time.

[“Do you like Greek mythology?”]

‘I’ve read a few stories here and there,’ he signs back after glancing at your screen.

[“I remember being assigned this book in AP literature when I was a second year. I found it rather interesting, but I loathed Odysseus. I thought he was a complete asshole for cheating on his wife. She remained faithful during his 10-year journey from Ithaca despite having over 100 suitors. But he gets a free pass for sleeping with goddesses and other women. Ugh😒”]

You huff after airing your grievances about Odysseus and his infidelity in your text message. It was silly but you’ve held a personal vendetta against the fictional man ever since you finished reading the epic poem.

Jin-woo snorts in amusement at your reaction. Looks like you both held a distaste for Odysseus although his reason for disliking him differed greatly from yours. Sirens only became weak to humanity after the epic hero found a means of circumnavigating their deadly voices. It felt good to share a common enemy with you.

‘You’re even prettier when you’re angry,’ Jin-woo smirks as he signs this to you.

Now it was your turn to snort. Really? That was a new one.

[“Flattery will get you everywhere with me! Now state your price handsome. 😉”]

He inhales before signing, ‘Will you watch the stars with me tonight?’

The tips of his ears and nape of his neck were bright red as he asked you this. It was adorable.

You answer with a fleeting kiss to his mouth, and you can feel him smiling against your lips. Of course you’d watch the stars with him tonight! You’d be willing to watch them every single night by his side if he’d let you.

The two of you continue floating through the different aisles, a copy of The Odyssey tucked underneath Jin-woo’s arm. He also picked out another book, a science fiction novel titled, The Ants, by Bernard Werber. Jin-woo had read the novel once before and he wanted to revisit it for old time’s sake.

As your book tour concludes Jin-woo comes to a halt after catching sight of an ornate hardcover. Intrigued, you scan the title. It was Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid.

‘This story always makes me so sad,’ you sign to Jin-woo with a melancholy look in your eyes.

‘Can you tell me about it?’ Jin-woo asks, his interest piqued.

You find yourself hesitating.

‘Are you sure you want me to spoil it for you?’

‘I don’t mind.’ he responds.

You decide to use your phone to relay the plot since the fairy tale is a lengthy one.

[“There once lived a beautiful and kindhearted mermaid. Having spent most of her life at sea she longed to explore the world above and learn more about humanity. When she becomes old enough to swim to the surface she falls in love at first sight with a handsome prince. After a violent storm sinks his ship, the mermaid rescues him and brings him back to land before he regains consciousness.”]

Jin-woo’s gaze is intense as he studies your phone screen. You’ve never seen someone be so invested in your storytelling. It was flattering.

You continue typing away intent on finishing what you started.

[“The mermaid’s infatuation with the prince drives her to strike up a deal with a powerful sea witch. The witch offers her a potion that can transform her into a human, but it comes at a high cost. The mermaid would never be able to return to the sea once she drank it. What’s more the potion also robs her of her voice and causes her excruciating pain whenever she walks. Despite knowing the toll it will take on her body the mermaid moves forward, blinded by love.”]

Jin-woo’s eyes narrowed after reading this passage and he signs, ‘She’s being manipulated by the witch?’ You confirm his question with a nod of your head.

Your final text ends the story on a low note.

[“The mermaid finally meets and befriends the prince but everything she sacrifices is for nothing. He falls in love with a princess from another kingdom instead and this breaks her heart. The sea witch appears once more to give an ultimatum to the mermaid: she must kill the prince and allow his blood to drip onto her feet. Only by having her revenge could she return to the sea and live as a mermaid again. But she refused. Her love for the prince prevented her from stabbing him. In the final scene the mermaid tosses herself into the sea and as daybreak approaches, she dissolves into foam.”]

You sigh once you’re done. It’s more akin to a tragedy than a fairy tale, you think.

Your next message asks:

[“So, what’s your opinion on it? Pretty sad stuff huh?”]

When you turn to Jin-woo to gauge his reaction you’re taken aback by how pale he looks. There’s a bead of sweat sliding down his face and his countenance had turned grim, a far cry from his relaxed expression at the start of your date. The ending must have disturbed him way more than you anticipated.

Crap. You should have never offered to explain the plot to Jin-woo. This version of, The Little Mermaid, made you bawl like a baby the first time you read it and you usually remained dry-eyed while reading most tearjerkers. Why did you think it was a bright idea to discuss it on a date of all things? It was time to shift into damage control mode, stat!

You struggle for words while coming up with an apology to Jin-woo. You try to keep the text casual and concise to reduce any tension between you.

[“Jin-woo, are you okay? Do you need to sit down and rest? I’m so sorry! I’ve gone and dampened the mood.😭”]

He shakes his head after looking at your message and retrieves a pen and a small notepad from his pocket, an indication that he wanted to hold a longer conversation with you. Although Jin-woo’s grasp of sign language was excellent he found written words to be suitable when the circumstance called for it. Like now for instance.

When he’s done writing with his stationery he hands the notepad to you.

[“Please don’t feel the need apologize. You haven’t done anything wrong. You tried to warn me about how sad the story was, but I insisted on you telling me it anyway. I was just surprised was all. I can relate a bit to the mermaid because I’ve also made great sacrifices for the ones I love. In the mermaid’s case her love for the prince destroyed her. She gave up everything for him only for it to be in vain. It’s sobering to see love portrayed so tragically.”]

Jin-woo worries at his lower lip. He mentioned making sacrifices for his loved ones to you before but what exactly did he mean by it?

[“What sacrifices did you make if you don’t mind me asking? I’m here if you need a shoulder to lean on y’know.”]

You play coy with your response to glean more information from him. Maybe now that you’re officially dating, Jin-woo will open up to you.

Your hopes are dashed when the notepad is back in your possession.

[“Nothing I haven’t said before. Long hours, being away from home, missing my mother and sister while I’m away. Those kinds of sacrifices. Fishing at sea can be deadly if you’re not careful. I’ve had to dirty my hands on more than a few occasions while on the job.”]

Dirty his hands? Now this was something he hadn’t discussed with you before. Was Jin-woo involved in something illegal? Commercial fishing and maritime hunting were mercilessly cutthroat. A big profit can be made from harvesting seafood, fish, and other resources from the ocean. Some companies go as far as committing murder to weed out the competition.

Could this be what he meant by ‘dirtying his hands?’ That would explain why he was so flighty about his past with you. What if he was in trouble? If he was then why didn’t he ask you for help? Did he not trust you or did he not want to drag you into a mess of his own making?

Your mind’s going a mile a minute you’re so worried about Jin-woo. If he ended up injured or even dead because you decided to believe his lies and look the other way you would never forgive yourself. It was time to address the elephant in the room once and for all.

You type so fast; it’s a miracle you can come up with a message that was even coherent. Your face is hot, and you can already feel the sting of tears in your eyes.

[“Jin-woo, you need stop lying to me. I know there’s something you’re hiding, and it hurts that you can’t trust me enough to say it. If you’re in trouble just tell me. Say the words and I’ll try to help you to the best of my ability. I really like you Jin-woo but honesty should be mutual between us. I’ve spilled my guts to you, told you all about my life, my friends, and my job. Why can’t you do the same for me? I feel like I’m only falling in love with your reflection, not the real you. I just can’t do this anymore! I don’t want to lose you, but I refuse to be part of a relationship that lacks any kind of integrity!”]

Jin-woo takes on the pallor of a corpse as soon as he scans the contents of your text.

Fuck, you had done it now. There was no going back.

When he can bring himself to gaze at you there’s a devastation in his face that makes you instantly hate yourself for lambasting him. Yet you had to stand firm and conquer this hill if you had any chance of a future with him.

His little notepad is staring you in the face before you know it. Jin-woo’s handwriting looked frenzied and frayed. When you glance at him, his head is bowed, and his eyes are cloaked in shadow. He was utterly ashamed of himself. You can’t even begin to imagine what thoughts must be going running through his mind. He had to be as distraught as you were if not worse.

[“Tonight,” the scrawl reads, “I am going to tell you everything tonight. No more lies, no more excuses, I promise you. Even if you despise me for it, even if you never want to see me again, I’ll give you the truth no matter what. So please just this once trust me. I don’t want to lose you either. You’re everything to me, Y/N. I’m sorry for not being truthful to you, I just didn’t want you to get hurt because of me. I’ve only ever lied to protect you.”]

The desperation in his words makes your heart plummet. Just how terrible was this secret that it made Jin-woo think you would hate him for it? And he was scared you would be harmed if you knew? There was no doubt about it, Jin-woo absolutely was in danger. Why else would he be so disturbed about telling you?

Your hands are shaking so badly you can barely keep your phone from falling out of your grip. Jin-woo notices and steadies them by taking your hands in his own. Even at his lowest point you were his priority.

Did he ever once consider his own well-being?

How could he be so considerate of you at a time like this? You wanted to scream; to demand he be angry at you, to curse at you. Anything to justify your self-loathing. You berated Jin-woo without considering why he may be lying in the first place. For all you know his life could be on the line. Yet you only thought of your frustrations like a petulant child.

Stupid. You were so goddamn stupid!

A bookstore associate sees your distress and heads in your direction. Although your argument with Jin-woo was silent your panicked demeanor was starting to cause a scene. You really don’t want anyone to see you like this right now. Especially since you were on the brink of having a breakdown.

Jin-woo quickly acts as your shield, his protectiveness of you second nature. He pulls you to his chest, hiding your face from prying eyes. He’s warm, his heartbeat is steady, and you can feel his palms running up and down your back, consoling you. Jin-woo held you with the tenderness of a lover.

It’s in the comfort of his embrace that you let go and allow yourself to weep for him.

“Hello, ma’am is everything alri–”

“You can direct your questions to me. Can’t you tell she’s upset right now?” Jin-woo interrupts the man with clipped tone before he can finish. There’s a particularly nasty scowl on his face and the aura resonating from him is menacing at best. Did this moron not know how to read the room or was he lacking in common sense? You were vulnerable and in no position to be approached by a stranger let alone some random man.

The store associate pales and falters at Jin-woo’s display of aggression. He glances at the dark-haired alpha then back to you before his eyes widen. He had connected the dots.

“I… I… Sir, please try to understand. I didn’t mean to intrude on you and your mate, there were just some concerns from the staff and other patrons because of how scared she looked.”

Jin-woo’s hold on you tightens ever so slightly, and he levels a sneer at the frightened associate. The fucking gall of this man, of these humans, thinking they had a right to invade your own personal matters!

If you hadn’t been there with him he wouldn’t think twice about murdering every single person in this building. He’d flay the flesh from their bones, reap their misbegotten souls, and resurrect them into mindless pawns; just cogs in a machine for his army of the undead.

Jin-woo reluctantly quells his rage and spits out, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave. What happens between her, and I is of no concern to you. Now go.”

His commanding baritone brooks no argument, and the man flees with all the grace of a wounded animal.

For the next few minutes, you remain in Jin-woo’s arms until your tears run dry. When you’re feeling stable enough to walk Jin-woo softly takes your hand and leads you out of the building. Your books lie forgotten and haphazardly stacked on top of one another on a random shelf.

You both walk aimlessly with no set destination in mind. Your eyes were still swollen and puffy from earlier, so you avert your gaze from Jin-woo. He merely squeezes your hand in response, a gesture of reassurance.

An unoccupied back alley with a dead end eventually comes into view. It’s here in this inconspicuous passageway that Jin-woo decides to explain the full extent of his powers.

Once you’re seated on a nearby windowsill, he activates his inventory in front of you for the first time. Jin-woo said he would show you the truth and he was a man of his word. He withdraws Kasaka’s Venom Fang, the oldest dagger in his collection, and gracefully twirls it in his hand before holding it out to you.

As expected, you’re awestruck by the sight of the weapon. However, what Jin-woo doesn’t anticipate is for you to suddenly extend a hand towards the blade, your index finger almost touching its venom-tinged edge. He snatches your wrist so nimbly you barely register what happens. Only the warmth from his body alerts you of his hold.

You gasp.

Despite the incredible velocity of his movements Jin-woo was able to rein in the force behind them, preventing you from being hurt by his grip. Even the most elite athletes struggled to find the perfect balance between speed and strength. His control of his body was beyond human capabilities.

He shoots you an apologetic look and releases your wrist.

‘That dagger can paralyze and drain your life if it cuts you,’ Jin-woo warns after returning it to storage, ‘I should have told you sooner. I’m sorr –

‘It’s beautiful.’

He raises his eyebrows. Of all the words you could use to describe such a deadly weapon ‘beautiful’ wasn’t what he had in mind. His lips quirk into a small smile.

‘You think so? It doesn’t frighten you?’ he queries, pleasantly surprised by your nonchalance.

You nod and peer at him with a soft expression.

‘I do.’ There’s a long pause before you add, ‘You’ve used that knife before, haven’t you?’

You bite your lip and clasp your hands together after you’re done signing. You knew you were backing Jin-woo into a corner with a loaded question, but he wouldn’t be lugging around such a dangerous item without having a very good reason for it.

The grin on his face vanishes, replaced by grimace. You hit the nail on the head. Jin-woo readies himself for his answer.

‘Yes, I have. I’ve used that dagger to hurt and even kill people in the past. I know I’ve told you many lies and half-truths, but I wasn’t lying when I told you I dirtied my hands.’

He expels a shaky breath before delving into all the gritty details of who he really is. Unraveling and stripping himself down to his barest form.

Through a combination of sign language, a visual demonstration of his abilities, and written words Jin-woo reveals that he is a hunter, a warrior who fights life and limb against otherworldly beasts; day in and day out.

He exposes his many skills including stealth, the power he used to manifest outside of the bookstore.

Next came his accelerated healing and immense physical prowess. Jin-woo spots a discarded cinderblock on the ground, grabs it, and shatters the hard object with his bare hands. This causes his palms to scrape and bleed. You gasp and rise to your feet, alarmed by Jin-woo’s injuries. But he lifts his arm, an unspoken order for you to stay exactly where you are.

Suddenly light eclipses the abrasions and his skin starts to mend itself. You watch in disbelief as Jin-woo splays his opened and visibly undamaged palms in the air. You had just witnessed Kandiaru’s Blessing in the flesh.

And then he unveils one of his greatest assets to you.

The shadows pooling at his feet rapidly proliferate until the entire alley is submerged in darkness. Within seconds a lone obsidian knight emerges from the void. He cuts a formidable figure on his own standing well over 240 cm with vibrant hues of amethyst accenting his heavy armor. A single red plume hangs atop his helmet and sways with every stride he takes. When he gets within five feet of you and Jin-woo he kneels in reverence.

You learn the knight’s name is Igris and that he’s one of hundreds of soldiers who serve under Jin-woo. This was only a taste of the Shadow Monarch’s full dominion.

Once finished Jin-woo issues an order for Igris to return. The knight stands tall and nods his assent to his king and much to your shock, to you as well, before he disappears into the receding shadows. Moments later the alleyway is as it always appears with nothing to indicate what transpired.

It’s at this stage that you present one more hard-hitting question to Jin-woo. A question he’d been dreading.

‘You aren’t human, are you Jin-woo?’

He clenches his fists.

‘No, I’m not.’

You study his face closely trying to scope out any signs of deception, but there are none. He was being completely honest with you. But then what else could he possibly be?

Before the weight of his answer can fully sink in the revolting stench of congealed blood assaults your senses. It reeks of decay and viscera, the potent odor violating the air like a malignancy.

This was the unmistakable scent of an alpha, one that you were unfortunately all too familiar with.

It was Kang Taeshik’s nauseating musk.

You internally panic, horrified that your assailant from months ago was somehow back in the picture. Your thoughts become a frantic mess.

No…no…no! It can’t be! Director Jinchul fired him! He should’ve been long gone by now, so what the hell was he doing back on this island!?!

You feel like the air’s been punched from your lungs. Your legs shake uncontrollably and threaten to crumble. Jin-woo quickly catches you by the waist before you can slump to the ground. He then maneuvers your body so that you’re facing him, not the unseen nightmare that was approaching. He strokes your hair, and his pheromones are released in full force to calm your nerves. The aroma of lavender and sandalwood slowly begins to supersede the miasma of death.

“Show yourself already. The bloodlust from your filthy stench’s enough of a giveaway, alpha.”

Jin-woo’s eyes narrow into a frosty glare as the sound of obnoxious clapping echoes throughout the alleyway. Taeshik had finally announced his arrival.

“Well, color me impressed! It’s not often I come across someone who isn’t intimidated by my scent. Looks like you’ve got some balls on you! I like it! You’d make a great brawler in our fighting circuit.” An unknown voice commends Jin-woo with a condescending undertone.

You begin to whimper as the odor increases in intensity. Jin-woo gently tucks your head into the crook of his neck granting you access to his scent glands. Right now, his instincts were kicking into overdrive. He was solely focused on protecting and cherishing you. Fighting could be put on the back burner. For now.

A man with a wild mane of purple hair arrogantly saunters into view. He’s accompanied by a large group of men, around ten in total and all of them alphas. Judging by the murderous intent in their eyes they were on the prowl for prey.

Taeshik’s mouth spreads into a smirk reminiscent of a Chelsea grin when notices you. He openly leers at your body; an action that causes Jin-woo to snarl and bare his fangs.

The purple haired man raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Hey now there’s no need for that. I was just appreciating the view, that’s all. Besides, your omega and I have a bit of a history together. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

Jin-woo’s eyes go wide. How did he know your name?

His reaction seems to delight Taeshik who continues his spiel.

“Why the shock? She must’ve not told you about me. Y’see we used to be coworkers up until she got me fired. And after I was just trying to help by doing a little favor for her. No good deed goes unpunished, I guess.” He breaks into a fit of disconcerting laughter at the end of his speech.

“A favor?” Jin-woo asks, no, demands Taeshik to answer. Just what had he done to you?

One of the gang members, a burly man with several scars, spiky black hair, and a five o’ clock shadow snickers and interjects.

“Isn’t it obvious, brat? That little slut went into heat right in front him. She was practically begging for it too! Taeshik here was gonna bring her to us so we could all get a piece of that fine ass. Too bad that fuckin’ director had to go and ruin our plans. But your boss isn’t here to save you this time, huh sweetheart?”

“She can’t hear or speak to you, Dongsuk. She’s deaf. I don’t know how many times I have to keep reminding you.” Taeshik drawls, annoyance lacing his voice.

“Heh, so what? A hole’s a hole. It ain’t like she’s gonna be able to talk with a mouthful of cock anywa –”

Slash!

In the blink of an eye Dongsuk’s head rolls off his shoulders leaving nothing but a bloodied stump in its wake. His body slumps to its knees like a marionette with its strings cut before flopping onto the ground.

“Wha – what the hell just happened!?!”

“Holy shit!”

“D…Dongsuk!? No!”

Confusion and panic overtake the men within seconds. Even Taeshik looks ill at ease. None of them had been able to pinpoint the exact cause or reason for the man’s untimely demise.

When the purple haired alpha redirects his attention to Jin-woo, he’s mortified by what he sees. Black eclipses the end of the alleyway submerging everything in darkness except for Jin-woo’s piercing gaze.

In that moment, Taeshik learns what pure, unadulterated terror feels like. He was staring death in the face, a face that bore nothing but apoplectic rage.

A crimson and black dagger, the Knight Killer, was wielded in one of Jin-woo’s hands. The weapon’s jagged edges were ensanguined up to the hilt; evidence of the life it had so effortlessly taken. Jin-woo’s other arm remained wrapped around you although now you were facing Taeshik, the remainder of his men, and the decapitated corpse of Hwang Dongsuk.

You tear your gaze away, unable to bear the gruesome sight any longer. Jin-woo looks at you sympathetically before hardening his expression.

He knew he was letting his anger get the better of him, but he was infuriated by these vulgar bottom feeders and the disgusting remarks they made about you. Jin-woo really couldn’t give a fuck about killing these wastes of space, but he wouldn’t let you be a spectator to the slaughter he was about to commit. You’ve been traumatized enough.

An insect-like specter suddenly manifests from the shadows and bows before you and his king.

“Beru, take her somewhere safe and far away from here. I don’t want her to see this.” Jin-woo orders, his voice dropping an octave lower.

“At once my liege.” The ant diligently obeys his master and offers a clawed hand to you.

“My lady?”

You pause at the gesture, unsure of whether you should accept it or stay by Jin-woo’s side. The dark-haired man notices your hesitation and makes the choice for you. He clasps onto your shoulder and squeezes it urging you to escape with Beru.

You reluctantly allow the ant to hoist you into his arms. As Beru prepares to launch himself into flight you turn and cast a final glance at Jin-woo.

He looks nothing at all like himself. He’s cold, menacing, inhuman.

That’s right, Jin-woo wasn’t human. He admitted as much to you. But it hadn’t changed your feelings for him in any shape or form. Your heart still yearned and bled for him all the same.

Your lids grow heavy once Beru takes to the skies, a likely side-effect of overexposure to Jin-woo’s pheromones. As you start to succumb to slumber, your last waking thoughts are filled with nothing but him.

The moon hangs high in the sky when you wake up. After gaining your bearings you perform a cursory scan of your surroundings. A vast sea cavern greets you, its atmosphere dank and foreboding. Stalactites rain down from the ceiling like arrows frozen in time, weathered rocks line the walls, and the air is so humid you struggle to breathe. The only source of light is from moonbeams drifting through a crevice at the top of the cave.

You soon realize that you’re lying on top of a sandbank in the middle of a large body of water. There didn’t appear to be any means of escape other than swimming, but you were mentally and physically exhausted. Your phone was also nowhere in sight, making it impossible to text for help. You were effectively stuck.

An undulating motion in the water’s surface catches your attention. You weren’t alone, something was in here with you and it was getting closer. However, you’re not afraid. In fact, there’s something oddly familiar about this presence...

The movements abruptly ceases, and all is still for several heart pounding seconds. Then out of nowhere a large figure surges from underneath the briny waves.

It’s a male siren, and he’s utterly magnificent. His appearance more akin to a work of art than a living, breathing being. He looks at you with a serene expression. Was this who you thought it was?

You drink him in, appreciating his beauty in its entirety.

The siren’s eyes consist of blackened sclerae with amethyst irises. A smooth layer of ebony skin partially coats his jaw, shoulders, and back. It contrasts wonderfully with the ivory coloring on his chest and face. He bore the same pattern as a killer whale; an apt comparison given that sirens were also apex predators. Webbed ear fins protrude from the sides of his head, the scales on them aglow under the faint moonlight. And luscious locks of black hair frame the siren’s stunning face.

He's simply not of this world. Words could never accurately describe his ethereal visage.

The siren is sprawled out on the edge of the sandbank. Upon closer inspection you notice that he’s highly anxious. You see his dichromatic throat bobbing, and he makes a conscious effort to avoid eye contact with you. You’d seen these nervous tics before.

‘Is that you, Jin-woo?’ You sign to the siren although you’re certain you already know the answer. You just needed his confirmation for peace of mind.

He shuts his eyes and nods, a somber admission of the truth.

You take a deep breath before exhaling. Then you present him with another question.

‘Did you kill all of them?’

The siren remains still this time. His lack of a definite response was an answer in itself.

You wet your lips. So, you were right. Jin-woo said he’s killed before to survive, but this time he did it for you. To punish those men who sought to use you for their own perverse interests. And Taeshik… his fate must’ve been worse than death for what he put you through.

Jin-woo signs to you.

‘I’m sorry you had to find out this way… this was supposed to be a special day for you, but everything went wrong. I know you’ll want no part of me in your life after this, but I’m glad I met you. I’ll have Beru take you home.’

Jin-woo turns his back to you and prepares to make his departure. So, that was it? He was going to vanish from your life just like that. You hadn’t even gotten a word in; he just assumed you didn’t want anything to do with him. That idiot!

You had to stop Jin-woo before it was too late! But what could you possibly do to prevent him from leaving…?

You have an epiphany then; what if you gave all of yourself to Jin-woo, body and soul? Only an intimate act, the consummation of your relationship, could fully bind you to Jin-woo.

A mating bite is irreversible. Once you are bonded there’s no going back on it. But you’ve wanted Jin-woo for so long. In fact, you wish he had bitten your scent glands when he first kissed you. Him being a siren, a killer of mankind and monsters, did not deter you. He was your chosen mate. You would never refuse him.

The sound of rustling of clothes stops Jin-woo in his tracks. He inhales shakily, not quite believing what was happening just feet from him.

You were disrobing yourself. You wanted to mate with him!

As you peel off each article of clothing, the sweet scent of your pheromones and slick become more pronounced. Jin-woo groans as his knot starts to swell. God, you smelt incredible! If only he could see your nude form. The things he’d make you feel, the sounds he’d drive from you…

Why was he still stopping himself? Your actions just now said all that needed to be said! You wanted him, and you were more than ready for his knot. As an alpha he’d be remiss not to tend to the needs of his omega.

His mouth curls into a wolfish grin. You really had no idea what you’d just gotten yourself into.

You feel heat pooling between your thighs at the sight of Jin-woo’s broad shoulders. The muscles of his back flex deliciously when he finally turns to relish you in all your naked glory. The smoldering gaze he sends you as his eyes sweep over every inch of your bare body looks like it’s carved in sin. You delight in his attention and crave more of it.

Unable to endure another second apart from your alpha, you rush to the edge of the sandbank fully prepared to swim to him if necessary. But you’re beaten to the punch as Jin-woo emerges from the water and pins you to the ground at a speed that’s downright demonic.

He holds both of your wrists above your head in one large hand while he rests his other arm on his elbow beside your head, trapping you beneath him.

Jin-woo looks into your eyes one last time for any sign of resistance. There’s none; you were not backing down from this. You wanted him to claim you.

Your explicit consent is all he needs to unleash himself upon you. He molds his lips against yours in a searing kiss that burns with passion. Your eyes slip shut as you lose yourself to it. Jin-woo was kissing you with abandon this time, and it was sublime. There was a clear intent and purpose in every stroke and caress of his mouth. He kissed you as if nothing else mattered.

He abruptly parts from your lips to press his forehead to yours. At last, both of you could indulge and get lost in one another. You bask in Jin-woo’s warmth and spread your legs apart allowing him to slant between them. He releases your wrists and cradles your face in his hands.

Your breath hitches when you feel his length prodding against your stomach. This was really happening! You shiver in spite of yourself. Would you be able to withstand Jin-woo’s brute strength?

The siren presses featherlight kisses to your lips, cheeks, and eyelids to quell your nerves. When he pulls back you notice his mouth is moving. You focus on his lips, carefully deciphering each word.

“Raise your head and close your eyes. I have a surprise”

You do as he asks, and something cold prickles against your décolleté and the back of your neck. You’re curious about what Jin-woo’s placed on you but you keep your head raised and your lids remain firmly shut. Moments later two taps of his fingertips on your cheek signal that you can open your eyes.

When you glance down, you’re amazed by the jewelry dangling from your neck. It’s gorgeous. Incandescent shards of crystal and delicate alabaster pearls pour from your nape down to the swell of your breasts.

Jin-woo in turn finds himself mesmerized by the image of the gemstones splayed across your dewy skin. Your complexion glows in the moonlight, making you all the more alluring.

He decides to take you right then and there.

As you wrap your arms around Jin-woo’s shoulders, he captures your lips with his and slides into your tight heat. You keen and arch into Jin-woo, baring your throat to him. His fangs lengthen, and he sinks them into the tender flesh of your neck, staking his claim.

Stars adorn the night sky as the two of you intertwine and become one.

Five days later…

Woo Jinchul was beside himself with worry.

He wearily rubs at his bloodshot eyes. A quick glance at his phone tells him it's just past three o’ clock in the morning. Yet another sleepless night had come to pass. The man contemplates grabbing more coffee but decides not to. He was already five cups deep and the caffeine was doing nothing for his exhaustion.

Jinchul knows he isn’t at his best when he’s sleep deprived but he couldn’t afford to waste another minute, not while you were still nowhere to be found. And now, based on recent developments in your case, you were classified as an endangered missing person. Sleep was the very last thing on his mind.

He looks down at his desk to examine your case file for what must’ve been the tenth time in the last hour. These classified documents contained sensitive information. Jinchul had to resort to pulling strings to obtain a copy of your records. He hated throwing his weight around to get what he wanted but bringing you back home safe and alive was far more important to him.

Lead detectives Baek Yoonho and Choi Jong-In hadn’t been too thrilled about sharing the particulars of an open investigation with some ‘big wig’ film director. It took some major convincing on Jinchul’s part for them to relent and provide him with such crucial details.

So far, it’s been almost a full week since your disappearance. During that time, an exhaustive search of the island had been performed. However, there was no sight or sound of you. And as fate would have it, another misfortune occurred on the very night you vanished. This time it was a massacre.

Kang Taeshik, a name Jinchul wishes he could just forget. The man had a propensity for violence as well as a lengthy rap sheet that was conveniently scrubbed from public records. He knew Taeshik engaged in some unsavory pastimes, namely hosting unsanctioned brawls in the underground fighting circuit. But this was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Racketeering, drug trade, and much to Jinchul’s horror, human trafficking, had been just a handful of the crimes the sick bastard had gotten away with.

If only he had known sooner, then you would’ve never been in this situation. He should’ve trusted his gut and chosen another actor for Taeshik’s role. Jinchul always despised the way that man looked at you, like you were a slab of meat. It was disgusting.

Imagine his shock when he discovered Taeshik had fallen victim to a mass murderer. Body parts and mutilated remains barely recognizable as human were found littered in an alleyway like trash. The scene had been so grizzly that dental records were required to identify the deceased. Only four out of the eleven decedents could be positively ID’d, with Taeshik being one of them.

There were no eyewitnesses, no biological evidence, no suspects. Nothing. The murders would be exceptionally difficult to solve.

And they didn’t stop there.

A large bookstore was set on fire two days after the gruesome discovery. Widespread flames and hundreds of thousands of books were a recipe for disaster. Despite the best efforts of the fire department and emergency services, over seventy people lost their lives. It was initially presumed to be an accident, likely faulty wiring or inadequate maintenance.

This theory was thrown out the window when the autopsy results of one of the store’s associates revealed some truly unsettling details.

To put it lightly the man had been decimated. Every bone in his body was shattered, his spinal cord was severed, and both his legs were torn off. The associate had undergone an excruciating death, with any one of his injuries being fatal. He’d been tortured extensively before expiring from blood loss. Whoever committed this murder must’ve wanted him to suffer. The damage to the man’s body also bore striking similarities to the injuries sustained by victims of the massacre.

When his surviving co-workers were asked by detectives if the man had any known enemies, an older woman spoke up. Apparently, there was a tall dark-haired alpha having a falling-out with his girlfriend in the store a few days prior. The associate attempted to intervene and stop the lover’s tiff, but the boyfriend had been greatly angered by this.

“It was as if he’d seen a ghost,” the woman stated, “He was absolutely spooked by the confrontation and refused to talk to us about it. Looking back, I wish I hadn’t dropped the topic so easily. That boy was such a hard worker, always so eager to help those in need… it’s awful what happened to him. I don’t know how his family is coping.”

But if a grudge was only held against the associate then why did the killer go so far as to destroy the entire building? Did he also harbor resentment towards the business? Was he trying to make an example out of them?

Unfortunately, all the surveillance cameras in the bookstore had been destroyed in the fire. Staff members were able to provide a detailed description of the alpha and his girlfriend. When Jinchul first saw the composite sketches he nearly fell out of his chair.

The girlfriend had been a dead ringer for you.

If that wasn’t enough of a smoking gun, the day the man and woman were seen together coincided with the day you went missing.

Evidence in your case was mounting but none of it made sense. How did you get involved with this man? As far as Jinchul knew you weren’t dating anyone during filming. Cha and Jinho were also certain you were single. But that didn’t exclude the possibility of you being in a secret relationship…

At this point in the investigation, all Baek and Choi had to run on was the assumption you’d been kidnapped by a highly dangerous individual. A man who just so happened to be linked to almost one hundred deaths within the last week. The resolution to your missing person’s case was becoming bleaker by the day.

Jinchul rubbed at his temples. Going days without a proper night’s rest was taking its toll on him. His head was throbbing with a killer headache. Everything’s gone to shit since you’ve been gone.

Due to the tragic events surrounding the island and the unsolved disappearance of one of their own, executive producer Go made the difficult decision of suspending production on ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea,’ indefinitely. The movie was most likely going to be shelved.

Jinchul sighs and reaches for his phone again. He skims through his photo gallery until he comes across a picture taken on the first day of filming. You, Cha, and Jinho persuaded him to join in on a group selfie to commemorate the special occasion. The hopeful look in your eyes and the mirth in your smile causes Jinchul’s chest to feel heavy. He longs to return to happier times like this.

But those days were past and gone.

A monster came to Jindo Island, salted the earth with its rage, unleashed a burning inferno to incinerate all in its path.

And you disappeared with it in a sea of fire.

Tag list: @soft-dots @joannthebish @rokuxx6 @augurythirteen @princeizuku @vee-love @imaginarydreams @iamapotatoe @phisen @rai-xxx @ayam99920 @asylrd

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wolviensabes · 7 months ago

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SFW Alphabet: Wolverine

a/n: yayyy I am writing a new character finally. I've been wanting to do Wolverine for a while, I just got around to doing it. Especially after D&W, I can't help myself. So like my main, I will start off with the alphabet and gradually write more into him. My characterization will be mixed based on film, show, and comic so not one specific source. I have never written this character before so the way I write him may change as I continue. This is also unedited ignore mistakes <3

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?):

Logan is a fairly affectionate dude, once you get past his gruff and rugged outer layer. He will pull you close to him and let you lay on him or snuggle up close. He's very warm and makes the perfect heater since he generally likes to keep his room cold to combat his body temperature.

He enjoys cuddling, though he won't outright say it. He likes feeling you lay close and seek him out for comfort and warmth regardless of the time of day or situation. He won't ever deny you that.

He likes to ruffle your hair and he will lightly nip at you and grin when you give him a surprised look.

He's all for hugs, he likes when you hug him and try to hug as tight as you can, he's completely unfazed. Sometimes he will grab you and lift you up, and laugh when you try to do the same. His adamantium skeleton weighs him down more than you thought. He's strong as hell to be able to move so much and you realize it the moment you try that.

When you lay close he will rub your back or idly rub another part of your body. Any kind of touch he can get. His fingers are so warm, it feels especially good if you're shirtless laying on him. He really enjoys skin to skin contact.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?):

He'd be a bit of a loner, but in the end he will always come through. He's hard to initially bond with, so be prepared for him disappearing a lot, hopefully you are a patient person.

At first he might not want to bond with anyone because his life is a roller coaster of shit, but persistence might wear him down enough to let you in his friend circle.

He's the type to drink with you, have a cigar and talk about whatever. He's down for brawling, he likes to mess around in that sense.

But Logan likes his alone time too, so balancing out social and private time is important. If you push too much I think he will back off a lot. He's had a shit life and if he cares a lot about you, he might not want it to be too obvious you are important to him. A specific mutant tends to kill off his close relationships.

*cough* Sabretooth *cough*

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?):

He does, he just won't admit it. I don't see Logan as a touchy feely guy with words, his actions mean a lot more than what he says.

Logan accepts cuddling basically anytime you want, just get close and snuggle up against him.

He might invite you to do so if he notices that you want to but are too unsure to initiate it.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?):

It's shown that Logan has settled down before. So he'd do it again with the right person.

He would rather be the type to support or provide rather than be the one to cook and clean, but he will lend a hand if necessary.

Compromise is possible. He might make a huge mess in the kitchen though.

I can see him working a grill pretty well.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?):

Straightforward and to the point. He'd tell you about his past and how complicated his life is, and he doesn't want you caught up in the mess of it too.

Logan might try to break things off after they get serious, worrying about what could happen to you, but if you insist, he will stay. He just doesn't want you to get hurt.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?):

It would take a while before Logan would be ready for marriage. The life of an X-Man is complicated enough, and his especially is hard to handle. He wouldn't want to settle down for a long time.

But once you find that sweet spot, and have a long conversation and understand the concerns and dangers, he would be willing. You just have to be careful.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?):

Logan is naturally more rough than most, but he can be gentle when he wants to be or needs to be. He has a good heart, despite what he likes to portray himself as.

He's able to caress and hold you like a man who hasn't been through the worst Hell of his life, and he's able to understand and connect with you emotionally too. He does try his best for you, even if he isn't very good at first.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?):

He does. He likes when you hug him. As mentioned before, he likes to lift you up and he chuckles as you try to lift him (and fail).

He throws you over his shoulder when he picks you up and he teases you as you try to squirm away.

A lot of the time your hugs turn into play fights.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?):

For Logan, saying that would take a long time. He'd be very reluctant to admit it or even begin a relationship in the first place so he doesn't want to endanger you by admitting he has such intense feelings for you.

When he does, he makes sure you two are alone and he whispers it to you either when you are being intimate together, or he admits it to you after something happens where he thought he lost you.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?):

Logan doesn't necessarily get 'jealous' but I can see him being very possessive. He knows his partner wouldn't cheat and he is very comfortable and secure in his relationship with you, but sometimes he can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy.

He will come up to you and growl at the person he feels jealous of, possessively wrapping his arm around your waist and tugging you closer to him, glaring daggers at the person.

I can totally see him unsheathing his claws and asking you how they look, he claims he 'polished them' and wants you to see, but it's just a way for him to further intimidate the person in front of you.

It always works.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?):

Naturally, he's a bit messy. He likes kisses that leave you breathless, but are pretty passionate and demanding. He will kiss you until you are pulling back to breathe, and he lets you take a few breaths before diving back in for more.

He bites your lip, his tongue explores your mouth, the works. His hands are gripping onto you and holding you flush against him, his dominance fully showing when he is kissing you and you cannot complain.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?):

Logan doesn't really like being around kids, but he's surprisingly good with them. he's not mean to the kids obviously, he just prefers not to be around them. He doesn't like 'babysitting,' even though he's been forced to do so multiple times.

He has a natural instinct to protect, and he's proven time and time again that despite his attitude towards the children around the mansion, he's protected the entire mansion and the children inside with ferocity.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?):

Grumpier than normal, if that's even possible. He hates mornings. He'd much rather wake up on his own and have the time to slowly wake up fully and start his day than awake to an alarm.

He has trouble sleeping at night because of nightmares, so by the time morning comes, he's fallen asleep. He wakes up late morning to mid afternoon on a good day.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?):

Logan is more active at night due to his nightmares. He doesn't sleep well and rarely gets a good night's rest. When you came along, he asked if you could sleep in another room since he woke up swinging a lot. But gradually your presence helped and you were there for him when he woke from his nightmares.

Now, he can sleep without waking up and worrying about hurting you. Nightmares still plague him, but they're much quieter when you sleep beside him.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?):

Logan has to be open with certain things, just for your safety. You learn things with him about his past and himself, he does try to keep some of the things he's done to himself just to prevent any possible arguments from you asking too many questions. Logan doesn't like to sit and explain why he did things he had to do, especially if it's generally something considered to be bad.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?):

To a degree, he's...somewhat patient. He can snap quickly, but he is verbal about his irritation before he acts on it.

But this can also depend on the person annoying him. Some people just make him act before he can even get the words out.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?):

He has a very good memory, I mean he remembers things from decades ago, so he can remember something simple like your favorite song or color.

He remembers little things. Your favorite things, how you enjoy specific scents or tastes, and all the meaningful stuff that warms your heart that he remembers.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?):

I don't think he has one specific thing he enjoys the most. I would say maybe the first time he could actually sleep without worry of hurting you and he woke up feeling pleasantly rested, because you were by his side and he didn't have any nightmares.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?):

Congratulations, you have an insane attack animal on your hands.

Logan is insanely protective over you. He can't help himself. You are his, and he needs to keep you safe at all times.

It's in his nature, and sometimes he can't turn it off. He's always hovering over you, watching the people around you and making sure no one is looking at you for too long.

He's very vigilant by nature, so his head is almost constantly on a swivel despite his cool appearance.

Logan wouldn't hesitate to fuck someone up if you asked him to, or defend you at any time. He'd break someone's nose for talking bad about you.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?):

He would try as much as you liked him to, I think for him, getting you flowers or treats that you like is his default until he recognizes what means the most to you and he begins to do that.

As for planning things, he mostly leaves that for you unless you want him to plan something. He's very open to doing whatever you want, as long as you're happy.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?):

At the beginning of your relationship, he disappears a lot and his communication is shit. It makes you think that he isn't very reliable, and it causes some drifts in your relationship early on. He also doesn't explain a whole lot at first, but once you progress further he gets better at communication.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?):

Logan is a very rugged man, he doesn't spend too much on his looks, but he does enough not to be considered unhygienic. Otherwise his concern for his appearance isn't very strong. Unless you had a problem with it, he wouldn't put any more effort into his looks.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?):

Once you get to the bonded stage, he doesn't want to be apart from you. He cares a lot about you and once he admits to loving you, he is fully committed. Nothing could keep him from you and he'd tear a rift in the world to get to you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.):

Play fighting is one of his love languages. He loves to play fight. He can win, every time, you know that. But he still likes to wrestle around and let you think you're winning...then he pins you down within seconds.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Anyone who would try to boss him around in an annoying way or try to change him. He doesn't want a partner who tries to change who he is. He wants to be accepted, he wants to be able to be himself. Playful bossing around is different, but if you genuinely try to make him do every single thing you say, you two will butt heads and you won't be compatible.

If you nag too much that would annoy him. He drinks, he smokes cigars, you either have to deal with it or say nothing. He will continue to do it regardless of your personal opinion about it.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?):

Logan tries to get as much sleep as he can, but he has chronic nightmares so sometimes it's very difficult for him to sleep fully during the night. Having you with him helps, and gradually as you sleep beside him, his nightmares calm enough for him to sleep through the night without waking up swinging or trying to stab the closest thing near him.

He generally sleeps late at night to late morning or early afternoon, he doesn't keep normal sleeping hours.

He likes having you by his side when he does sleep, he feels more secure with you tucked under his arms and snuggled into his chest. Your presence, your scent...everything, it helps relax him enough to fall asleep.

He always sleeps closest to the door so he can jump up and protect you if necessary.

Thanks for reading.

*SNIKT*

dividers by @/strangergraphics

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #x men #xmen #x men 97 #x men comics #🎠my works

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leafwateraddict · 1 month ago

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may I have some of sans and dust interacting in the replace au 👀 like maybe how sans acts at first or like dust questioning him about y/n and sans just starts yapping about everything he loves about y/n idk

Thanks for the ask! Sorry I took awhile, I've been a bit under the weather :P

Sans is pretty apprehensive of Dust at first, (considering he knocked him tf out and locked him up in the basement with no way to teleport his way out💀) but when he checks Dust and sees just how much LV he has he becomes wary of his intentions, and even more concerned when he realizes that he plans to essentially steal his life.

He doesn't know what Dust did, but can infer by Dust’s general behavior that on some level it must have been out of desperation. But hes also a bit biased because he really wants to believe that... (He doesn’t want to accept the fact that he ended up like Dust in another life)

He initially gives Dust the benefit of the doubt, He willingly talks to him about his life on the surface at first, about his partner, about his friends and family, while still trying to persuade him that they can figure this out together.

But Dust is adamant that stealing his life is the only way. That he wouldn’t be accepted by other monsters if they knew what he had… gone through.

(Sans trusting Dust enough to tell him about his life on the surface unfortunately only cements Dust’s plan, Sans’ efforts to convince Dust he could have a happy life now only made Dust envious of the life he could have had. The life he distantly thinks he deserves atleast a little taste of, despite all the sins he’s committed.)

So despite sans’ efforts, he’s left to rot in the basement.

Obviously, being left to rot and having your life stolen would put a sour taste in anyone’s mouth, so sans eventually starts to hate Dust.

———

I ended up making a comic laying out their strained relationship since you made me think about the complexity of their dynamic a bit more.

The girls are fighting… 🫢

Dust relies on Sans and he hates it. He could kill him sure, but then what? That question of "what if" lingers in the back of his mind. What if you find him out? What if he slips up somewhere and can't cover up his mistake in time? He wasn't looking for permanence with you initially... was just jealous, wanted a taste of the life he could have had… but now he's gotten attached to you. He's afraid of losing this. Losing you. And they both know that fear will be his downfall.

Sans' side of this is a bit complicated however. He doesn't want to admit it to himself but he's upset you haven't noticed him missing. Dust tends to taunt him about that, as it's really the only leverage he has... but it slowly begins to eat at him over time. He doesn't blame you really, since Dust has proved to be a pretty good impersonator. But either way, the fact that you aren't noticing any difference between him and Dust will put a strain on him. And depending on what ending, a strain on your relationship entirely.

Sans also becomes increasingly desperate, having his own distant thoughts of overpowering or even killing Dust and escaping. But refrains from doing so, afraid of ending up just like Dust in the end.

#leafs art #leaf answers #asks #replaced au #my aus #undertale au #dust sans #murder sans #sans #now you might be thinking! “wheres phantom paps???”#to which i will respond with:#excellent question!

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blacknedsoul-blog · 23 days ago

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Social climbers and the relationship with power: Ada's tragedy

You buddies don't dimension how much I raised my eyebrows when I saw this scene:

Ada climbing on top of a deer (a very typical symbolic representation of noble masculinity) who is trying to fiercely shake her off while she desperately clings to him with all her might...

And is THAT what makes her have a flashback of her relationship with Tamerline? Buddy, I'm putting on a hat to take it off.

Anyway, this means I have enough material to talk about Ada.

Social climbers and power

Ada is, apparently, a social climber: she longs for a social space to which she feels she is entitled, but to which she considers herself not to belong. This is something that can give us clues about her socio-economic situation in life: social climbers are extremely common in spaces such as, for example, the child of a first generation of professionals or of parents who have been able to provide better economic passages despite not belonging to social elites.

So, one thing to be clear about the way Ada relates to people in general is through this lens: the way she tries to move up socially (i.e. to power) is through her relationships with people, if she is close to a person who has power or belongs to an elite, then she is accessing these spaces. If that person does not have it, then she uses the relationship to reassert the position she wants to have.

Ada's personal tragedy is that this way of relating to the world puts her in an extremely vulnerable position with respect to her interpersonal relationships because, if they were not asymmetrical from the beginning, she makes them asymmetrical. It's as true that Ada gets into complicated relationships willingly as it is that she is a victim of people like Tamerlane. You know, the same logic of tragedies.

So let me do a little review of all the relationships Ada has had in the comic, how they go and what is the pattern they follow.

The triad of discord

There are three things that all of Ada's relationships have in common (except one, but we'll get to that): 1) She seeks to get some sort of validation from the other person. 2) She tends to push the person's boundaries, even if they were explicitly stated. 3) Even if the person has some degree of affection or sympathy for her, Ada will never be her priority over other things. Be these things other people, personal desires, etc, etc.

So let's review this a bit.

Let's start with the bastard of Thomas Tamerline. If anything their interaction during chapter 110 makes clear to us is that the guy is quite explicit with the fact that this relationship is purely sex for him (and he possibly enjoys the degree of control he exerts over her), Ada repeatedly tries to get some validation or affection from him and the guy barely complies with the bare minimum.

That he ends up murdering her indicates that, regardless of motive, he sees her as an inconvenience to his personal desires that must be gotten out of the way and, as the icing on the cake, puts the responsibility on her.

Now on to Prospero. His resemblance to Thomas is obvious enough to understand why Ada would be attracted to him and constantly seeks to touch him or be near him, no matter how much Prospero tells her that he is not interested in her. This is an attitude she has even before Annabel encourages her by saying that “Prospero is just being shy”.

Eventually it happens what it does: Prospero is fed up with her and doesn't hesitate to tell her so to her face. We can argue whether or not he's justified in being this cruel, but by the standards of this argument that's irrelevant: the important thing here is that Prospero doesn't care about Ada's feelings enough to be nicer.

Let's go now to Lenore. Ada is extremely mean to her until Lenore demonstrates that she was able to pass the maze test on her own. This is, in Ada's eyes, a demonstration of power and she, as she is wont to do, will not pass up the opportunity to get on the good side of a person who could be a potential rising star.

This is cut short by her same group, but they reconnect at the mansion trial. Since Lenore is not interested in relating on power terms (for better and for worse), here they have the opportunity to share on more equal terms on both their parts. Yes, Lenore is also doing this for personal reasons, but it doesn't take away from the merit.

Ada ends up overstepping boundaries and betraying Lenore at the end of the trial. And after she learns of her Ada's involvement in Duke's kidnapping, well, all she has to say when Pluto fills her in is says that shitty relationship is strangely appropriate.

Yes, Lenore may have come to have some degree of affection for her, but Ada is no more important than her friends and after getting into something like that, to hell with her.

With Annabel things start to get more interesting. These two have a cocktail of projection and resentment between them: Annabel is all Ada wants, so she treats her like a pretty accessory that gives her status (something that definitely oversteps Annabel's boundaries, even if she hasn't expressed them because it doesn't suit her) and, to Annabel, Ada is little more than an important piece she can take advantage of.

This take it with a grain of salt because there are some “buts.”

On Ada's side, that she seeks help from Annabel when Montresor is being a fucking psycho is an indicator that she felt, at least, protected by Annabel. But as is often the case with her, the plan Annabel is carrying out is no more important than Ada, she just lets it happen.

Twice. Under the circumstances, Annabel chooses to help Prospero over Ada.

However, Ada is not indifferent to Annabel: she is definitely furious with Montresor after what he did (In fact, this is the only scene so far where we have seen Annabel exercising any form of physical aggression)., she is uncomfortable when Prospero is mean to Ada, and there are a few small frames where she looks at her with sincere pity.

But again, that won't make Annabel prioritize her over her own plans.

Finally, we come to the most interesting relationship here.

Ada definitely cares about Morella, but that won't make constantly denigrating her a reaffirmation of the position she believes (or wants) to have: making comments like Morella's food “is poor.” Ada pecks at the boundaries with a stick, yet these things -for some reason- don't seem to bother Morella, who is able to see the good in her despite her bad attitudes. Until she stops doing it because not only participating in Duke's kidnapping, but also trying to play cool by making excuses is out of bounds even for Morella.

But an interesting thing happens here too, remember how Ada is never a priority for anyone? Well, for a moment in her relationship with Morella it looks like this is going to be different. Morella makes a feeble attempt to defend her when Montresor makes her bark and puts a shield in her face when Prospero attacks her in the mansion trial.

Unfortunately for Ada, Morella is someone too lacking in backbone and too concerned with following the rules to stand up for her when it really counts.

After Ada manifests and bursts into tears, she pushes Morella away from her with a shove.

Morella says she wants to help, but all it takes is for Poppet to remind her that she needs to get back the Merits she lost for Morella to finally give in.

The two people Ada considered her friends have left her: Annabel has chosen to help Prospero and Morella has left.

That's when Montresor enters.

And here begins the first break in Ada's toxic pattern of relationships...but not for the better.

Ada and Montresor

Oddly enough, these two are a good match...for horrible reasons. Montresor, like Ada, is a social climber who uses interpersonal relationships to get closer to power, only in a different way: where Ada sticks it to people who hold power, Montresor uses others to reassert himself in a position of power. So, Ada feeds Montresor's ego, while he can pretend to like her enough to keep Ada happy.

Because yes, Ada and Montresor's relationship fulfills most of the bad patterns in relationships that Ada usually has: she seeks validation in this relationship and Montresor definitely doesn't prioritize her (she constantly has to compete with Will for Montresor's attention, for example). But the important thing here is that, for once, Ada isn't the one constantly pecking at the other person's boundaries: it's Montresor who does it.

He pushes her around, teases her, calls her by other women's names, and it's probably only a matter of time before this starts to get worse. What's interesting is that Ada is able to get upset when this happens, unlike what we see in the flashback to her relationship with Thomas.

So there is something changing here.

Conclusion

I'm not sure where this is going to lead, but one thing is for sure: Montresor is a reflection of a toxic pattern of behavior that Ada has in her relationships and if she's starting to get uncomfortable with it, it's not just because the abyss is staring back at her, but because she's getting herself into a situation too similar to her relationship with Thomas to not know how it might end.

Add to that this:

This is the first time in the comic that Ada has had such a selfless gesture for another person. And that selfless gesture is something as big as putting herself in danger to save someone. As if all this wasn't enough, it's been to save Annabel: one of the two friends who turned their backs on her when she needed them.

I don't know if this will be the start of her character development or we should interpret it as deathflags placed over her head, but one thing is for sure: whatever is going to come out of here has quite a bit of potential.

#nevermore webtoon #annabel lee nevermore #lenore nevermore #ada nevermore #Prospero nevermore #montresor nevermore

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ceaselesswatchersspecialboy · 4 months ago

Note

Do the twins ever get attached to stanfraud? Does bill get attached to them too? what is their relationship like? and what is their immediate reaction to finding out everything was a lie -- first impressions? GAAHH I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS i'm ur biggest fan bro

Thank you so much!! It really means a lot that people are enjoying my madness this much!

It’s funny because earlier I was actually doodling him and the twins!

He absolutely gets attached and they get attached in return. While their initial introduction to him is very rocky, they come to enjoy his quirks and unusual interests, especially once Dipper puts together he was the author, and he regularly supervises them on adventures, mainly because Stan asked him too, but also because it’s strangely fun. He will repeatedly claim he hasn’t gone soft to Stan, but then Stan will find him fast asleep with the twins curled up against him, or he’ll catch him helping the twins in their respective Dipper and Mabel’s guide videos. He also likes Mabel Juice! Mabel won’t take his suggestion of adding eyeballs though. Alas.

His feelings towards them are made complicated by his own denial. He doesn’t like the idea that he’s changed much at all, and these new doubts he’s experiencing about his original plans are not thoughts he’s willing to entertain for long. He gets snappy when Stan tries to reassure him it’s okay that he cares, because he doesn’t care, he’s just… playing a role. That’s all. It’s all one big lie. He can do lies. But that doesn’t really explain the genuine panic he experiences when Dipper and Mabel are in danger, and how quickly he jumps in to protect them nor does it explain the fuzzy feeling in his chest when Mabel knits him a sweater.

He’s not the same as he was thirty years ago. That’s a fact. And thirty years was once just a blip for him, but this has felt like he’s lived a whole new life.

And on the flip side, Dipper and Mabel care a lot too. He’s off-putting and he’s strange and he says some things that imply he may have committed murder and gotten away with it, but they like being around him. It isn’t always perfect, same as it is with Stan, but the rougher patches don’t tend to last, and they reconcile by the end of the day (although, Bill is usually incapable of saying sorry verbally and shows his apology through actions instead).

Dipper for one hasn’t really had anyone he can just ramble about nerd stuff with. Bill can actually keep up with Dipper, and they both find themselves enjoying the debate they have about inter dimensional travel, or what sort of haunting would be the most annoying to deal with. Dipper does sometimes catch his uncle looking at him strangely though, almost as though he’s seeing right through Dipper and looking at someone else, but he blinks and the odd look is gone, so he must have imagined it.

Bill does sometimes push Dipper’s buttons, of course, and never gives him direct answers, usually making him look for the answer himself, or read between the lines, which Dipper comes to appreciate as it, so he claims, trains his mind for mysteries. They have a very fun back and forth, honestly. Dipper thinks Stanfraud is the coolest despite all the annoyances, and he really does try his best to impress him.

Mabel meanwhile is just her usual bundle of energy, and charms her great uncle by involving him in her unhinged hijinks, and showing him the art of glitter bombing. She meets him where he’s at! Even though he can sometimes be a little extreme, even for her, she pushes herself out of her comfort zone, mainly because of what Stan told her, about how Ford lost his mind while alone. Well, she can’t have that! She makes a real effort trying to understand him, and why he thinks the way he does.

He also weirdly gives her some good advice whenever Pacifica tries to bring her down, and Mabel is both comforted and inspired by how weird he is, even in his old age. He never lets anyone shame him out of it, and he encourages Mabel to just “Be weird! Your fleshbag life is short! Why waste it caring what lesser skin puppets think?”

Bill unknowingly allows both Dipper and Mabel to feel more comfortable in themselves because of how unapologetically ‘him’ he is.

Sorry if this is messy, by the way, I’m just writing my thoughts as I go along.

Anywho, I think all of this makes finding out everything was a lie very hard hitting for them. Mabel tries to rationalise it, that sure, maybe he wasn’t really their Grunkle, but he still loved them like he was, and they loved him like a Grunkle, meanwhile Dipper reacts very negatively, because he really thought he had found someone like him, someone he confided a lot in, and now he thinks he made the wrong choice, that he was an idiot.

And Stan lied too. He admits the biggest mistake he made was not telling them, but it’s too late for that now.

The one bright side, if you can call it that, is Stan and Bill do tell them before they get Ford back. They think they’ve finally found the way to do it, and Stan wants the kids to know before they try it, give them time to process.

Okay I’ll end there for now! Thank you so much again!

#asks #gravity falls #gravity falls au #not who he seems au #bill cipher #stanley pines #dipper pines #mason pines #mabel pines

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endursent · 1 month ago

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Hi!

Not exactly sure if you take platonic requests but I would love to see your take on Sunday with a teen reader who kind of just stuck to his side the first time they met (reader lost their parents)

As for if it's pre-Astral Express or Astral Express Sunday it's up to you or it can be both if there is a noticable shift in dynamic between the two :3

【 content; sunday & gn!reader , astral express sunday , oak family sunday , general , mild bonding , sunday has changed a lot , rather short 】

【 note; i don't mind platonic requests! i've written plenty before, but it's been a while. thank you for the request!! i somehow haven't actually written pre-express sunday before...? i see sunday my brain goes brrrr. 】

【 word count; 1.493 | masterlist 】

Family Head -

Sunday likes to think he’s quite good at handling people, be it when it comes to his work or personal life—which isn’t much to talk about—and thus when you follow him around like a lost duckling between errands after meeting at a funeral, he decides to at least make use of you.

Not maliciously, sometimes he tasks you with carrying things, or writing something down he’ll have to remember. Sunday comes to find it quite helpful, despite the fact he barely knew your parents and that his presence was more of a formality—he doesn’t particularly mind your sudden presence, per se… but he has a reputation to uphold, and he must make sure that you will not do any damage to it.

He’s very skilled in prying information out of others, both by force and not—though he prefers it to be a last resort that he thankfully didn’t have to utilise on you. Sunday hums to himself after passing down a street, vehicles cruising along the roads and people waiting to pass—he stops suddenly and you nearly walk into his back, but just barely manage to stop yourself before doing so.

He turns to you and tilts his head. “What is your preferred meal?”

The question catches you off-guard. Sunday hasn’t asked you a direct question about yourself like this before, and though you can’t stop yourself from thinking of warm, homemade meals and familial comfort—you manage to blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind outside of old morsels clumsily.

“I see. Come,” he turns and crosses the street before checking for passing vehicles, and be it pure luck or a creepy understanding of the Dreamscape’s environment, he passes between gaps in the road easily—you just barely make it by following at his heel.

After gifting (bribing) you with the meal of your choice, he gouges out your circumstance and position—mostly inquiring whether you don’t have any other immediate family to turn to. Tragedies are nothing new to him, and Sunday is a very practiced listener… but the presence of pain and the way you try not to maintain eye-contact with him throughout does tug on his need to rectify it.

He’s a bit awkward, as Sunday slowly tries to involve you more—more than just a glorified assistant. If nothing else, he can grant you a place in the Family and allow you a life for yourself, he can guide and mentor you forward to where you must go—but he cannot be with you at the finish line.

– Generally rather neutral about your presence, he doesn’t quite realise that you’ve attached yourself to his hip until someone lists it out for him.

– He doesn’t mind being a guiding figure for you, though he doesn’t really believe that he’s the best person to do so—he might search for some guidance himself if you were to present him with something complicated. Yet he also doesn’t want you to risk being alone and without a guardian… that’s usually how people get taken advantage of.

– He’s rather busy, so he gives you tasks or errands to run while Sunday tends to his work. He does rather enjoy that you aren’t too independent, mostly because he has a prickle at the back of his mind that you might get yourself in trouble, which might lead to difficulty and danger—or even hurt. Which Sunday is rather vehemently against.

– There is genuine interest in his questioning when he tries to get to know you, to gouge your interests, your worldview and person. Depending on you, he might either nurture those traits, or spend much time getting you to understand his own.

– He will never force or manipulate you to change your worldview or reasoning, but he will make you sit down and listen to him talk until you understand his own.

Astral Express -

Sunday felt a little overwhelmed when he boarded the Express at first—there were some rules he didn’t quite understand, and he’s never had to share a space with so many people before… so he often kept to a corner he picked for himself.

The crew of the Express is practically a family already, and despite your needs being very much tended to—Himeko and Welt have practically taken it to themselves to be pseudo parental figures—you don’t feel a sense of… shared kinship with many of them.

But there’s something about Sunday’s own struggles and reserved demeanour that makes it quite comfortable to just sit with him. He didn’t quite like it at first, some kid he’s never met before plopped themselves down by the table he’s sitting at as he stared out the long windows of the Express and made themselves comfortable despite the many other places you could’ve sat.

But he kept it to himself, his eyes drifted back out to the vast expanse and neither of you moved until you were practically dragged by the ears to have some dinner after missing the hollers.

You have to be the first one to approach and sit down by him. Sunday quickly memories the Express’ routine and makes it his personal mission—at least it seems like it—to take as little space as possible, both physically and mentally, in the way of staying out of sight and mind.

He never declines your presence, but you never really asked either. One afternoon a day after you had accidentally rambled about a book series you had been reading to Sunday (you barely slept after realising you had talked for almost two hours) March tricked you into playing games in her room—and somehow Dan Heng as well—after a short stop on a highly commercialised planet, where she had spent all her spare credits on a console and games you had never heard of before.

You were a little relieved that you hadn’t seen Sunday all day despite the fact you found his presence soothing to be around—and the fact he’s an excellent listener!—but at the same time… you also wanted to ask him if he minded that you kept coming to his table.

The game was distracting enough, taking your mind away from your thoughts and before you knew it, two hours had passed. In fact, you wouldn’t have noticed if three had passed were it not for the fact that March’s door slid open, and Sunday peeked inside… bringing the three pairs of eyes in the room towards him.

He leaned back slightly when he realised his subtle peek had failed, and gave an awkward nod. “Ah… my apologies, I didn’t mean to intrude.” Sunday had wondered where you had gone—your presence hasn’t been missed at the table for several days now, and considering he hadn’t seen you all day (mostly due to his own routine) he had worried you might be sick or otherwise unable to come to the party car.

March, however, is unbothered. She holds one controller towards him despite the distance (and sitting on the floor). “Come play with us!”

Sunday’s lips part, and he nearly declines on instinct… but what else is he going to do? He found out where you were, he would just go back to the table and sit in lonesome silence. “… is it okay if I watch?”

She shrugs. “Whichever you want, Dan Heng always wins anyway.”

Slipping inside silently, Sunday finds a spot on the floor to sit, and you turn to explain the mechanics of the game to him so that he can understand what he’s looking at. Sunday nods along and asks some follow-up questions regarding the characters you could pick—he doesn’t mind your blabbering at all.

– Express Sunday is a bit more reserved, he doesn’t present himself outwardly—mostly because he is in the midst of understanding himself and reevaluating his worldview. Perhaps your presence and long talks helps him further his thoughts and understandings.

– A second perspective outside of the events of Penacony is very valuable to him now, he is quiet and listens closely as you talk—and even if you don’t, he’s listening to the ambiance of the Express, or the hum rumbling the sides of the cars.

– Sunday sees you somewhat like himself at a younger age, a figure searching for guidance and acceptance with little to fall back on. Unlike himself, you have the Express crew to guide you forward were you to fall—and though he felt a prick of envy at the first thought, he understands that circumstances are different, and nothing will change the past. He must move on to the future.

– He doesn’t really have ‘hobbies’, so anything you or the crew can introduce him to or tug him along for is a whole experience… though he might be a bit stiff at first, he is usually quick to learn—even when you showed him a strange puzzle mind-game developed by a branch of the Intelligentsia Guild and published to download on your phone. You saw him pondering over them for hours during long evenings.

#sunday & reader #sunday & you #sunday #sunday hsr #platonic #hsr #honkai star rail #my writing #fics #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #fluff #sunday x reader #sunday x you

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tinfoil-jones · 1 month ago

Text

Gravity Falls: What Did You Do? Ch. 1

Summary: “Nine Lives Lee”, a rare Stanley Pines who ended up on the other side of the portal instead of his brother, literally falls into the “Better World” that one dimension that most of the alternate versions of Stanford Pines tend to be jealous of and hold over Lee’s head as ‘proof’ that everyone would have been better off if he’d just done what his brother asked him. The Ford of this dimension, however, isn’t quite what he seems. And neither is his version of Stanley.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Language, violence, medical related gore, and mentions of graphic violence. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here.

Disclaimer: Reverse Portal Stan "Nine Lives Lee" is owned by @urdadsceilingfan

This version of the Better World AU is owned by @mother-ofthe-universedraws

Ch.1

This isn’t the first time Lee’s stood at the ledge on the roof of a tall building, looking down, and contemplating his life and what it’s worth. How he got here. What he’s done so far. What his next move is.

“Halt! You’re at the end of the line, old man.”

This isn’t the first time he’s been cornered by cops of a different dimension, either. He never bothered to learn what this particular organization liked to call themselves. Eventually, all of the acronyms and titles ran together, and it’d still be some echelon of police at the end of the day. After all, if it sounds like a pig, walks like a pig, and rolls around in shit like a pig, it’s a pig. Especially since some of the cops in this world were literal humanoid pigs; this version of Earth was half populated by regular humans, and the other half populated by anthropomorphic animals.

At least they spoke his first language, English. He’s gotten better at learning languages over the years, having a sharper echoic memory than anyone would assume just by looking at him, but it was still annoying when he would go long stretches not able to understand anything because he didn’t know the local language. He really should get a universal translator one of these days.

“Hands where we can see them!” He heard a multitude and clicks and the distinctive bzzt of electricity. Lee knew they were pulling out weapons on him, most likely handguns, tasers, and good ol’ fashioned nightsticks. He was pretty familiar with all of those, having been at the sending and receiving ends of them all. This version of Earth wasn’t advanced enough for energy based weaponry.

Lee slipped his portal gun into his jacket quickly and quietly, turning around as he did so. He slowly put his hands up in front of himself, in a defensive, if somewhat relaxed, guard.

“Up in the air, dirtbag!” The cop barked at him - quite literally, this particular officer is some humanoid dog. He noticed some of them had their eyes drawn to his right arm; his robotic one. He couldn’t blame them for being distracted, considering the tech here couldn’t have been advanced enough for a prosthetic like his.

Slowly Lee started to raise his hands.

And then he flipped them around with his middle fingers up, and did a free-fall backwards off of the ledge.

This isn’t the first time Lee’s known the view from halfway down.

But they didn’t call him Nine Lives Lee for nothing; because this also isn’t the first time Lee had opened a portal without the cops noticing until he’d already jumped.

“GET BACK HERE LEE!” One of the cops shouted at him as soon as they were able to sprint over to the ledge and look down at him, expecting a suicide attempt, only to be baffled by a swirling electric-blue vortex floating there, right in the path of Lee’s descent.

“See ya later sucker!” He called back, still keeping both middle fingers up even as bullets whizzed right past him but failed to quite make the mark. One lucky shot got him in in his robotic arm, but like most parallel Earth bullets, it just clinked right off.

The portal swallowed him up, and collapsed in on itself, winking right out of existence from Dimension-BoJ6

---

Lee had complicated feelings for Rick Sanchez. They were friends, rivals, begrudging allies, enemies, lovers - sometimes all of those things at once. It’s a long story, a few decades of a long story in fact. But he never underestimated Rick’s brilliance. At one point in his travels, Rick had approached him; he needed some parts from a heavily guarded facility, and told Lee if he could get them without dying he would build him his own portal gun. Rift-Hunting was long and exhausting and he could go months to years stuck in a dimension before finding one, so of course Lee took the job. He’d had his trusty portal gun ever since.

However, for all of Rick’s undeniable genius, for the life of him Lee could not figure out why that dumbass never made portals that you could clearly see through. The guy had an entire civilization of alternate versions of himself, there was no way they couldn’t have cobbled their big brains and even bigger egos together and figured it out. Lee was still convinced they were just that dedicated to their sci-fi aesthetic.

Most of the time, both sides of the portal created by the gun were oriented the same - if you generated a portal two feet off of the ground and vertically upright, it’d be the same when you went through it. If you made a portal into the ground, usually you would fall through a floor and/or ceiling. This wasn’t always the case, however.

By making a portal horizontal, and mid-air up forty floors, Lee had expected to continue to free fall; he would still have plenty of time between falling through the portal and hitting the ground to get himself properly oriented and get his emergency landing gear in time.

This time, the ground was less than five feet below him.

“Ough!” Lee grunted, the wind knocked out of him as he landed on his back onto a concrete floor, he also felt a sharp burst of pain in the back of his head when that also smacked against the dusty concrete, the blow slightly softened by his beanie. “...Ouch.”

Sweet Moses, he knew he was up there in years but did he really need to get humbled by a lower back pain flare? The impact has caused the muscles there to start spasming, and he knew it’d take hours to stop on its own if he didn’t do something about it.

Lee grimaced as he sat up, and took in his darkened surroundings as he reached down to his utility belt, feeling around for the right compartment. Appeared to be some kind of basement, with abandoned shelves, desks, and tables. It was dusty down here, but not a thick blanket, so it was not abandoned, just seldom visited. It looked like the room was slightly in ruins, because there were loose pieces of the concrete wall and floor scattered around. There was a peculiar structure behind him, where his portal had spat him out; some inverted triangle with a hole in the center-.

Lee's entire body froze for a split second; it wasn’t like him to let himself get caught off guard, but he knew exactly what he was looking at. After all, it was the very same structure he’d been sucked into almost thirty years ago, jettisoning him from his original dimension, and his twin brother who he’d just been fighting with-.

All of these years later and the sizzle from the structure he’d kicked Ford into, and the horrific, pained scream from his brother that followed still haunted him when he thought about it.

Rising slowly due to his flaring pain, Lee’s flesh hand pulled a syringe from his medical pouch, and his prosthetic hand brought his portal gun close to his face so he could read the console home screen for the information it’d gathered as soon as he fell into this dimension:

[€ΔŘŦĦ ¥€ΔŘ: 2010

₣Ř€Ω ΜΔŦĆĦ: Ň€ǤΔŦƗV€

Đ€ŞƗǤŇΔŦƗØŇ: Ǥβ-1100

₣Ř€€ ŴƗ₣Ɨ? ŇØ]

Damn. The negative frequency match told him what didn’t surprise him, but still disappointed him; this wasn’t his dimension. Well, you could only get so lucky when you set the destination to ‘random’ and ‘habitable atmosphere’. Although, hasn’t he heard of Dimension BG-1100 before? He had an inkling he’d at least heard that designation before.

Lee rose fully to his feet, grimacing as the sharp pain shooting up from his lower back, he uncapped his syringe and, clenched in fist, he brought it under his coat and shifted his belt line low enough to expose the skin underneath, and using that same fist as a landmark to measure below his hip. He didn’t bother to count down this time, he just gave himself the injection.

“⋔⍜⏁⊑⟒⍀⎎⎍☊☍⟒⍀!” Lee hissed harshly under his breath; he even didn’t remember exactly what that language was called, because he’d learned it five or so dimensions ago, but he was very familiar with that specific phrase because of how frequently he’d used it when he was frustrated, angry, in pain, or really didn’t like the person he was talking to. As soon as the syringe was completely out of the cocktail of ketorolac and cyclobenzaprine, the needle automatically retracted, and he sighed in relief as his pain started to dissipate. He put the spent syringe into a different pouch; he used to not be opposed to just tossing these where he was, until some people started using those to get his DNA to track him.

Speaking of tracking-

There was a glowing red dot in the corner of the massive room. Lee halted all movement, and strained to see what the source was, which wasn’t easy given the room being dark. Whether it was a camera, a drone, or some other kind of sci-fi security device, he knew when something was recording him.

The sci-fi adventuring badass in him wanted to destroy it with his blaster, quick and easy. But Lee wouldn’t have gotten this far if he wasn’t practical; his blaster had limited charges, and he didn’t need to run out mid-fight just because he’d decided to be extra. There wasn’t just one type of quick and easy, after all.

He did a precursory scan of his surroundings and- aha! He knelt over and picked up a loose chunk of concrete- good thing this place didn’t seem to ever get cleaned or fixed up. Straining slightly, he held the chunk in his robotic hand, focused on the red dot in the corner, and chucked the piece of concrete at it as hard as his prosthetic arm would let him - which was a lot harder than his flesh arm could manage.

The red dot went out as the chunk made contact, and the piece of technology that emitted it in the corner fell to the ground in pieces. Quick and easy, and he didn’t have to use any of his stuff. Still, he’d already been recorded, he needed to make himself scarce before trouble came looking for him.

He slid his gaze to the side and up when he heard the distinct sound of locks and chains being messed with.

Great.

He looked around for something to crouch behind.

From upstairs, he could hear the rusty squeak from a door opening, and sliding across the floor, followed by semi-sharp footsteps descending down the stairs, picking up in sound enough Lee could assess what he was hearing.

‘Dress shoes’ He deduced - not boots or sneakers, so whoever this was at a disadvantage for running and fighting. So fight and flight were both still on the table. Good, he liked having options.

The distinct shape of a human took the last step from the stairs into the basement, and for a moment just stood there. Lee could see that their gaze was fixed onto the inverted triangle of the portal.

Tall. Thin- a variant of McGucket, perhaps? If this was his brothers basement on another parallel Earth, Fiddleford McGucket was a constant in his life. Most of the time he was batshit crazy, but in some dimensions he’d retained his sanity.

But every time he was a genius, and every time he had some gadget on him with the word ‘Death’ in it and there were only so many chances Lee was willing to take.

The figures back was turned to him as they walked forward and felt around the walls, likely looking for a lightswitch. They had still, jerky movements; joint pain. Yeah, if this was McGucket he’d be getting up there in years just like him.

Lee slid along the opposite side of the room, slinking around the shadows and willing his steps to be as silent as possible.

He’d made it all the way to the base of the stairs when he’d misjudged a turn and his prosthetic arm smacked clanked against the metal banister of the stairs. He inwardly cursed; on if the things they don’t tell you about prosthetics is that is can sometimes mess up your spacial awareness, something you’d really need in the dark

“Who’s there?” The figure asked and Lee didn’t have time to take in the details of their voice because he saw them point something long and cylindrical at him-

Like a shotgun.

In an instant he’d run over and tackled the figure, and they both tumbled to the floor, knocking the rifle out of the figure's hand, while the other hand flipped on the switch on the wall during the initial tackle.

The lights in the basement flicked in slowly, but that was enough time for Lee to straddle the figure and reach for his-

“St-.... Stanley?” The voice below him quivered, like a choked up whisper of surprise and awe, making Lee freeze up right before his hand could grasp his knife.

That was a name he never used anymore.

And that was a voice he’d heard before, it was rusty and heavy but-

Lee dares to look up from his side - and he saw that the object he’d knocked out of the mans hand was not a rifle but a cane - and to the face of the man he’d knocked down. A prominent nose and cleft chin, gray hair streaked in silver, and, most importantly, it was almost exactly the same as his own face.

He’d met many variants of this man throughout the multiverse, and it was never a warm reception; there was always hostility and resentment from the other end. But this man looked at him like he was seeing something that amazed but terrified him.

“Ford?”

To be continued…

---

NOTES

-“View From Halfway Down” is a reference to Bojack Horseman. And yes, the world Lee was in initially was the Bojack Horseman universe. The name of the dimension, BoJ6 comes from “BoJack”, and 6 from the number of seasons.

-The scene where Lee escapes is a direct reference to this art of him

-The Portal Guns text is from the Delta font from https://pixelied.com/font-generator/discord if you have trouble reading it, here’s what it said:

[Earth Year: 2010

FREQ MATCH: NEGATIVE

Designation: GB1100

Free WiFi? No]

-Dimension-GB1100 is the designation for the “Better World” AU because in Caesar Cipher with shift 5, GB = BW or "Better World". "1100" is for "IIOO" or the initials in "International Institute of Oddology".

-The language used by Lee in the beginning is from Alien Speech Translator

-Ketorolac is a nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drug (NSAID) used to reduce inflammation and pain and often used for acute back pain, and Cyclobenzaprine is a muscle relaxer that can treat pain and muscle spasms. Stan probably carries like a dozen vials of a personalized mix that he acquires through stealing various means.

-I thought it’d be interesting if compared to Stanford’s photographic memory (having a highly detailed memory of things you see), Lee had echoic memory (highly detailed memory of things you hear), which is what helped him learn to pick up languages easily, and take in his surroundings when his vision was impaired (and considering he went through the portal without glasses, he needed that skill). It’s also ironic, considering that canon Stan uses a hearing aid.

#What Did You Do?#gravity falls #stan pines #stanley pines #stanford pines #ford pines #reverse portal au #nine lives lee #fanfic #fanfiction #past stanchez #rick sanchez #better world au

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11rosebunny · 9 months ago

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝐓𝐎𝐗𝐈𝐂 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 (𝐁𝐎𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍 + 𝐉𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄)

content: f!reader, possessiveness, a hint of gaslighting and manipulation

Haruka Sakura

He tends to push everyone else including you and won't properly communicate his feelings if he feels it's too complicated for others to understand.

It gets extremely frustrating if you're trying to tell him what's wrong, he'll lie and say nothing, shift the topic somewhere else, and worst part is if you keep on trying to ask, he'll somehow make it your fault for worrying even though he's on the brink of falling a part. He still struggles with opening up to others but he can't continue to push away others that deeply care for him.

Hajime Umemiya

Sometimes, he forgets he can not treat everyone the same way, this goes for how he treats women especially. At first he didn't understand how friendly he acted towards girls while dating you was a bad thing, it took him a few days to understand your perspective and put himself in your shoes.

Eventually, he ended up getting a taste of his own medicine when he saw you being friendly towards Hiragi, since that moment, he understood boundaries with other people.

Toma Hiragi

His caring gratitude becomes a little too much to the point where you don't have to lift a finger.

If you simply ask him anything, a drink, to go to a place, to be picked up, or if he just decides to clean up after you, make sure you're okay, and practically do everything for you, he's on it right away.

The only downside is he expects you to stay obedient. If you don't want to do something with him (aside from sexual cases) he starts to tell you about all the different things he's done for you. It's a very well trick that he's not even aware of to make you comply to whatever he says. You can't even argue with him either because he is right about doing so much for you without you having to ask half of the time.

Taiga Tsugeura

He tries to be friends with everyone. At first it isn't a bad thing to keep up a good reputation but it's come to a point where if a person did something weird and rude in the past, he will continue to try to get on their good side.

You had to talk him out of it that a friend to everyone is a friend to nobody.

He still struggles to get rid of that habit of his and is currently doing a good job at it. So good for carrot head!

Mitsuki Kiryu

Everyone knows he's popular with the ladies, and most would think that would be his toxic trait, but in reality, it's his lack of communication. It's not like Sakura, where he'll push everyone away but Kiryu tends to have a hard time keeping up in the social life.

On some days, he's the driest person you'll ever meet but inside he doesn't see anything wrong with it because no matter what he still loves you.

He got confused when you accused him of not loving you, he was baffled because he didn't understand because he was sure as hell he did in fact love you. He's slowly starting to improve, and tried to text and talk more to make you feel happy.

Hayato Suo

He doesn't understand why you'd want to hang out with anyone other than him, this was a back then problem so thankfully, he grew out of it.

Before, since you two grew up together from a very young age, when you started to talk to other people he started to grow bitter, and didn't understand why you'd speak to them and not him. It was a small anger management but he soon grew out of it when he got older thankfully.

Jo Togame

His brave behaviour sometimes turn into the most possessive person on earth. He won't like it if you even go somewhere by yourself, he'll try to keep you in his sight at all times and would even forbid you to do some things, regardless if you really wanted to do it, he does not care and will shut it down with an argument if he has to.

Because of that, his jealousy issues are also quite high, to the point where if he has to make you cry, then so be it.

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netherfeildren · 10 months ago

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Notes On a Virtuous Affair

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: One would think this road ends in something virtuous—a greenness so dazzling it hurt the eyes—and not the sort of man waiting in his far out removed solitude.

He was the experienced one, you the innocent. It should have been different. Maybe it should’ve felt different. And yet, there was something in him that made you feel very much the conquering one, you the baptizing one.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Post outbreak; Jackson Joel Miller; Dom/sub undertones; Rough Sex; Impact Play; Face Slapping; Spanking; PIV sex; Ass Play; Oral Sex (m!receiving); Come Eating; Throat Fucking; Unprotected Sex; Potentially Toxic Dynamics? (haha?); Complicated Feelings; Brief mention of virginity loss; Brief blood mention; They Love Each Other in Their Own Weird Way, Ok?; Older Man/Younger Woman; Idk What This Is, I Don't Expect You to Either;

A/N: miss you guys, sorry for the disappearing act <3

Word Count: 3.1K

Read on AO3

Notes On a Virtuous Affair

Sunlight spills over everything, and the pastoral green leads you to him.

One would think this road ends in something virtuous—a greenness so dazzling it hurt the eyes—and not the sort of man waiting in his far out removed solitude.

But there’s an incongruity afoot here that only you appreciate.

The secret lies in that there’s a riddle woven through the three miles you pilgrim to see him weekly. The first, a boon, the green lush wasteland, if a thing that’s alive can be wasted. The second, an honesty, I’ll venture this distance for him. The third, a precursor, when your muscles start to tingle, your thighs, hot and itchy, nape, coated in a taste of salt. Your feet crunch along the gravel and dirt, protected by the soft leathered boots inherited from Lucy who’d died last Monday. A good start to the week, with new boots, and a thoughtful gift she’d left you, your friend, when your own shoes were so worn from all the walking you do for him. The end of the world changes death, finds good things within it.

The sun warms the bridge of your nose, and you tip your face up to the too-bright light, trying your hardest to look straight at the intensity of it. He’s very much like this too. Why would you look directly at the sun if not for the hurting it brings? Your palms splayed forward at your sides, the breeze moving through your fingers, and the world is all around you alive in this apocalypse.

Jackson is left further and further behind as you move towards him, and what no one understands, not even Joel Miller himself, is that there is something virtuous about this affair.

“I’m gonna fuck your mouth now,” he says down at you, bare as the day you were born and kneeling before his clothed and towering height. Nothing but the heavy hanging length of his cock is naked for you, the first you’d ever seen in your whole life. If he had his way, the only one you’d ever see for the rest of it. The wide head is slick and glossy, the way it bobs obscenely from his open jeans looking like the weight of it would hurt, the way it juts from the bed of hair at this groin like a threat to you.

You know now, after all his focused training, that it only hurts him when you don’t tend to it as he needs, that it’s only a threat when you fail to do the same. He’s shown you the rules of hurting, in all these months you’ve come your three promised miles to him time after time. Shown you how it comes easy, that of hurting someone you love. A running in place sort of thing. You know all the steps that will come, the exact spot you’ll tread in. The way to propel yourself forward to finally leave that same place, avoid it, if you want.

“Open wider. Won’t fit like that,” he clicks his tongue, voice a burr as he grips his throbbing flesh and with the other too big hand, also like a seeming threat, but not, he gives you a quick, softly stinging slap to the high of your cheekbone. The sound, fast and snapping like his disapproving tongue. You swallow a moan, looking up at him with that look in your eyes you know disturbs him, adoration, letting the hinges of your jaw go loose, saliva pooling beneath the cover of your tongue. “Don’t you want me?” He asks.

And you blink once, moan crossing the bridge to a laugh if your mouth wasn’t stretched wide as it’ll go. He sees it though, skipping water in your eyes and gives that half smile, the mean one, the one that says he has all the answers in the world, knows all the things there are to know, that one you like best. Good girl, and his voice makes no sound, only the shape of the words on his mouth. You haven’t been good enough yet to hear the real thing of them out loud. This tells you that you must apply yourself to the task at hand, making him come.

One heavy tap to the flat of your tongue sticking out for him first, and then he’s slicking that fat head against the surface, giving you the first real taste, salt and musk trickle down the back of your throat and you moan again, eyes screwing shut tight, cunt aching something fierce. Leaking just like the tip of his cock leaks too.

That’s the thing about this thing, the one you see very well and Joel still fails to. The two of you, as disparate as you might seem, are the same in all the basic but most important ways. Too much in common for him to look at in the eye comfortably and still do the things you do.

“Open your throat. Get me hard.” In your head, he calls you baby. In reality, only sometimes, when you’re extra good, does that happen. But in your imagination, where it matters more, he doesn't ask nice, but you are his baby.

He slides back, back, hits the end of your throat, pulls out against the wet heat of your tongue. You keep your jaw wide until you feel him harden entirely, until he stretches his neck back, tendons jumping stark, clench of his jaw fluttering with a choked groan. “Suck me,” your permission to savor him like you need to.

Hands pressed firmly to your bare knees, not digging at your soft wet like you’d like, or pawing at him as you’d like even more, you close your lips around him, cheeks hollowed and suck hard, tonguing at his slit on the pull back so that he’s bearing his teeth at you in a growl and shoving forward again hard, a snarl as the cinch of your tight throat strangles the head of his cock on every one of your swallows. Your eyes water, but he pets softly at the same spot he’d stung earlier with his slap.

A game you used to play with your siblings, who could slap one another harder until the other gave out. It’d taken a while for you to come to the realization, but eventually, you’d realized the memory of it in your mind as it exists now wasn’t innocent the way it should’ve been. That there had been something you’d liked about it in a strange way—that hurting. That the first time you’d asked Joel to play the same game with you, you’d wanted him to slap you other places just as hard until you gave out also.

The games were part of the thing. His own strange rules, like the way you couldn’t touch him sometimes—you dig your bitten down nails into the soft skin of your inner thighs—only when he said it was okay was it allowed. The way you were never allowed to touch your cunt unless he said so also. He had weird things about him, turned strange by the dangerous ways of life. Like the solitude, the house out and away, the begging you had to do for him to have you.

Sameness.

He wraps his fist in your hair, more sting, “Gonna fill your belly with my come, yeah?” His thrusts pick up pace, pulling your head back as far as your neck allows so that he can fuck your throat in full, jaw hanging wide, and you’re just the wet and willing hole you know he sometimes wishes you could always stay as.

The thick cock against your tongue throbs once, twice and then he’s spilling hot and heavy down your open throat, sweet salt against the back of your tongue while you try and breathe through his strangling, tears spilling.

When he pulls back, slipping wet and heavy from your mouth you fall forward onto your palms, breathing fast, almost hyperventilating, stinging with the forced will to remain obedient. Your spine burns beneath your skin and your sore jaw hangs unwillingly open, sloppy mouth dripping a string of semen between your splayed palms.

He crouches before you, dripping cock like your mouth, milked to heavy softness hangs long and sated between his thighs. And he pets your crown, the vulnerable shell of your ear, whole body on fire so that every inch of skin hurts without his touch, hurts worse with it.

“Good girl,” he says now with voice.

The walk seems longer some days. A thousand miles plus an eon instead of merely three. Especially on the days you’re more desperate than usual. The ones when your stomach feels full of sugar for him and the memory taste of his cock is already aching in your molars. Those days your steps are hurried, look in your eyes frenzied to get to him, to escape the things you leave behind. A too full house, your sister’s squalling, teething baby, your little brothers, and too many mouths to feed and not attention to be had, not enough mother for everyone to get loved.

There’s reasons for this game between the two of you, you’d had to come out and find your attention somewhere else.

Your love too.

And if it comes with a sting sometimes, well, so had your mother’s. You like it like this now.

The first time he’d touched your cunt: show me that pretty pussy, baby, and he’d had you from that very first sweet word, you gonna let me finger it? You’d spread wide, leaked into the cup of his palm like a whore, you’d needed to make sure he was for keeping from the first try, you see. So you’d done all he’d said, taken four fingers and only cried a little bit but whined a lot. Been all, hurts, Joel, high pitched and dragging his name out on a puppy whimper.

He’d given you that first lesson in hurt the very first time: Yeah? Supposed to. A real mean man. And then made you gush into that very cupped palm so that he could drink of your sweetness.

The third mile comes to an end, the precursor, over, his house in view. It’s all quiet and slumbering and the long grass pulls you forward with its wind blown sway. The wide door to his shed is propped open, half finished rocking chair up on the workbench that sways with the intruding gust. The grass whispers behind you, the dark woods across the field moan, and he’s nowhere while the Tetons loom in the distance.

You drag your fingers along the slats of his house as you pass, everything is so quiet, like he’d never been here. Like he’d gone and left you the way he’s promised he’d never do. Your belly feels bloated with heat, heart turned into four incongruous chambers that no longer beat in tune, memories of him rioting between each thump. Your cunt goes soft and drooling in your panties as your fear beats higher and higher, and you come to the mouth of the shed, peering into the cool darkness of this little place where he makes his beautiful things. The things that go into people’s homes to be used by people’s families to be stored in people’s memories.

The gleam of the sun does not cross the threshold, and you brace your palms on either side of the wide door, the air thrums and he’s not here—yet—you slide the toe of Lucy’s old boot across the border of sunlight into sanctuary and peek your closed-eyed face into the shade right before you’re taken bodily to the ground by his heavy weight. Palms catching splinters, his strong chest heaves into the line of your spine, strong arm at your waist to pull your breath from your lungs and your legs from under you.

He forces you belly first to the ground, other hand circling your throat in the imitation of a strangle lest you lose yourself and decide to struggle for the first time ever. But you dig your fingernails into the dirt, scratching for purchase in preparation of what’s about to come, all the fight going out of you; body, half in shadow, half in sunlight. Your bones feel salt bleached. An over abundance of sodium in the blood that renders you catatonic for him.

He nuzzles soft at your nape while his hand shoves under your dress, ripping your underwear down your legs so that the elastic cuts into your tender skin to hurt. All incongruous movement, this man is.

“Didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to go creepin’ ‘round strange men’s homes?” His voice is so deep, drawled, broken up into different notes of lust and anger and temerity. All the strange things that make Joel Miller up.

Yeah, you sigh into the dirt. “Told me exactly how it’d go for me if I did.”

You hitch your rump up then, presenting your cunt for fucking. The breeze doesn’t do half to soothe the throbbing wet. The sort of ache that’ll only be fixed by something heavy inside the hurting place. The sound of his belt quiets the disparate chambers, the beat in your ears of rushing blood is uniform now, there’ll be a wet spot in the shape of you in the dirt when he’s through. You lift your hips higher, knees scraped rough as you spread wider, face pressed to the ground and your fingers are well and burrowed in their little gouges now.

He smacks the heft of it against you asshole, spits and presses a little. He likes to scare you sometimes. Nooo, Joel, all whining stutter, but with your back arching deeper like a little babied liar; you don’t mind where he puts it, only that he puts it somewhere.

“Hush,” he soothes all nice, spanks your ass once all not— “Gonna teach you a lesson.” And shoves inside, bumping against your womb on the first try, stretching your hole too wide, too quick. And there’s no prep, no qualm. No need to hesitate when you own a thing. You swallow your animal cry, ah ah ah, you want to hear how good you’ve been out loud. He grips your hips tight enough to bruise which is what you know he wants and fucks hard and fast, each swing whistles with ownership.

He fucks you in the dirt like an animal, and this affair is virtuous.

He teaches you the truth about hurting, about ownership, about so many things that only a man like Joel Miller could teach a girl like you. And all the while he tells you that you’re too pretty to take such an ugly fucking.

The way he works your cunt, hungry, balls swinging wet so that they sting like his slaps, tip battering hard so that it aches like gratitude.

These are the things three miles give you. A whole man to teach you about the whole world.

The slick squelch of your overwhelmed cunt sounds loud, no more disparate heartbeat, no more green grassed whispers. Only the sound of his grunting above you like an animal remains. “You’re the perfect little cunt. You know that, baby?” There it is, you sigh. Start to tremble around him like that, like his good baby that you are, desperate flutters, little gash being fucked into obedience like you need. Your overwhelmed pants make little dirt dream clouds before your eyes as you start to come for him, crying his name, crying your love, crying that you’re so, so thankful.

“Don’t stop, Joel. Not yet.” And he loves it when you beg, loves it when your cunt pulls tight like a knot.

“Not yet,” he promises because he might be a real mean man, but he loves you like separating salt from blood.

Complicated and precise.

When he’s through with you, there’s sunlight spilling over everything again. It’s journey goes on and on, and his semen drips from your cunt now. He turns gentle, thrusting still, making sure it’s fucked deep, pulsing in time with your own throb. Rhythms merge between the two of you.

His rules are strange, his claims over you equally mysterious. He won’t say things out loud, won’t let you touch any real part of him, but his strange truths ring loud anyways, and when your heart isn’t disjointed, you hear him perfectly well.

When he lays you out bare and trembling across his messy bed, the groaned pains of his age and rutting in the dirt like an animal sound from him as he drapes himself alongside you. Large and hairy, feet hanging off the end of the bed, entirely real with one knee propped up so that his thick cock lays heavy and soft over the swell of his belly. Your heart beats soft and overfull now.

You watch the sun set across the planes of his chest and bask in the blue dark as the night draws breath around you. The work of meting out obedience to little girls who come searching for it is toiling, and you watch him melt into sleep, but right before he’s just gone away from you, with a single finger petting at the jut of the old broken bone in his shoulder, your whispered plea: Will you give me a falseness? You don’t call it a lie. This is a virtuous thing, after all.

Lies aren’t allowed in this house.

He breathes a deep sigh, and you watch the fan of his long lashes sweep open, staring up at the shadowed rafters of his home. You swear you can see each and every individual whisker in his thick beard, dark and gray dispersed throughout. You see every single detail.

He’d told you once there were ghosts here, in this house, and you’d learned later it wasn’t a lie. This became more and more obvious the more you got to know him.

He stares up at them now.

When he’d taken your virginity, when it’d left you the way you’d always imagined it would, covered in tears and blood and semen, you’d made that promise to each other. That you wouldn't lie, that he’d have all of you, that you’d not touch all of him. The ghost lay beside you in the damp bed of your lost innocence that day. It’d been just so ever since and over many miles of three you’d come to appreciate the realities of it. Who could be more connected than two people who always tell each other their truths exactly as they are?

“Give me a falseness,” you say again, not a lie.

“A good kind or a bad kind?”

You flip a mind’s coin, wish you could see the exact ghosts he sees— “Bad.”

He turns to look at you, this half smile he wears is your second favorite one now, the honest one, and it’s all there for you to see. All the disparate chambers of Joel, just like your heart beating in your ears. You suppose the ghosts don’t matter then.

“I don’t love you.”

And you nod solemn. Bad, like a whisper, like your game.

You smile back, the one you know he likes best, the one that looks like his.

Netherfeildren’s Masterlist

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#vic fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #Joel Miller smut #joel miller #the last of us AU

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radioactive-mouse · 1 year ago

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I get how tempting it is to just label flower husbands as “toxic” and move on, but god they can be SO much more nuanced than that, it makes me insane.

I think something that goes largely unexplored by the fanbase is c!scott’s obsession with composure. he’s clearly very proud of his ability to stay calm under pressure and be two steps ahead of everyone else— not that he’s afraid to rely on people, him and cleo very clearly have that unshakable trust between them, but i think that sometimes he gets so wrapped up in being steady, reliable scott, never hot-headed, never spiteful, or clumsy, or nervous.

and jimmy is a very real threat to that composure, more often than not.

and i think the way their relationship functions in 3rd life, while steady at the time, definitely set them up for complications down the road. scott, for as fiercely dedicated to his allies as he is, kind of tends to handle jimmy with kid gloves for the earlier parts of their relationship. he’s not very good at the death game, but that’s fine, he doesn’t need to be, scott will take care of it— he’ll get them set up with armor and potions and walls and jimmy can do… whatever it is he does when scott’s not around. mostly getting swindled, if he had to guess. but it’s fine, because scott can be steady, level headed, clever—

i do think most of scott’s ribbing about how he doesn’t know why he lets jimmy do anything when all he does is get scammed half the time is genuinely all in good fun, (jimmy is more than happy to play the fool most of the time, if only to bring a little bit of levity to things) it is super symptomatic of the way scott actually thinks about him. i don’t believe he thinks jimmy is actually stupid or anything, but i do think scott doesn’t quite trust him to get anything done. scott would never in a million years let himself lean on jimmy for any kind of support, because in scott’s mind jimmy’s job is to be bright and brash and only listen to that heart of his that’s too big for his body, too big for this game.

and i think too often we forget just how much losing jimmy destroyed scott in 3rd life. you ever think about how wrecked he must’ve been to place 10th despite being a consistent finalist in every other season? do you think about how all he has left is the burning, white-hot urge for revenge from the second jimmy’s body hit the ground?

i don’t think scott ever wants to feel like that again. i don’t think scott wants anyone to see him like that again. i think scott tries very hard to love jimmy from a safe distance where no one gets hurt. and i think that distance fucking kills jimmy, metaphorically speaking.

(also, tangentially related, i think there’s something to be said for how instantly tango goes “we only have a short time together, your curse will probably get us killed, and that’s fine.” and how jealous scott gets of that sentiment. as far as scott is concerned, tango and jimmy are of the same niche— they feel everything, loudly, even if it causes problems and even if it gets messy. and god that just makes his blood boil.)

i’m just so… entranced with the way scott carries himself with so much confidence and it’s not like he’s insecure, he really believes that, he’s a strong player and he knows that, but also revealing any emotion he deems to be “ugly” or “messy” makes him start to completely unravel. the driving force behind him is always love and loyalty and protectiveness over the people he cares about, but he’s juggling that with being dead set on never getting so close that losing them will completely ruin him.

anyway, this is getting away from me, but i think a lot of jimmy’s frustration with scott comes from the fact that he refuses to let their relationship go both ways, and i think by the time of the infamous “say i love you back” scene in limlife he’s just exhausted with throwing himself repeatedly against scott’s brick wall of perfectionism. that, and the whole Situation between them in double life, which i could honestly make it’s own post but good god i need to STOP typing or this will go on forever. forgive my completely disorganized ramblings i just have been trying to get all this down on paper FOREVER

#FLOWER HUSBANDS.#i’m not over them. i’m not over them at all.#the scott/jimmy/tango/martyn polycule enchants me so……#well i say polycule. but it is riddled with divorce #ANYWAY #trafficblr #solidaritygaming #smajor1995 #scott smajor #flower husbands #3rd life #double life #limited life #do i tag secret life…..#eh might as well #secret life #mouse.txt #oh god also obligatory none of this is speculation about the ccs for the love of god

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mononijikayu · 4 months ago

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love’s entanglement — ryomen sukuna.

“I’m not afraid, my lord.” you said, barely a whisper, but enough for him to hear. His eyes softened, just a fraction, but it was enough. The smirk that often played on his lips faltered, replaced by a look that spoke of ancient, buried memories and truths. “Then you’re a fool, little one.” he said, the words almost kind, a breath of admiration shadowed by disbelief. “Maybe so, my lord.” you replied, stepping back just enough to see his full frame. “Or maybe, I just see more than you let on.”

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: safe for work (sfw), mild angst, one sided romance, complicated relationship, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, marriage, married life, physical touch, introspection, unexplicit mention of character death, pining, one sided confession, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of pining, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of cuts and injury, mention of yearning, mention of manga spoilers, mention parts of jjk chapter 222, heian! ryomen sukuna, concubine! reader;

WORDS: 8.7k words.

NOTE: i was honest with all of you when i said that i wasn't done with this story at all. there are still forty years of stuff to dabble in. so i'll write that. the title is based off an ost from the untamed called qingqian ( 情牵) which translates to love entanglement. i remember listening to this for a while and picturing in my head how complicated love looks like for concubine reader and sukuna. they love each other more than they want to admit. forty years of this, making each other suffer and making each other feel this way. how could they not want to be entangled? anyway, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all <3

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THIS MOMENT WAS SOMETHING RARE. You do not usually find yourself around Ryomen Sukuna's own gardens. But today was quite a day for such a thing. For a good walk, after having been cooped up inside for so long. And yet, you did not find yourself in your own garden.

You after all have your own garden, courtesy of your husband who had allowed you to have a space of your own in your own hall, a luxury he extended to you — in contrast to his many, petty and envious harem. And all of it suited to fit your wants and needs, so long as you remained in his favor.

And because of that, you were particular with everything. Everything about it was more than enough to you, to last a lifetime of joy in a little space of paradise. Anyone who had been there would say so. Your Vermillion Hall was a serene haven, meticulously designed and tended to in ways that reflected your tastes and subtle touch.

It was familiar, soothing, yet lately, a certain restlessness had stirred within you. The beauty of your garden felt too known, too safe. In search of a distraction, you drifted through the temple's quiet halls, each footstep echoing against the cold stone. The air was filled with the weight of silence, broken only by the occasional creak of ancient wooden beams.

Yet, you perhaps will not find anything that could rival it besides the untouched wonder of the Heaven’s Hall — where your husband resides. Before long, you found yourself at the threshold of your husband’s wide garden. Everything about this could be a pavilion of its own, a few Vermillion Halls, with just the greenery alone.

The space stretched out before you, vast and wild, a realm twice, no, thrice the size of your own. You cannot decide the accurate size. But everything about it was fit for a god. And yet, it was abandoned, untouched by the hands of anyone. It was presentable enough, and yet it was a bizarre sight to behold when you take it all in.

It was an unruly expanse, tangled with thickets of dark green and deep crimson, vines snaking around cracked statues and gnarled trees towering overhead. The paths, barely discernible through the dense growth, were cloaked in a mist that gave the air a damp chill. The scent of rich earth, damp leaves, and a hint of some distant, elusive blossom surrounded you.

You took a step forward, your hand trailing over leaves beaded with dew. The statues, fierce and ancient, seemed to watch with stone eyes as you moved past, their faces frozen in expressions of silent judgment.

Sukuna’s gardens were imposing, powerful, and unyielding; much like the man himself. He never spent time here, finding no need for the peacefulness that gardens offered. His presence, always commanding and forceful, left little room for such indulgences.

A rustle in the distance made you pause. You looked up, the hairs on your neck pricking. From behind a towering stand of bamboo, Sukuna emerged. His eyes, crimson and sharp, caught the faint light filtering through the leaves.

“Wandering somewhere you shouldn’t be, little one?” he drawled, a smirk playing on his lips as he took in the sight of you in his neglected domain.

You matched his gaze, refusing to be intimidated as you bowed before him. He towers over you as he tells you to be at ease. You raise yourself from your position and look at him with your uncertain eyes. He could tell immediately how you were.

He snickers. “You did not bring Chiharu with you?”

“She is at lessons,my lord. I did not wish to disturb her by my desire to walk.”

He raises an intrigued brow. “She would be throwing a tantrum then. You know of all people should know well enough that the girl likes to play.”

You purse your lips. “I am sure she will understand.”

“I should doubt that.” He retorts back to you. You did not reply. He was right. His eyes narrow at you tenderly. “How did you end up here, hm? Trespassers are not oft enjoyed by me, little one. Had you been some other unruly wench, it would be different.”

You feel chills echo through your bones at his words for a moment. You know well enough what happens to people who find themselves wanting around the King of Curses, even in his own land untouched by his hands.

“You never come here, my lord.” you said simply, your voice steady, echoing with a curiosity that cut through the mist. “I would have thought I would be alone here.”

Sukuna’s brow lifted, an unreadable glint crossing his scarlet eyes as he stepped closer, each stride deliberate. The ground crunched under his feet, the sound muffled by the thick carpet of fallen leaves. You let out a small soundless breath as you waited for him to speak.

“And yet here you are, caught red handed, little one.” he countered, stopping just a breath away from you. “Does your garden hold no interest anymore? Your favorite space of your own and you abandon it for unruliness, little one.”

“I wanted something different, my lord….and it felt right today.”

“Things feeling right does not mean you ought to come without a word.”

“My garden holds no mysteries anymore, I merely looked for excitement.” you admitted, letting your fingers brush a tangled vine. “And I walked and walked and merely found myself here. If I had offended you thus,my lord….I apologize.”

A moment of silence passed, thick as the greenery surrounding you. Ryomen Sukuna tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if weighing the truth in your words. He releases a composed chortle, echoing intrigue at your words.

“You’re bold, little one.” he said, the smirk fading into something deeper, more contemplative. You could not read his face now. You found that your husband is even better at hiding what he’s thinking over the years. You can only wait.

“Very well, little one. I shall give you a bit more of the grounds surrounding Vermillion Hall for your pleasure. Do with it as you please.”

You looked at him, your eyes widening slightly. Yet almost immediately, you thought to find yourself in collected composure. You could not falter easily, not in front of him. You bow slightly.

“I thank you for your generosity, my lord. I am sure Chiharu will enjoy that also. I thank you on her behalf.”

He grunts at you as he nods, crossing his massive arms together. Soon enough, you could feel his scarlet gaze shifting away from you, turning to scan the wild expanse that stretched around you both.

“These gardens have no order, no reason.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m here, my lord.” you replied, your voice soft but unwavering. “Order can be stifling.”

His scarlet eyes met yours, and for a heartbeat, the wildness of the garden seemed mirrored in the crimson depths of his stare. “Then it would seem that the heavens wish you to stay.”

You lower your gaze for a moment, before lifting them slightly, your cheeks flustered red. “Does my lord wish that I shall stay here also?”

“What is the need for that question, when I do not say a word to dismiss you, little one?” Sukuna said in response, his eyes bearing intense more than ever.

You held Sukuna’s gaze, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. It was rare to find him in such moments, raw and unguarded in the vastness of his own untamed world. Ryomen Sukuna was good at getting under your skin, getting you good with everything.

With all this time that had passed, you would have thought that one would give in and surrender to the tides. The tides of all that had come and gone. You knew he would never love you. Not in the way he loved Hiromi.

And yet, when he says such things, you couldn’t help but let your heart beat for him, who had caused you so much misery. You fold ever so easily when it comes to your husband. Even if that gets you nothing in the end.

You couldn’t help but be a fool, loving him in your own way. But perhaps, that is all that there will be in this life. You must accept it as it is.

As you let your eyes drift from his face, they caught on the heavy folds of his finely cut silk kimono. The gleam of the silken fabric strained at his broad shoulders, seams pulled taut over the sheer expanse of his chest. It was clear that the garment, though richly woven, was not made to fit a man of his proportions, nor was it well sewn to fit the needs of his divine flesh.

He noticed your glance, a shadow of amusement crossing his face. “Did something catch your eye, little one?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery. He shifted, the movement making the fabric pull tighter, as if to emphasize the obvious.

“I was just thinking, my lord….” you began, hesitating for a moment. “ About your clothes... they don’t seem made for you.”

Sukuna chuckled, a sound low and resonant. “Even the finest they find would never be enough to clothe a god, little one.” he said, a touch of arrogance glimmering in his eyes. “None of them will be able to capture the needs of a god.”

There was no boast in his voice, only the stark acknowledgment of truth. He stood before you like a force of nature, a being who seemed larger than life in every possible way. Everything about your husband suited that being of a god. Everything about him was born to be divine. He knew that for a fact.

You didn’t know how to respond at first. The weavers, masterful in their craft, would sigh with frustration when tasked to make garments for him, their looms creaking under the weight of excess fabric. Sukuna was simply beyond what they could create; his existence outstripped the skills of even the most skilled artisans.

“You’re right, my lord.” you admitted, your voice a touch quieter. “You’re not... an easy man to define.”

He watched you for a moment, the flicker of curiosity hidden behind his usual veneer of confidence. “And yet, here you are, little one. Trying to find some meaning to it.” he repeated, softer this time, eyes searching yours as if tracing a hidden path within them. “I can see it on your face, how hard you think about it.”

You curse silently, but he almost looks like he was even more amused as he watched you try and gather yourself once more. Soon enough, the silence dissipates as the wind rustles through the garden, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and wildflowers damping the air.

“Do you resent it, my lord?” you asked, more boldness creeping into your tone than you intended. “The way nothing ever fits?”

His expression shifted, a crease forming at the corner of his mouth as he considered your question. “Fine clothing and steel, power and titles—they were never meant to fit me, little one.” he said, eyes narrowing slightly. “They are tools, nothing more.”

You nodded, understanding dawning on you. There was something in his words that resonated, the idea that even the trappings of power were too small for a being who transcended them. The moment hung between you, a rare peace settling over the conversation.

“It must be lonely, then, my lord.” you whispered, barely audible above the rustling leaves.

He regarded you with a sharp intensity, and for the first time, his smirk faded into something closer to sincerity. “There is no such thing for a god.” he said, voice low, almost gentle.

The silence that followed his words was profound, charged with an intimacy that neither of you had anticipated. Sukuna's gaze lingered on you, measuring, weighing, as if considering whether to share something more or let the moment dissipate like so many others.

His kimono, stretched and strained as it was, seemed almost like a metaphor for the man himself, something vast and untamed, constrained by forces too small to truly contain him.He shifted his stance, the faint creak of fabric and the whisper of leaves underfoot drawing your attention back.

“And you, little one?” he asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Do you find yourself longing for things that don’t fit?”

The question startled you, and you blinked, a shiver running down your spine as you pondered your response.

“I think we all do, in some way, my lord.” you said, choosing your words carefully. “We seek things that push at the boundaries of who we are. Otherwise, we’re just living within walls that keep getting smaller.”

A flicker of recognition passed through Sukuna’s expression. He looked away, his bright scarlet gaze drifting over the gardens, now cast in the golden hues of the fading sunlight. The air felt thicker, as if nature itself was listening to your exchange.

“It’s easy for mortals to speak of boundaries, for you most especially, little one.” he said, voice almost a murmur. “But when you’re something... more, there are no walls to you. Only the question of what to do with the endless expanse.”

The way he spoke, not with pride but with a rare trace of weariness, made your chest tighten. You stepped closer, the distance between you narrowing until you could see the fine, jagged lines of old battle scars peeking out from beneath the strained fabric of his kimono. You reached out, hesitating for just a moment before letting your fingers graze the edge of one of those scars.

“And yet, you choose to build walls, do you not?” you said softly, your eyes lifting to meet his. “You push others away, keep yourself untouchable, my lord.”

He tensed under your touch, though he didn’t pull back. Instead, his eyes met yours in, the intensity of his stare pinning you in place. “Because if I let them in, they’ll see what even I cannot grasp. Power that bends to no will but its own. It’s easier to let the world see only what they fear, little one. Remember that.”

A breeze swept through the garden, carrying the whisper of leaves and the scent of wild jasmine. You watched him, understanding the vulnerability that hid in plain sight, wrapped in the guise of strength and distance.

“I’m not afraid, my lord.” you said, barely a whisper, but enough for him to hear.

His eyes softened, just a fraction, but it was enough. The smirk that often played on his lips faltered, replaced by a look that spoke of ancient, buried memories and truths.

“Then you’re a fool, little one.” he said, the words almost kind, a breath of admiration shadowed by disbelief.

“Maybe so, my lord.” you replied, stepping back just enough to see his full frame. “Or maybe, I just see more than you let on.”

The garden held its breath as he took a step forward, closing the space between you. He towered over you, and yet, in that moment, there was an understanding—a balance between a force of nature and the one who dared to reach out and touch it.

“We’ll see, little one.” he finally said, the smallest tilt of a smile returning to his lips.

And for the first time, it wasn’t the smirk of a conqueror, but something softer, deeper, as if you’d both glimpsed a truth neither had expected to share.

══════════════════

YOU COULD NOT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT WHEN YOU RETURNED. You cannot help it. You were only human. But it had been bad enough that it had distracted you for much of the day. And that rarely happens to you, as anyone else could attest.

Chiharu has been pestering about what has been so heavy on your mind, but you keep brushing her off. It was not her burden to carry. She was a child, after all. You would not let her find her way into the thought that consumed adults.

As you drank your medicinal tea, you couldn’t help but let yourself settle into the silence of the waning moon. That conversation had consumed you. Every little word between the two had endlessly lingered with you, its weight settling in your chest long after you had left the garden.

Your lord husband has always had a way with words. A Ryomen would — they were famed for intelligence and candor, for their wondrous words that echoed like the bountiful prose of a poet's mind. Everything about him is a gem more valuable than anything in the world.

And yet, this may perhaps be the first time your husband had spoken in that way. He did not play with his words. He did not mince them either. Everything about it had encroached on you whole, like the darkness swallowing the day.

Ryomen Sukuna’s words and the rare vulnerability he’d shown played over and over in your mind, weaving themselves into your thoughts like the threads of a delicate tapestry.

You found yourself thinking of him more often—not just as a powerful, untouchable figure but as someone who, despite his godlike presence, harbored something deeper beneath the surface. He was human once, after all. Wouldn’t such humanity at least remain, even unconsciously?

For days, you wondered what you could do. You thought about how to reach him in a way that spoke more than words ever could. Sewing came to mind, but you quickly realized your skills were rudimentary at best. Your brothers had said as much as children.

Your mother, however, was different. She had sewn clothes for your family for as long as you could remember, her hands weaving fabric with a mastery that turned every stitch into art.

The memory of her gentle hands, threading needle and cloth with unwavering care, bloomed in your mind like a warm, cherished light. Each stitch she made carried love, devotion, and the quiet strength that held a family together.

But a visit to her was out of the question. Ryomen Sukuna would never allow it; you knew that as surely as you knew the sun would rise. He does not find the need for you to debase yourself to such a life again, knowing you are a god’s wife.

And yet, you cannot help but think of her as you wondered what you could do for your husband. Everything about her echoed the warmth that one echoes with love. With devotion.

The thought of her touch, those fingers skilled in transforming cloth into something that fitted perfectly and comfortably, was a bittersweet ache. Yet, as much as you longed for her guidance, you knew this was something you had to attempt alone.

The desire to give Sukuna something beyond what words could express gnawed at you. He may not have loved you, not in the way stories spoke of love, but he cared for you in his own way.

He granted you freedom where he could, offered protection, and even moments of rare conversation like that day in the garden. You were alive because of his mercy, his whims. And you wanted to give him something in return. To show that you saw him, understood him, and cared.

With your resolve hardening, you purse the fullness of your lips in a flat line and find yourself calling over one of the temple servants. The young woman had soon approached swiftly, eyes downcast in the customary deference, but you caught a flicker of surprise when you made your request.

“What does my lady wish for this lowly servant to do?”

“If you may, could you bring me rolls of the finest fabrics, golden and silver threads, fine silver needles, whatever sewing materials you can find.” you said. The servant hesitated, her brows knitting as she processed the unusual command.

You offered a small smile, tilting your head. “Do not worry yourself too much. It is only that….I wish to indulge in some nostalgia.”

“I shall come and do as you ask, my lady.” she replied, bowing with great deference and desire to fulfill your request.

As you sat there in the gardens waiting, your mind continued to wander back to your mother’s hands, the way she hummed softly under her breath as she worked, the warmth that filled the room as she crafted each garment with care.

You breathed deeply, summoning that memory as strength. You would sew, even if clumsily, and you would give Ryomen Sukuna something he hadn’t asked for; a piece of your own devotion, stitched into every imperfect seam. You were after all, his most ardent follower, in all things.

The servant left quickly, her footsteps fading into the labyrinthine corridors of the temple, leaving you in a moment of quiet contemplation. You ran your fingers over the surface of a wooden table nearby, its polished edges worn from years of service, and thought about the task ahead.

You weren’t just sewing a garment; you were threading your thoughts, hopes, and unspoken words into every stitch. It would be a gift unlike any other—a piece of yourself, laid bare in the seams and folds of cloth.

Memories of your mother came flooding back like the sea against the cliff, more vivid and detailed than they had been in years. You could almost hear the gentle hum of her voice as she worked, an old song that spoke of love and patience.

You remembered how the light from the hearth would catch on the strands of her hair as she bent over her needlework, her expression calm and content. She worked slowly, meticulously, and with a grace that came only from years of practice and an abundance of love.

In those moments, her hands were not just sewing but crafting memories. You recalled the way she would glance up with a warm smile whenever you passed by, sometimes drawing you close to teach you the basics. Your child’s fingers were clumsy, the needle awkward in your grasp, but her voice had always been kind and encouraging.

“Each stitch holds a bit of who we are, my daughter.” she’d say, guiding your hand. “So make sure it’s done with care.”

The thought of attempting to recreate even a shadow of that magic felt daunting, but the desire to give Ryomen Sukuna something meaningful pushed you forward. Despite his aloofness, he had become a fixture in your life. No, he has become your life. He is your life. You lived and breathed to do your duty to him and him alone, even if that burns you in suffering his lovelessness.

His presence, fierce and unwavering, was a constant in a world that often felt unpredictable. He didn’t need your gift, and he may not even value it in the way you intended, but that didn’t matter. This was for you as much as it was for him. This was the only way to express what words could not. Words will never be enough.

Time passed, and soon the servant returned, arms laden with fabric of various colors and textures. She placed them on the table, eyes glancing at you with a question that remained unspoken. You nodded, dismissing her with a quiet “thank you” before turning your attention to the bounty before you.

The fabrics ranged from deep, somber blues to vibrant reds that reminded you of Sukuna’s eyes. You ran your fingers over them, testing their textures. They were all interesting. Some coarse and sturdy, others smooth as the flowing water. Everything about it had found you pushing through with curiosity. You wanted to see what could happen if you choose to weave it together.

You chose a deep, rich indigo for the base, a color that spoke of strength but carried an undertone of calm, and a crimson thread to stitch with, a reminder of the fierceness you wished to honor. Another was plain and pure as the driven snow, bright as the moonlight striking down on the earth, put together piece by piece with the finest of silver threads.

Settling into a chair, you took a deep breath, the weight of your resolve pressing against your chest. Your fingers trembled slightly as you threaded the needle, but you forced yourself to stay steady. The first stitch was hesitant, awkward, but soon you fell into a rhythm, each pull of the thread a quiet assertion of your purpose.

As you worked, the hours melted away, the room filling with the soft sounds of fabric shifting, the tiny click of the needle meeting cloth, and your own heartbeat thudding steadily in your ears. The memories of your mother’s gentle lessons guided you, each one a quiet assurance that even imperfect stitches could tell a story.

And so, you sewed. You stitched late into the evening, the flicker of candlelight your only companion as it cast golden shadows across the room. Every knot, every seam held a silent promise, an unspoken acknowledgment of what you felt and what you hoped to convey. It was more than an attempt to dress the god you worship.

It was an offering of yourself, an expression of your unfailing care, vulnerability, and the hope that even the wildest of beings could be touched by something as humble as thread and fabric.It was a human being’s prayer wishing to be answered at the altar of the god.

When at last you paused to look at your work, you felt a swell of emotion. It was far from perfect; the stitches were uneven, the fabric puckered in places, but it was real. It was honest. It was yours. And soon, it would be his for all of time. Just like you were.

══════════════════

IT WAS ASTOUNDING, HOW TIME PASSED. And yet how they were not peaceful. Ryomen Sukuna had not seen you for a week, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit. It wasn't as though he sought your constant presence or craved your company in the way mortals would seek comfort.

No, his world was built on power, dominance, and the unyielding expectation that everything, and everyone served its purpose. They must submit to it. That is the fate of humankind in the face of a god.

You must, with all your might, carry out your duties by his side, as he demands. He did not care for how you spent your time in idle leisure, nor did he consider it his concern. But this week has been different.

You were absent from the audience halls, your soft steps nowhere to be heard drifting through the temple's stone corridors. You did not loiter about as you usually do when the sun comes around at dawn and or explore the temple gardens as you often did when the sun would set.

When he summoned Uraume to fetch you so you could stand by his side during the reception of the small folk and their insipid praises, Uraume returned with the same report: you had politely declined, citing that there was a rather important matter that required your attention.

And that too was confirmed by his daughter, who refused to tell him a word about it, even when Sukuna had threatened to be harsher upon her in training. Chiharu did not care about having to deal with more punishing punches and miles of running than betraying your privacy.

The first time, Sukuna waved it off, convinced that whatever occupied you was fleeting and of little consequence. The second time, he raised a brow but said nothing, allowing it to be an anomaly.

But the third time, it grated at him, a feeling gnawing at the back of his mind like an itch he couldn’t reach. Was something wrong? Were you ill? The notion was absurd, but the idea still sat heavily on his chest.

The fact that Uraume provided no further explanation infuriated him. His trusted attendant simply returned with your refusals, a slight bow and an inscrutable expression that offered nothing more. Sukuna's irritation burned hotter with each day you did not appear at supper, each moment you weren’t where he expected you to be.

He found it unnerving, a ripple of discomfort that was foreign to him. The mighty King of Curses did not worry, did not concern himself with the comings and goings of another. And yet, here he was, muscles taut and jaw clenched, pacing in his chambers as the unsettling sensation festered.

“This is absurd, foolish most of all.” he muttered to himself, voice sharp as the flicker of his irritation mirrored in the crimson gleam of his eyes. It was out of character for him to feel this way, and he knew it.

A wave of frustration surged through him, not at you, but at the unbidden thoughts themselves. He could not help it, not when you were failing to fulfill your duties, not when you were not servicing him as you should. You, who were supposed to be by his side, a symbol of his reach, his power.

Ryomen Sukuna slammed a hand down onto the lacquered surface of the table before him, the sudden crack of wood splintering under his force echoing through the room. The servants outside stilled, their breaths caught in their throats as silence returned, heavier than before.

“Uraume.” he called out, voice ringing like a blade through the hall.

Moments later, Uraume entered, head bowed and expression carefully neutral. “My lord.”

“Find out what your lady is doing, this instant.” Sukuna commanded, each word sharp and deliberate. “And bring your lady to me, whether it be willingly or not.”

Uraume hesitated for a fraction of a second, a subtle shift of their eyes betraying curiosity or perhaps concern, but they only nodded and backed out of the room, the door closing with a soft thud behind them. They would not fail their lord Sukuna.

Uraume stood at the threshold, gaze steady as they absorbed Sukuna's command. “As you wish, my lord.” they said, bowing low before slipping out of the chamber.

The sound of their retreating footsteps was soon swallowed by the silence, leaving Sukuna alone with the simmering tempest of his thoughts. That he hated more than anything. He hated having such thoughts by himself. But it cannot be helped. It would take a while.

As Uraume went off to the other side of the temple and headed to Vermillion Hall in order to do their duty — that will take a while. He has to wait. Sukuna pressed his lips together as he sat there, tapping one of his hands on the stool’s armrest with great impatience. Everything about this is causing him more irritation by the minute. If he could, he would have a headache.

He clenched his jaw, staring down at the splintered wood beneath his palm. The sharp edges bit into his skin, grounding him in the moment, but they did nothing to ease the unfamiliar twist of irritation in his chest. It wasn't like him to be unsettled, to find his mind preoccupied with the absence of another. And yet, the past week had been a slow, relentless descent into that very discomfort.

“This is a farce.” he muttered, turning away from the table with a sweep of his robes. His dark scarlet eyes narrowed as he paced, the flickering torchlight casting his sharp features into a series of jagged shadows echoing through the halls.

You, the one who had come to exist in the periphery of his life yet had managed to weave yourself subtly into his days, were defying expectations. One who he thought he would break and mold into his own — were still your own self, your own being and he cannot control what you do or what you want.

You were you and he does not know what to do. The thought stirred something darker, something that demanded control and conformity. Something in him wanted to enrapture you whole over and over again. There was that desire. And he does not know what it all means, what he should do. And for the first time in his life, Ryomen Sukuna does not wish to know.

A little while later, as twilight painted the sky in dusky hues of orange and purple, there was a soft knock on the door. The waiting is over. He gathered himself for a moment as he looked towards the door. His gaze narrows.

“Enter.” Sukuna called, voice measured but laced with an edge that warned of his impatience.

The door opened, and Uraume stepped inside, their expression unreadable but posture tense. “My lord.” they began, pausing briefly as if to gauge his mood. “My lady, your concubine has been in the private chambers. I spoke with my lady, but my lady insisted that there was no reason to leave. My lady could not leave the progress on the work.”

“Work?” Sukuna echoed, a scoff forming at the corner of his lips. The idea of you consumed by something so important that you would refuse him was laughable. “And what work, pray tell, keeps my little one from me?”

Uraume shifted, eyes flicking to the floor before daring to meet Sukuna’s gaze. “My lady had tried to find the right words to say, but it is obvious that my lady is sewing, my lord. My lady has asked for time alone to finish the task.”

A heartbeat of silence passed, and then Sukuna barked out a laugh, harsh and devoid of humor. “Sewing?” He repeated, incredulity turning to anger that settled hot and heavy in his chest. “And my lady denies me for this trivial pursuit? For so long? Over needle and thread?”

Uraume’s shoulders stiffened at the rising tension in the room. “My lady spoke of... nostalgia, my lord. I believe it holds some personal significance to my lady’s past.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. His pride bristled at the audacity of it. You had chosen something so mundane, so mortal, over fulfilling your role by his side. And yet, beneath the simmering irritation was a glimmer of curiosity. Sewing, of all things. It was an image so incongruent with your usual self that it gave him pause.

He paced, his heavy footsteps echoing like drum beats against the cold stone floor. “Uraume.” he said finally, his voice low but lethal. “Bring my lady here. I will see this work that my lady values so highly. Immediately.”

Uraume inclined their head, an acknowledgment that they understood the urgency masked as command. “At once, my lord.”

══════════════════

YOU HAD RUSHED TO GET READY. Uraume had come once more and you knew that you must depart soon enough. You knew your husband too well. He would end up throwing a tantrum the longer you made him wait.

He was just like that. You had kept your company and attention away from him far too long, more than what was necessary. But it had to be done, if you were to finish all of this.

You lamented not being able to finish the fourth one, but it would have to wait. You could return to finish it, once you show your husband the other three you had made. You looked towards Uraume and handed them two of the fine wooden boxes. They looked at you with a curious gaze, but the moment Uraume stared at your hand — perhaps there was some understanding on their part.

The heavy silence stretched between you and Sukuna, thick with unspoken tension. Every breath felt labored as you stood there, frozen in the doorway, your hands clasped tightly before you in a gesture that betrayed the anxiety tightening your chest.

Your eyes were cast downward, not out of fear, but because you couldn’t bear to meet his gaze just yet. His presence, like an oppressive storm, filled the room, suffocating any semblance of comfort. The weight of his stare, heavy and searing, felt as though it was burning through you, stripping you of any pretense or barrier.

Sukuna did not speak at first, but you could feel the intensity of his scrutiny in every second that passed. His crimson eyes locked onto you, an unrelenting force that seemed to penetrate deep into your very soul.

The room seemed to pulse with an energy that was entirely his own, and yet, there was something different about it now. Something subtle, almost imperceptible, but still undeniably present.

You shifted your weight nervously, unsure of what to say or do. Every instinct told you to bow, to humble yourself before him as you always had, but this moment felt different. The kimono, the one you had made for him, still lingered in his mind, you could tell.

The way his eyes flickered briefly to the space beside him where the garment was now laid out, the faint reverence in his touch when he had examined it earlier—it was as if he had been remembering something far more important than mere clothing.

You lowered yourself in a humbling bow in front of him.

Not once did his gaze leave your presence in that moment.

For a good while, you could feel the chills all over your body.

“Approach.” he ordered, each syllable cutting through the silence like a blade.

You stood from your bow and slowly stepped forward, heart thudding in your chest, carrying one of the boxes containing your work felt even heavier. You could feel how harshly you clutched it in your trembling fingers.

His eyes flickered down to it. You lay the boxes before him. Uraume laid the others before him. For the briefest moment, his expression shifted. There was less anger and more... intrigue.

“Explain yourself.” he demanded, though there was an unmistakable edge of curiosity woven through the command.

You swallowed, summoning courage from somewhere deep within. “I wished to make something for you, my lord.” you said, voice quiet but steady. “Something that would... fit you.”

Sukuna’s gaze hardened, but a question glimmered in his eyes, curiosity battling with the remnants of anger. “Fit me?” His voice was softer now, dangerous but tempered. “And you thought denying my summons was worth this pursuit?”

You nodded, holding up the fabric. “I wanted to show you that you could be seen, that I care enough to try. That I am devoted to you, my lord.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, his eyes locked onto yours, searching, weighing.

The room seemed to hold its breath as you stood, waiting for judgment, for the fury that could come like a storm. But instead, Sukuna’s lips twitched, not quite a smile but not far from it.

“Show me. Now.” he said, voice a low rumble. “This work that kept you from me.”

Uraume moved forward without hesitation, the ornate coverings making a soft, rustling sound as they were carefully untied and removed. The fabric shimmered under the dim light, revealing the fruits of your labor—a trio of kimonos, each meticulously crafted, each unique in its own right.

The first was white, paired with a matching hakama and a black haori that seemed to drink in the shadows. The second was a deep, royal indigo with crimson accents, bold and regal. The third was a rich, earthy gray embroidered with intricate silver patterns that caught the light like scattered stardust.

Sukuna's gaze shifted from one garment to the next, expression unreadable as his crimson eyes took in the details on all of it. He could see the fine stitching, breathing life little by little in each piece seemed to carry a subtle elegance that spoke of both strength and devotion. You cleared your throat, feeling the weight of his scrutiny press against your chest.

“A–as I said, my lord, I made them myself.” you began, voice wavering but earnest. “I’m sorry if they are not as perfect as you would prefer. I know they may not be fit for a king or for a god, my lord. But I had carefully crafted all of it while thinking of you.”

His eyes flicked to you at that, sharp and assessing. He said nothing, and the silence stretched long enough that you felt compelled to continue, though your pulse thundered in your ears.

“I just wanted to make something that would suit you. Something that would… reflect who you are, my lord.” You hesitated before adding, “And to show that you are more than just—”

“Silence, little one.” Sukuna interrupted, though there was no malice in his voice. He took a step closer, gaze settling on your hands.

The cuts and bandages were visible, stark against your skin, telling their own story of sleepless nights and determination. The marks of effort were not lost on him. The thought that you, a mortal bound by your own fragility, had poured so much of yourself into this—into him—sent a flicker of something unidentifiable through him.

He reached out, fingers brushing against the edge of the white kimono with the black haori. The stitching was impeccable, bold yet refined, as if each thread carried a piece of your heart. It was the simplest of the three, but there was an understated power to it. A garment that spoke of purity juxtaposed with shadows, stark and unwavering, much like the man it was intended for.

“This is no easy task to do by yourself.” he said finally, voice deep and resonant. “You undertook this task like you are a wife of a god. You dare to humble yourself before me, yet your work is that of one who knows worth.”

You could feel your eyes water slightly. “My lord—”

He lifted his gaze to meet yours, eyes dark and unreadable. “You have done well.”

Your breath caught at the unexpected praise, and you bowed your head to hide the sudden, overwhelming emotion welling in your eyes. “Thank you, my lord.”

Sukuna stepped back, casting one last glance at your injured hands. “Uraume,” he said, a command rather than a question. “Go to the healers. Ask them to bring ointments for my lady’s hands. They will be treated.”

A flash of surprise passed over Uraume’s features before they nodded briskly and left to carry out the order. You blinked, stunned by the uncharacteristic gesture. Sukuna turned away, but before the silence could return fully, he spoke again, voice low, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than to you.

“Next time, you will not wait so long to show me what is mine.”

The room stilled, the weight of his words sinking in. You nodded, heart thudding with a strange mix of relief and something deeper, something you did not dare to name.

Sukuna's gaze lingered on the white kimono, his expression unreadable, but there was a quiet intensity in the way he took in each stitch, each line, and the subtle folds of fabric that fell with perfect symmetry.

The black haori had an elegant simplicity that balanced the pure white of the kimono beneath, embodying a duality that resonated with him—power restrained, shadow and light interwoven.

He reached out, almost absently, fingers brushing over the texture of the fabric. The quiet reverence in that small action caught even Uraume's attention, their eyes flicking between the two of you. Sukuna's jaw tightened, and for a moment, you could sense the battle raging behind his eyes, an internal war between pride and acknowledgment.

“You, little one….” he said, turning to face you fully. His voice was deep, almost resonant, as though echoing in the very bones of the room. “You claim to apologize for imperfections, but these garments carry none that I can see.”

The words caught in your throat, and for a moment, all you could do was nod, your heart pounding a steady rhythm that resonated with the silent awe you felt. The faint sting in your bandaged fingers seemed to dull as he continued to regard you with that intense, unreadable gaze.

“Your dedication does not go unnoticed, little one.” Sukuna continued, stepping closer until the space between you was marked only by the breath you dared to draw. He reached out, lifting one of your hands with surprising gentleness, eyes narrowing as he took in the cuts and raw patches on your skin. “You have marked yourself in service to me. Remember that, and remember the value of your labor. As I will.”

He let your hand fall gently, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. The tension in the room shifted, not softening but changing, as if the unspoken had taken form and settled around you both.

“From now on, little one.” Sukuna declared, turning his back to you but with a final glance over his shoulder, “I shall command you to be the only one to make my clothing for me. I shan’t wear anything else. So do well, hm?”

A shiver passed through you at the rare acknowledgment, at the words that felt like both a demand and an offering. The title little one rolled from his tongue like an unfamiliar caress, a sign of possession and regard wrapped in one. You lowered your head, a flicker of pride warming the cold pit of exhaustion in your chest.

“Yes, my lord.” you whispered, voice trembling not with fear but with the weight of something new—something you hadn't yet fully understood but knew had shifted the ground beneath your feet.

“Come here, sit by me. Uraume will take a while.” He whispers back to you. His scarlet eyes are softly gazing at you. “Tell me about your work, little one.”

You couldn’t help but smile. A true smile that reaches your eyes. “If my lord wishes.”

Ryomen Sukuna let himself enjoy your smile for a moment.

He came to a good and true conclusion there and then.

You wear joy in the most beautiful way in the way no one else knows.

And he admits, he wishes to see it for the rest of your days.

══════════════════

epilogue

Ryomen Sukuna stood in the dimly lit chamber, his eyes narrowing as Uraume carefully moved boxes aside, clearing the clutter from the room. The sight of the discarded objects from a thousand years ago, long forgotten relics; they all seemed trivial at first.

But then, something caught his eye, something that made his breath catch in his throat. A simple box, set apart from the rest, seemed too out of place for the cluttered heap of old trinkets and broken pieces. His loyal Uraume, not noticing his change in expression, continued to sort through the boxes.

"Uraume." Sukuna's voice rang out, low and deliberate, making Uraume freeze in place.

"Yes, my lord?" Uraume turned, posture stiff as they anticipated another order.

"Stop." The command was final, and Uraume hesitated for a moment before pausing, then obediently approached the box Sukuna had taken notice of. "Bring it to me."

Uraume did as instructed, carefully lifting the box and walking over to Sukuna, who stood with his arms folded, eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and something far more dangerous. Once the box was placed before him, Sukuna opened it with a measured slowness, as though savoring the moment, although he didn’t know yet what he would find.

And then, there it was.

The sight of the white kimono, the hakama, the black haori—all painstakingly crafted in a way that could only be yours. The way the fabric shimmered slightly in the dim light was enough to bring him back to a time long past, a time when you were still present in this world.

The stitching so delicate and precise spoke of hours spent in quiet concentration, your hand steady as you worked. He recognized it immediately. His heart thudded in his chest, a sharp beat that reverberated in his bones.

The kimono was too big for him. Clearly, it had been designed for his old body. And yet, it felt familiar, almost like a second skin he had never worn but was made to fit him nonetheless. The memory of your presence. Everything of you was shining through, even after all this time. He could see it clearly; your hands, your laughter, your quiet hums as you sewed—came rushing back with such intensity that it almost overwhelmed him.

Sukuna's fingers twitched, and for a moment, he stood still, staring at the kimono as if it were some precious, fragile relic he feared would shatter under his touch. He reached out slowly, as though he could still feel the warmth of your hands in the fabric, the echoes of your care woven into every inch.

His touch was tentative, almost reverent, as if the kimono might disintegrate under his hand. For a fleeting moment, it was as though he could hear your voice, soft and melodic, humming the same tune you always had as you worked. A soft ache settled deep in his chest, a yearning he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for centuries.

He stood, unmoving, eyes fixed on the fabric. His thoughts blurred together, memories of you flooding his mind—of your past selves, of your touch, your presence in his life. Of a long life lived together.

And yet... you were gone.

All of that had come and gone.

Still, he can’t help but long for it.

Sukuna had long since accepted the passage of time, the impermanence of mortal lives, even the ones that had been his to command. But this, this feeling of loss; it was different. His thoughts were dark, bitter, yet they carried something deeper—a sharp longing for a time he could never reclaim.

"Uraume." he finally said, voice thick with something he couldn’t name. "Prepare this for me. I will wear it."

Uraume paused, sensing the change in him, the shift in the air that could only mean one thing. “At once, my lord.”

The room grew quiet once more as Uraume gathered the kimono, intent on following his command. But for a moment, Sukuna remained, staring at the fabric, his mind filled with fleeting images of you: your smiling face, your delicate hands working the needle with such care, the soft hum of a song that had once filled the empty spaces of his temple.

And then, in the stillness, it was as if he could see you again. Not clearly, but a shadow. A fleeting glimpse of your figure in the corner of the room, hunched over the cloth, the same rhythm of your sewing filling the air. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

But no, you were not there. He knew that. He could not allow himself to forget that. You had passed, long ago, lost to time, to the endless cycle of reincarnation.

For a moment, Sukuna let himself be still, standing in the quiet of the chamber. He reached out, his fingers brushing over the fabric once more, this time with more certainty, as if touching it again could bring you back, even for just an instant.

And in that moment, Ryomen Sukuna—the King of Curses, the immortal, the one who had never known regret, felt something in him break. It was a small thing, barely perceptible, but for the first time in a thousand years, Sukuna admitted something to himself, something he had buried deep within him and refused to acknowledge.

He missed you.

The realization hit him with the weight of a thousand years' worth of emotion that had never found its release. It wasn’t just the kimono. It wasn’t just the memories. It was the person you had been—the warmth you had given him, the way you had sewn not just fabric, but pieces of your soul into his life, despite all the darkness that surrounded him.

Sukuna closed his eyes for a moment, his breath deep and slow, before he looked down at the kimono once more. There was a strange sense of finality in the moment, as if the act of touching it somehow completed a circle long left unclosed.

“Uraume.” he said, his voice quieter now, more contemplative. “When you are done, make sure I can wear it tonight. No delays.”

Uraume glanced back at him, silent in their acknowledgement, and bowed. “Understood, my lord.”

And as they left, Sukuna lingered a moment longer in the quiet. The silence stretched, but for once, it wasn’t oppressive. He found himself lost in the memories of a time when the world had felt less cold, when you had been at his side.

And perhaps, he will never feel that again. Perhaps it was never meant to be. He had squandered his chance and now he suffers. He suffers life without you. And perhaps, that is his punishment.

Ryomen Sukuna, this old immortal, this untouchable legend, this unshakable curse could not help but accept his fate.

He accepted this punishment even if it was hard to do so, because there was nothing left of you without it.

For the first time in a long time that the King of Curses longs and yearns for his dearest concubine.

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