#they deserve to kill him i kill him i think

[midnite-c6]

thanos and namgyu putting your bed in between theirs 🙏🙏 even if you chose to stop playing the game they are still making you go to the circle side to sleep and perhaps that night they could change your mind about the next time you vote..

this trope is js the best fr in another life im an X picker and these two teach me to b obedient to their requests💔

thanos & nam-gyu imagine !!!!!! pt. 3 💓

this is pretty dark guys sorr✌🏻

soooo, they're literally like dogs tryna chase you, even to as forcing you to be next to them : "shitheads, no matter what, i'm still gonna pick X. i'm not gonna be easily convinced." you tell them firsthand, and they both laugh to themselves

"she obviously won't listen to us, you think her stupid brain could handle it?" nam-gyu complained to thanos, annoyed by how thanos was so persistent in making you switch sides. you scoff since he wasn't so quiet in saying that either, "hey, fuck you, you think I'M stupid enough to play again? don't wanna die than-" "shut up, cunt." nam-gyu cuts you off, placing his hand on your mouth to shut you up, the cold metal of his ring grazing your warm skin. your instant reaction was to bite him, "agh- i'll fucking kill y-" "calm down! everybody chiiiillllll." thanos, like a saviour, stopped nam-gyu from hitting you. "i'm sure we can all have a fair agreement, everybody gets what they want. right, pretty?" thanos turned to look at you, pushing his face awfully close to yours. "and what i want iss.... you." he stares directly into your eyes, that creepy smirk with eyes you KNOW isn't sober at all.

"you could scream and cry all you want, but you know noone in this room would be bothered to help you, girl." nam-gyu whispers into your ears whilst thanos carries you to the bathroom..

nsfw beloww ＼⁠(⁠^⁠o⁠^⁠)⁠／ ->

you were now naked, your sweaty body laying on the filthy bathroom floor, noone could hear your cries for help when nam-gyu's cock forces you to deepthroat him, his hand pulling on your hair to further be balls-deep inside your mouth.. you'd choke on him, saliva dripping all over his dick and your chin. you couldn't scream... and you couldn't fight it either, if it weren't for thanos' stupid, rough hands wrapped around your arms, pinning them to the ground, your legs placed on his shoulders as his tongue laps up and down your folds.. you try your best to wiggle away (even tho its impossible) and thanos notices, "don't even.. don't even try to pretend, baby." you could feel him smile against your pussy, that sensation leaving you to moan against nam-gyu's cock. "been trying to suck in all your juices, pretty, and.. they just keep comin' out..." thanos mocks in a baby voice, "you're dripping... so you're actually a slut...a whore, huuhhh, not that cool, confident typa girl?" you cry, but.. why did you like the sensation? his warm tongue in and out of your cunt. at this point, the ecstacy that was in his mouth was getting your pussy high. "m'not into whores like you," thanos frowns and slides his' tongue up against your clit, biting it harshly, which made you yelp in pain, causing you to lightly bite nam-gyu's dick. he hissed, roughly slapping your face. "bitch!" he pulls your hair to face you, "do that one more fucking time and i'll speeden up your death, fuck." thanos' fingers came on cue, middle and ring finger plunging inside you, making you speechless, mouth open to nam-gyu's comment. he just takes it as an invitation to stuff your mouth again, leaving a low groan at the action.

"y'know dude,," thanos looks up at nam-gyu, "maybe we should keep her, after we win." nam-gyu scoffed, flicking your forehead, "you think you deserve to live, huh?" thanos chuckled, rubbing his fingers against your clit, he doesn't care if it felt good, you were just a toy afterall, "think about it.. she feels good, right? she'll be good for in the long run, trust me, man." "pft." "trust me! her cunts still tight, anyway, right princessssss?" your visions blurry, your will to live gone, still, atleast you're useful to someone or two, two of the most evilest dumbasses you'll ever encounter in your life.

[quimichi]

≡;- ꒰ ° Sick fuck... ꒱

TW: NSFW - MDNI, name calling, slight cnc, yeah thats it???

character: Nam-gyu x F!Reader

summary: You pressed 'x' now you'll face the consequences of your actions

word count: 4.724

a/n: look, for some reason, he was my fav, idk why, idk how, its how it is ok???? I can't take myself seriously lol. I rarely write smut, I'm probably HORRIBLE at it, but we need the content for him ok??

Nam-gyu dragged you into the female bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him. You try to free yourself from his grasp, but there's no use. "Hey-! HEY-!! For fucks sake guards-! If you don't do shit, why are you even here-!" you keep yelling as he struggles to shove you into a stall.

He shoved you against the cold wall of the stall, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand. Leaning in close, his black eyes flashed with anger and lust as he growled, "Listen up, you little cock-tease. Next time we vote, yeah? You'll press 'O", understood?" His other hand groped and squeezed your breast roughly through your shirt. "Mmm, but maybe this is what you wanted all along, huh? To get me all worked up and desperate for your tight little body?"

He crashed his lips against yours in a brutal, kiss, biting and sucking on your bottom lip hard enough to make it throb. "Strip," he commanded coldly, releasing your wrists only to start tearing your clothes off yourself. "Now! Before I rip them off and fuck you on this filthy floor." With one quick motion, you slap him across his face. "Fuck you-! I don't even fuckinh know you, so what do you want from me?! I pressed 'X', and?! We keep playing the fucking game anyway!" you shout at him. Nam-gyus eyes flashed with rage as you slapped him hard across the face. The sharp sting of your palm against his cheek made him see red. He grabbed your wrist in a vice-like grip, twisting your arm behind your back and shoving you face-first against the grimy bathroom wall. His body pressed firmly against yours, pinning you in place as he leaned down to growl menacingly in your ear.

"Listen here, you fucking slut," he snarled, his hot breath tickling your neck. "I know for a damn fact the longer we play, the more people wanna press fucking 'x'. And I wanna keep going, so after the next round, the next vote, you'll press 'o'. If you don't, I'll make sure I kill you, and not a fucking game." His rough hands immediately found their way to your tits, groping and kneading the soft flesh harshly as he grinded his hardening bulge against your ass.

"I'll fucking ruin you," Nam-gyu hissed venomously, giving your nipple a sharp twist through the thin lace of your bra. "Scream for help and see if anyone gives a shit. They all probably jerk off to ya. Now, are you going to be a good girl and do as you're told, or do I need to get rougher?" "No-!" you stutter out, "you got your point across-!" You're 90% sure you'll die in the games anyway, after seeing the first you knew you wouldn't survive. Better play along now, than suffer even further with whatever he has planned. If you're lucky, he just did all that to scare you off...at least you hoped so. Playing tough wasn't so easy....

Nam-gyus grip on your wrist loosened slightly as he sensed your submission. He kept you pinned against the wall, his hips still pressed firmly to yours as he leaned in close, his voice a low, threatening rumble.

"Damn right I got my point across, baby," he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. "As a reward, we're keeping you save next game, hm? How's that sound?" He slid a hand down to your ass, squeezing the flesh roughly as he grinded his now fully erect cock against your backside. "Now, since you've been a bad girl, I think you deserve to be punished. Lucky you! You'll get both, a reward and a punishment. Aren't I nice?"

Nam-guys other hand slid under the hem of your pants, pulling them down. "Cute, did you know this was my favorite color on you, hm?" he teased, hot breath tickling your ear as he rubbed your clit through the fabric of your panties.

"Sick fuck..." you mumble, more to yourself than for him to actually hear it. Nam-gyu smirked cruelly as he heard your mumbled insult, clearly amused by your feeble attempt at defiance. "Yeah, I'm a sick fuck, but I'm YOUR sick fuck," he taunted, punctuating his words by shoving two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your dripping cunt.

"But you aren't a healthy minded bitch either, look at how wet you are." he chuckled darkly. He pumped his fingers in and out of you roughly, curling them to rub your walls with each thrust. You try to swallow down moans and gasps, but you can't. It feels too good and for some reason...you even enjoy it. He quickly turned you around, shoving your back against the wall. His thumb found your clit and rubbed the sensitive nub hard, making your legs tremble and your pussy clench around his digits.

"Listen to this desperate cunt sucking on my fingers like they're my cock," Nam-gyu laughed mockingly. "You can't get enough, can you? Don't worry, I'm going to give this pussy exactly what it needs."

Having fun never hurt anyone, right? After all, you're a sick fuck too...

[rose24207]

Just a salesman pt.2

Summary: Your perfect world shatters when a furious stranger bursts into your home, accusing your loving, devoted husband of being a monster responsible for countless deaths.

Genre: angst, dark

TW: mention of death, little gaslighting, reader is a little twisted about the situation, the games in general

A/N: Wow I didn’t expect for pt. 1 to blow up like that and for so many requests about a second part. But here we go! I take requests about squid game btw. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Pt.1

Masterlist

The room fell into an unbearable silence as you stood there, trembling, your tears streaking your face. Gi-hun’s words echoed in your ears like a bell you couldn’t unring. Your husband, your safe harbor, was a killer. A manipulative, calculating man who had built a world of lies around you.

And yet...

As much as your heart screamed in betrayal, it also whispered something darker. A small, insidious part of you—a part you didn’t even recognize—wanted to protect him. Wanted to believe that somehow, some way, this could still make sense.

“Leave,” your husband said, his voice low and commanding. It wasn’t directed at you, but at Gi-hun.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gi-hun spat. “She deserves to know the full truth.”

“I said, leave.” Your husband’s tone grew colder, sharper. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand flexed at his side as though itching to act.

Gi-hun took a step forward, his jaw set. “You think you can scare me? After everything I’ve been through because of you? I’m not afraid of you anymore. I’m not—”

“Stop,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Both men turned to look at you, surprised. You wiped your face, straightened your back, and forced yourself to meet Gi-hun’s eyes. “Please. Just… go.”

“What?” he said, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“I need to talk to him,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered. “Alone.”

“You can’t trust him,” Gi-hun argued, gesturing toward your husband. “He’s a monster. He’ll manipulate you, just like he’s done to everyone else.”

You shook your head. “I don’t care what you think. This is my marriage. My life. And right now, you’re not helping.”

Your words were harsh, but your heart felt like it was being ripped apart. Gi-hun looked at you, his face contorted with disbelief, before letting out a bitter laugh.

“Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up. “Do what you want. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shot your husband one last glare before storming out, slamming the door behind him.

Silence settled over the room once more. Your husband stood there, watching you cautiously, as though waiting for you to lash out or collapse. But you did neither. Instead, you walked to the table, picking up the strange card Gi-hun had left. You turned it over in your hands, the cryptic design doing little to ease your growing unease.

“Is it true?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “What he said about the games? About you?”

Your husband hesitated, his jaw tightening. Then, to your surprise, he nodded. “Yes.”

The word hit you like a physical blow, but you didn’t falter. You set the card down and looked at him, your tears drying as a strange calm settled over you. “Why?”

“For you,” he said simply, stepping closer. “For us.”

“That’s not an answer,” you said, your voice cold. “Why would you do something so… horrific? Why would you—”

“Because it’s the only world I know,” he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “And it’s the only way I could give you the life you deserve. Don’t you see? Everything I’ve done has been for you.”

“For me?” you repeated, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and something darker. “You think I wanted this? That I’d ever want you to hurt people—kill people—for me?”

He stepped closer still, his eyes locking onto yours. “You don’t understand,” he said softly. “The world isn’t kind to people like us. I’ve seen what happens to people who don’t take control, who don’t make the hard choices. I made those choices so you wouldn’t have to.”

You stared at him, your mind spinning. Every instinct told you to run, to call the police, to do anything but stand there and listen to him. And yet… you didn’t move.

“Do you love me?” you asked suddenly, your voice raw.

His expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the man you’d fallen in love with. “More than anything,” he said. “You’re the only good thing in my life.”

Something inside you twisted at his words, at the sincerity in his voice. He was a monster, yes—but he was your monster. The thought made your stomach churn, but it also filled you with a strange, horrifying sense of power. He had done terrible things, but he had done them for you.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can ever look at you the same way.”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said quietly. “But I need you to understand that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. To keep you with me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you took a shaky breath. “You’re going to tell me everything,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the chaos inside you. “No more lies. No more secrets. If you want me to stay, I need to know exactly who you are.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by something darker. He nodded. “I’ll tell you everything.”

As he began to speak, unraveling the web of lies and horrors he’d kept hidden, you felt yourself sinking deeper into a world you didn’t understand—a world you weren’t sure you wanted to understand. But one thing was certain: you weren’t ready to let go. Not yet.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @blueyesuguru, @annimoony, @jasmineee05, @astrophe0, @riri53

[noxcheshire]

I think it might be just the way we may interpret it?

For me I kinda saw the suitors referring to Odysseus as the “old king” was because they didn’t care enough to believe Odysseus capable aside from being a still living obstacle for the throne.

That they believed that being younger than this king that had been gone for over 20 years, all by himself — worn, torn, thinner, like a beggar — couldn’t possibly be able to fight against able-bodied youths.

Certainly they may have heard his stories, but surely stories, as all things are, can be embellished! He’s just an old man now.

The suitors in that sense gave reference to them seeing Odysseus not as the current king, but as a king to kill, and take from as they deserved.

It’s also why I thought Odysseus refusing to give a semblance of mercy — not only due to the plot to kill his son and hurt his wife — was because he knew they would still seek to dethrone him. And if that is the case then why not make an example of all these suitors that Odysseus is everything the stories told and more.

As for the short references of Odysseus being a cunning man, smartest king, etc., I think that may also be a reference of again, them not taking his story seriously. They heard of it, they know of it, but hadn’t cared enough about it, because if the King were truly capable of such things then why hadn’t he returned? Why is this man capable of fighting monsters and gods, not home? This man who has aged through the years of his tales, nothing more now than hopeful stories for a kingdom that still ached for a king that will never come back.

The suitors all call Odysseus "old King" like ??? Do they not know his name or who he is? Did they just see a posting "Looking for new king of Ithaca against Queen's will, dw about who you're replacing" and a bunch of dudebros just went hell yeah lets go?

The only time some of them seem to have any knowledge of the old kings personality is when one guy is like "this guy cunning" and another goes "smartest king around tbf" and that is IT. Saying "he's more cunning than I thought" about the guy who's basically responsible for bringing down Troy is CRAZY. Which leads me to believe that that guy doesn't actually know that this is THE Odysseus. which, again, CRAZY.

[everwalldigan]

Once the idea of Damian becoming a doctor was planted in my head I CANNOT let go of it like it’s all I’ve been thinking about.

All I can see is Damian all grown up into his 6 foot something height standing there in a white coat awkwardly while being fussed over by the mother of one of his patients☹️. Paediatrics would be such an amazing branch for him too like (just like his father) he’s trying to make sure no child has to grow up the way he did and he’s so sweet and gentle with the kids, constantly looking for any signs of abuse or unhappiness.

He has a whole drawer of candy with vegan, sugar free, halal and all kinds of options. Kids, parents, coworkers, the media, the nurses, legitimately EVERYONE absolutely adores him and he deserves that and so much more. We’ve got enough vigilantes in Gotham and the world let ONE of them be happy just ONCE don’t you think he’s suffered enough? Plus he’s already preconditioned to withstand and excel under the gruelling working environment of medicine. After being a literal assassin and vigilante his entire life, working triple shifts at the hospital would be a walk in the park.

I really hope dc goes with that route cause there’s something so satisfying about a child that’s been trained his whole life to hurt and kill choosing to help people instead. I KNOW Leslie Thompkins is somewhere in her clinic with a big ass smile about to give Bruce so much shit about there finally being a university graduate in the family (she has to be double annoying about it to make up for Alfred being unable to cause I know he would be so happy that Damian is going into that direction. Karma for Bruce dropping out of med school).

[fuckyeahisawthat]

What is Mage Viktor doing?

So it turns out I do have a take on what's going on with Mage Viktor, why he's messing with timelines in the way he is, and what he hoped to achieve by bringing Jayce to the torment nexus dimension and then sending him back to his own timeline armed with facial hair, trauma, and the ruthless determination to somehow stop his own Viktor.

Of course this is just my own reading; there are many ways you can interpret the reveals of the final episode. But it's become my preferred reading because it makes Mage Viktor come off as absolutely BATSHIT. The apotheosis of all Viktor's best and worst qualities. As he would be.

First we gotta lay out some fundamental principles about how I understand Viktor that will inform this reading.

Viktor was never being controlled by the Hexcore. This deserves its own whole meta, but tl;dr, I think it is directly antithetical to the core themes of the show to think that Viktor wasn't making his own decisions all through s2.

Over and over again in Arcane, we see characters become "monsters" and do monstrous things, and every time the thematic point is that this is still the person you love. When Vi says that her sister is dead because she is Jinx now and when Jayce says "my partner died in this room" THEY ARE BOTH WRONG. The person they love is different now but they're still in there and they can still be reached.

Viktor is transformed by something terrible happening to him (like many characters in the show!) but all his decisions are still his own and to me they seem like perfectly consistent--if extreme--extensions of what we know about him as a character before he gets a Hexcore heart.

So my analysis starts with the premise that Mage Viktor is not trying to free his past self from an outside influence. He's trying to hack his own character traits to make a different version of himself do what he wants.

Viktor is BOTH genuinely altruistic and compassionate AND deeply arrogant. This is such a banger combination and I think turning down the dial on either trait makes Viktor less interesting. I think Mage Viktor has genuine remorse about what he did in his timeline and he is, fundamentally, trying to find a way he could have stopped himself from killing everyone (within certain constraints; we'll get to that). When Jayce is able to show main timeline Herald Viktor his memories of what Viktor is about to do to their world, the first thing Viktor sees is not dead Jayce, or himself left alone in an empty world. It's all the ordinary people who are going to die terrified because of him.

I do not think any version of Viktor wanted this result. But Viktor is so convinced he is always right that his arrogance carries him right past the point of no return before he realizes oh actually I haven't freed everybody I have killed them.

So I do think Mage Viktor is trying to find a timeline where this doesn't happen, but he is not timeline-hopping in order to preemptively stop other versions of himself from making the same mistake. If he wanted to do that, he would just leave all the many many timelines where Jayce dies in a blizzard as a child alone. No Jayce who grows up obsessed with magic, goes around Academy rules to get the hex crystals, invents Hextech and gives Viktor the power to fuck everything up. Easy peasy.

But no. Instead, Viktor is actively going into other timelines and changing them at the point where Jayce would have died.

He is doing things that appear to make the sequence of events that leads to his world-ending magic blast WAY MORE LIKELY. And that's because...

Viktor is obsessively selfish when it comes to Jayce.

Mage Viktor wants to find a timeline where he doesn't doom the world but not at the expense of meeting Jayce and spending years doing science with him.

If the goal was only to prevent Jayce from dying in the blizzard, he could have done it quietly, waiting for Jayce to collapse in the snow and then transporting him to the base of the mountain, leaving before Jayce had any idea who saved him. Instead he makes SUCH A DRAMATIC PRODUCTION of it that Jayce remembers and can repeat the steps of the action years later, well enough that he actually produces a working spell from a barely-tested Hextech prototype. Mage Viktor wants that shit burned into baby Jayce's brain. He wants to make sure he fundamentally alters the arc of Jayce's life, bending it into a trajectory that collides with his own.

Viktor also (as far as we see) doesn't go the route of going back in time and killing his younger self, or steering the course of his own life along a path where he never meets Jayce. He doesn't even go for a timeline where he and Jayce meet each other but they don't invent Hextech. Now maybe it's the case that some time before our Jayce arrives in his timeline, Mage Viktor tried all that, and has figured out that none of those options work. (Maybe in some of those timelines Jayce is the one who goes Machine Herald, and there's no partner there to talk him off the ledge of ending the world.) But I think it's also possible that, now that he's gotten the experience in one timeline of spending years with Jayce making once-in-a-generation scientific breakthroughs together (which I truly believe is just as important a part of their relationship to Viktor as any romantic or sexual element might be)...he can't bear to deny any version of himself the chance of having that--even if the price is the rest of the world. Because a world where Jayce isn't his partner isn't a world worth saving.

So what I think Mage Viktor is doing is sitting there with his stubborn engineer brain and the husk of his dead soulmate, fiddling with the timelines like a Rubik's cube, going Not meeting Jayce CANNOT be the only option. There MUST be a timeline where Jayce and I meet each other and entangle our lives in an alarmingly codependent way AND we dodge the apocalypse at the last minute, I don't end up killing him, and we do not doom the world together. And I'm going to fucking find it.

So he's been hitting timeline after timeline, trying to find the combination of factors where everything works. He is not trying to preemptively save every timeline from himself, he is trying to prove to himself that meeting the love of his life doesn't doom the entire fucking world. It's devotion that is SO PROFOUNDLY SELFISH that he is willing to doom timeline after timeline, but driven by someone with enough compassion and pride that he doesn't want the guilt and shame of knowing he can only have this one life-changing thing if he ruins everything else for everyone, and enough arrogance to still look at this as a problem he must be smart enough to solve.

At some point in this process, I think he also figures out that Jayce is the only person who has any chance of reasoning with any version of himself. I think it's worth paying attention to the exact wording of his "in all timelines, in all possibilities" speech, because it's not just a love confession (although it is that).

"I thought I could bring an end to the world's suffering. But when every equation was solved, all that remained were fields of dreamless solitude. There is no prize to perfection. Only an end to pursuit. In all timelines, in all possibilities, only you can show me this."

And while this is some hella romantic cosmic soulmate level shit, it is also Viktor saying I need you, because you are the only person I have ever trusted enough to save me from myself.

It's the Hexcore promise all over again. Viktor knew he couldn't destroy his own creation. I read this not as Viktor being physically unable to destroy it because the Hexcore had some power over him, but not having the will to destroy it. Because this huge leap in Hextech technology was his big breakthrough and not (as I think he saw it) him supporting Jayce's dream. He knew he couldn't do it. So he asked Jayce to do it for him. Please, save me from my own pride, my desire to leave a legacy. I can't do it on my own.

It's a huge extension of trust, for Viktor to admit such a need. And now he's doing it again when the stakes are MUCH MUCH higher. I need you, because you are the only person who can show me the horror of what I am about to do and have me believe it.

Of course, the deep irony is that really the only person Viktor trusts to tell him he is wrong is HIMSELF FROM THE FUTURE. Astral plane Machine Herald Viktor is standing right behind Jayce, watching Jayce's memory of Mage Viktor telling him what the consequences of his actions will be, and that is the moment the horror sinks in and cracks him fully out of his machine shell.

But of course Jayce is the only person he would ever trust enough to carry such a message (from himself!!) to somewhere close enough to reach him.

It's not clear exactly how much of a detailed plan Mage Viktor has when he sends Jayce back to the main timeline, or how much of that plan he shares with Jayce. But I think he has figured out some broad strokes which affect how Jayce behaves.

(1) Jayce has to immediately go and kill commune Viktor. Squishing Salo is maybe a bonus side quest, but Jayce doesn't even take time to fucking shower before he heads for the commune. (I would love to see the part of the conversation where Mage Viktor is like yeah you know that pit you just climbed out of? Yeah the first thing you gotta do is go right back in there, all the way to the bottom, and find me looking like ethereal cyborg Jesus and blast a fucking hole through my chest.) Maybe this is because if Jayce waits around at all, commune Viktor finds a way to get to him and he folds and joins the cult. Maybe this is because there are just fewer variables involved in forcing Viktor to speedrun his own villain arc by Jayce repeatedly turning him down in one "perfect" form after another. Maybe Mage Viktor knows himself well enough to realize "yeah if you say no to me even ONE TIME but ESPECIALLY when you are HOT and SUFFERING I will go fucking apeshit and we can use that to our advantage."

(2) I think Mage Viktor has realized that he can only be stopped at the very very VERY last minute. He has to be able to see the direct line between what he is about to do right now and the arcane-blasted hell world he's about to create. Otherwise his ego will get in the way and tell him he is smart enough to figure out a way to somehow not kill everybody. Yeah Mage Viktor fucked that one up obviously, but I, main timeline Viktor, will be smart enough and well-intentioned enough when the time comes to simply not do that. I think this is why, for example, Jayce doesn't go to the commune trying to get Viktor to see the error of his ways. It won't work until it is allllmost too late.

Main timeline Viktor stops literally seconds before the point of no return. The arcane corruption spikes that we see everywhere in Mage Viktor's world are already starting to appear.

I think Mage Viktor knows that Jayce has to let him get right up to the edge, close enough to be looking over into the abyss, before he'll be able to pull him back.

But he knows Jayce can do that. That's what they do for each other, right?

This is why I think it was always the plan for Jayce to fight him all the way to the top of the Hexgate, and then surrender. Jayce has to survive until the end of the fight, and maybe for magical physics reasons he has to wait until Viktor sends the anomaly into the sky above the Hexgate. But once they get to the top of the Hexgate tower he stops trying to fight Viktor altogether. Maybe Mage Viktor told him exactly when it had to happen or maybe he just realizes this is the exact same place where he died in Mage Viktor's world; this is his last chance. But in any case, Jayce lands on the top of the Hexgate on his knees and he doesn't try to get up.

He waits, and when he senses Viktor behind him he doesn't try to fight or run away.

I think he knows, either because Mage Viktor told him or through his own intuition, that he has to let Viktor pull him into the astral plane if he wants a chance at reaching him.

How exactly he was going to get through to him and/or get close enough to share the memories before Viktor assimilated him...ehhhh I don't know if either of them had that figured out. The "you were never broken" part of Jayce's speech, while important from a character perspective...very crucially DOES NOT WORK. IT DOES NOT WORK AT ALL. Viktor is assimilating Jayce the whole time. You can see Jayce's astral body changing from the unique version that's still him (like his hands on the left, when he first enters the astral plane--which still look more or less human even though Viktor has already erased "imperfections" like the scrapes and cuts from his time in the pit and the arcane corruption that's spreading up and down his arm from where the rune is embedded) into a featureless gold blob like the other assimilated people.

You can watch the gold light creeping up his body steadily during those lines until it reaches his eyes.

The ONLY thing that stops this timeline from ending the same way Mage Viktor's does...is EKKO.

I think you can make the case that Mage Viktor sent Ekko to the no-Hextech timeline intentionally. But it is such a complex chain of causality for Ekko to get to the point where he's chucking a time machine at Herald Viktor's face that there is no way anyone--even a remorseful demigod with lots of time on his hands--could control every possible factor.

However elaborate Mage Viktor's plan was, and however determined Jayce was to keep his promise to him, it all would have failed if not for factors outside their control and random fucking chance.

Arcane is FULL of near-misses and what-could-have-beens and characters who are trying their best to do something getting knocked off course by consequences they never could have foreseen. Season 2 in particular introduces a persistent thread of chaos and the sense that even events that have understandable root causes are now spiraling out of characters' control. So it feels fitting that such a moment factors into the show's ending.

This is Jayce right before Ekko blasts through spacetime right above Viktor's head.

Yeah that guy was cooked.

The only thing that stops Jayce from being assimilated is Ekko breaking time to throw the Z drive at Viktor's face.

Which startles Viktor enough that he takes his hand off Jayce's head in the physical realm, and also breaks a piece of his machine mask off in the astral realm.

As he always does when one of his "perfect" bodies gets damaged, Viktor withdraws and tried to hide, enough that he lets go of the assimilation connection with Jayce.

Jayce starts to regain his own identity/autonomy.

And he gets a do-over. Exactly the same way Ekko used the Z drive to get a do-over with Jinx when he was trying to talk her out of suicide. Jayce gets another chance, and that's when he goes for "all I want is my partner back" and "because I promised you." Which works.

Mage Viktor's plan, I think, was for Jayce to help main timeline Viktor realize what he was doing before it was too late, and then give him the runestone, which allows him to release all the minds/souls that are connected to him before this becomes some runaway chain reaction of arcane power that swallows everything around him. (How the runestone does this exactly, and how the anomalies play into it, is stuff I am still thinking about. But tbh I am less concerned with the details of made-up magic physics than I am with the character beats.) Mage Viktor had accepted that main timeline Viktor was probably going to die in this process and he'd made peace with it. That's what "should" have happened anyway, if Viktor never found a way to forestall his illness, right? As long as this Viktor got to spend the best years of his life with his Jayce, it was okay.

I don't think Mage Viktor ever expected Jayce to stay there until the end. His goal was to save the world and spare Jayce from himself. And why would he plan otherwise? We know why Jayce stays, but Mage Viktor never got that part of the story. He schlorped up his own Jayce's consciousness with everyone else and maybe he only understood the depths of what Jayce felt for him in the moment that he was killing him. And main timeline Viktor certainly does not expect Jayce to stay. He's shocked when he realizes Jayce has no intention of leaving. No, that wasn't part of any master plan. That part was all Jayce.

[lathez]

RANKING SKYRIM FISH (IMPORTANT INFORMATION)

24-22: SLAUGHTER FISH, SCORPION FISH, VAMPIRE FISH

These most horrible and reprehensible creatures deserve the worst and most torturous deaths imaginable. Found in caves, rivers, and around castle Volkihar, they are truly the scum of NIRN. THESE FISH FUCKING HORRIBLE!!

21-19: BROOK BASS, POGFISH, SALMON

These fish are most disgusting and vile. The brook bass, with it's flacid appearance, is one of Kyne's most awful creations, but not as awful as the fucking stupid pogfish, which should be killed always. The salmon serves no purpose but to be feasted upon. It's purpose is to die and this is suitable as it is simply awful and horrible and sick!

18-16: ANGLER, LURKER, ARCTIC GRAYLING

While unique in appearance the Angler is just bad so bad and perhaps to retrieve it you may have to swim all the way down to Pilgrim's Trench which is most scary and TERRIBLE!!! I will not speak on the demonic LURKER!!!! AND THE ARCTIC GRAYLING IS UGLY AS FUCK!!!!

15-13: GLASS CATFISH, CARP, ARCTIC CHAR

I am not partial to these tres fischés FOR MANY REASONS. The feelers on the glass catfish are just unnecessary what are they feeling??? Perhaps sadness at their horrible horrible form??? The Carp with it's frightening eye is actually a Koi Carp which makes it A TRAITOR. PUT TO DEATH BY FIRING SQUAD. The Arctic char is fine ig.

12-10: COD, DIREFISH, GOLDFISH

These fish say nothing and mean nothing. They are unobtrusive but are perhaps resented due to their unwillingness to take a stance. Perhaps they may be permitted to live should they continue their kind and gentile and simple behaviors. But they are also on thin ice. For torture.

9-7: SPADEFISH, PYGMY SUNFISH, TRIPOD SPIDERFISH

These fish have taken a stance, however they have taken the wrong stance. They have gambled poorly and now they are most mid and bad I do think. The Tripod Spiderfish is terrible in its way it creeps upon the floors of Blackreach it is a bottom feeder and should be wholly and truly ashamed as it did nothing to aid the falmer during their torture and torment and it is complicit I am afraid yes.

6-4: GLASSFISH, ANGELFISH, PEARLFISH

These 3 runner ups would prove to be most excellent friends and companions and would perhaps be a lovely creature in which to gently hold within the water. The Pearlfish is quite sweet and most loving and it is good and it is blessed by Kyne.

3-1: ANGLER LARVAE, LYRETAIL ANTHIAS, CATFISH

Our Top 3 fish are simply a delight to behold and also physically hold if you so desire. Although the Angler Larvae will grow up to be sick and twisted in it's child form it has suffered no trauma and deserves love until it evolves into its most awfulness. The Lyretail with its soft lovely belly only wishes for friendship and Dibella kissed it once.

But none can beat the simple and humble Catfish, that is a bit nervous but is hoping for your friendship and affection. Won't you befriend him today?

*Histcarp and other 3 boring ass vanilla fish not included cause idgaf about them!!

[jils-things]

good aftie i recently saw the preview idle animation for fg in that charlie chaplin movie outfit and i still cant stop thinking abt it because its so goofy on him WKAKSJSHEJHEEHSHSHDHEHEHEHE

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

Warden: You've never killed an innocent?

Zevran: Now there's an interesting word, "innocent." How many men do you know who can claim to be truly innocent?

Zevran: But if you're talking generalities, such as children and relatives and bystanders and such… never on purpose, but it happens.

Zevran: It's unfortunate, but death comes to us all. If not me, then some wasting disease. Or a fall down the stairs. Or at the hands of a darkspawn. It's all relative in the end.

Zevran: "Death happens," as we like to say. And when I get paid for it, death happens more often.

-

Zevran: In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women… and men, or whatever it is you might fancy.

Zevran: But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It's a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty. But confining.

-

Davrin: Lucanis, how do you decide when one of your targets deserves to die?

Lucanis: Usually when the client pays up front.

Davrin: I'm serious. Do you just kill anyone?

Lucanis: No. There has to be merit.

Davrin: "Merit?" Who decides that?

Lucanis: The Talon of the house.

Davrin: And then you just carry out the order?

Lucanis: It's my job.

Davrin: Must be tough to sleep at night.

-

Lucanis: You kill for a living, too, Davrin. How do you sleep at night?

Davrin: Like a baby. The things I hunt are pure evil. Monsters. There are no shades of grey with darkspawn. But you...

Lucanis: Provide a service.

Davrin: What if your target doesn't deserve to die?

Lucanis: Who does? Good, bad, everyone dies eventually. We just speed things up.

-

Emmrich: Do you have any say in your... targets?

Lucanis: You want to know if my victims deserved it.

Emmrich: Forgive me, I shouldn't have asked.

Lucanis: Everyone wonders.

Lucanis: I've never killed an innocent, by my count.

Lucanis: I cannot say if yours would agree.

-

Emmrich: Lucanis, do the implications of your work never trouble you?

Lucanis: Everyone on this team has killed before. I'm hardly unique.

Emmrich: Yes, of course. But in your case, it's a profession, rather than an act of necessity.

Lucanis: I'm not sure the Venatori or the Antaam see the distinction as you do.

-

Emmrich: I find it extremely interesting, Lucanis, that you consider the point of view of your enemies in battle.

Lucanis: I have to. It's much more difficult to find and kill them, otherwise.

Emmrich: Exactly! A utilitarian attitude towards death, and yet you extend empathy to your victims.

Lucanis: Not that much empathy.

Emmrich: Enough to wonder how the Venatori and Antaam view your actions.

Lucanis: Death comes to everyone, in time. I get paid to deliver it. Like a letter not everyone wants to read.

-

I think about this a lot. I'm always... surprised when I see the talk that they're supposedly trying to make Lucanis into the perfect "cinnamon roll" in Veilguard, because his sweet personality doesn't "match" his profession and background. Like, no? That's a very surface level of looking at it, I think.

Zevran is like this, too. He is an incredibly chill guy, and when you romance him, he is also very sweet and vulnerable, despite being an assassin. They're not that different in that department. They were both trained to be assassins since they were children. They're both traumatized in various ways. But neither of them acts like a bloodthirsty, evil freak. But they both also take pride in the job they do (or did), and how well they can do it, and have no intention of stopping. And yet they both express surprising empathy. (Zevran argues against annulling the Circle! Quite extensively!) And they make pretty much the exact same arguments about being killers for hire, as shown above.

Death is a natural part of life. Sometimes it just comes sooner, because we're there to deliver it. There's (almost) no such thing as an innocent person, so my victims aren't innocent people. Therefore, I've never killed an innocent in my entire life, as far as I know. (At least not intentionally.)

And that's interesting and fun about them! It's beautifully deranged. Lucanis completes an assassination mission, slitting somebody's throat or what have you, and then goes on his cosy coffee break, satisfied with a job well done.

The fact that they both say that they've never, in their opinion, assassinated "an innocent", so it's all good, doesn't automatically make it true and doesn't mean it's not complicated, however. Not every line of dialogue can be taken at face value. As video game players, we're rather desensitized to this, but hearing this should normally be at least a little alarming. For a regular person, at least. And it is for the people in the game! Like Emmrich and Davrin. Davrin has several banters with Lucanis about it. Like, who decides when somebody deserves to die and which contract's going to get carried out? Well, the "CEO" of "the company," of course! What could ever go wrong that way? Emmrich tries to coax Lucanis into saying that he does feel something about the whole thing, because he really wants it to be true. While Lucanis is very matter of fact about it. He knows what the Crows are, and that's it. He doesn't glamorize or demonize it.

So, it definitely isn't that "Veilguard says that Lucanis has never done anything wrong ever in his life," just like Origins doesn't do it with Zevran. Both the men's attitude towards killing is warped in an interesting way, completely in line with their background and upbringing. It shows when Lucanis argues with Davrin about them both being killers, because it completely escapes him (or maybe he ignores it for the sake of the argument) how the killing he does (contracts where the targets tend to be people) and the killing Davrin (a monster hunter, a darkspawn slayer) does is of different kind entirely. His logic is flawed at that point. But to him, it boils down to the fact that "it's just a job," and "killing is killing," and "death is death" regardless of form, and that rightfully baffles Davrin to no end. If anything, it shows how the Antivan Crows are taught to hand wave the issue, because the arguments Lucanis and Zevran both present are too similar to be anything else.

Of course, Lucanis, unlike Zevran, as the grandson of the First Talon and her favourite, might have had some extra privileges and wiggle space in comparison, which might have allowed him to bend the rules sometimes, give him space to show more compassion and act more heroically, because people are complex and there are many layers to what each person might consider right and wrong (e.g. killing is okay in various circumstances, and slavers in particular can get fucked - hell, we do it in video games all the time), but still. The fact that his grandmother wanted to tap a new market, so she made Lucanis specialize for hunting mages, which ultimately led to him killing a lot of Venatori and blood mages, makes it cleaner, which is nice, but then again, we hardly know the full extent of all his work. Moreover, when you ask Zevran to tell you stories about his jobs, you don't get much dirt out of him, either. He talks about some of the goofiest ones he's had. One of his targets that he (unsuccessfully) participated in taking out, a royal that got his position through plotting and murder, he also describes as somebody so immoral he basically deserved it. Also very clean. (Compare both these guys with somebody like Blackwall who truly committed a despicable act of murder for money that we do know of. And this single crime sounds so much more upsetting than anything either Lucanis or Zevran describe. None of the things Zevran says is as awful, besides the murder of his lover, which is framed like it wasn't really his fault, because he was misled.)

It's also worth noting that Zevran talks about how he was the best the Crows had before he left and how it brought him respect, wealth, women, men, or "whatever it is you might fancy." All in all, it comes with benefits. By his own admission, he was well off. But of course that came with a catch, as well. The "gilded cage" Zevran talks about. But that's not what made him leave. It was the plotting, backstabbing, and ever present distrust in the end, which led to the biggest mistake he'd ever made. Much like him, Lucanis also mentions that he had a comfortable life before getting captured, in the same quest where he also talks about how he didn't actually have full control of his life. ("Even before I was captured, my life was not really my own. So much had been determined for me.") The gilded cage comes up yet again. And it was plotting and backstabbing that made him lose a year of his life in the underwater prison.

My point is: Lucanis and Zevran are both assassins, because that's what they've always been, they were trained to be assassins since they were kids, they have a very pragmatic approach to death and killing, which they were most likely taught or perhaps were forced to develop, and they both take pride in how good they are at their job, and express no intention of ever stopping. And yet they both show that they have a good heart in various other ways, turn out to be friendly and incredibly loyal, and even very sweet as lovers. Because people can be complex, and so can be fictional characters. Yes, they're very different men, with different problems and personalities, yet also not that different.

You can't think that Lucanis is "too good" without also thinking that Zevran is "too good." You can't have this problem with Veilguard unless you also have it with Origins, is what I'm saying. And I think this may also apply to some of the other Crows we meet in Veilguard.

[gothamite-rambler]

After Jason found out Superman was the reason Batman didn't kill Joker and he's being petty even if he has come around to understanding why it had to be stopped.

Red Hood: Wonder Woman, Green Arrow, Aquaman—

Red Hood turned to Superman, an intense glare in his eyes.

Red Hood: You don't deserve to be out here enjoying the sun. You should be in a cave.

Superman (defensive): If he had killed him, it would have sparked a war! I stopped him before he made a colossal mistake.

Red Hood (shaking with anger): You're lucky I don’t have kryptonite bullets anymore!

Superman (sighing): Batman, can you tell him what I said?

Batman, too busy sipping his coffee, barely registered the conversation.

Batman (setting down his cup, a distracted expression on his face): Huh? Um, Red Hood, go to the car, and thanks for directing your anger at Superman.

Red Hood (rolling his eyes): You’re still an asshole too, but you’re welcome.

Red Hood walked over to the Batmobile, leaving Superman to glare at his friend.

Batman (calm): Thanks for taking accountability there. He knows I can’t kill because I’d be driven insane and turn into a mass murderer.

Superman (resigned): I... I'm just going to take that as a compliment because you said thanks.

Wonder Woman (perplexed): Batman I don't think... Wait, that actually makes sense.

Superman (scrunching his brow): So I should've killed him?

Batman, Wonder Woman, and Green Arrow (in unison): No, no, no, no, nope, nope!

Superman (frustrated): Okay… so then who?

Batman (nodding): Wonder Woman.

Green Arrow: Wonder Woman.

Wonder Woman (pridefull): Yeah, me.

[ofbatsandballads]

Hi Rae. Who gave you permission to snap my heart in two at midnight? No, really, this has me going insane so have my ranting under the cut:

He's not normal. Not someone you should be happy to see. […] But you are– everytime he drags his weary body to your window– you're happy. You smile, welcome him inside like he has a place there.

The way I’m already screaming “because he does have a place there!” before we’ve even hit the end. Something about Jason not being able to accept love not because other people are liars or insincere but because he can’t comprehend why anyone would love him is so heartbreakingly in character.

It's not like he can offer the same back or return the favors you so freely give. He wants to– at least he thinks he does– he just gets stuck when it comes to what to do with you.

Reciprocity—tit for tat, an eye for an eye—being so ingrained in his perception of the world and of himself that he can’t realize he doesn’t have to return the favor, that he can just accept the kindness for what it is, makes me want to cry. Thanks.

shocked to stillness each time your hands don't bring a wave of hurt to his skin.

Stray dog coded Jason who doesn’t know what to do when touch doesn’t hurt is so dear to me. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: your characterization of him is golden.

He adores you. He won't admit it to anyone, not even to himself most of the time. But he does.

Jason who loves so deeply, so completely that it could destroy him. Jason who has spent both of his lives just trying to stay above water, running from anything that could harm him. Jason who was killed because he loved so fiercely. Just…him finding himself loving someone that much again and sort of bluescreening on what that means for him.

There is no happy ending when all he can offer is fleeting comforts and one word answers. He doesn't deserve your patience, your endless willingness to understand and wait for him to figure himself out.

The absolute overpowering emotion of needing to drill it into his head with love and kindness and care that there is a happy ending with all of that actually. And that he does deserve good things and patience and love. I just know loving him would be so frustrating sometimes but that each time it would just make you want to stick around more.

If he knew how, he'd ask if you were really okay with who he is, what he does, how he acts. Your eagerness to make him feel like he does fit into any place in your life makes him wonder if it's all just a mask. If you're just waiting for him to be at his worst to reveal that it's all a lie– that he's truly and devastatingly unwanted.

So this whole paragraph took me out but that last line destroyed me. The phrase “truly and devastatingly unwanted” is going to live rent free in my head for a while now.

it's just that the store was out and he was bleeding too heavily through his suit to stop at anywhere else.

I recently read a piece of Jason meta that said that he would accept any and all harm or mistreatment just to get the companionship and love he craves and this really speaks to that because why are you picking up ice cream when you’re bleeding out??? Oh, it’s because he thinks he’s unworthy of basic human decency if he has nothing to offer.

You're just too good. Everything Jason isn't. He feels like he's dragging you down with him when you offer to keep emergency weapons for him hidden in your apartment. He's definitely staining everything you are with his greedy hands when you start keeping extra first aid kits in your closet.

Clawing at the walls while screaming “they do it because they love you!!!” I love reading this from the perspective of his partner because it’s just sitting here listening to the internal monologue of man that is confidently incorrect. Your description of him being an unreliable narrator is spot on.

And when you clean out a drawer in your dresser for him to keep clothes in, when you stock your cupboards with all his preferred foods, fill your shelves with his favorite books, and play the songs he loves to hum along to, he selfishly lets himself believe you might want this forever too. You do.

One of my favorite things about how you write Jason is that he always, without fail, breaks at the end just a little bit. The sustained love and care and kindness always manages to get the tiniest foothold in his soul, like a flower growing through a crack in concrete. Even when he thinks he’s being selfish or delusional or blindly hopeful. It’s so true to what loving someone like him would be like—slow and gradual and hard fought, but resolute and unflinching.

So yeah, in short I love this with my entire being and I will be sending you the bill for my therapy (please never stop writing).

If He Could

Jason is an unreliable narrator ~1k words

Jason's no good for you. He's too brash, too rough, too easily pulled away to defend the streets of Gotham. He's a liability in your life, a dark stain in the otherwise perfect fabric of your reality. He's all the worst of shadowed alleys and tortured corners of decaying apartments.

He's quick to pull a weapon, even quicker to throw a punch. He doesn't quite remember how to make his smile look natural, how to stand without his shoulders tense and ready to dodge whatever comes his way. He's not normal. Not someone you should be happy to see.

But you are– everytime he drags his weary body to your window– you're happy. You smile, welcome him inside like he has a place there.

And he doesn't know what to do with it. Doesn't know how he should react to your bright eyes and soft touches and fond words. It's not like he can offer the same back or return the favors you so freely give. He wants to– at least he thinks he does– he just gets stuck when it comes to what to do with you.

He knows he shouldn't tense up at your reassuring pats to his arms– but he freezes, shocked to stillness each time your hands don't bring a wave of hurt to his skin. He knows he shouldn't be so quiet when you ramble about your day, but he can't find the words to describe just how much he does care about every mundane fact you share with him.

And oh, does he care. Too much even. Cares in a way that scares him off the grid for days at a time, only to sheepishly find his way back to your fire escape with a tub of melting ice cream or cooling coffee and a half-baked excuse on his tongue.

He adores you. He won't admit it to anyone, not even to himself most of the time. But he does. It's you who he wants to come back to when his feet ache and his eyes strain to make out words and figures. It's you who makes him feel not so heavy when the sun starts to rise over the tired, crumbling buildings he knows better than his own skin.

He has a portion of his heart and mind set aside just for you. But Jason can't tell you that. The more he relents to you (because he can never say no when you ask), the more he threatens to ruin you. He's a slow rot, a plague that sets into the very marrow of your bones.

But you don't see it. He doesn't want you to, but you should. You should understand that by carving out a place for him besides you, you are going to destroy yourself from the inside out.

There is no happy ending when all he can offer is fleeting comforts and one word answers. He doesn't deserve your patience, your endless willingness to understand and wait for him to figure himself out.

It's not fair to you– to either of you. But he always ends up back in your living room, always ends up with his hands curling into fists as you graciously take whatever food or trinket he's brought to try and win your continued affections.

He secretly believes he must be the most selfish person in the world when he leans into your warm hugs, when he passes out on your couch after your semi-regular movie nights. (He tries not to linger on what it means when he sleeps better on your old, worn furniture than his own bed)

It's cruel of him to lead you on like this. It's cruel of him to set himself up for heartbreak. You'll learn that he's not worth your time soon enough. But, for now, he can't help but bask in the way you offer to stitch the tears in his clothes, the way you so excitedly ask him to try every new recipe you've made.

If he knew how, he'd ask if you were really okay with who he is, what he does, how he acts. Your eagerness to make him feel like he does fit into any place in your life makes him wonder if it's all just a mask. If you're just waiting for him to be at his worst to reveal that it's all a lie– that he's truly and devastatingly unwanted.

Those words still haven't come from either of your lips– don't come– even when he messes up and brings you the wrong flavor of ice cream. (It's not that he forget what you liked– it's just that the store was out and he was bleeding too heavily through his suit to stop at anywhere else)

The words don't even come when he doesn't tell you why he disappeared for over a month this time. (Someone got too close to his identity– to you. He had to track down everyone involved before he could even think of resting or seeing you again)

Jason wants to have the right words, wants to do the right thing, and make you laugh and watch your eyes light up because of something he did. He wants to hug you back in a way that makes you feel safe and needed and wanted above all else. He wants to. He just doesn't deserve to give you that, even if he knew how to do it.

You're just too good. Everything Jason isn't. He feels like he's dragging you down with him when you offer to keep emergency weapons for him hidden in your apartment. He's definitely staining everything you are with his greedy hands when you start keeping extra first aid kits in your closet.

But for the life of him, he can't stop. Can't stop his familiar trek to your windowsill. Can't stop craving the hugs you offer, the conversations you share.

He wants this forever. He wants to keep this– you– whatever this is, in between his fingers and never let go. (He could if you'd just let him) You would.

And when you clean out a drawer in your dresser for him to keep clothes in, when you stock your cupboards with all his preferred foods, fill your shelves with his favorite books, and play the songs he loves to hum along to, he selfishly lets himself believe you might want this forever too. You do.

[tuesdaykiss]

“touching toes”

rafe cameron social media au

“he’s over more and more, had to give him a whole drawer. to be honest, kinda like seeing his trainers by the door.” — olivia dean, ‘touching toes’.

synopsis: after finishing her fashion studies at college in nyc, y/n moves to outerbanks to live with her grandparents. she worries about the loneliness that comes with being in a new place, knowing only her cousin topper and other relatives… that is until she is acquainted with a certain cameron.

part — 18 | 19 | 20

masterlist

later that evening, the two of you found yourselves sitting on the couch opposite the end of the bed. the air between you was still charged with the weight of your earlier conversation, but somehow it was lighter. rafe’s arm draped over the back of the sofa, fingers brushing against your shoulder absentmindedly. feeling a sense of comfort from this newfound understanding between you both, you leaned into him slightly.

the moment was shattered by the sound of the hotel door swinging open. sarah stormed in, her dress bag slung lazily over her shoulder and a pair of heels dangled from her fingers. her cheeks were flushed, her expression a mixture of anger and exhaustion.

“seriously, rafe?” she snapped at her brother, her voice remained sharp as she organised her things.

you froze, distance growing between you and rafe on the couch as he crossed his arms. he wasn’t surprised by her outburst, if anything he looked like he has been bracing for it.

“what now?” he questioned, keeping his tone cool.

pointing an accusatory finger at him, sarah spun around, “what now? are you serious, rafe? what now?” her eyes darted to you for a brief moment before returning to him, “that picture, on your story! the whole fucking world saw it!”

you swallowed hard, feeling your cheeks heat up. you hadn’t even looked at the aftermath, too afraid of what you’d find.

“so what?” rafe shot back, his nonchalance clearly irritating his sister, “it was a joke, sarah.”

she scoffed, “a joke? you posted a picture of her arse!”

sarah began pacing around the room, her hands pulling through her hair, “do you have any idea what you have done? people are going to dig. they’re going to speculate. and you’ve brought her into this… MESS!”

the weight of sarah’s words settled over the three of you, the room going quiet. rafe’s jaw tightened but before he could form a response, sarah let out a frustrated sigh and flopped onto the bed.

“i mean, seriously, rafe,” she muttered, palms covering her face, “could you not have just waited ‘til after my show?”

sarah knew there was nothing going on between you and her brother, you had told her that yourself. but she couldn’t help but feel anger over the stolen limelight; rafe’s post had sent her fandom into a frenzy, causing them to forget about her big day. you let out a sigh of relief, realising her anger wasn’t directed towards you.

you opened your mouth to say something, but sarah’s next words stopped you.

“because, oh… my…god! my rehearsal today was amazing!” she suddenly gushed, her voice abruptly taking on an excited, sing-song tone as she sat up.

“you should’ve seen it,” she continued, her earlier anger momentarily forgotten, “the lighting was perfect, the music was flawless and the models? oh, we killed it! i cannot wait for you to see it tomorrow!”

a smile crept onto your face, despite the tension. that was sarah for you — she couldn’t stay mad for long, not with something so exciting on her mind.

“you looked stunning on the photo you sent me,” you said softly, intending to steer the conversation further away from rafe’s post.

she beamed at you, “i just can’t believe this is really happening. i mean, loewe, really? i get to walk for loewe!”

rafe took the opportunity to chime in, his voice softer now, “i’m really proud of you, sar. you deserve this.”

her gaze flicked to him, her expression softening slightly, “thanks, rafe,” she said, though she didn’t let him off the hook entirely, “but don’t think this means i’ve forgotten about your post. we’ll continue that conversation later.”

rafe sighed, his hands up in mock surrender, “fine, later.”

yourusername

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yourusername can’t sleep bc @/sarahcameron is walking for loewe tomorrow ❤️

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sarahcameron i love youuuuuu

sarahcameron i’m so excitedd arghhh

yourusername i know, you’ve been jumping on the bed for half an hour

user real

sarahfan101 so we’re just gonna forget about rafe’s post?

user2 that’s what i thought, she hasn’t said anything on it

user3 do you think they’re a thing?

user2 i hope not that’s MY man

sarahupdates so proud ❤️

johnbr fine you can give her a good luck kiss (cheek only) from me

yourusername already did jb, 100 times

kiaracarrera if you look closely you can see me in between you both

itscleo squint and you’ll see me too

that night, the hotel room was quiet except for the faint hi um of the air conditioning. rafe had retreated to his own room. you and sarah were sprawled out in the plush king-sized bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light over the room. she was scrolling aimlessly on her phone, still buzzing from her rehearsals earlier that day, while you stared at the ceiling, attempting to gather your thoughts.

she let out a soft sigh, looking at you with an expectant look as she turned, “so,” she began, setting her phone on the nightstand. “are we going to talk about it, or are you just going to act like my brother didn’t post a picture of your arse?”

“i was hoping you’d forget about that,” you groaned, throwing your arm over your face and laughing, “and it was hardly my arse!”

sarah snorted. “forget about it? are you joking? i’ve been dying to bring it up all day… i need answers.” she shifted her face to you, propping her head on her arms, “so spill. tell me, what’s going on?”

“i already told you—”

“oh, come on,” sarah said, nudging you side, “i’m not that stupid, i’m not falling for the whole ‘it’s a joke’ act, you’ve got going on.”

you sighed in defeat, your stomach knotting as you tried to conjure up what to say next. “it’s… complicated,” you mumbled, your gaze stuck on the ceiling.

a/n: have so much to do, but i’ll aim to finish the next part in time i promise

me when i have posted all my pre-made chapters…

taglist: @my-name-is-baby @yesshewrites1 @urbrunettebombshell @leather-n-velvet @fruitcakerafe @littlefreak-liz @wdwbts101 @akobx @lossfairy @marleymarleymarleymarley @jjmaybankmylovee @mbella607 @scream4mami @mrsdrewstarkeyy @honeyluvsatj

[mikeluciraphgabe]

I don’t think, as a fandom, we talk about Bucky and Steve fighting in one of the most gruesome and fucked up wars the modern world has seen enough (ontop of being raised by fathers who fought in the one before it)

While yes, they deserve and should be written as characters with PTSD because of what they do on the avengers/as the winter soldier/being placed in a whole new world without a say

We should also be writing them as characters who have fought in WWII and seen some fucking shit (Omaha beach, the bombs in Japan, people who where imprisoned at the concentration camp, their friends dying right next to them, helping out in the trenches, watching people loose a leg or arm, etc etc)

Ontop of this, bucky (in the comics and I think one of the cartoons) joined the army when he was like 17/18 years old. A fucking kid.

We should write more PTSD scenes of the two having flashbacks relating to WWII and not only the things I mentioned before

Steve is screaming and crying on the floor because Tony grabbed his arm from behind and- Buck is a fucking child and he’s stuck in the building, let go of me Sargent - let me go get my little brother before it blows and Tony is shushing him with “it’s okay hon, it’s just me”

Bucky is holding a gun up to his husband’s face because, just for a second, Sam (with a Halloween mask) looked like a gasser that killed a guy who pushed Bucky out of a window before said gas exploded on that floor and the guy died

More scenes of PTSD Bucky and Steve that goes to WWII

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 32: One Final Breath Of Lungs To You

Content warning: Sukuna gets an extra warning for being a menace, blood, wounds, dismemberment, angst (!)

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Devil’s At Your Door - SWARM, TINYKVT Oh My Goth - Razed In Black Before I’m Dead - Kidney Thieves

* * * * *

Chapter 31

* * * * *

You run. 

It’s all you can do.

Feet pounding against fallen leaves, you tear through damp moss and hurl yourself blindly through the forest. Weaving around trees, veering around rocks, you fight for any semblance of direction, desperate for options—anything to survive this. Because if the King of Curses doesn’t kill you, your own heart will. The muscle slams so violently against your ribcage that the force alone might stop you dead.  

And, fuck, he’s coming.

The monster has given chase.

You can feel him—without needing to glance over your shoulder, without seeing the space you’ve carved between you. His presence arrives heavy at your back. First, it’s his energy that slides across your skin. Then comes the sound of his feet, crashing closer on each step.

Run.

Don’t stop.

It’s all you can do.

You can’t even think—there’s no time, no space to unravel everything you've learned tonight. Seven years ago. Your first encounter. And the way he’s waited for this moment, for you, for this. To see what you’re capable of. To push you. To face you.

And you want to turn around. To stop running. To fight him. Hurt him. You should. He deserves it. But you don’t. 

Branches lash at your face, tearing into skin as you plunge deeper into the dark. You lift your arms to shield your eyes, because this fucking forest seems determined to slow you down. Still, you go.

Run.

And run.

Run until your legs burn and ache, until your feet are covered in dirt, until the fire in your lungs is unbearable.

By the time you spot a massive tree ahead, your breaths arrive in panting gasps inside your throat. You dive behind it, pressing your back to the trunk, struggling to steady your heaving chest. The night is silent, but for the wind and the screaming pulse inside your ears.

Breathe.

You inhale, trembling. Hands tight and only tightening further around the tantō. You look down at it sitting in your palm. Graze your thumb over the engraved markings. His markings.

You hate that it’s his.

Hate him.

Hate him.

“I hate you,” you whisper under your breath.

Another swipe across the hilt. Your hands are a mess. Mottled and discoloured. You can feel your energy ebbing and flowing in your panic and anger. Out of control and only getting worse.

Your head lifts, eyes trailing up the gaunt branches above until they reach into the cold, black sky, where only a few stars sit.

Is this what you wanted?

This is what he wanted.

A slow crunch sounds over the leaves.

You freeze. Whip your head to the noise. You know that terrible sound.

Footsteps.

Closer. And closer.

“Hiding are we?” A deep, disembodied voice rattles through the darkness.

Branches snap to your left. Your eyes jump in that direction, head angling around the tree before pulling back.

The footsteps stop. The forest falls silent.

Quiet.

Back crushing into the bark, you ease along it, away from where you think he’s coming from.

“You’re so much like your father…” You hear him shift again, heavy feet dragging across the ground. “Hiding, instead of facing me.”

The grip on your weapon turns choking.

I’m not like my father.

The creature stops again. 

I’m not like him.

A cruel laugh rumbles from somewhere, sending shivers racing along your spine.  

“I’m aware of where you are,” Sukuna drawls, his voice calm, almost bored, winding through the brush with an ease that makes you hate him more. “Come out for me, snake.”

A gust of wind rattles through the woods, peeling leaves from their branches and scattering them to the ground. The forest breathes with you, alive and waiting.

Licking your lips, you slowly pull away from the tree. There has to be a way out of this. Because how the hell can you fight him? It’s impossible. Your death at his hands feels inevitable.

You could give up. Let the vow claim you instead.

No.

No.

You already know the answer—it’s just one good touch. That’s all you need.

Then, this will all be over.

Eyes scanning the surrounding murk, you back away, soundless.

Don’t breathe.

You hold your breath.

His footsteps resume.

Your eyes dart, searching the dense forest, every shadow, every shape that could be him in the night. Spotting another tree not too far away, you run to it, laying yourself against the jagged wood.

“You know,” Sukuna continues, as if in thought, “I never understood it. How someone could look at me and think, ‘Yes, that’s what I want.’”

There’s a pause. Your heart pounds into your throat as both your eyes and ears strain.

“Did you think you could change me?” His footsteps pick up again. “That I’d return to you after tearing through lives, reeking of blood and skin, just to slip beneath the covers and hold you close? Kiss you like some adoring husband—” Your brow furrows. “—lay my mouth over yours so you could taste the iron of another’s on my tongue? Is that what you were so desperate for? Because I can assure you.” His voice becomes a hiss through clenched teeth. “The taste of flesh under my teeth is far more satisfying than anything you could have given me.”

It shouldn’t hurt to hear him say these things, but it does. Too much. These cruel words break you enough for a sting of tears to threaten your vision.

Taking another step, you back away toward the next cluster of trees.

“Do you remember the first time I touched you?”

You stop.

A quiet breath punches past your lips. You know what he’s doing—goading you, pushing harder and harder.

Attack him.

“How hard you shook under my hand. Your cunt so eager, so fucking hungry. Like a starving dog, finally tossed a scrap of meat.”

Hurt bleeds into rage, climbing deeper inside your chest until its grip becomes choking. That moment, so vulnerable and personal, was something shared between you, and now it’s tainted, reduced to lies and fabrications. He had led you somewhere new, uncharted, all while trying to get close to you for this. And you had been trying to get close to him as well so you could kill him.

Both of you, in your own ways, had sought the other’s demise. Both a betrayal in some way.

More angry tears rise to stand in your eyes, desperate to fall.

“Fuck you,” you mutter quietly, taking another step—then another, the forest floor whispering underfoot.

Lost in your emotions, you barely notice the ground shifting below you. One more step and your heel catches on something brittle. A sharp jab shoots through the soft arch of your foot, and suddenly, you stumble. Panic as your legs buckle, sending you crashing into the dirt. You land hard on your side, the impact jarring your shoulder.

Shit!

Too loud.

Although he’s already aware of where you are, it’s confirmed when his deep, mocking laugh skitters over you.

“Clumsy thing."

Gritting your teeth, you blink down at where you’ve fallen and notice the ground isn’t just soil and foliage. Pale, jagged and sun-bleached fragments shine dully, sheltered within the earth. Old bones. White and broken, your feet tangled in the remnants of what was once a person's ribcage—one of Sukuna’s offerings, left to rot in his mass grave of devoured humans and animals.

Quickly, you retrieve your feet from the skeletal cavity and ignore the scorch of bile rising up from your belly.

You’d forgotten about this hellhole.

How could you?

And yet, you can’t entirely blame yourself. He’s been lulling you into a sense of comfort, slowly eroding your carefully guarded walls over time.

Pushing to your elbows, your gaze sweeps the ground again, and something else amongst the bones snags your attention.

An offering. A relic from long ago. A katana—either deemed unworthy or simply that it never made its way inside the shrine. It’s old and rusted, its tip broken, and its edge dull. But it’s still useful.

Hand engulfing the hilt, you grab it and rise to your feet. Crouching low, your fingers grip the tantō in your other hand. The katana may feel awkward, but you know it will serve its purpose.

At least, you hope.

Breaths shallow and steady, you circle the nearest tree. The only path forward is to kill him. The only way to get there is to attack.

“That’s all it took, wasn’t it?” Sukuna’s voice edges closer.

“Took what?” you spit, stepping carefully around the roots and bones at your feet. “Tell me. I’m dying to hear more of your arrogant voice.”

Weak and small. That’s what he proclaimed you once to be.

But you aren’t.

You never thought you were.

Broken, perhaps—but never weak and never small.

It’s clear now. Ryomen Sukuna never truly knew who you were then, just as you never truly knew who he was.

And that’s fine.

If he calls you a snake, then so be it.

You’re a snake—hiding in the grass, ready to strike.

“Just a touch,” he says. And you know he’s close now. “A sliver of my attention. And you fell apart like you’d been waiting your whole miserable life for it!”

Your eyes narrow.

Attack him.

You roll your shoulders, steadying your grip.

“So needy.”

You step closer to his voice.

“Your soul starved.”

Around the trunk, a flash of pink hair.

“Desperate for affection. Desperate for tenderness.”

One breath in. One breath out.

The monster ambles into view, his muscled back to you.

Attack him!

“Come out!” Sukuna growls, anger flaring. “Show me what that affection of yours is worth!”

From out of the darkness, your voice is a shriek of outrage as you lunge toward him.

The katana arcs. 

Sukuna turns.

Viciousness splits his teeth across his face.

His upper hands snap up, catching the weapon. The impact vibrates through marrow. Jaw clenching, you lean into it, but his grip tightens, his strength cracking the brittle blade.

But you aren’t done.

With his focus locked elsewhere, your other hand darts in. The tantō glints, and you thrust it forward, aiming for his stomach. 

But Sukuna’s lower hands move faster than you anticipate. One clamps around your wrist mid-thrust, the other intercepting the blade before it makes contact, the grip crushing the smaller blade from your grasp.

The tantō falls. A calculated sacrifice.

Because this was never about the fucking weapons.

When the blade hits the ground, you rotate your wrist inside his hold.

Fingers curving inward just enough, you let them graze along the underside of his forearm. The warmth of his skin against yours is nice, the touch intimate.

For the briefest moment, Sukuna’s entire presence stills.

Eyes cutting forcefully upward, a slow, bitter smile rolls across your lips.

“And now you’ll know what I’m capable of,” you snarl.

Your voice doesn’t sound human as your energy pours into your fingertips. And when the power does come, it comes faster than ever before. The King of Curses must sense it, too, because the moment he does, he drops your arm and abruptly steps back. You grin, watching as confusion twitches its way across his face before giving in to realization. 

His arrogance has cost him.

Climbing furiously along his lower left arm, the dappled stain spreads outward from where you touched. He shakes it as if to remove the decay rotting his flesh, and your eyes shine, knowing it will do nothing.

Freedom.  

At last.

You spit out a laugh, a mad, disjointed cackle.

Threatening red eyes jump to you in response, and without hesitation, the monster lifts his upper right arm, two fingers extending, and he brings it down in one brutal strike.

And severs his own arm.

You blink, watching the limb drop to the ground.

Blood spurts, oozing into the brush as the decay carves out its corrosive path. The flesh blackens, turns rancid, cracking and splitting apart, before the corruption eats the dismembered limb entirely, seeping into the earth.

By the time you drag your reluctant gaze back to Sukuna, all four of his eyes have widened, pupils dilating with something that looks disturbingly like exhilaration. Head tipping back, a shudder courses through him, and all his eyes roll, dark and wild.

Shit.

You step back.

Calm.

You back away.

“I always knew,” he murmurs, voice trembling with a sadistic kind of ecstasy. “That you were a sickness.”

Another step.

He rolls the stump of his shoulder, regrowing the severed arm. His mouth curves up.

“But I never knew how much until now.”

Then he moves.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck!

You hurl the katana at him. He swats it aside like it’s nothing, laughing as it hits the ground.

“You know, the third time you tried to kill me, when I had my nose shoved against your clit, you went for my head.” He circles two fingers near his temple. “I’ll admit, that was clever. The brain is... inconvenient to heal, especially with that—” he gestures toward your hands. “What are we calling it anyway? That nasty little trick of yours?”

You keep stepping back, but he keeps coming.

“A decay of the body,” you state, forcing your voice to sound calm.  

Sukuna nods, expression stamped into one of enchantment.

“And what happens once the rot spreads?”  

Your eyes dart behind you, ensuring you won’t collide with a tree, before snapping back to him.  

“The body can’t sustain itself.” Your words climb an octave. “And it splits open.”

At “splits open,” he looks feral.

“Oh, my darling!” he practically booms, making you recoil. “You are fascinating! And to think, I let you get so close to me with those hands of yours.”

Four eyes drag over you, studying you with a primordial stare equal parts appraisal and disgust.

“Yet here I am, wondering…” His teeth grind into a sneer. “If I should give you another chance to try.”  

Panic spreads as his muscles tense. His naked torso swells, all four hands clenching and unclenching, ready to attack.

“Let’s see if you can.”

You don’t see him move.

In seconds, the distance between you dissolves, and he arrives with his upper right hand hurtling forward.

Feet pivoting, you twist into a half turn to avoid the strike. A rush of air brushes past your face—he just missed. But the next blow is already careening toward your head.

Panicking, you drop into a crouch, narrowly escaping. He corrects his stance, instantly driving his lower left hand toward your stomach.

You roll, dodging. Barely.

Up and then—

Left.

Right.

Sideways.

Backwards.

Over.

Under.

Fuck!

It becomes harder to track him—his speed a blur. And he’s toying with you, the strikes landing everywhere but near your outstretched hands. Your torso. Your chest. Your legs. Your—

The ground is gone.

Stomach lurching, you’re whipped into weightlessness, spinning, then crashing back down to the earth. 

Your body tumbles, rolling over and over and over again until you land hard on your back.

Above, the stars have disappeared. Around you, fallen leaves and twigs puff out. A moment, and only a high-pitched trill rings inside your ears from the heavy impact.

You lay there, gasping, reeling.

Get. Up.

If you don’t, you’ll die.

You blink, then push up to your knees, suck in a tight breath, reorient yourself.

Pressure.

You lift your head.

Sukuna’s energy suddenly surges.

Terror, as you realize—too late—there’s no time to move.

From out in the dark, you see one of his hands swipe the air.

Then pain.

It cleaves into you, hot enough to sear all the way from tendon to bone to the roots of your teeth.

You look down.

Blink down.

Trying to make sense of what he’s done.

Blood. Sticky and warm. It soaks slowly but vividly through the fabric of your yukata, spreading from the clean slash cut into you from shoulder to collarbone.

“Whoops.”

His chuckle reaches you.

“Looks like I missed.”

It’s clear he’s done playing.

Lifting a hand, you clap it over the wound.

It hurts.

Fucking hell, it hurts.  

Fingers trembling, you hold the flayed skin together, desperately trying to stave off the agony.

“You know what happens now.” Sukuna’s voice brings your chin up, and you find him standing at a distance, the width of the dark forest framing him like a throne.

“I’ll take your head next,” he states, his upper right arm extended, the tip of his two fingers pointing toward your neck. “Unless you fight back.”

He starts walking toward you.

“So fight back.”

You blink at him, trying to decide what to do, and all the while, an ache in your fingers throbs painfully equal to the wound he’s inflicted.

Panic? Or something else?

Eyes dropping to your hands, the discolouration now crawls and licks its way up to your wrists.

Your gaze darts back to Sukuna. He’s closer now, but he doesn’t need to get near to kill you—so why hasn’t he done it yet?

“Fight back!” he orders, swinging up his arm.

With no time to think, you dive forward, dropping to your hands and knees, and plunging your fingers into the earth.

You’ve never done this before. But it’s your only idea. One stupid, desperate idea you might not even be capable of.

Fingertips groping, you search. Feel. Look.

Most of the vegetation is lifeless. You need something alive for this to work. It has to be alive. You think, you hope—panic hinging on the faint memory of that night inside the rocky overhang when you destroyed the moss with a touch.

“Come on…” you whisper, teeth clenched as his footsteps draw nearer, louder.

You don’t dare look up. Your eyes stay fixed on your hands, the way they move around through the darkness.

Rock. Dead grass. Broken branches. Fallen leaves. Sap. Soil.

“Come on!”

“Hurry up, winter flower.” His voice ahead coos. “Else, I’ll peel back your skin like pretty red petals.”

“Shut up!”

Sukuna chuckles.

Shrivelled mushrooms. Damp bark. Dirt and dirt and dirt and—

Then you feel it. Cool and soft against your skin.

Moss. Alive.

Quickly, so quickly, you focus, flattening your palms and massaging deeper into the network of its body.

Please fucking work!

The connection gushes. Power slides into your veins, lifting every hair along your body. A floodgate thrown wide open—something unlike anything you’ve felt before.

From where your hands touch, the ground begins to peel away like dead skin. 

Rot spreads.

Everything alive within its path withers, turning sickly brown, then souring into dust. 

It keeps going. Spreading.

Plants and brush disintegrate first, followed by the roots of a nearby tree. With its foundation devoured, it crashes to the ground. Then another falls. And another. And another.

Animals scatter in every direction, screaming and swarming away from you in a hopeless attempt to escape. Birds take flight. Mice, rabbits, insects—anything with legs scrambling through the undergrowth—rush to flee as fast as they can.

And it doesn’t stop.

The chaotic energy inside you keeps wailing. Uncontrolled and untamed.

But you pour everything into it anyway. All your hatred. All your rage. Take it all and feed it toward him. 

Because if he’s taught you anything, it’s that anger is a pathway to power.

Isn’t it?

As if in a trance, your shoulders undulate and dip. Your hands digging into the earth, breaths short, ragged inhales.

This is what you wanted!

Eyes glazed with euphoria, you look up and find the monster. He’s grinning, violently wide, stepping back just enough to stay ahead of the outspread.

“Good girl. That’s it!” He steps lightly, heavy body agile within the chaos. “Show me more. Keep going!”

Confusion paints your expression at his unexpected praise. More than that, the look on his face. He looks pleased, ecstatic, delighted... almost proud. Proud of what you’ve done, of what you’re doing. It’s so disorienting and contradicting that you don’t even notice when the decay slows, its frenzied path tapering out until it stops completely.

The grin on his face vanishes, replaced by a deep frown.

All at once, he’s moving toward you, feet treading through the fractured destruction you’ve just caused.

Moonlight filters through the remaining trees, slicing in pieces and illuminating the powerful lines of his body.

A warning rings out inside your mind.

“I said, show me more of you!”

Before you can move, he reaches where you kneel and bends down. Snatching your wrists, he wrenches your hands from the soil with his lower hands and lifts you up in his grasp.

“Fuck you!” you spit as he deliberately pushes your fingers into clenched fists, his massive hands engulfing yours, ensuring you can’t touch him.

Shoulder screaming in pain, you thrash uselessly against the hold, powerless to free yourself.

Suddenly, his upper left hand clamps around your head. Palm pressing into your face, two fingers part just enough to keep your view unobstructed while the others dig painfully into your jaw.

“When I tell you to show me,” he snarls, his voice deep and cruel, “you show me!”

Before you can respond, something tugs sharply at your yukata, yanking you forward and forcing your back into an arch.

Through the narrow gap between his fingers, you see his maw has opened and is dragging the fabric inward between its massive teeth.  

A feeble cry of rage flies from your mouth, muffling against his palm, legs kicking wildly in the air.

He laughs.

“I wonder what you’ll taste like, crushed inside there,” he hums, then pauses.

The pull grows stronger. Your body edges closer. His laughter grows more manic. You can see him glaring at you through the outlines of his fingers. 

“We can find out. Unless you do something.”

The maw drags you in further, its massive teeth grazing the softness of your hip.

You frantically wiggle your hands, trying to move a finger, any of them.

Nothing.

Panic.

“I hate you!” you shout, your voice ripping through the night, loud enough to echo.

Sukuna’s mouth twitches, throat turning solid. For a moment, you want to look away, but you can’t. Something quiet passes across his features, making your heart stagger. You can’t name it, and you don’t care. It vanishes like everything else.

“You hate me?” he says flatly before his face darkens. “Speaking of hate as though you’ve truly tasted it. What a sacrifice you must have endured.” He leans in while pulling your face closer with his palm. “I’ve fucking despised you for seven long years!”

Another yank. You shriek at him, kick your feet aiming for anything. Dampness soaks your legs. Something wet slides across your thigh. The large tongue presses against your exposed skin through a tear in the fabric.

Your rage mutates, reforms and takes shape.

It's becoming difficult to breathe.

You thrash violently, but Sukuna doesn’t let go.

A strange pricking sensation needles along your hands. With his hand clamped tightly over your face, it’s not something you can see.

But you feel it.

A pulse.

It picks outward and moves, pushing further this time—flowing through your hands and into somewhere else. You aren’t sure, but it stings along your skin.

The King of Curses’ grip suddenly loosens with a growl. His fingers release you, and you drop to the ground on your backside, gasping and coughing for air. 

Looking up, you see the maw with a strip of fabric pinched between its teeth, but the smell of decay has your eyes shooting up. Rot spreads rapidly along Sukuna’s lower arms. The flesh splits, devouring him.

You don’t care how you managed to pull it off, and you don’t wait to see what happens, either. You know what’s coming. He’ll dismember his own limbs to stop it.

Scrambling to your feet, you turn and run.

Get back to the shrine.

Hopefully, now that he’s seen what you’re capable of, the vow is fulfilled.

This will grant you time to get away and maybe enough space to head to the stables, collect Ayana and escape this place.

Sprinting through the trees, weaving around rocks, the blood from your shoulder taps steadily to the ground. Your desperate gait carries you quickly, and slowly, the shrine comes into view, peeking through the crowded trunks of trees.

Bursting out of the forest, you make it into the garden, clambering onto a stone path, before you feel him.

Energy. Pressure. Right at your back.

No!

You try to move for cover, but suddenly, you’re hunching over with your breath torn away.

Another sharp slice carves through your body, this time, across your lower back. The fabric resting there, and the skin, shredded.

Mouth agape, you can’t breathe, the cry of pain lost somewhere inside your throat.

Drip, drip, drip.

Warm blood trickles down your backside, winding in slow currents between your thighs before pooling at your feet.

You stop moving, teeter on your heels, unbalanced by the force of the strike.

There was no hesitation behind that cut. But still, he hasn’t gone for the killing blow. Not yet. Though, like this, you might bleed out before he gets the chance.

Blinking rapidly, you force yourself to move.

You have to.

Because if you’re going to die, it will be inside his shrine, cursing him and this place to hell with one final breath of your lungs.

The slow drag of your legs across Sukuna’s private garden is agonizing, each step a nauseating limp.

When you reach the verandah, you know he’s behind you. You can hear the full weight of his feet.

Pushing yourself up the steps and into his chambers, you bang the door shut behind you. Staggering through the darkened room, you move toward the door leading to the corridor, the passage you’ve walked through so many times, and reach for it.

Where would be the best place to bleed out?

It’s a morbid thought, but the idea of Uraume or Ren having to scrape your broken body off the floor brings a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Because they’re all liars.

All of them.

But none more than the abomination at your back.

Palms outstretched, you reach the door. Your hands, now clear from the discolouration of rot, touch the wood just as the garden door behind you falls open.

You don’t hear Sukuna step inside. 

He’s silent.

But the silence lasts for only seconds.

“Fuga.”

Inside the room, the silver-blue moonlight scattered across the walls is swallowed by a sudden eruption of firey red. Warmth explodes, spreading across your body and sinking deep into the wounds and cold sweat at your back.

Eyes falling shut, you still, dropping your hands limply to your sides.

From your dreams or, rather, memories, you already know what awaits you. Divine flames. Hot and burning with the intent to kill.

How is it that after all of this—after everything you’ve done just to protect your sister—this is how it’s supposed to end?

The sacrifice you’ve made. The bullshit you’ve endured.

When will it stop?

Because you’re tired. 

So damn tired.

Blood pitting against the floor, you slowly turn. The blazing arrow, aimed directly at your chest, illuminates the night from the garden door where it’s been drawn. Its angry glow reflects the fury of the demon wielding it.

Blinking at all that orange and all the red flickering embers before you, you let out a soft, panicked laugh.

Sukuna draws back further, twisting his forearm, the tension in his body visible as he lifts his chin.

From where you stand across the room, you swallow, straighten, and mimic his motion, tilting your head upward to try and meet his gaze. Dying while staring into those familiar red eyes seems a fitting end.

A heartbeat passes.

Then two.

Chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, you continue to stand there and wait.  

And wait.  

And wait. 

And nothing happens.  

He doesn’t release it.

He declared you were to die here tonight.

So, why hasn't he released it?

A muscle pulses in his jaw while his nostrils flare. Upper right elbow cocking rigid, he pulls the arrow back further—every tendon standing out against the red glow, the flames shuddering under the weight of his power.  

Again, you brace yourself, expecting to feel the heat of it lancing through your body, flesh burning from bone. And still—nothing. 

Your mouth tightens with frustration.  

“If you’re going to do it, then do it already!” you snarl, hands locking into fists.

A pause.

You wait.

With renewed fury, his eyes harden.

And back, and back, and back he pulls.

Clarity gathers.

A thousand moments stretch out in a single heartbeat—terrible ones.  

Your father shouting, striking you. The cat you accidentally killed under your hand at nine. Waking to the bloody remains of your mother and unborn sibling after touching her. Meeting the King of Curses on the dirt-packed road. The blade in the dark as Sayuri stabbed into you. Onishi’s eyes, cold and cruel. All the nightmares of your sister being violated because of your failure—and all the ones that followed.

You blink, refocusing on the man before you. Watch him hold your life in his hands and force yourself to think of everything else.

Falling asleep warm and safe next to your mother. Your sister’s smile, her words dragging you from the darkest corners of your life. Uraume’s quiet care when you were at your most vulnerable. Strolling through the shrine’s blooming garden with Ren. Ayana, riding her, the cool breeze on your face when she runs.

And still, always last.

All of Sukuna’s hands on you for the first time—the way it felt, the way you didn’t agonize over someone’s touch, his body close to yours. His hands healing you after Sayuri’s assault, and every time after. The look on his face—the fury, the concern—despite his claim to feel nothing.

The flames before you collapse, hissing and dissipating to nothing. They die out. The room returns to cool darkness, smoke lingering for a moment, then curling out the garden door and into the night. The King of Curses lowers his arms to his sides. 

You blink. Furrow your brow. Confused. Angry. Annoyed. Frustrated.

He can’t.

“I knew it,” you breathe, shifting in the bloody slick forming at your feet. “You can’t…”

You pause. Blink again. Try to tame your heart that beats too loudly.

“All these hesitations, the declaration to kill me…”

Another pause.

“You can’t do it,” you say, tilting your head gently, pitying him. “Can you?”

Sukuna says nothing, but his red eyes narrow to dangerous slits.

You take a small step forward.

“You are a hypocrite.”

Another step.

“Spineless.”

One more.

“Just like everyone you claim to be beneath you.” Your voice is quiet before it rises with the hammering pulse inside your veins. “You are fucking coward, Ryomen Sukuna!” you finish in a wild shout, teeth bared.

If ever there was a mistake you couldn’t take back, it was now.

Gone is the hesitation in his eyes, replaced only by aggression. Feet padding softly, you back away as if that look has seared into you. Seared and burned away that hesitation.

From across the room, his powerful legs and gait carry him toward you. In an instant, he barrels into you, wrenching a cry from your lungs. His lower hands seize your wrists, yanking and bending them so your fingers are tucked into the small of your back, unable to touch. 

“You are an affliction. One that should be dead a thousand times over!” he snarls, towering over you, eyes wide open as if he's finally realized something terrible.

His full weight crashes down against you as his upper right hand wraps around your throat and squeezes.

“Then why aren’t I!?” You suck down a ragged breath, fighting against the pressure.

“Quiet!”

When his hold tightens, the veins in his forearm flex and his eyes—so very dark in the dim room—lock onto yours.

“I’ll just have to crush the life out of you.”

With a violent push, you lurch forward, closing the remaining space. Grip tightening, his face dips toward yours, so near you can see the fine striations in his red irises. So close, the rings in his eyes appear endless, their depths pulling inward. His pupils darken, absorbing the silver-blue light, and in them, you see your own reflection.  

But it’s not just your face you read in that gaze. It’s everything else.  

Hatred. Anger. Hunger. Desire. Want.

The pain of wanting. A longing so consuming that your heartbeat stumbles and falls still.

Against all reason, your chin tilts upward, inviting something you can’t quite name, but you, too, feel that longing. And everything else. Every raw, visceral emotion you’ve felt these last few months burns between you like fire.

Sukuna’s grip tightens further. Your throat aches, his fingers jab in, his brow twitching with rage. It creases, hardens, then softens.

And you hate that, hate this duality between him.

Hate it.

Hate all of it.

The confusion. The hurt. The desperation. The torment. The need.

“Do it already!” Agony catches your shout coming out as a strangled hiss.

It falls quiet save for your struggling breaths for air and his heavy breathing. The King of Curses stares down at you with those void, demonic eyes of his, his weight pressing you harder into the floor.

“If we hate each other so much, then finish it!” Your glare clashes with his widening sneer. “Kill me! I’m tired of this. I’m tired of you! So release me from this cursed fucking union!”

His fingers dig deeper, harder, crueller, thumb moulding firmly against your windpipe. Darkness creeps along the edges of your vision.

Trembling, your lashes shudder. Trembling, you try to breathe.

His gaze narrows, his bare torso heaving, nostrils flaring. All four of his eyes drop to your lips.

Your mouth parts in a final, desperate attempt to inhale.

And then—

Exhale.

But it doesn’t come. It’s gone, cut off, swallowed.

A snarl rips from Sukuna's chest as he surges forward, hauling you closer, crushing you against him. The hand squeezing your throat releases, only to bury violently into your hair, fingers gripping the back of your head and yanking you to him. Your eyes widen, you tense, lips nearly brushing his, but he stops, just barely.

A moment of resistance.

Like all the other times before.

You lock eyes, faces so close, mouths parted you feel his breath mingling with yours. Your hearts pound in unison, chests heaving, panting. A small, involuntary whimper escapes your throat, and Sukuna’s jaw clenches tightly in response.

Then, madness takes over.

His mouth slams down while you push up on your toes to reach for him. The desperation, the fury, the need—it’s all-consuming. The pain in your body, the wounds, the exhaustion. Gone.

They all fade to nothing as your starving mouths finally find each other and seal together.

[amiaclone]

Oh hello! I love the way you write, could you write something like the reader is pregnant by player 333 and he protects her no matter what in the games,ty ✨️

YES IVE BEEN WAITING FOR PLAYER 333

Soo since this is basically just Junhee I’m gonna add a bit more to the plot if you don’t mind!

You were in the first games like Gi hun you didn’t win although you escaped after you lost at one of the games (let’s say marbles) was living with Gi hun for a good while then moved out etc met Lee Myung gi (player 333) got you pregnant did the scam etc anyways you wanted to help Gi hun but not get involved but Front man kidnapped you anyways for fun and well….here you are

Since I like Junhee I don’t wanna erase her so she’s like a spy or sm 😔 a whole different plot but interesting still

Anyways here it is!

Lee Myung Gi x Fem! Reader

You sighed in annoyance as your ex came to bother you about if you were okay or needed anything the usual

You didn’t even wanna be here but be with him? No way!

You won’t lie you *did* need help in a place like this but with him? No way!

“Do you need my extra milk? A place like this isn’t fit for someone like you! Bla bla bla” that’s all he ever said

Myung gi and you used to be one of those lovey dovey couples who you’d think would get married or something…..it could of happened if he didn’t end up with you losing your money and ghosting you

For the money? Meh you didn’t care as Gi hun managed to pay off your debts but ghosting? That was cold you called almost everyday and received little knowledge……yeah he deserves what’s coming to him

Currently it was after red light green light and he was bothering you about a new thing!

“You played these games before and never told me?”

You rolled your eyes “Yeah cause telling someone I was kidnapped and forced to play children games and could die is so believable”

He shook his head “Yeah well things like this aren’t just things you can forget about! How did you leave why did you go back-“

You turned to him rather harshly “Not that it concerns you but I don’t wanna be here just as much as anyone else” you sighed staring at your stomach for a bit your child could die here…..you could die here was it really worth it?

He noticed and stood firm “Well I’ll protect you” you gave him a small glare

“How am I supposed to know I can trust you?”

He shook his head “Don’t be stubborn y/n in your condition if the majority votes to stay….your chances are very slim”

You sighed looking up at the roof “Fine. But don’t think this means I have forgotten anything”

He sighed smiling that you’d agree maybe this is a chance to finally make things up with you?

Cue to the six legged pentathlon

You teamed with Gi hun followed by your ex who’s been following you around the whole time like a lost puppy except the puppy is preventing anything from even looking at or touching said person aka you

So far you agreed to do Jegi as it seemed the easiest

“Don’t you think it’d be dangerous-“

“I’m doing it”

Luckily we barely lived even though In ho/Player 001 nearly screwed it over for us and you all headed out

Once again Myung Gi stood by your side you even cheered with him for passing it he smiled

Oh wait your still supposed to be mad at him you quickly erased that smile with a frown

“Well thanks for protecting me i suppose you’ve been nice…”

“Nice enough for me to finally show you I’m sorry?”

“No”

He mentally groaned he knew he messed up but he really did miss you ghosting you was a big regret but he didn’t want you getting involved because people were trying to kill him!

Well atleast you’re nice enough to try tolerating that’s a start…

Cue to mingle

You haven’t seen Myung for almost the whole game and to be honest you were getting kinda worried you were with Gi hun and the team you formed back in six legged pentathlon

The new number was seven you grabbed onto Junhee a kind girl who told you in secret she was a spy for the government (Cool plot might use it for an oc) who you’ve bonded with the whole time you were here

You ran but someone fell you think it was Young Mi? Anyways just as the door was about to close *He* walked in

Ah typical Myung gi smiled staring at everyone specifically you as he expected to be seen as a hero

Why were you kinda relieved to see him?

Which you agreed he did technically save your lifes you empathised heavily with Hyun Ju banging on the door crying for Young Mi it gave you flashbacks of the first games you didn’t lose anyone typically close you can recall but still a sad time..

Anyways Hyun Ju blamed Myung gi while Myung gi defended himself and begged any of us to agree with him which you did

“I’m sorry about Young mi Hyun Ju but he’s got a point we all would have died”

Myung gi seemed relieved and when you were all walking out walked up to you “Thank you for defending me does this mean we can talk? Oh! Watch your step”

He points at the wall when you were a good distance from it you rolled your eyes

“This doesn’t change anything I just agreed with you cause you were right”

Before he could say anything the last round started

It said 2 and he immediately grabbed you before you could even comprehend who it was luckily he found a random door barely and slammed it shut breathing heavily

“Thanks” is all you could mutter heavily breathing

He smiled

“As long as I’m here I’ll protect you”

And why did you feel comforted by that….

I loved this one smmmm we need more Myung gi fanfics! Hope you likeddd it

[mythals-whore]

Some of y’all have not read the Masked Empire and it shows. Every time Briala idealizes the ancient elves/the Dalish, the whole time Felassan is like:

“Oh the ancient elves? That’s so funny, they definitely also had a hierarchy.”

“yeah yeah the ancient elven empire, so cool…so who do you think the servants were??”

“yeah the elves, they were great….they used to enslave spirits, also”

The whole thing is that tyranny has always existed?? Its just that the elves used to do it to each other instead of like humans oppressing the elves. And Felassan actually tries to help Briala elevate the modern elves (help free them from tyranny. Which, you know, was the whole point of the original rebellion). And Solas doesn’t just get mad at this…he straight up kills him.

And no, idc that he doesn’t “want to” or that he was sad about it. He actually quite literally didn’t have to.

Anyone who wants to pretend Solas wasn’t always Like That…I’m just really confused by you. Its giving: “but he loves me, so idc how he treats anyone else” (his closest friend and confidant btw)

Idc idc i loved Masked Empire, it added much needed context. Felassan, my beloved, you didn’t deserve that.