minthy

[m0rbs]

Hi the fixations finally collided in the stupidest way possible

They all go back into the dungeon to find Spock (he died) but when they get there he’s Weird

[okartichoke]

ace avian. that’s what we’re calling this 🗣️🗣️🗣️

please let me know if you have any thoughts or suggestions or input or anything! i’m happy to bounce ideas around (i'll post DL-6 someday soon i swear)

link to masterpost || explations below cut

shoutout to the anon who sent in that ask bc i seriously fell in love with blue jay phoenix. SHOUTOUT TO TAKAHE PHOENIX TOO THO takahe phoenix, you will forever be in my heart and im glad you existed <3333,, (maybe in this au he’s got some loving adoptive takahe parents :3) (YKNOW WHAT YEAH that’s canon now)

but yeah, flight-avoidant jay phoenix still lends itself well to the common-man hardworking underdog vibe i want from him. speaking of flight-avoidant...

Phoenix's relationship with flying:

It's a bit complicated. Basically, Phoenix can fly, but he historically chooses not to. From the lack of any practice, he's an INCREDIBLY weak flier. (That hovering is really all he can manage)

For one, he's still afraid of heights. Can't help that. This fear means he was less inclined to practice flying, which made him a weaker flier. And being a weaker flier, in turn, made his fear of heights worse. And so on, in a loop. With flightless parents too (it's canon now it's canon), there's even less of a reason to learn to fly. At some point, not flying might've even become something he stuck with out of stubbornness lol, knowing Phoenix.

(I will soon be making a couple small world building posts, but) flying isn't necessary to get around in their society. Convenient, sure, but Phoenix realized he could make do without, and so he did. Phoenix, you icon. Slay. 💅💅

i know this probably isn't the popular take with wing AUs??, but Phoenix being flightless (or at least semi-flightless) sounded like a really fun take on the idea to me. His name is irony at its peak. I also look forward to exploring how other characters react to him not flying. The prosecutors are going to have so many cheap insult opportunities.

As I mentioned though, he still uses his wings a LOT, though. He's much more emotive with them than most people. His sarcastic inner-dialogue remarks are also betrayed by his wings lmao

I also imagine bird-folk never really invented bikes (riding would just be annoying with their wings, plus bikes aren't fast/efficient enough to outweigh just flying), so instead, Phoenix gets around on a little wing-powered scooter device (like scootaloo lol) (they're usually made for children who can't fly yet, but Phoenix still uses one)

finally, wow, stellar jay’s are quite literally just phoenix wright as a bird lmao? color scheme, hair, it’s uncanny. give it a pink tie and it just is Phoenix Wright, i used a blue jay since they’ve got a bit more striking wings but wow.

(ty again for the support and for reading my essay ! :3)

one more thing, but @kora-kat YES YES YES this. ^^^^ omg THIS. this is still true even though he's a jay now.

[clownprince]

how sick and twisted would i have to be to miss that lunatic?

batman: arkham city – end game #1 // batman: arkham city – harley quinn's revenge // batman: arkham city – end game #2-6 // batman: arkham knight – the riddler's gambit // batman: arkham knight #0 // batman: arkham knight

[aceghosts]

I Know You Feel Lost, But I'm Here To Wander With You

Summary: The week that Rooney’s family died is always the worst week of the year.

Rooney is having a bad week, the anniversary of their family death's looming over them. Luckily, they've got Yorinobu in their corner.

Title comes from Being As An Oceans' Find Our Way.

Rating: M

Warnings: PLEASE MIND THE WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE! This deals very explicitly with Rooney's grief and violent loss of their family. (Rooney is originally from Mass Effect with a Colonist background. This fic is adapting that background.) They are in a dark place, and thus, some of Rooney's thoughts, such as not wanting to exist, may be triggering. It also relieves Rooney's memories of that day and the traumatic things they saw, including watching someone die in their arms. Other warnings are depiction of violence, survivor's guilt, childhood trauma, discussions of dysfunctional childhoods (kind of), and drinking to cope. I think that covers everything, but if I need to tag for anything else, let me know.

Words: 5,188 words

Author's Note: Takes place before the events of CP2077, roughly six years before. I strongly encourage you to read Is This the End Or Is This the Beginning if you have not, as this fic directly references events in that fic.

Tagging (Opt In/Out): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @alexxmason, @sergeiravenov, @voidika,

@carlosoliveiraa, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @derelictheretic, @imogenkol, @theelderhazelnut,

@strangefable, @cassietrn, @direwombat, @cloudofbutterflies92

AO3

The week that Rooney’s family died is always the worst week of the year.

Rooney’s normally unflinching, steady demeanor turns brittle. Their mood is an ever-vicious cycle of grief looping into numbness with static in their brain, which eventually loops back into a grief that threatens to swallow them whole, pulling Rooney beneath its dark depths. Their sleep schedule goes to hell, ghosts haunting their dreams. Even in their waking hours, the ghosts haunt them, always in the corner of their mind. Nothing holds any interest for them, and they’re nauseous all the time, only able to pick at their food. The weight of a broken promise weighs heavily on their shoulders, and Rooney feels like they’re drowning underneath it all, exhausted from fighting the tide. All they want to do is hide in their room underneath blankets until the storm passes, when they finally grasp onto some sense of normality. Most years, Rooney powers through, only taking the day of their family’s death off. Their usual ritual is to spend the day alone, writing unsent letters to the ghosts they carry with them. 

Their grief takes on a different form this year, a more malevolent form. It hits harder, a dark, black cloud hanging over them. It’s so hard to breathe, to simply exist. Their limbs are tied down, each movement more difficult than the last. They feel so numb to it all, to the whole point of their existence. All Rooney wants to do is to stop existing, simply dissipate into nothing. They want to let the waves pull them under, to simply stop fighting and give in for once. Rooney wonders if this year is harder because they died and now know death intimately. Maybe, it’s the fact they’re stuck in this Arasaka facility, amongst enemies and isolated from their comrades. Maybe, it’s that small glimpse of what they saw between life and death. Maybe, it’s the fact that they know they will be denied death, doomed to walk this earth as long as someone else demands it. If they died now, Rooney knows Arasaka would pull them back, deny them the dignity of simply being able to die.

And then, there is Yorinobu, Rooney’s only friend in this lonely place. They avoid him, leaving sessions early and ducking into hiding places when he searches for them. He doesn’t need to see Rooney like this, doesn’t have to know about any of this. Rooney doesn’t want him to think less of them, if he doesn’t already know. They need to focus on getting information for him. They need to focus on their mission. And, perhaps selfishly, Rooney does not want Yorinobu to worry about them. No one should have to worry about them. The grief will pass like it always does, and Rooney will be fine...right?

“We’re done, Shepard,” Leah, one of the scientists, says, openly disappointed with their poor performance, a common theme this week, “Go to your next session.” Right, another combat test. Leah had just run through a short test of their quickhacking capabilities. Miles, another scientist, wanted to put Rooney through a combat test with their optical camouflage.

“I will escort them to their next session.” They slowly look over in Yorinobu’s direction, unaware he was there. Arms crossed over his chest, he smiles at them warmly, eyes only on Rooney.

Rooney stares at him blankly, unable to muster even the smallest smile. They should be excited to see Yorinobu, ready to dish out what they know to him. Instead, Rooney feels nothing, hollow, like every other day of this forsaken week. Leah, who must have only realized he was here as well, bows. Shooting a glare at Rooney for their perceived rudeness, she replies, “Yes, Yorinobu-Sama. Shepard would be honored to accompany you.”

Yorinobu’s smile drops, brow furrows in concern as Rooney lethargically walks toward him. Shit, they need to act normally. They fall into step with him as they leave the room, still mute. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

Not nearly a convincing enough answer. “Shepard,” He starts, voice soft, “I know you would prefer to talk with one of your fellow soldiers, but I would like to listen if you need someone.”

Rooney feels a lump in their throat, swallowing it down. “I’m okay,” They assure him, gently brushing their hand against his, “I’m just tired.”

He eyes them suspiciously, eventually relenting. “I have some news that you may be interested in. Some of it I can tell you now, the rest later.” As he talks, Rooney tunes him out, his voice becoming background noise like everything else. Their brain is unable to concentrate, thinking sluggishly. Every once in a while, Rooney offers a nod or a small noise of acknowledgment to keep up the appearance they are listening. “Now, I know you must not be listening.”

Shaking their head as they stop in their tracks, Rooney apologizes, “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” Yorinobu stops beside them, placing his hand on their shoulder in concern. Guilt burns within Rooney. He shouldn’t worry about them; no one should. They’ll power through this, just like everyone expects them to.

“I-.”

“Shepard!” Fucking hell, all of the goddamn people it had to be her, Rooney’s least favorite person in the facility. Dr. Naomi Kimura, their psychologist, dredged up every single awful thing mentioned in their psych profile as if it would magically convince Rooney to talk. Instead, Rooney shut down, staring at their hands quietly until their time was up. And this week, she was at her worst, mentioning their family constantly, how hard it must have been, and how Rooney could talk to her. It took every inch of their being to resist punching her, especially when she mentioned Jack. How dare she even mention his name. Rooney prefers dying again to having to talk to Dr. Kimura about one of the worst days of their life. “How are you feeling today, Shepard?” she asks, catching up to the pair.

They look down, staring at their shoes, fists clenched tightly. “I think Shepard is tired,” Yorinobu intervenes, “You should give them space.”

Dr. Kimura sighs. “Yes. Of course, they would be tired,” her pitying voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard, and Rooney bites the inside of their cheek, fighting the urge to scream. “I wanted to make sure that my patient was feeling well, especially on the anniversary of something so tragic.”

“Something tragic?” Yorinobu echoes.

“Their family,” They start walking, unable to listen. Rooney won’t give her the satisfaction of them telling her to shove it. And they don’t know if they can stomach Yorinobu looking at them like…like…

“Excuse us, Dr. Kimura.” Yorinobu excuses himself, catching up to Rooney. “Where are you going? What is goi-?”

“I should go,” Rooney cuts him off, their voice robotic and detached, leaving a confused Yorinobu behind.

—

Later that evening, when Rooney reaches their room after an afternoon of tests, Yorinobu stands outside their room. In his hands, he has a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “Would you like to talk? Or drink?” Yorinobu holds the bottle of whiskey up for Rooney. They soften, recognizing the name on the bottle. It’s the same brand, the one that led to their first real conversation. To Rooney becoming an informant, and eventually, they suppose, a friend. Their eyes water, a sob stuck in their throat. “Did-Did I do something wrong?”

“It’s complicated,” Rooney wipes at their eyes, clearing their throat, “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He relaxes, his shoulders dropping. Yet, Yorinobu’s brow is furrowed, watching them carefully. “We should talk,” Rooney says, knowing that they owe Yorinobu the truth, “Can we go to your office?”

He nods, wrapping an arm around their shoulder. Rooney leans into him, resting their head on his shoulder. He feels so sturdy when they are so weak, like a small boat being tossed upon the waves in a storm.

—

Making themselves comfortable on the black leather couch in Yorinobu’s office, each with a glass of whiskey, Rooney takes a sip, needing to work up their courage. “I…um…” they start hesitantly, the words reluctant to leave their mouth.

Yorinobu slides an arm behind them, hand on their shoulder. “Take your time.”

“Right,” Rooney takes another sip, “Do you remember what I told you about my family?”

“You mentioned they died when you were sixteen,” a horrified look comes over him, quickly connecting the dots, “Is this the day they-?”

Rooney nods, confirming his suspicion as Yorinobu takes a sharp breath. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now how they’ve died.” Everyone knows. In the Militia, it was an open secret that being around Rooney was likely to get you killed. Unlucky Shepard. Go with them on a mission, and you won’t come back.

“I have not.” Wait, what? They look over at him in confusion. “I knew you would tell me on your own terms,” Yorinobu admits, “You are honest with me. I can be patient if you need me to be.”

Their guarded heart softens at his admission. “Thank you.”

“There is no need to thank me.”

Silence washes over the both of them as Rooney thinks through their next words. They’re so used to people knowing them by their reputation. The Soldier who got shit done. The Sole Survivor. With Yorinobu, none of those expectations are placed upon them. Rooney is free to be themself. It is an oddly wonderful feeling; it is an oddly terrifying one. “I guess I could start at the beginning…”

He nods, allowing Rooney to continue. “I grew up in a small Biotechnica Company Town. My mom, Hannah Shepard, worked as the head of security.” They remember their mother, a former Militech officer, brave and fearless. Never backing down. “She was really brave, taught me how to shoot my first gun too. Taught me that it would be my responsibility to look after Jack.” From a young age, their mom had taught them how to shoot, simply stating: ONE DAY, YOU’LL NEED TO PROTECT YOUR BROTHER. A duty that Rooney solemnly took. A duty they failed. “My dad, Aiden Shepard, was an agricultural engineer. He was so kind, always encouraging my brother and me.” Rooney always remembers their dad as a soft, kind man. He had a green thumb, teaching Rooney all he knew about plants and farming. Their favorite memories of him are sitting with their dad on the porch bench on summer evenings, both reading together in silence, yet enjoying each other’s company.

“I had a younger brother, Jack, and a cousin, Danny, my age. Jack was so bright and so sweet. Didn’t have a mean bone in his body. I’m sure if he were still alive, he would have done something great.” In their mind, Jack smiles brightly at them, fiddling with some machine he was working on. His enthusiasm was infectious. Jack deserved to be alive; he should be alive. Not Rooney. “Danny was always getting into trouble, but it was trouble I always wanted to be a part of.” They remember the way he would grin mischievously, ready to drag Rooney and Jack into some of his schemes. Despite the trouble the trio would get into, Rooney wouldn’t trade any of those memories for the world.

“Home was gorgeous.” Rooney still feels the sun on their face, the warm breeze flowing through their hair. They hear the rustle of the wheat as the breeze flows through it. “The skies were always a soft blue with a gentle breeze blowing through the wheat. It was like paradise.” How naive Rooney was. They should have appreciated it more, enjoyed what little time they had there. Now, home was a memory, a place they could never return to.

 "I…understand.” His soft utterance surprises them. Yorinobu sips his whiskey. “When I think of my childhood, I think about how wonderful it was sometimes, how happy I used to be…”

“How you wish you could go back,” They finish, “But you can’t, you can never go back.”

“Yes,” the understanding look in his eyes makes Rooney feel a little less lonely, “After what my father had shown me, the veil over my eyes had been lifted. It was a lie, a lie to make me complacent, dependent. He used that lie to mold me into the son he thought I should be. Obedient, Deferential. He had destroyed the home I had known. Your situation is different.”

Rooney sips their whiskey. “Yeah,” their voice cracks, “Home doesn’t exist anymore, wiped off the map, all the people gone.” They pause, their throat tight. “Except for me.” Cursed to live; cursed to survive.

“Shepard,” His thumb rubs comfortingly against the bare skin of their freckled shoulder, “You do not have to tell me this. I will respect-.”

“No, I want to,” They cut him off, inhaling a deep breath, “It’s a little raw considering…”

“I do not want to push if it makes you feel unwell.”

“You’re not pushing; you’re the first one who hasn’t pushed me to talk about this,” Their mind flashes back to Dr. Kimura, always pushing and prodding, “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”   

“I am glad I can be here for you.”

Rooney gives him a watery smile, dropping it a second later. “The first thing I remember about this day is the night before, especially the fight that I had with my mom.” Yorinobu raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “We were fighting a lot. I wanted to join a Corp, Militech specifically, to see the world, and she thought I was naive, that I was going to make a huge mistake.”

“Militech?” Yorinobu blurts out, surprised.

They nod. “Imagine how differently things would have turned out if I still joined Militech afterwards.”

“We would not have met.”

“Yeah, I know how Militech and Arasaka feel about each other.” Rooney looks down at their whiskey glass. “I can’t forget what I told my mom that night. I told her that hated her.” I HATE YOU SO MUCH, the awful words reverberate around in their head.  “I told her that I hated her for trying to keep me in that stupid town, that I wasn’t going to be stuck there forever, miserable like she was.” YOU CAN’T KEEP ME HERE. I WON’T BE STUCK HERE IN THIS TOWN AND END UP A MISERABLE BITCH LIKE YOU. Their hands shake, tears welling in their eyes. Rooney would give anything to take those words back, to reverse the hands of time, and tell their mom one last time that they love her. They love her so much. Rooney would tell her that they were naive and stupid, understanding what Hannah was trying to protect them from. “What a pair we make, huh? You with Saburo, and me with my mom.”

Yorinobu smiles. “It is natural for children to rebel, to want differently than the path their parents planned for them. You are not wrong for wanting that.”

“I suppose so.” Rooney isn’t sure if they were wrong for wanting, but they should have spoken to their mom differently. “The next day, a group of bandits attacked our town. I’m not sure how they managed it. We fended off attacks before with little damage, but this was different.” It was slaughter, an act of cruel and senseless violence. “Jack, Danny, and I were hanging out in the fields. We were up in an oak tree, watching the clouds as we talked. Then, we saw the smoke. We went to check it out.” Rooney still remembers the tree bark scraping against their palms, barely registering the sting as they fling themself from the tree. “We met Mom at the edge of the field. She handed me a pistol and told me to protect Jack and Danny. The last thing she ever told me was for us to hide and for me to be brave.” ROONEY, TAKE THEM AND HIDE. BE BRAVE FOR ME. The last time Rooney sees their mom is with her back turned to the three as she charges into town, red ponytail with strands of gray swinging in the wind. The pistol is heavy in Rooney’s hands, the full burden of responsibility weighing down on them. “Do you ever feel like you have to protect Hanako?”

“Yes. As children, Hanako and I were close. We only had each other, and I knew I needed to be there for her. I would protect her from any trouble. Even now, as adults, despite our distance, I still want to protect her, free her from my father’s influence. Hanako should be allowed to determine her own path, not a puppet of my father.” Yorinobu takes a sip of his whiskey, conflicting emotions on his face. “Now, Hanako feels she must protect me by playing mediator. In her eyes, all would be right if I became the son my father wanted me to be. If I were to be someone else.”

“You shouldn’t be,” He raises an eyebrow as they awkwardly clarify, “You shouldn’t have to be someone else. I like you as you are.” Yorinobu looks taken aback as they backpedal, “I mean-.”

“Shepard, I understand,” Yorinobu replies cutting them off, “I like you as you are too.”

“Thank you.” Another question comes to them. “What about Kei?” In all their time at the facility, Rooney heard about Kei the least. Possibly because he had been dead since 2023. But they wondered about Yorinobu and his relationship.

“Kei and I were not close. As children, Hanako and I rarely saw him, a distant figure in both our lives. Kei always thought of himself as the dutiful older son, the protector of Arasaka’s legacy. When I left,” Yorinobu’s voice turns bitter, “He saw it as his responsibility to strike me down for daring to defy the family, for not falling into line. Kei paid the ultimate price for his foolishness. I stand, still alive, while he is dead.”   

“I’m sorry.”

Yorinobu shakes his head. “It is not your fault. One day, my father will pay for Kei’s death. Continue.”

“I suggested that we should hide. There was a storm shelter beneath the farmhouse where no one would be able to find us. But-.” I CAN’T LEAVE MY MOM AND DAD. WE HAVE TO FIND THEM. They remember how terrified Danny looked, a sixteen-year-old who just wanted his parents. “Danny wanted us to find his parents. He wouldn’t listen to me or Jack.” Danny’s glare is fierce, and he is defiant at Rooney’s suggestion. He storms away with Jack quickly following behind as he tries to calm Danny. “He couldn’t be stopped.” Rooney finishes their glass, reaching out for the bottle of whiskey, and pouring another.

“So, we head to town.” The moment the three teenagers reach town, they all look at each other, knowing they’ve fucked up. Rooney remembers the thick smell of smoke and dead bodies, nearly choking on it. They hold the pistol with the safety off, ready to fire like their mom taught them to. Yet, at the thought of shooting a real person, Rooney’s hands shake, the pistol wobbling. “Danny thought we needed to head to the center of town.” COME ON, MY PARENTS SHOULD BE AT THE CITY HALL. “I try to argue with him, but he takes off running and rounds the corner. And then, I hear it.”

Yorinobu’s mouth drops in horror as a sick feeling rises in their stomach. The gunshots echo in their ears, deafening, as Rooney sprints towards the alley. Danny is on the ground, red pooling beneath him as a bandit stands over him. Rooney raises the pistol, pulling the trigger. The first shot hits the bandit’s shoulder. The second one hits him in the chest. Later, when Rooney learns to shoot a sniper rifle in the militia, they promise to never miss, to always make sure that their bullet hits the target. They will not let another innocent pay with their life. Rooney sips their glass, before continuing, “Jack and I grab Danny,” Danny’s green t-shirt is soaked in blood, only groaning as the two pull him off the ground, “The local town doctor is only two blocks away. If anyone can help Danny, it’s her.” It is only later that Rooney will find out that this was a fool’s errand, that the local doctor is already dead.

“Jack and I manage to get Danny to the clinic. We think we’ve made it, that the three of us are going to be safe.” It feels like a journey of a thousand miles, but relief washes over Rooney as the clinic door slides open. They’re safe; Jack, Danny, and Rooney are going to make it. HEY! Rooney turns as a Bandit turns to face them, raising his rifle at the trio. “As we enter the clinic, another bandit finds us.” Rooney raises the gun, preparing to fire. Jack, blue eyes wide, shoves Rooney and Danny through the doorway. JACK! Shots ring out, deafening as Rooney screams, a desperate plea for someone, anyone, to help. Jack slumps to the ground as Rooney lets Danny go. They raise their pistol, flicking the safety off as they unload the pistol. Rooney empties the pistol into the bandit, each shot ringing loudly in their ears. When the pistol finally clicks empty, long after the bandit has fallen to the ground, Rooney drops it, the pistol clattering loudly to the ground. “He shoots Jack. I’m able to stop the bandit, but it’s already too late.”

“I grab Jack and Danny, dragging them into the clinic. I find an empty room, somewhere we can hide.” Grabbing Jack and Danny, Rooney pulls them into the clinic, a herculean effort fueled by pure adrenaline. They find an empty room, hiding with Jack and Danny in a dark corner. Danny’s eyes are unfocused, his mouth slightly open. Rooney doesn’t need to feel his pulse to know that he is dead. They turn to Jack, who reaches out for his older sibling. “Jack grabs onto me. I beg for him to let me go, but all he wants is his older sibling. His grip loosens…” He wraps his arms around Rooney’s neck tightly, clinging to them as he bleeds out in their arms. Rooney holds him, alternating between telling Jack that they love him (JACK, I LOVE YOU! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!) and begging him to let go so they can help him (YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO! I’LL BE RIGHT BACK WITH HELP!).  Eventually, his grip loosens, Rooney silently sobbing as their brother dies. In the Unification War, when they hold dying young men, trying to comfort them in their last moments, they will always remind Rooney of Jack. They will always be Jack, terrified in their final moments, begging for some sort of comfort, that everything will be okay. “And my brother is dead.”

Tears stream down their face as Rooney grips their whiskey tightly. “I hide in the clinic for what seems like an eternity.” They wait until the screaming dies down, and even then, Rooney doesn’t leave, afraid the bandits will be waiting for them. After the screaming has been dead for a long time, Rooney makes their way out of the clinic, looking upon the destruction of their town.  Every corpse is a familiar face, someone they’ve known their whole life. “Eventually, Nomads, who regularly traded with us and did odd jobs for Biotechnica, pass by, and…” Well, the rest is history.

“Rooney, I’m-I’m so sorry…” Yorinobu seems to be at a loss for words, unsurprising. No one ever seems to know what to say, and Rooney can’t blame them.

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.” They finish off the glass, pouring themself another. Yorinobu tilts his head in confusion, perhaps concerned by their harsh, detached tone. “It’s the bandits fault for destroying my town. It’s my fault that Jack and Danny are dead, that I couldn’t protect them.”

Yorinobu sits straight up, removing his hand from their shoulder. Rooney misses his touch, a sole comfort, perhaps more than they deserve. He places his glass down on the table. Yorinobu grabs their glass, placing it down beside his. Rooney doesn’t fight him, unable to look at him, only looking down at their hands. Yorinobu takes their hands in his, his touch desperate. “You cannot blame yourself. You were sixteen.”             

“I can blame myself,” They look at him, meeting his eyes, “It was my job to protect Jack. He’s my younger brother. He needed me, and I failed him. Danny, too.” After their town, Rooney swore that they would protect others from suffering the same fate.

He looks slightly horrified, and Rooney wonders if he is thinking of himself and Hanako, perhaps seeing a mirror image of Jack in Hanako. Yorinobu releases their hands, only to cup their face, wiping away the tears. “It was not your fault.” He stresses every word, like a general giving a command to a stubborn soldier. On some level, Rooney knows this is irrational. Their psych in the militia, a no-nonsense woman whom Rooney felt safe talking to, used to tell them the same thing. So did their fellow soldiers in their support group. But Rooney couldn’t let it go, not when it had driven them their whole life. Not when their family had rejected them for it. Their tears fall faster, a sob escaping from them as Yorinobu’s eyes widen in surprise. “Something else troubles you.”

“Yeah.”

“Please tell me.”

“Remember our first conversation, when I told you to leave something alone?”

Confusion briefly crosses his face before the realization dawns. “You looked upset when I asked,” They hear a touch of concern in his voice, “Did it involve your family?”

“Yes,” the vision of their family around the dining room table is startlingly clear in their mind, “I saw my family.”

“You…saw them?”

“Don’t know what it was. Might have been a hallucination; might have been my mind playing a trick on me, but I saw them.” Rooney’s voice trembles, “I got to go home, see them all again, and they...they…” Their throat tightens, the words too difficult to speak. “They wouldn’t let me stay.”

“Rooney,” Yorinobu exhales their name, distraught as he wipes away more tears.

“I failed to protect Jack and Danny, and I wasn’t allowed to come home,” Rooney swallows back a sob, “I wasn’t good enough so I couldn’t stay.”

Yorinobu lets go of their face, pulling Rooney into his lap. They straddle his waist, trying to openly sob as they lay their hands on his chest. “Rooney,” His right hand lays on the back of their neck, “You did not fail. You were sixteen. No one could have asked more of you.” Rooney doesn’t believe him; they don’t know if they ever will. This guilt will gnaw at Rooney for the rest of their life until they take their final breath. If Rooney is ever allowed to take one. “Believe me,” Yorinobu pleads sincerely, “Please.”

Yorinobu’s earnestness cracks the stone walls around their heart. They collapse into his chest, burying their face in the crook of his neck. Rooney tightly grips the fabric of his black and magenta silk shirt, holding onto him like an overboard passenger holds onto a raft, adrift in the ocean. A sob escapes them, and Yorinobu’s hand comes to their back, rubbing circles in the black fabric of their tank top. His other hand rests on their thigh, thumb stroking along the seam of the black fabric. “If you need to, cry.”

They can’t fully break down, not for a lack of trying. Instead, Rooney holds him tightly, crying softly as Yorinobu comforts them. His voice is soothing, a tether to reality for them.

—

Eventually, Rooney finds they have no more tears left to cry. They’re exhausted, worn down to the bone. “Thank you.” Their voice feels raw and scratchy, their throat tight.

“Do you feel better?” He asks, watching them with concern. “Please be honest with me.”

Honesty is the least of what he deserves; Yorinobu deserves so much from them. “No,” They’re not sure if they will ever be okay, “I don’t know if I will be, but you being here….”

Yorinobu releases the breath he was holding. “Do you need-?”

They shake their head. “I just want to sleep.”

“Allow me to take you to your room.” Rooney gets up off his lap, untangling themself from Yorinobu. He follows them off the couch, slinging an arm around their shoulder.

They slide their arm around his waist, resting their head on his shoulder. Together, the pair walk silently down the Arasaka halls alone. Rooney feels a swell of affection towards him. There was no reason for him to be this kind to them, and yet…he was. Perhaps Rooney and Yorinobu were kindred souls, both alone in a hostile place looking for someone who would see them as they are.

When the pair reaches Rooney’s room, Yorinobu asks, “Will you be fine if you are left alone tonight?” Maybe. Rooney isn’t going to hurt themself, but the nightmares worry them. Sometimes, they relive the scenes over and over, a gruesome horror movie on repeat. Their silence is enough to answer his question. “I am staying.”

Rooney frowns. “You don’t need to stay.” They won’t be more of a burden on him.

“I want to stay with you,” Yorinobu opens the door, “Please let me.”

A small spark of humor arises in them. “I didn’t know you were eager to get into my bed.”

Yorinobu laughs, slightly surprised. “You must be feeling better.”

“Somewhat,” They smile at him shyly, “Thanks to you.”

He looks smug, clearly proud of himself. “To bed.”

A few minutes later, the duo crawl into bed with Rooney on the right and Yorinobu on the left. The tiny bed is meant for one person, but Rooney and Yorinobu make it work, spooning close together. Rooney’s metal arm wraps around his chest, Yorinobu’s hand resting on top of their hand. They are pressed tight against his back, cuddling him. “Are you comfortable?” He asks, his tone a little unsure. “Would you prefer I hold you?”

“No. I feel better holding you, unless you want to change positions.”

“I like this,” Yorinobu replies softly, his voice sending a warm and tingly feeling through them.

“Good.” The darkness and silence of the room descend upon them. A short while later, as they doze off, Rooney hears a soft snore from Yorinobu. They bite back a soft laugh, striking them as slightly cute. Rooney whispers, careful not to wake him, “Thank you for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you today. It’s the first time I haven’t felt alone on this day. I don’t know if I can ever return the favor.” They pause briefly. “But I promise I will try to be there for you in any way you need me to be.”

Closing their eyes, Rooney allows themself to fall asleep, comfortable and safe with Yorinobu in their arms.

[pekoeboo]

ugh. some thoughts.

really been trying to find the joy in drawing/writing again and honestly it's been such a challenge. friends have told me it's most likely depression that's making it hard to feel motivated and tbh they're probably right.

hoping to get back into being creative in the way I Want to be at some point tho. I miss it. there's still so much with my stories and characters that I haven't been able to share or explain and I wish I knew how without it feeling like this daunting, impossible task.

I don't know when I'll get around to actually sharing art again (or writing, if ever). was hoping that I'd manage to get some of my mental and physical issues in check recently for just long enough to get back into the swing of being creative, but that hasn't seemed to work. everything feels bad, both artistically and physically. I'm struggling to keep up with the frantic pace at which my brain comes up with story concepts and intriguing character interactions, even tho everything in me wishes I could turn it into tangible artistic expression so I can get it out of my head and share it. it used to be easy. I don't know why it's not now.

I'm just . tired, I guess.

[ethan-acfan]

Desmond with many underworld connections is my favorite au and I'm going to be writing a fic on this after I get to a slow down point in my current fic

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

thin skinned (skinsuit'd staffbot reader x Sun/Moon angst, no comfort)

“Y- you don’t understand,” your voice wavered and stuttered with static, your voice box protesting so much use, “what it. Was like, for me.”

“What is there to POSSIBLY understand??” Sun’s voice came through this time, high and nearly shrill with indignation, revulsion, outrage. “What could possibly have happened to you to excuse this!”

You shut your eyes, feeling your shoulders rattle. You wanted to shout, or throw something. Was this anger? It was hot, and it hurt, and it made every part of you tense. Was this what it was to be angry? Or... was this another kind of fear? You abruptly turned around to face them properly, trying hard to look them in the eye. Your hands were in fists, you realized- both the one that was bare, your brittle, metallic skeleton grinding against itself slightly, and the one still wearing a glove. The metal of your stripped fingers cut into one another, making the joints ache.

“You-“ your voice broke, and you had to wait a spirit second before the voice would work again, “you can’t understand anything about how- how scared I was-s!”

You grabbed at the neck of the coat you were wearing, feeling suffocated by it. Your voice box warbled and strained, letting out a staticky cough.

“You didn’t have to be afraid of b-being dismantled. You were loved. A-A-And I? I was nothing.”

Unable to stand the look they were giving you any longer, you whipped around and left the room, escaping to the fire exit. You grabbed fistfuls of your hood and pulled it down over your face, feeling the fabric tear slightly. You sat heavily, leaning against the railing and listening to the rain pitter-patter against the old metal staircase. For the first time in a long time, you found yourself wishing you didn't feel anything. You hated this, this hot, scalding feeling that made your fingers curl, that made you want to- to hit them, and blame them, and shout that it was all their fault, all their fault, ALL THEIR FAULT,

You pressed the thoughts down, down, down, tried to stifle them as much as you were able. You pulled yourself up by the cold, wet railing. Your legs rattled with the movement- when did you get so... tired? You shuffled back into your apartment. You didn't look at them as you walked across the room to flip the light switch. It was dark near instantly; your eyes had to adjust. The night-light plugged in next to the workbench they were sat on glowed, warm and yellow. You turned your back to them, hesitated.

"I'm, Going. To charge for the night. I'll s-see you, in the morning."

There was a long pause, then you started your walk to the closet you had converted into a sort-of bedroom for yourself- it was where you kept your clothes, and your make-shift charging station was there, anyway. It was the last sliver of comfort you had in this place right now.

You had crossed the room and grabbed the doorknob when they spoke.

"Goodnight."

For a second you considered not answering, in letting them sit and fester in your cold, angry silence. But you were tired. You didn't want to keep this up. You felt your shoulders sag.

"G-g-good night."

"Sleep tight," said Sun's voice. It was tiny and kind of mumbly, as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud. You felt a chuckle wobble out of you.

"D-d-d-don't let th-the bed bugs-s bite."

[goingghostcomic]

Does the fact that DP now has an official canon continuation affect you while working on the comic

Like does the new canon stuff influence your own vision or has your vision for your reboot remained the same since you started?

Sorry it's taken so long to answer so I'll match with a long answer and update in my process, I'm so sorry lol

But no, an official canon continuation will not stop me from making the comic. And while I do own the new comic and plan on getting all the future official DP merch I can get my hands on, it wont effect my story in the slightest because I haven't read it. Plus I've already written my story and I'm very happy with it. I will someday read the new comic but not anytime soon, I'm just so happy it exists and that it's in my hands either way.

What might stop me (for a little bit at least) is a full on rebooted series, not a continuation/revival because the fandom has been around so long and we've all influenced each other in big or little ways. And since we're all playing in the same sandbox there's naturally some overlap. But this started as a pitch bible/proof of concept for a full on reboot of my own and if there's an active reboot airing I'd be very sad it wasn't mine (so silly I know lol but it's true).

What has stopped me is the a back and forth issue I have on the comic in general. I have found a style of comic I enjoy making, but I have gotten in my own head about it being stiff and bad. I know practice make progress and I'm getting more confident about it and also considering making it into a fic with art and slowly adapting it into a comic just so I can have some thing to post and put out there. But my iPad is dying and outside of sketches on paper I haven't been able to write or draw to the extent I'd like. I've been saving for a new one for a while now and about half way there but life happens and it takes a toll on my savings. So I'm trying to decide what's the best way to proceed and I have a lot of options and that's also a little overwhelming, which sounds silly typing out. But it's easy for me to feel guilt every time I try to commit to one game plan because all my best options rely on me getting a new iPad

[devotion-between-the-wheat]

I don't really condone dm.c5's contrived fanservice/nudity via the demon battery plot point, but it does give me easy reasons for why my si would be in just v's coat for a minute + give me another v shirtless moment.

[xenomorphicdna]

Doodles from several days ago.

Mouse and Fish

Cold weather scugs from cold weather lands

[sundays-mutt]

wow just gave myself the most painful and abysmal brainrot about my own ocs wow wow

[oflgtfol]

quastion. if you were a high schooler looking to take the least stressful lab science would you taking physics or chemistry

i think this is a simpler question of which do you enjoy more? for me i would choose physics over chemistry any day but that’s because i hate chemistry and so all chem labs i took were boring and stressful, and i love physics so the labs were fun and interesting

however if both subjects are equally uninteresting to you, then i do recommend physics! maybe i'm biased, but i think even personal interest aside, my high school chem labs were definitely more involved and complicated than my high school physics labs. physics experiments in lower level classes such as high school (and even introductory college physics to some extent) are pretty simple to set up and conduct, the main understanding comes from doing the math afterwards to get any sort of result out of it, whereas chem was more like, actually mixing stuff and then observing

not only were physics labs easier, simpler, and more engaging, but each lab also was unique and distinct from each other. i really can only recall the same basic setup of like, mixing stuff together as the idea behind every single chem lab i did. the exact way you mixed them together differed of course but that was the main idea

meanwhile some examples of physics labs i recall from high school include:

projectile motion: most likely you will roll a marble down a ramp off the edge of the lab table, measure the horizontal and vertical distances it traveled, maybe time it also or use a photogate to measure the velocity, or something, and then use the kinematic equations to find any missing variables, and then through all that you will probably be to told to find the value of g, what is known as the acceleration due to gravity, aka the rate at which things fall.

circular motion: you may be using a FLYING PIG to demonstrate circular motion!!! figuring out the tension in the string, the idea of centripetal force, centripetal acceleration, rates of revolution, etc.

harmonic motion: push some slinkies around, demonstrate hooke's law and spring force, calculation of frequency and oscillation, maybe observing resonant frequencies and resonant modes

standing waves: using some sort of low tech version of a standing wave generator to observe, well, standing waves. the high school version of this lab i believe was very surface level and was mostly just drawing how different standing waves looked, counting the nodes and antinodes, and predicting it for different frequencies. i think the teacher even got us a giant rope and we had to recreate the lower frequency standing waves together as a class by just oscillating it ourselves

all around, in my experience at least, high school physics labs are so much more involved and engaging than chem ever was. and while the math involved in the physics class was more daunting than chem, it was such a fun and interactive class. and again i may be biased but i think, if both chem and physics are uninteresting to you but you need to choose one anyway, i think having a basic background in physics is a lot more useful and goes a lot further than a basic background in chem does. i truly believe that knowing stuff about the kinematic equations, circular motion, free body diagrams, harmonic motion, etc etc will enrich your life further and change the way you see the world around you. high school physics will not make you an expert but it can certainly make observing patterns in life and how the natural world operates a lot more fun and exciting

[arts-and-drafts]

I decided to start compiling speech patterns and such for the Hermits I watch the most, because being a fic writer is hard sometimes 😭 then I thought “why not share it here?”

so here’s my very rough analysis of my most viewed Hermits, this is just what I’ve managed to gather so please don’t call me out for what I’m missing

-

Scar

Rarely stutters in normal speech. Maybe pauses if he’s started a sentence and doesn’t know where it’s going, but he doesn’t tend to trail off unless something interrupts his train of thought

Stutters a LOT when he’s startled. Also makes ‘hoo!’ noises repeatedly before he finds his words

Lays on the charm THICK when he’s trying to convince someone over literally anything; compliments their looks, their handiwork, and then pitches his proposition in smooth segue. Not one to entertain haggling though (however he DOES do a ‘look if you’ll pay full price I’ll throw in xyz’ thing). King of upselling even the most mundane things.

His tone is cheerful most of the time, no matter what he’s saying. He’ll actually often say very disturbing things with a light voice (ex. when discussing how to retaliate ie “what should we do about him?” “we could kill him! :)”)

Builds and locations somehow are always capitalized in his voice?? Like he says them differently. I can’t really explain it (when he talks about Aqua Town or Scarland or The Big Dig)

Literally has an evil laugh when he thinks of a way to prank someone or mess with people

Hums in thought quite often, and uses “huh!” quite often when confused or finding out something new (Mostly with redstone)

His farewell is almost always “Byeeee, have a great time!” even if the conversation he left was not a pleasant one. I’m almost certain he does this in tense situations just to get under other people’s skin and really push how unbothered he is

Doesn’t tend to insult people, the farthest he’ll take it is backhanded compliments

That said he is not afraid to outright threaten (“I will murder them.”)

References media a lot, both for concepts for builds and in speech (ie his greeting “Well hello there!” is from Star Wars)

Number one exclamation is “Sweet Baby Jellie!”

(More under the cut!)

Grian

Cold opens, both in videos and conversations (rarely says “hello, how are you, etc” when encountering someone, but he does say farewells/‘thank you’s)

Likes to sneak up on people and scare them if he realizes they haven’t noticed him yet, usually does so by getting real close and then yelling (“HEY!”/“HI!”/“WHAT’S THAT?”)

Uses the name of whoever he’s talking to pretty often while speaking to them (“Well, Mumbo, you never know”/“So, Scar, as you can see here-“), same goes for often addressing his audience (“you all”/“you lot”/“you guys”)

Usually pretty focused (when he wants to be) but oftentimes takes a minute to laugh at things he notices in the natural environment (An accidental face in a build, a mob in a strange place, etc)

Takes the lead in a conversation if nobody is the clear leader, but generally only speaks when spoken to if someone else has risen to that spot

Clarifies instructions after something is explained, both to his viewers and to anyone he’s grouped up with (most often seen in the Life Series)

Uses “Pardon?!”/“Beg your pardon?!” most often when surprised or startled (he’s very British), also sometimes uses “Sorry??”

Things are way more funny to him when he’s tired

Deadpans a lot in conversation ie “why not do xyz?” “Well because we’ll horrifically die 😑“

This man is allergic to committing to the bit unless he’s the one that initiated it

Not one to sugarcoat (“how is it?” “well to be honest it’s miserable”)

Number one exclamation is “WHAT?!” (though he often uses “oh my GOODNESS” quite a bit)

Mumbo

The start of nearly every episode is almost a pitch, does the same when bringing up an idea to others (“I have this idea”/“I was thinking”/“I noticed” etc)

Often laughs a little at himself when he speaks

Also often brings up how inexperienced/unqualified he thinks he is with literally any task he’s doing

Gets very distracted with the smallest things

Uses similes a lot when trying to describe a concept (“I’m thinking a this-type thing”/“Something like a [xyz]”/“Imagine like a [thing]”)

His voice gets higher when he’s startled or panicking

A very vocal thinker, which makes sense because he’s a MC Youtuber, but he also just. Seems to think out loud regardless

Comments a lot on the feel of things (“Oh this feels menacing”/“This looks like it’d mess you up”/“This makes it feel very intimidating”), often with building

Extremely modest. However will celebrate when he does something right in redstone/building (“YES! Oh my days, that took forever”)

Once and a while will have a rare banter moment with people he’s comfortable with (ie teasing and making fun)

Related to above, he gets very giggly when he’s hanging out with people he’s familiar with (Grian and Scar most often, but also Iskall)

Number one exclamation is “What on earth?!”

Joel

Greets people most often with “How you doing [name]?”/“How are ya [name]?”

He’s very northern. He often leaves out words in his sentences bc that’s just the way his dialect is (“What you doin’?” vs “What are you doing?”)

Says his th’s like f’s (“somefing”/“nofing”/“finking”) ((Stress also does this))

His jokes/teasing are very deadpan (“I made you this extra thing, because you’re trash at this”)

Actually gives gifts of resources very often, and always leaves it with a little note and signs his name

His voice gets higher pitched when he’s defensive/being extremely cheeky but other than that his tone rarely changes

This man. Flirts so much. If any other person initiates even the slightest of flirty banter he takes that and dials it to eleven I cannot believe this is a straight married man sometimes

Joel commits to the bit 100% of the time (slightly related to above), unless of course it’s jokes about his height

Makes a point to compliment himself if he gets the chance (words most often used are “handsome” “strong” and “humble”, as well as comments about his muscles and physique)

Insults his enemies diminutively (“look at you down there, tiny idiot”/“You’re wrong and also weak”) ((seen most often in Empires SMP)

His most often used insult is “idiot”

When he’s flustered/frustrated he uses “bloody” a lot (ie “bloody heck” or “this bloody thing” (loves to toe the PG line), also uses “blooming” (“bloomin’ heck”)

Most often used exclamation is also “WHAT?!”

Bdubs

Opens videos very jovially, talks almost like a radio host

Breaks down his builds down to the block, spends a lot of time discussing his block pallet choices and giving tips while he builds

Uses the affirmation “sure enough” a lot, and often addresses himself as “Ol’ Bdubs”

Talks affectionately about other hermits often (“[name], the absolute sweetheart, left me some materials”, “[name], you angel!”)

Adding to above, “angel” or “sweet angel” seems to be his most often used affectionate terms

Switches on a dime, though, if he gets offended (which of course causes others to poke fun at him even more)

Calls mobs “stupid” a lot when they don’t do what he wants (but takes it back if he says it to one of his horses ex. “Come here, stupid—wonderful, I mean, beautiful”)

THIS MAN IS THE #1 HORSE ENJOYER. He gets a horse first thing every season and rides it everywhere, and they’re always a focal point of his theme or builds in some regard

Pauses whatever he’s doing to sleep as soon as it’s possible, and gets very antsy if he can’t do it for some reason (“One moment, time to shreep!”)

Related to above, EVERYONE messes with him if he’s trying to sleep in their presence ie breaking his bed over and over, and he gets increasingly more frustrated when it happens

Rarely is soft spoken or quiet, he projects his voice and uses a lot of emphasis in his tone

Either straight up screams (and peaks the mic 😭) if he’s startled or scared, or yells “oh my GOODNESS!!”

Number one exclamation is “HEY!”

[bunnis-monsters]

Ride a cow save the farm

Various!Male Hybrids x Fem!Cow Hybrid Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 16th

Oct 15

Oct 17

summary: to help your farm stay afloat, you take a few cocks.

warnings: breeding, belly bulge, lactation

a/n: sorry this is short, I’m trying to catch up… maybe I’ll do something more with this concept when I have more time

During the annual fall fest at the farm, locals and tourists alike came to take a look at the attractions.

You could bob for apples, do a hayride, get your face painted, or pay $5 to fuck one of the farmers cow hybrids.

During that time of year, the cow hybrids on his farm were in mating season and weren’t satisfied with just their bulls and cows, and needed an outlet to get their sexual needs met without exhausting the males in the herd.

This was your first year participating, because you had been too young the year before. You could feel your pussy drooling at the thought of being used by various hybrids in need of a quick fuck.

You were led to the middle of the fall fest, allowed to rest your upper half on some hay while a line formed behind you.

First up with a bunny hybrid. He was small, struggling a bit at first to get a hold of your fat hips, but he was able to push his cock in.

Although smaller than you’d like, he moved his hips rapidly and kept hitting the best spots, making you cum quick. He came a lot too, his load sticky and warm inside you.

The next was a wolf hybrid. He was a lot bigger than the friendly livestock dog hybrid that roamed the grounds, and he was a bit rough with you.

He bit at your shoulders and neck, dangling into your ear as he slammed his hips into yours, knotting you while you clenched around him.

The third was a bull from your farm. He’d been eyeing you since you’d become breeding age, and now he had a chance to properly breed you.

He was a bit huffy that he was third in line, but wasted no time pushing in, using the twos previous creampies as lubricant as he rammed his fat cock in.

Feeling it kiss your cervix was… strange and uncomfortable, but this was what your body was made for. Taking the bull’s cock, carrying his cum in your womb and bearing his calf was what you waste meant to do!

Unfortunately, the line was very long. You lost count after the 15th person, and passed out not long after.

When you woke up, your belly was bulging with cum, the farmer counting his money.

“This’ll be enough to keep the farm running another year… good girl.”

He patted your head, then led you back to the barn to rest.

By the next year, you had already birthed a few calves and all you could think of was how much your customers that fall would love that your fat tits could squirt milk now…

And they indeed loved it.

Puppy hybrids and bunnies lapped at each tit while your cunt was stretched out by an eager tiger hybrid. Males from all around the were there to get a chance to breed with you, to make their mark on your womb…

And you just loved it.

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[p4ranormaluv]

INSIDE YOUR MIND — 희승

PAIRING: stalker!heeseung x therapist!reader

GENRE: smut (mdni), angst?

CONTENTS: non-con, f!reader, heeseung rides a motorcycle (brief concept), talk of childhood abuse/ptsd, mentioned past death, house invasion, brief mention of voye.urism, rope restraint, praise?, one pus.sy slap, petnames, very rough treatment/s.ex, oral, finger.ing, mention of blood, hair pulling, threats, choking at the end, creampie, squirt.ing

WC: 4.7k

NOTES: read at your own risk!

COPYRIGHT OF @/P4RANORMALUV. PLAGIARISM NOT TOLERATED.

when heeseung filled out his patient form and you had your first therapy session with him, your first impression of him was ‘boyish’.

he has a charming smile that you’re sure makes most women’s hearts race, but you couldn’t help but notice the melancholy vulnerability in his eyes— or the way he even laughed. but you probably wouldn’t have those thoughts if you hadn’t already read his papers: childhood trauma and neglect, deceased parents (unnatural death), and diagnosed ptsd.

“just write whatever comes to your mind. it doesn’t have to be anything profound.” you said as you handed heeseung a new journal with crisp white pages. “treat it like your best friend, tell it anything you want.”

“uh, okay.” heeseung laughed, a little awkwardly as that adorable smile came across his lips, scratching the back of his neck. “thanks, doctor y/n.”

as your sessions continue to progress, heeseung seems to become more comfortable, even growing an attachment to the journal. you find he’s always carrying it by his side or in his black backpack. likewise, he seems to be growing more fond of you as well.

“i like you…you’re nice.” heeseung whispers suddenly, completely off subject of what you’re talking about.

you blanch in your seat, the leather squeaking beneath you as you adjust your position and stare at him a tad uncomfortably.

your posture is very straight and professional, completely opposite to the man who sits on the small couch across from you, legs spread and body language relaxed as he stares at you.

you have a feeling there's a deeper meaning behind his simplistic words, you just can’t seem to decipher them— even as you take a moment too long to look at heeseung’s expression. the mask he wears over his emotions is much thinner than when he first walked into your office, now sheer like a veil. but still, you just can’t quite identify it. heeseung seems to be a particularly complex patient.

“why do you think i’m nice, heeseung?” you smile, trying to come off as relaxed and casual as he is, to keep him in this malleable state. but really you’re preparing to remember everything he says— so you can write them down in your session notes during a moment when it’s not too obvious. (you try not to make your patients feel like lab rats or some creature you're studying.)

“you’re just…really caring— and kind. like..i can tell you actually give a fuck. you’ve never ignored me or not listened.”

you can’t help but laugh, trying to contain the noise and bite down your smile.

you’re quite literally payed to listen, but it is unfortunately true that there’s many therapists that don’t genuinely listen to their patients. and heeseung isn't wrong, you do genuinely care about him.

“of course i’m not going to ignore you, sweetheart.”

at the pet name, heeseung’s eyes grow wide— and so do yours, the words that just came from your mouth hitting you as you lightly gasp.

“oh, i’m— i’m so sorry, heeseung. it just slipped out.”

heeseung just nods, eyes bambi-like as they remain wider than usual, bottom lip sucked into his mouth as he bites down, continuing to stare at you. it oddly makes you squirm— his eye contact. so you look down at your notebook instead, eventually able to organize your scrambled thoughts enough to actually absorb the notes you’re pretending to stare at.

“do you think perhaps you like women who remind you of your mother?”

“…no,” heeseung all but growls.

you jolt in your seat at the completely foreign tone coming from the man, snapping your head to his direction.

his teeth are clenched firmly, making the contours of his jawline more pronounced. his previously almost doe-like eyes are now hardened and sharp enough to pierce.

it’s sends a chill up your spine— but it’s also…strangely attractive.

you’re surprised at your own thought, disturbed by it as you push it to the back of your mind.

“i hate anyone who reminds me of her.” he adds darkly.

“…alright.” you respond quietly, heeseung’s hawk-like eyes now watching how you quickly scribble something in your notebook. “maybe now’s not the time to touch on that. what else do you like?”

“oh, um….” heeseung hesitates, the question clearly catching him off guard. “music, movies, video games, motorcycles—“

“motorcycles?” you ask, a clear spark of curiosity in your tone that heeseung doesn’t miss. “i’ve always wanted one.”

“yeah! it’s a yamaha r6. i got interested in motorcycles as a kid, used to fix old ones up with my dad.”

‘avoids grieving parents death with anger?’ you quickly jot down. ‘but holds onto the past of his childhood as a way to feel connected to parents?’

the fast drawl of your pen echos in the otherwise quiet room, heeseung watching your smooth legs move from crossed to uncrossed in your pencil skirt.

“that sounds amazing, heeseung! what about movies, what genres are you interested in?”

“oh, mostly horror…slashers. that kind of stuff.”

“anything else?” you ask easily, though you take mental note of the things he’s listed with minor alarm. of course it’s not wrong or an automatic concern if someone is interested in these things, but in your line of work you can’t overlook anything.

“…disney.” he answers, his somewhat thoughtful yet blank expression shifting into that charming grin. “dramas sometimes.”

“what was your taste in movies as a child?”

“the same.” he answers easily. “my parents didn’t really care what i did. if they were watching something r rated and i walked in they wouldn’t turn it off. they wouldn’t even tell me to get out of the room.”

“how did that affect you?”

heeseung’s face falls. it’s minutely, but you certainly don’t miss it. you’ve figured out that heeseung often pulls this expression when talking about his childhood, the things that haunt him still. but he hasn’t admitted that yet— even to himself you think. and it’s too soon to push right now, so you choose not to point it out.

“i knew about everything…by 9 years old i knew all about sex, drugs, murder…everything.”

somewhere along your conversation heeseung’s eyes have turned black, pupils staring so still at you that they almost look dead. and the longer they stay on you, the stronger an air of fear brushes coldly up your spine— like you should be afraid.

you don’t know why. heeseung has never shown any signs of violence or anger issues, nor is that listed in his patient form. it must be the anxiety that simply comes with the job of being a therapist. that’s what you tell yourself as you feel the paranoia ghost its hands across your shoulders as you sink into the unknown behind heeseung’s eyes, succumbing to your morbid curiosity of what awful memories he must have to turn his honey brown orbs black with emotion, or lack of.

and just like that— like the owner has just returned home and turned back on the lights, heeseung’s eyes get that sparkle in them again as he smiles, voice deep yet pleasant as he speaks.

“i don’t think it’s affected me though.”

ㅤㅤ──────────────────────

rain drums against the roof of the clinic, fluorescent lights above you beaming even brighter as darkness has fallen outside.

you glance at the time on your watch, seeing that it’s nearing 8:30.

you chose to stay late to try and organize your messy desk and patient files, which are becoming an inconvenience with how poorly you previously organized them. you’ve made some good progress, but even though you’re not finished, you gather your things and slip back on your heels to exit the building. the rain is pouring down much harder than you thought when you step outside, immediately scurrying back underneath the protection of the clinic’s overhanging roof to shield yourself from getting completely drenched.

you let out a frustrated sigh as you look out into the darkness, a few dim, flickering street lamps your only source light.

you’re about to pull out your phone and call a cab when you hear the growl of a motorcycle, it’s crescent shaped headlights appearing in front of you a moment later.

the man gets off and leans against the bike, removing his helmet and combing his fingers through his tousled hair.

it’s too dark to see, but when he turns his face at a certain angle, the street lights hitting his features just right, you’re able to recognize him.

“heeseung?” you call out amidst the pounding rain, a rumble of thunder almost punctuating his name after you say it.

heeseung glances at you before quickly jogging over, leaving his bike parked on the street as he joins you beneath the roof’s shelter.

“hey, y/n! what are you doing here so late?”

“i stayed overtime.” you explain, voice still a little raised so he can hear you over the heavy downpour. “what are you doing here?”

confusion is laced in your tone, wondering why heeseung would stop right in front of the clinic when he wasn’t even scheduled to see you today— much less after hours.

heeseung smirks, wordlessly pointing to the convenience store across the street.

“oh,” you blush, embarrassed at how you stupidly assumed he was here for you.

“late night drive. i was gonna grab some snacks. but now that i’m here, let me drive you home.”

“w— what? no! i…i can call a cab.”

“it’s late, y/n. it’s not safe getting a ride by yourself at this time of night.” heeseung argues, and you do agree. you usually don’t take cabs when it’s dark and no one else is with you. but…

“it’s unprofessional…” you confess hesitantly. “you're my patient.”

heeseung somewhat cocky expression doesn’t change, eyes making you feel small in a disturbingly good way as he looks down at you. he must be able to sense your lack of conviction, because he’s taking off his backpack to remove his leather jacket and guide your arms through the large arm holes. it rests against you heavily, way too big for your frame, but it makes you feel a little warmer as it shields you from the rain.

“come on, y/n.” he says with finality after asking you to put on his backpack as well, so you can ride on the back of his motorcycle properly.

you squeak when he suddenly lifts you up like you weigh nothing and sits you on the seat, heeseung chuckling at the sound. your cheeks only burn more.

heeseung puts on his helmet before getting on the bike himself, turning to look back at you.

“hold on tight, okay? don’t let go.” he orders, grabbing your hands to wrap them around his torso and pulling you flush against him.

you try to ignore the fluttering you feel in places you definitely shouldn’t be feeling them as your chest presses into his strong, broad back. the thrum of his motorcycle comes to life, vibrations making your thighs clench and your arms tighten around his lithe waist. you only hope you can keep yourself together for the whole ride, and that the heavy rain is enough to cover up the view of the clinic’s security cameras as heeseung drives the two of you off into the night.

ㅤㅤ──────────────────────

when heeseung brings you home you’re rushing to get off, your very inappropriate feelings only growing during the ride— and seeing him on his motorcycle in leather gloves and a helmet doesn’t help at all. especially with how hotly he puts back on his jacket that you hastily return to him, along with his backpack.

you give him a very quick thank you, wishing him a good night before running into your house and hoping he just thinks you're in a hurry to get out of the rain.

you’re ashamed, mentally scolding yourself as you try not to slip and fall in your heels. heeseung is completely innocent in this situation, it’s you who’s the problem. you’re the one getting all hot and bothered when he was just trying to be a decent guy and give you a ride home. he can’t help if he’s hot and attractive and the growl of his motorcycle made the heartbeat between your legs worse.

god, are you that desperate? you must really need to get out of the house more and get laid.

shutting the front door behind you, you toe off your slippery wet heels, leaving them messily by the door before going to your bedroom to take off your drenched clothes and change into more comfortable attire.

you simply put on some underwear and a baby tee, nothing underneath, before going downstairs to make yourself something to eat. your plan for the night is to have dinner, maybe…relieve yourself— and then go to sleep.

the slightly obnoxious yellow tint of your motion sensor light at your front door remains on, shining through the door’s window and casting the entryway in an unpleasant glow. so you walk over and flip the switch off.

“oh…” you whisper, accidentally putting yourself in complete darkness as you realize you didn’t turn on any lights in your hurry to take off your wet clothes from earlier.

blindly sliding your hands across the wall, you try to find the light switch for your kitchen when you trip over something, sending you to fall on the hardwood floor.

“fuck, what the hell?” you say to yourself, annoyed as you try to untangle your foot from whatever you can feel wrapped around it. you have a thought to pull out your phone and use the flashlight, but you left your phone upstairs. you guess that’s what happens when you don’t wear pants and thus curse yourself to have no pockets.

it’s a struggle when you can’t see, but you eventually free yourself and stand up, taking careful steps forward until you meet another wall. your hands finally brush over a light switch and you flip it on, your kitchen illuminating a second later.

…it’s a black backpack.

you almost don’t spot it as it sits in the shadows, but as you step closer, you’re sure now. what you tripped over looks just like heeseung’s backpack, its contents spilling out from the inside thanks to you tripping over it and getting the strap wrapped around your foot.

any doubt of the bag actually belonging to the man vanishes when you see the notebook sitting atop all the rest of the clutter, its cream cover slightly browned and scuffed— probably due to him carrying it wherever he goes.

your brows furrow in confusion as you crouch to your knees. you could have sworn you took off the backpack and handed it to heeseung, but in your hurry to escape you must have forgotten to?

moving to pick up the random items that are scattered on the floor and put it back inside the bag (a package of gum, a couple pens, a pocket knife), the notebook is jostled and slides across the floor, its pages falling open.

you move to grab it, still on your knees as you loom above the notebook. you really do try not to look at the words on the paper— but it’s filled with them, every page packed with as many as heeseung could fit on the page. you’re unable to look away.

what’s written…isn’t what you were expecting— or, you don’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. page after page of diary logs, dated with the time, all describing…watching someone. what starts out as cute sentiments turn more predatory and carnal as the days go by.

your heart stops when you get to the most recent entry.

its labeled with today's date.

‘you’re always so coy, doctor. sometimes i think i know exactly what you’re thinking, and then you react in a way i don’t expect.

it’s driving me a little crazy wondering what’s going on in your head. it makes me want to crack it open...god, see what you do to me, baby? you’re making me sick in the head. it’s all your fault.

but i don’t want to stop. i want to keep going. i want to hear you beg for more until you’re begging me to stop.

i have a feeling you’ll like it.’

you jump at how hard you slam the journal shut, goosebumps all over your flesh as heat encompasses your face. but it’s not from arousal— it’s fear.

your mind flashes memories too fast for you to keep up with. all your sessions, all those little moments you thought were your own misunderstandings— were they premeditated? did he plan this all along?

wait— when heeseung picked you up….you didn’t even tell him your address. you were so distracted that you didn’t even think to tell him where you live.

and he didn’t need it. he drove you right to your house immediately, like he’s drove that route a hundred times…

you feel the sudden urge to throw up but you suppress it, getting up from the floor to run upstairs and get your phone—

but you run right into the hard chest of someone instead, their strong arms wrapping around your body tightly. you’re horrified, because even without looking you know exactly who it is.

“heeseung?”

“aw, don’t cry, baby. surely you knew this was coming?” heeseung coos, the comforting quality he tries to portray in his voice only making you feel like you’re going to gag. his thumb brushes over your cheek, attempting to wipe a tear away, but they only continue to roll down more rapidly at his touch.

walking you backwards, heeseung shuffles the two of you over to his backpack that still lays sprawled out on the floor.

grabbing your wrists, he turns you around and joins them together behind your back. you turn your head, watching as he bends down and pulls out the pocket knife you noticed earlier. then he reaches in deeper, rustling around until he pulls out a small coil of rope that you evidently missed.

you don’t even try to hold down the sob that rips out of your mouth, almost beginning to hyperventilate as you struggle to accept that this is happening to you and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“heeseung, please.” you cry, looking up at him despite your vision blurred by tears. “you don’t have to do this.”

“it’s just a precaution, y/n.” the man reasons easily, and you can tell by his assured voice that he doesn’t see how incredibly horrible this is— demented. he’s about to commit a tragedy to you, and he doesn’t even get it.

“besides.” he whispers against the back of your neck as he ties the rope around your wrists, tight enough to chafe. “i’ve seen the stuff you watch. i know you like being tied up.”

your throat quivers, brain too much of a mess to even process that he’s just confessed to secretly watching you look at porn and masturbating at some point. shaking your head desperately, your eyes squeeze shut in anguish as pleading words tumble out of your mouth. “no, no. not like this— not like this, heeseung. please!”

“be quiet,” he warns between gritted teeth, leaning over you to make sure you see his face. “drop the act, y/n.”

you hear the click of his pocket knife opening, heeseung raising the blade to cut the excess rope off from the tight knot he’s made. once he’s finished he pushes you by your restraint to the kitchen table, roughly pressing you over it. you suddenly wish you had chosen to wear pants, at least then it would take him a bit longer to expose you.

the sound of ripping fabric and your whimpered cries are the only thing that’s heard as heeseung cuts your t-shirt right down the middle, yanking the article off of you.

you don’t move— other than your uncontrollable trembling as you stay bent over the table, too scared and weak from emotions to try and run away.

heeseung is taking off his pants— you recognize the unmistakable sound of his zipper being pulled down, but you can’t bear to look. you keep your cheek pressed to the cold wood of the table, eyes staring unfocused at nothing.

“be the good girl i know you are, baby.” heeseung says, arousal evident in his tone. “i bet you're soaking your little panties, hm?”

you feel his fingers press firmly against your clothed clit, rubbing up and down just slightly too hard. you whimper, attempting to get rid of his touch by squeezing your legs shut. it’s futile of course, and only proves to anger heeseung. he growls and pries your legs open with his strong hands, slapping your pussy hard enough that it has you letting out a yelped scream.

“i don’t want to, y/n, but if i have to hurt you i will.”

heeseung gets on his knees to be eye level with your cunt, leaning forward and ghosting his teeth over your thinly covered lips. your breath comes out trembled and the man groans. you’re not sure if the action is a threat or a promise, but you really don’t want to find out.

a slow stripe is abruptly being licked up your pussy, catching you off guard as you start to close your legs again on instinct— but luckily you stop yourself in time before you piss off heeseung even more.

you decide in this moment you need to actually listen to at least a part of heeseung’s words— be a good girl, then maybe you can manage to make it out of this.

heeseung’s wet mouth is suctioned to your clothed cunt, sucking and drooling all over you as he teases himself with the faint taste of your slick that you can’t control is becoming more apparent. heeseung’s eager tongue and shameless mouth work on your clit, nose nudging at your entrance as he moans and sighs his hot breath all over your pussy.

finally he’s pulling off your panties with his teeth, groaning when he’s blessed with the sight or your glistening cunt.

“shit. such a perfect pussy.” he marvels, running two fingers between your lips, causing you to flinch and squirm against the rope. you clench your jaw until it aches, wanting so badly to beg him to stop, but you’re too afraid to, not when his sharp teeth are so close to the most sensitive part of your body. heeseung takes his now thoroughly slicked up fingers to circle them around your hole, leaning down to take your cunt in his mouth.

his drawn out, guttural groan has you clenching as shame burns your face, a whimper releasing from your mouth as heeseung starts to suckle at your clit and prod you with his tongue. one finger dips just the fingertip inside you before removing it to massage over your entrance again, applying a bit more pressure.

your body starts to react in ways you can’t control and you pray heeseung doesn’t notice, but you’re pretty sure he does— because when you feel your hole clench again he’s moaning out, sucking and licking your pussy with more vigor as he pushes his entire finger inside your entrance.

your moan comes out forcefully as you try your best to swallow it down, sounding almost pained as heeseung starts moving his finger inside of you.

“fuck, you’re so warm inside, sweetheart.” heeseung mutters, attaching right back onto your pussy after.

his second finger is shoved inside way too suddenly, turning harsh as his appendages fuck in and out of you in a way that makes it feel like you’re going to bruise from the inside.

“ah— ow, heeseung. please.” you beg, face pinching in pain. “it hurts.”

“you’re mine to explore, baby. wanna touch all of you. just bare it.”

tears spring in your eyes at his callous, selfish words. heeseung continues his merciless treatment before disconnecting from your cunt to watch how your hole takes him.

he spits on it, making you simmer in humiliation before cold panic washes over your body as you feel a third finger prodding the outside of your entrance.

“no, no. hee— heeseungie, can’t.”

“shhh, don’t worry, baby. just need to stretch you out for my cock, yeah? that’ll be the good part for you, me fucking this tight little pussy.”

three fingers now delve in and out of your hole, and to make it all worse, heeseung is curving his fingers just right— making you feel confused from the mix of pain and pleasure as you feel your pussy drip against your will.

heeseung laughs, seeming to have caught sight of it. “i knew you had to be a whore. who else would wear such tight, short skirts to work?”

you sob as you feel yourself clench around his fingers, thick and burning as they stretch out your ring.

“just walking around with a nasty little cunt that’s dying to be split open, huh? don’t worry, baby. i know what you want. i’ll give it to you real good.”

all too quickly for your brain to wrap around, heeseung pulls his fingers out and your pussy is being stuffed to the absolute brim with his fat cock. the length and girth is way too much— way more than you could have ever imagined.

you cry out like a wild animal as heeseung starts pounding into your pussy mercilessly, forcing you to take it. you’re pretty sure your wrists are going to start bleeding with how much you pull against the rope, but that’s the least of your concerns.

“oh fuck, hee— heeseung!”

it takes you a moment to realize that’s your voice, your cries sounding more like sounds of…arousal.

and you start to question yourself, why do you sound so turned on, like a porn star getting dicked down— when you feel so scared?

“shit— disgusting slut. such a dirty pussy. you deserve to get fucked until you’re raw and ruined.”

you moan. you’re sure you hear it. and it only makes heeseung go rougher, balls slapping against your wet skin that your juices run down from. the zipper and button of heeseungs pants that aren’t even fully pulled down bruise into your skin with every unforgiving thrust, the man literally not holding an ounce of his power back as he fucks you as hard as he can.

his fat cock forces you to submit, for your cunt to take all of it.

your body starts to convulse in the overwhelming sensations of pleasure and fear, your moans starting to crack from your overused throat.

“fuck— fuck!”

“i could get you fired.” heeseung grits between bared teeth, hands squeezing into the flesh of your hips, wanting to leave a bruise behind each finger. “i could tell them that you tried to come onto me during an appointment, that you coerced me. they’d probably get rid of you just for the accusation alone.”

heeseung wraps an aggressive hand around your throat, squeezing and cutting off your airway as his other hand yanks mercilessly at your hair, lifting your head off the table.

“so be a good slut and let me fuck and abuse this pussy whenever i want, yeah?”

your mouth stretches open, an almost silent rasp the only thing coming out from your lack of oxygen as your eyes roll back and you're squirting all over his fat cock.

you feel like you’re dying and exiting your body, the white of your eyes surely showing as you feel pain in the back of your head. fluids rush down your legs and heeseung’s pelvis as his hot load taints the inside of your walls forever.

“we’re not so different, yeah?” heeseung sounds totally unhinged, voice cracked and breathy. “you like to look inside people's minds, y/n. and i want to be inside your guts.”

heeseung finally releases your hair and neck, but his cock never stops impaling your cunt over and over, his over production of cum leaking out of your reddened hole to drip onto the floor, joining the rest of your fluids. you choke around your spit, desperately trying to get just a single breath of air. you have a horrible, dark, heavy pit inside your stomach— one that makes you feel like you’ll be stuck here forever. with heeseung’s cock buried deep inside your assaulted womb.

NOTE: this a nod to ‘inside your mind’ by the 1975, btw. honestly i really hate this…but oh well, at least i persevered?? first and last time writing straight up non-con tho lol.

[ozzgin]

The wonderful wizard Ozz. I have had this concept stuck in my head like a worm!

Could you imagine a Darling escaping from their Yan, not to run but just to feel the rain on their skin? I've been consuming this prompt like a heroin addict and I can't seem to get enough!

If I were to expand your prompt, I quite like the idea of a Yandere that can't really go full yandere because Reader is just too willing. He loves yandere content and can very much relate, but none of the escalations can happen if, well, the object of his obsessive affection doesn't protest in the first place. Is it too far fetched from what you'd imagined? Let me elaborate:

Yandere! Male x Willing! Reader

AKA: When you want to be a Yandere, but your Darling unfortunately cooperates.

The Yandere has been stalking Darling for months. Journal entries, walls plastered with photos (and the occasional creepshots), recordings. He just can't get enough of his Darling. He loves everything about you and can barely function throughout the day, fantasizing about your life together.

Enough is enough and he finally decides to make you his. He's been consuming media of similar tropes, with obsessed men pleading for a chance and having to force their way in because of rejection and fear. He's prepared for everything. Your tears, your trembling voice, your hands pushing him away. He finds you, approaches you and confesses his feelings, knuckles white as he grips his fists in anticipation. Your eyes widen for a moment, before narrowing in a smile. "I had no idea! Sure, I'll go out with you." Huh? Wait. This wasn't...this wasn't in the plan. Somehow he'd been certain you'd refuse. He must've mumbled the last part out loud, because you respond with "Why would I say no?"

A very good point indeed. You will change your mind, however, once you learn the extent of his love. You're holding his hand and following along as he takes you to his place, completely and utterly unaware of what you're about to witness. He can't truly be your boyfriend if he has to hide his very nature, after all. You might be disgusted, frightened, offended. He can already hear your screams, demanding explanations. It's all out of love. "It's okay if you don't understand", he mumbles to himself, watching your frozen body as you gaze into his room. You take a couple of steps towards the nearest wall, tracing the hundreds of images with your fingers. "Wow. You never mentioned being into photography", you remark, impressed. "It's like an exhibition! But...you might have to work on your angles", you blurt out, a little embarrassed, pointing to one of the creepshots. "This isn't very flattering. Did you take it in a hurry? It makes my legs look disproportionate." He can only stare, taken aback. "S-sorry" is all he manages.

Okay, but don't imagine your life will continue as usual. You've only seen a glimpse of his adoration. Now that you're officially dating, he cannot allow anyone else to have access to you. You have to understand, he cannot protect you properly if you're not under his watch all the time. As much as he cherishes you, he will have to be rough if needed. That's what he tells himself as he shoves the required tools in the trunk of his car, speeding towards your apartment. Once there, he fidgets on the sofa, considering his speech. You seem to be just as uneasy - perhaps you're predicting what's to come? - casting your eyes down and giving short answers. "I think you should move in with me." He states solemnly. You gasp and throw a hand over your mouth, and tears quickly well in the corner of your eyes. "How did you...how did you know?" You say between sobs. Huh? "I didn't want to burden you with my problems, seeing as we just started dating...but my landlord won't renew the lease. I was so scared I'd be homeless."

He clicks his tongue. This isn't very yandere, more like the average couple experience. You bring the final moving box to his car, fitting it in the trunk. "By the way, what's with all the rope?" you ask. "Just move it aside", he sighs. How can he explain it? He's been training, sweating and bleeding for a marathon and right before the whistle, they handed him the first prize. His muscles are aching for the sprint that never happened. Of course he's grateful to have you at last, but somehow he feels like he hasn't proven his dedication properly. You just don't get it, do you? How sickening his love is for you.

As the days pass, he eases into his role of...how does one even call it? Pseudo-captor? When you found his journal, you blushed and confessed how no one before him put this amount of effort into knowing you. All the male contacts from your phone vanishing? It was about time you cleaned up your acquaintances and it was nice of him to help. The AirTags he's hidden in your bags and pockets? You appreciate his safety concerns. Nowadays, with all these perverts freely walking the streets, you can never be too sure.

One morning he wakes up to an empty bed. He jolts up, dazed. Could it be his wish was finally granted? You must've gotten tired of him and tried to escape. Oh, silly little Darling love. You should've known there's no more walking out once you said yes. He checks his phone and pounces out, ready for the hunt. As he sprints along the street, he finds you suspiciously close to his home. Not very smart of you to...what are you even doing? Your hands are raised up, fingers fanned out under the pouring rain. You notice his presence and turn to face him with a wide, childish grin. "I haven't done this since I was a child. When was the last time you felt the rain on your skin?" Only now it occurs to him he's been running in this downpour and his clothes are soaked. He was too focused on finding you.

"I thought you escaped", he almost whispers. "Escape? From what?" You tilt your head in confusion. He places his cold, large hands over your cheeks. "Do you comprehend I'm very much obsessed with you? I'm not joking around. You're never, ever leaving me. You're stuck here forever. I mean it. I really do. I'd rather kill you with my own hands than let you go. Because I love you." You take a moment to admire the intricate patterns of his irises, pupils dilated in a spiraling madness. By the end of his erratic oration, he's panting and digging his nails into your skin.

"I know."