#tw unethical practices

[abrahamvanhellsingjournal]

Entry Three: Date November 23rd 1898

Things have not been going as planned in the past several days. My attempts in finding more about the biological functions of vampires, and specifically Dracula have come to a stand still, due to Dracula healing far too quickly for any head way to be produced. Trying to keep the incision open with forceps does nothing for the flesh will just heal around it, and cause the forceps to get stuck forcing it to be cut out, not very productive for either myself or Dracula.

I find myself frustrated by it, as I go down in an attempt to conduct a dissection, only to be thwarted in any attempt by the ridiculous regenerative ability. I am attempting to understand it, for when Dracula was staked, his body did not react in the same way, and in fact, that particular wound is still in the process of healing. I suspect it will leave quite the nasty scar behind when fully healed.

Back to the problem I have with not being to dissect the specimen, I wonder if an oil made from garlic or using tools made of silver would work better than the steel tools I am currently working with, for it does seem to slow when cuts are made with such instruments, though a butter knife is hardly the right instrument to conduct any kind of surgery with. On another note, I am quite surprised to find that Dracula seems to be able to feel pain, for when I first used the butter knife on him in a fit of scientific frustration, he seemed to hiss in pain, and tried to twitch away from the source. He also has displayed similar behaviors when my forceps have gotten stuck in his flesh, and are subsequently ripped out, though it is a lessened reaction compared to the butter knife made of silver.

[mugentakeda]

the successful aftermath of the first ever (improvised) top surgery, invented by master katara of the southern water tribe and performed on fire lord zuko (circa 104 ag)

[tiredflowercrown]

there's no bandage (to lessen the damage)

Hehe @panthera-tigris-venenata you wanted all three right? You wanted this right? Are you prepared for what you asked for? I'm not sure you are but oh well.

Trigger Warning: Dehumanisation, Unethical medical practices, Human experimentation

All vauge, but you have been warned

CJ had always been reckless. Ever since she could walk she had been getting in trouble, running into situations she shouldn’t belong or climbing up masts. She was rambunctious and loud and free.

There was no one really free on the Isle like CJ was. A luxury granted to her by her siblings, who held so much fear on the Isle no one dared touch her unless they were a fool. She ran from place to place doing as she pleased. So it was no wonder that it was these habits that did her in.

CJ had been enjoying Auradon. There was so much for her to explore, to find, to steal, to simply wreck havoc upon. Running from place to place, kingdom to kingdom, was exhilarating. She finally had people willing to give chase. The thrill of the hunt had been the most addicting thing she had felt yet.

So when the guards got close, within eyesight, and she ran, her voice bubbled with laughter. Crazy psychotic laughter. The only kind she knew, well the only kind she let the public know she had a reputation to protect. It rang out for miles, hiding her in the scenery to most, yet one guard kept her eyes on her, tracking her through the trees and brush, waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect shot.

CJ had stopped for a breath when it happened, standing on a branch, a huge smile across her face. The arrow in her chest took all of that away. She fell, shock replacing her smile, blood quickly blossoming along her shirt. Upon hitting the ground, the audible crunch of bones had even the guard flinching.

She approached closer, careful due to CJ’s known trickery, calling in the fall and potential capture of a wanted fugitive. The young girl just lied there. She seemed so simple, so small with her quickly blood soaking shirt and glassy eyes.

Somewhere on an Isle miles away, two people scream. A piece of their heart gone. They don’t know how. They don’t know why. Just a sinking gut and a searing pain telling them everything they need to know.

“She’s dead. The fugitive is dead. Prepare for extraction.”

The guard looked mournfully, remembering the details of the profile she was given: Calista Jane Hook, Age 14. She had only been a child.

No. She couldn’t think like that. The fugitive was dangerous for a reason. The property damage and millions of stolen goods spoke for itself. No. The world was far better with it out of it. (It had to be right?)

The body is taken in. A full work up is done. Medical tests and examinations. A full autopsy. A full cause of death and all the contributing factors. Everything is done. No stone is left unturned. No one had ever gotten a chance to truly see what the Isle had done to people before, they didn’t want to miss a single detail. Not when something so fascinating, so rare was in front of them. A whole study at their disposal, no ethics board sitting in their way. Not when there was no eligible next of kin. Not when there wasn’t a single soul who cared about the dead fugitive.

In a castle miles away sat a girl searching. For a way to talk, to get her back, to make a deal. A life for a life. Anything. She didn’t mean what she said. She didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want to be in a world without her wildfire. She couldn’t do this without her.

Finally after much pushing from the Crown, the fugitive’s body was released, but not without plenty of samples taken to continue testing. When it finally reached the hands of one Freddie Facilier, she wept at the loss of her dear CJ, who was almost unrecognizable. She was lifeless, none of her abundance of energy to be seen. Massive chunks of her hair were missing, surgical lines across every limb of her body. Every part of her dissected.

She crafted letters, being careful of who saw her. It wouldn’t do to have her surprise ruined. She mourned and buried her wildfire. CJ deserved to rest, deserved to be left alone from Auradon’s pain and torture. She watched and waited for vengeance, it didn’t belong to her, not really. And the sea always helped the sea, a ship couldn’t sail without waves. They grew closer and she grew more content, they will avenge her. They will avenge CJ.

When the siblings finally reach Auradon, it will burn. Their fury will reach levels never seen before. Lives will be taken, buildings broken into and burned. Every inch of what had been done to their sister, every reminder, every document will be destroyed. They don’t deserve her or the knowledge that their “research” on her gave them.

But it will never be enough.

Because Calista Jane will remain dead. She will remain in the ground (Or in labs never found.) She will never speak again. She will never laugh again. She will never run again. She will never be again.

Only the memory of her will remain untainted. And even that is not enough.

[rie-092]

note: so, i was doing some of the pending requests and i ended up re-reading this manga that i read last month and a prompt suddenly came into my mind and i won't be able to sleep properly tonight if i don't share this rn. yes, i'm always like this. sooooo this is tcf with a mad doctor! reader (i based it from takahashi akira of youkai gakkou no sensei hajimemashita)

tw: blood, unethical experimentation, basically everything (reader) does.

basically you were a doctor in the same company with kim rok soo, choi jung soo and lee soo hyuk.

when kim rok soo first arrived in the company. lee soo hyuk told him about the one rule that every team has everytime they goes to their mission.

don't get hurt so they won't go to the clinic to meet you.

and for the first time, when he met you. you were able to crack rok soo's calm demeanor.

don't blame him. thanks to his ability, he can't forget the first time he met you when he and jung soo got injured in one of their mission. he was too dumb to think that you were innocent. the way you sit on your seat like a calm person and that calming smile on your face that calm his nerves that time. making him forget how serious his injury was.

but his first impression about you didn't last when jung soo, who was looking for the comfort room inside the clinic. only to open a door that leads them your 'lab area' where they saw countless monsters, hell, some are even s-class. who was jailed and practically (despite of not being able to talk at all) beg them to drag them out there.

hell, they even saw some skulls there and dried blood!

the two of them then heard your sweet voice from afar. your cheery voice that was a stark contrast of the hell that they've seen.

“oohhh, rok soo-ssi, jung soo-ssi, you've seen my collections, huh~?”

and jung soo literally screamed at the sight of you. your usual clean lab coat was stain with blood.

he remembered jung soo shakily asking you what's the liquid staining your lab coat. then it took you a minute to answer their simple question. your bright smile still plastered on your face.

"ketchup, i think?"

but there's no way that a ketchup will smell like a damn blood!

then your nurses ganged up on them. those damn nurses who for some reasons have the same smile as you. and even the same eyes with a glint of madness.

okay.what.the.hell?

the last thing rok soo could remember after that. was you, taking a damn huge saw with a crazed smile—

“alright~ it's time for your medical examination <3!"

it was followed by jung soo's screams asking lee soo hyuk (who is not present that time) for help. and you, laughing it off saying that you won't hurt them.

when he woke up, he found himself in your clinic's bed. with the traumatized choi jung soo on the bed next to them. and then, you, who just finished an operation smiling brightly at them. asking how's their feeling, if they feel alright, and many questions. followed by your chuckles saying—

“hmm, looks like that i will be able to use that drug to others now, hehe.”

and during those times they stayed at your clinic to heal their wounds. they started wondering if you are really a doctor or a serial killer.

alright, alright— what kind of doctor will go check on them with blood on their cheeks. or while holding a dismembered hand saying that it was only a display and not a real body but blood was dripping from it and it was still moving?

but, they have to admit. aside from your unhinged personality. there is something about you that makes them at ease.

oh, are you wondering what's your relationship with lee soo hyuk? well, before the apocalypse, the two of you are actually classmates.

and this guy was the one who witnessed your craziness about 'knowledge' and discovering more about human (when the truth is you actually want to see if the human internal organs are really similar to the pictures they put on the books).

and it was indeed scary. but at the same time, lee soo hyuk adores you. though, he knows that you, during the apocalypse— found love and emotions useless. because it will only be a weakness that will burden someone and might become the reason of their death.

but that doesn't mean that he will get rid of this emotions that he has towards you.

and the day that he dread the most had come.

on his way to visit choi jung soo and kim rok soo (who got injured on their last mission) to your hospital. he was petrified at the sight of the ability users panicking as they evacuated your patients— and when he asked what happened.

what he got was countless high grade monsters appeared on the hospital— (which surprised him since he knew that you keep your experiments on the clinic you had inside the company since you did that it was safer there) and the only one who's still inside was you, kim rok soo and choi jung soo.

and kim rok soo, the person who was with you that time. the person who witness your last moments. the person who now couldn't forget about you no matter how time passes by.

he remembered how you kicked choi jung soo out of the window earlier, claiming that a patient would be useless in fighting monsters. and now, you seemed to be pretty out of it. talking to yourself as you and rok soo ran to the fourth floor.

he remembered you saying—

“god of death? what are you? a person with a middle school syndrome?”

and looking outside, he saw countless ability users preparing soft cushions and urging them to jump so that they will be able to set the hospital on fire and get rid of the monsters—

and maybe because of that— you suddenly pushed him out of the window. saying something about slicing someone's stomach open and observing what's inside it if they weren't a real god.

when you saw that both kim rok soo and choi jung soo was safe. you turned your back from the crowds, smirking as you realized you were surrounded by monsters. man, this situation excites you so much.

and taking out the remote from your pockets that will defuse the home made bombs that you made and put around the hospital back when you are so bored. you started thinking on how does it feel like dying because of a bomb before you pressed the button.

you expected that you will be stuck in nothingness after that event. but when you opened your eyes, you were welcomed by the sight of a beautiful woman with a fiery red hair and reddish brown eyes, smiling softly at you.

“looks like you were awake, my little ( name ).”

while up in the heavenly realm. there is a certain someone who made sure to wipe up your memories. so that you will forget the deal about agreeing to examine him once the two of you meet one day.

yeah, he might be a god but you scares him more than anything else so hard pass <3!

[macbethsymphony]

Negotiations

Dracule Mihawk x Reader

wc: 5.2 k

tw: NSFW, 18+, this is just pure filth guys, it's 5k of smut, there's no plot. Edging, overstimulation, slightly dubcon, fingering, Mihawk has the hyperfocus of a god? this is highly toxic and slightly unethical ngl

Summary: The tale of how a negotiator convinced the marine hunter to consider becoming a warlord.

AO3

Eat, drink, nap, kill marines, drink some more, sleep, and repeat. That was the unvarying routine of Dracule Mihawk, marine hunter. At least, that’s what he’d been up to, these past two months.

Marine hunter. What a fucking joke. Marine killer was more accurate. The man was deranged, his actions driven by an insidious boredom that turned slaughter into a twisted game. It was painfully obvious that he was merely toying with the Marines, savoring the macabre sport, desperately looking for someone who would match his skills. If you had your way, you’d be plotting his demise instead. Though you supposed if you were here, it meant they’d all failed.

Tsuru’s words echoed in your mind, firm and unyielding: “I trust you are able to bring him to the table,” she had said. “You are our best negotiator, after all.”

So, you grit your teeth and set the scene. For in no world was disappointment an option; failing your superiors, especially Tsuru, was unthinkable.

Your officers were meticulously positioned, the bar’s usual faces replaced by those of disguised operatives. Only a few of the establishment's staff remained. A strategic decision to ensure the venue’s operations ran smoothly without drawing suspicion. The air was thick with tension, and you were acutely aware that the slightest misstep could unravel the entire thing. The possibility of disaster loomed large; a single error could transform this carefully orchestrated meeting into a chaotic bloodbath, with no chance of containing Mihawk’s whims.

Your heart pounded with an almost unbearable intensity, a drumbeat of anxiety and anticipation. You reminded yourself that your team were experts, each one adept at their role, and that every detail had been rehearsed to perfection. You could do this. You would succeed where all others had failed.

The door to the bar creaked open, drawing your attention as you smoothly transitioned into your assigned role. “Whiskey, neat, please,” you requested from the bartender, your eyes never leaving the imposing figure in the corner. “Actually, I’ll take the whole bottle.”

You watched with a tight-lipped smile as Mihawk, with deliberate nonchalance, made his way behind the bar. He selected two bottles of fine wine, his movements leisurely, and then settled into his usual spot, a booth in the corner, away from everyone. A fleeting, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips as he uncorked one of the bottles and poured himself a glass. Your breath caught, a shiver of doubt sliding through you, but you forced yourself to look again. 

Good. 

It was nothing more than a trick of the light.

You downed your glass, slamming it with a bit too much force on the bar counter. 

Everything was falling into place. You had him where you wanted him; all you needed to do was stick to the script. You adjusted your dress, the provocative cut emphasizing every curve. Confidence surged through you. You knew how to handle men like him. This would be no different. 

You approached him, whiskey bottle in hand, your movements practiced and deliberate. “Hello, handsome,” you purred, your voice a silky caress. He would be putty in your hands before long.

But as his gaze locked with yours, the air between you seemed to thicken. The intensity of his stare left you breathless, feeling strangely vulnerable. The mastery you usually wielded over people faltered. You couldn’t decipher him, couldn’t read him. At all.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

Fuck.

Fuck.

You were always in control, always able to manipulate the situation with ease. You were the master and they the puppets. The fact that Mihawk’s inscrutable expression was completely impenetrable threw you off balance.

You were already committed, though. Backing out now was not an option.

“Mind if I sit?” you asked, voice dropping to a husky whisper. You allowed your fingers to trail delicately along his shoulder and then drift over the exposed skin of his chest. Your gaze flickered to the other banquette, the seat occupied by the bulk of his massive sword, back to him. The invitation in your eyes was unmistakable.

For a moment, you thought you glimpsed a spark of amusement in his gaze, but it was so fleeting that you couldn’t be sure. Mihawk tilted his head slightly, the feather on his hat accentuating the movement with a languid grace.

“Be my guest,” he said, his tone flat and devoid of emotion.

He made no move to shift from his position, no move to shift the position of his sword. You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to maintain composure. The arrangement was deliberate—there was no easy way for you to sit without essentially stepping over him and trapping yourself between him and the wall.

He was toying with you, you realized with a flicker of frustration. But if he wanted a game, you were more than capable of playing along. You were a master of your craft after all. With a deliberate motion, you took the third, more unexpected option. You straddled him, the hem of your already short dress rising even higher as your legs settled to his side. 

You held his gaze steadily as you sipped from the whiskey bottle, slamming it behind you with a practiced flourish once you were done.

His gaze didn’t shift as he drank in your form, lingering on your curves, then back to your features. You did the same, taking him in, the sharpness of his jaw, the solidity of his muscles. You’d already known he was handsome, hours of looking at pictures had told you that, but by the gods above he was almost ethereal. You prayed for a moment that the heat you felt was from the alcohol you just downed. But you knew it wasn’t.

“Bold.” The word snapped you out of your thoughts. “For a marine that is.”

Your spine went cold at the statement. 

He knew. 

Of course, he knew. 

But you were still alive, which meant he was still willing to entertain this scene. 

It’d been a power play you realized a touch too late. He’d just flipped the script you had so carefully prepared. 

Interesting. 

Absolutely thrilling.

You hadn’t expected that he’d be a worthy opponent and you’d let him earn the first point in your carelessness. It didn’t matter, however, you could easily recover from such a small blunder.

You leaned in closer, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, “Boldness is often rewarded, don’t you think, marine hunter?” Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest, feeling the marble-like skin, the uneven rhythm hoping to distract in its randomness.

Mihawk’s gaze darkened, his eyes flicking down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “Rewards come in many forms,” his voice was a seductive drawl. “Some more satisfying than others.”

You stopped the patterns, nails digging tenderly into hard muscles as you traveled down.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound low and inviting. “Well, I do aim to satisfy.” You pursed your lips, emphasizing the word. Your fingers continued their path, slipping to rest on his belt buckle, playing with the metal. “But satisfaction is a two-way street. What would it take to make you happy, Mihawk?”

His hand moved, a distracting caress tracing up your thigh, stopping right under the hem of your dress. The touch was electrifying, sending a shiver down your spine. “Happiness is a fleeting emotion,” he said, his eyes boring into yours. His fingers roamed back down, nails digging softly in the plush skin, mirroring your previous actions. “I prefer something more... enduring.”

Fuck.

He was good.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “And what might that be?”

He smirked, a predatory gleam taking over the amber hues of his eyes. “Isn’t that your job to figure out, little marine?”

You bit your lip trying to come back. He wasn’t just good, he was almost your match. You could feel the unbridled heat of desire starting to swirl through your veins at the challenge. “I’m very good at my job,” you whispered, your voice dripping with insinuations as you leaned closer, your lips a hair’s breadth away. “I’m sure I can find a way to please you.”

Mihawk’s fingers traveled back up your thigh, right past the hem of your dress, dug in before the curve of your rear, the pressure a mix of pleasure and pain. “I wasn’t aware, the marines sent whores to negotiate their deals.” He looked down at you, a sneer nearly breaking his lips. 

You felt a sliver of satisfaction. He’d almost cracked. Soooo, he had standards. He didn’t like things too easy, did he? You could play with that. 

You laughed, your hands roaming up, palms flat against his chest. You traced the sharpness of his jaw. “Oh no.” You brought the tips of your fingers to his lips. “I’m not here to whore myself out. But if it brings you to the table, I’m sure I can find the sweetest cunt on the grand line for you.”

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing through them as he considered your words. You were suddenly reminded of how he held every card, how you were at the mercy of his every caprice. You only happened to hold his attention for now, only happened to entertain him enough for him to let you and your squadron live. He was THE marine hunter. It didn’t matter if every officer in the establishment were to pull their weapons out and point at him. He’d be fine and you’d all be dead. The tension between you crackled like a storm about to break, every touch and every word a loaded gun.

“What a tempting offer,” he finally said, his voice a low purr that sent your heart racing in more ways than one. “But I find that I prefer a more... personal touch.”

To punctuate his point his hand reached further, against the curve of your ass, before coming back and digging in your hip, pressing you down to him. You almost moaned, every fiber of your being fighting the primal urges that strained to be free. You let out a silent gasp instead. This was going too far, getting out of your grasp. A mistake. An admission of your desires. You were slipping more by the moment. You moved your hand up, giving the signal for everyone to vacate. You’d have to do this alone, you wouldn’t risk so many lives on your inability to handle one man.

Mihawk noticed the subtle movement of your hand, his eyebrow arching with curiosity and a hint of amusement. “Calling off your dogs, are you? Either you’re very confident or very foolish,” he commented, his tone teasing yet edged with something sharper.

You felt a touch of annoyance prick at the edge of your mind. He was rubbing it in. Toying with you, trying to tease out reactions. Even though you felt anything but confident, you flashed a daring smile, the tension between you sparking with the undercurrent of unsaid words. 

You resumed your mindless patterns on his chest, slowly getting lower and lower. "Let's just say I would rather handle the finer details of these negotiations with more privacy. Make room for more... satisfying outcomes."

His fingers continued their dance along your side, dipping dangerously close to forbidden territory. Mihawk's smirk deepened as he seemed to see right through you, fixed right on your uncertainty. You felt yourself flailing, felt yourself losing your composure. 

“Privacy can certainly be... conducive to more fruitful negotiations,” he murmured, a dark caress relishing on the hold he held on you. He leaned in, reaching for his glass of wine. He took a slow sip, watching the gears turn in your head before putting it back behind you. “So what is it you want?” He asked, his hand grabbing to your chin, moving your head side to side with an appraising look, making you look at him.

You took a steadying breath, leaning into his touch, playing along with his game. “Oh not much,” You cooed, hand reaching his at your face, splaying it along your cheek, brushing your lips on his palm. ”I’ve only been instructed to get you to the negotiation table, nothing more, nothing less.” You dragged his hand down, spreading it along your throat bringing it over your heart. “I’m sure I could at the very least get you to consider it?”

It all happened too fast. You heard the sound of glass shattering on the floor before you registered the change in perspective. The hold he had over your throat was harsh as he pinned you down to the table, the remnants of the wine pooling in the tile like spilled blood.

“You think you can just waltz in and sway me with a few promises, like a common man?” There was something nearing disappointment in his tone and you realized you’d messed up. You’d been too hasty, too forward, he had been hoping to play longer. “How about this little marine, show me how badly you need me to do what you need and if you’re entertaining enough, I might consider it.”

The shift in Mihawk’s demeanor was almost terrifying in its intensity, and you struggled to keep your composure as his grip tightened on your throat. Your mind raced, trying to find a way to turn the situation back in your favor. The room was deathly silent in its emptiness, the tension palpable and if it wasn’t for the stiffness of his crotch against yours you’d think you’d lost all of your cards.

It might just get you killed but you arched your back beneath him, pressing into him. Your thighs trembled at his side as you struggled for breath but still, your hands grasped at his over your throat, pushing him further against you, cutting your airflow almost completely. If he wanted a show, then you’d give him one he’d remember until his last moments on earth.

Mihawk’s grip on your throat tightened for a second and you thought for an instant that this was it, that the underworld awaited you. But before darkness could cloud your eyes he loosened it, his gaze glinting with a mixture of curiosity and dark amusement. You could feel the rapid beat of your heart echoing in your ears as you gasped for breath, your whole body shaking beneath his. The room seemed to pulse with the intensity of the moment, every sense heightened.

“You’re quite the performer,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that only served to enhance the heat building between your legs. “But I’m not easily swayed by theatrics. Show me something real.”

You swallowed hard, your throat still aching from his grip, but you forced a smile. “Real, you say?” You let your hands glide away from his wrist, trailed your curves, and slipped the straps of your dress off from your shoulders, revealing more skin and black lace. “I can do real.”

Mihawk’s eyes darkened with interest, his gaze tracing the path of your hands as they moved. He released his grip on your throat, his fingers now trailing down to your collarbone, leaving a searing embers in their wake. The intensity in his stare was almost overwhelming, and you knew you had to find a way to keep control of the situation, even if it felt like you were barely holding on.

You grasped his hand, guiding it along your bare skin, to the plushness of your breast. “What is it you truly desire, Mihawk? Power? Control? Or perhaps something more... visceral?” You practically moaned out the words. 

His hand lingered on the lace, pushing it aside, fingers tracing lazy circles. The air between you was electric, charged with unspoken promises and the underlying tension of a predator toying with its prey.  This was a delicate game. You let out a soft moan, arching your back further, pressing yourself against him, rolling your hips.

A smirk broke on his lips as he saw right through your little performance. He knew exactly what game you were playing, and it was clear he was enjoying every moment of it. His hand moved with deliberate slowness, tracing the curve of your breast, his touch a maddening mix of gentle and firm. The control you sought seemed to slip further from your grasp with each passing second.

“And what do you propose, little marine?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I propose we make this interesting. A game, if you will. You test my… resolve, and I test yours. We both get what we want.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “A game, you say? And what are the stakes?”

You bit your lip, your hand guiding his lower, your fingers ushering his along the dripping lace of your underwear. “If I can prove my worth to you, you agree to come to the negotiation table. If I fail...” You paused, letting the weight of the words hang between you. “If I fail, you can do with me as you please.”

He pushed aside the ruined fabric, the pads of his fingers meeting your slick before dipping inside. “You’re playing a dangerous game, little marine.” His smirk widened as a moan escaped you. “What makes you think I can’t just take what I want?”

The words hung in the air, thick with implication. You felt the intensity of his gaze boring into you, the heat from his touch searing into your skin. As though to emphasize his point, his thumb found your clit, tracing slow, deliberate circles, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your body, mewls you tried to muffle out of your lips.

You swallowed hard, your breath coming in ragged gasps. “You could,” you admitted, your hand wrapping around his wrist as he moved his fingers in a come-hither motion, pressing all those delightfully right spots. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, fingers trembling, nails digging into him as a wave of ecstasy washed over you. You struggled to come back, half-lidded eyes meeting his. “But I’m sure I can make it much, much more entertaining for you if you decide to play along.”

His eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and dark curiosity. “You certainly know how to make an offer enticing.” He leaned in close, his breath touching your lips. “But from where I’m standing you’re already breaking.”

He was right, you were so close to falling apart under him. "Am I not to your pleasing?" You asked, voice trembling against his. You reached up and discarded his hat, your fingers seeking to tangle in his hair. “Am I not entertaining enough for you, marine hunter?”

He chuckled, his lips brushing over yours. His fingers continued their tantalizing exploration, pushing you closer to the edge with each deliberate movement. He was testing you, pushing your limits to see how far you could go. And yet, despite the overwhelming intensity, you were determined to hold your ground.

“You are quite pleasing,” he admitted, his voice was thick with lust and its intensity almost sent you over. “But I wonder, how much more can you take before you beg for mercy?”

You bit your lip, a mixture of defiance and desire burning in your eyes. “I don’t beg, Mihawk. That’s what makes it interesting.”

His smirk widened, his fingers pressing deeper, eliciting another soft moan from you. “Bold words, little marine. Very bold indeed. Let’s see if that’s true.”

His lips met yours, slow and teasing, a dance of dominance and submission, a battle for control, a negotiation of its own. He moved against you with a practiced precision, each movement calculated to draw out your reactions. You could feel the intensity of his desire, the raw power behind each touch.

You were close. So fucking close. 

You swore under your breath as he suddenly stopped.

“I wonder what will make you break the fastest.” Satisfaction was evident in his voice as he felt you flutter around his fingers. “Denial or pleasure?”

Your breath hitched at Mihawk's words, the sensation of his fingers lingering just out of reach driving you to the edge of your sanity. This was a dangerous game, one where you had to balance the razor's edge between control and surrender. If… if you managed to hold out long enough… even he couldn’t resist lust forever. 

You couldn't let him see just how close you were to breaking.

Drawing on every ounce of willpower, you forced a sly smile. Your hands left his hair and traced down his chest. "Why not try both and find out?" 

He interrupted their path as you reached his belt. Deftly he brought them over your head, his weight pinning you entirely in place as he started moving his fingers again. His eyes gleamed as he looked down at you, relishing the arch of your body against his, relishing your struggle. 

He leaned close, his breath hot against your ear. "Now, now,” he tutted at you. “You can’t just skip ahead. Let's see how long you can endure."

Before you could respond, his lips descended on yours again, demanding and possessive. The kiss was bruising, filled with the same intensity that characterized every touch and word between you. His fingers made you see stars, their exploration agonizingly slow, teasing you mercilessly, never quite giving you what you needed.

You moaned into his mouth, bucked against his hand, your every instinct overtaken by a desperate need for release. The tension between you was unbearable, every nerve ending screaming for more. 

He stopped and started again and again and again, until you struggled with your breath and your whole body quivered and sang to each of his demands.

Mihawk's lips left yours, trailing down your jawline to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that almost made you lose your mind. "You're holding up better than I expected," he murmured against your skin, biting softly on your exposed nipple before soothing it with his tongue.

You barely managed a breathless laugh, closer to sobs than anything. "I told you, Mihawk. I don't break easily."

He chuckled, a sound that was both dark and amused. "We'll see about that."

His fingers moved with a different purpose now, driving you closer and closer to the edge, fast and hard. You could feel the tension coiling within you, the impending release just out of reach. And still, he held you there, teetering on the brink, refusing to let you fall.

It was maddening, the way he controlled you so effortlessly, drawing out every ounce of pleasure and frustration until you thought you might lose your mind. And yet, you couldn't help but crave more and he couldn’t help but to push you further, to see just how far you could go before you finally shattered.

"Please," you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

You felt his smile against your skin. “There we go,” he drawled out the words. “The little marine knows how to beg after all.”

With a sudden, devastating precision, he drove you over the edge, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm to bring you to the peak of ecstasy. You cried out, your body convulsing with the force of your release, your muscles straining against his hold.

As you came back to reality, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you gasping at the sudden loss. He brought his hand to your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. “Taste your resolve, little marine.”

You opened your mouth, taking his fingers in, your tongue swirling around them, tasting the remnants of your desire. The act was a surrender and he watched you with contentment, his gaze victorious.

“Good girl,” his voice was a satisfied purr, one that made your mind feel fuzzy and your body hot. “Now let’s see how well you break under pleasure.” 

His hands moved to your hips, his grip firm as he repositioned you with ease, brought you closer to the edge of the table. You felt some of your slick cooled by time, seep into the fabric of your dress, against your lower back as he pulled you over the puddle of arousal that had been slowly gathering on the wooden top.

His movements were deliberate, calculated, his eyes never leaving yours as he took off his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a whispering sound. He eyed it for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his lips before his attention came back to you. 

“Will you be a good?” His tone was threatening. “Or do I have to restrain you again?”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. The challenge was unmistakable.  “I can be good,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but it sounded unconvincing, even to your ears. The thought of being powerless under his hold once again was somehow unbearable.

Mihawk’s smile widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I don’t think you can, little marine.”

With a swift motion, he looped the belt around your wrists, pulling it tight enough to restrain but not to hurt. The leather bit into your skin, the sensation unnerving.

”You’re just waiting for a chance to turn the tables, aren’t you?”

You quirked your head to the side, a hint of defiance shining through. “Can you blame me?” He let go of your hands and you made no effort to keep them up, letting them drop to your stomach. “It’s not fair if you hold ALL the cards.”

“Fairness is a luxury, little marine.” His hands moved to your thighs, pushing them apart with a firm, insistent pressure. “A luxury one can rarely indulge in when playing to win.”

He paused for a moment, his gaze raking over your form, something you couldn’t decipher spreading on his features, an intensity you’d only ever seen on wild animals.

“I must admit, you’re quite the sight.” His fingers traced the edge of your underwear. With a swift motion, he tore the delicate fabric away, leaving you completely exposed. “But I think you’ll be much more entertaining once broken.”

Your breath caught in your throat in a small hiccup, the threat in his words not escaping you. Your eyes stood at a standstill as he deliberately slowly undid his pants.

His cock met your heat, gathering your slick and the soft pressure on your oversensitive clit made you want to twist and buck beneath him. He brought one of your already trembling legs over his shoulder, his hand roaming up and down in a soothing touch. 

You felt his tip at your entrance, the slow delightful stretch as he entered you in a tortuously unhurried advance. Your entire body reacted to the sensation, you arched beneath him, your eyes fluttering close, your wrists strained against your bindings desperate to hold unto something, anything to ground you. The pleasure was intense, almost overwhelming and as he met your cervix you couldn’t help the sharp cry that escaped your lips, nor the tears gathering in your eyes.

“You’re so tight, little marine,” Mihawk chuckled, taking in every detail of the moment and searing it in his mind. “So responsive. I can feel you clenching around me, trying to hold on.” 

His movements were controlled, each thrust calculated to draw out your reactions, to push you closer to the edge. You wouldn’t beg. You wouldn’t cry for mercy. You were so close. Each drag of his cock against your fluttering walls was heavenly. The room seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the sensation of him inside you. 

You could feel the dam within you beginning to crack and then his hand found your clit once more and your breath stopped. It was too much. You came around him with a desperate gasp.

He didn’t stop, his thrusts still perfectly controlled. You knew the overstimulation was coming but it didn’t prepare you for the moment it washed over you. Your eyes shot open and makeup blurred tears stained your cheeks. You fought as though it was a matter of life or death. It was too much. Too fucking much. But his hands held you firmly in place, unable to escape his relentless assault.

And then a second orgasm rippled through your veins, blinding and even more intense than the first. 

But he still didn’t stop. Your cries stuck at the back of your throat, sobs wreaking your body. 

“Please,” you couldn’t help but beg again and again, your limbs so taut beneath him it was painful.

As his laugh hit your ears, you realized he didn’t care. Realized he was having fun. Your body twisted violently beneath him, too harsh for him to control and he let out an annoyed click of his tongue before flipping you over, the edge of the table digging hard into your hips as he entered you again. 

“Mercy,” you pleaded, wrists straining so intensely against your bindings that you knew you’d be nursing those red marks for days.

“Already?” His hand kneaded your ass roughly, pushing you even more painfully against the wooden top. “How disappointing, little marine.” His touch snaked up along your spine and tangled forcefully in your hair, keeping you pinned down and struggling against his hold. “I’m just getting started.”  He punctuated his statement with an especially sharp movement of his hips.

Your legs kicked in the air as another orgasm rippled through you, and you felt your arousal drip down your thigh and your drool seep out of your redded lips.

The world was careening around you and you couldn’t breathe and waves of pleasure washed over you so fast that your mind couldn’t keep up anymore. You eventually went slack beneath him, your entire body surrendering, and only then did his rhythm start to falter. 

He turned you back around, and you didn’t struggle, fully pliant for him. His fingers found your lips, played with the spit on your tongue, kept your mouth open as he reached closer to his own release. 

“Mercy,” you begged one last time, your words muffled, your lips wrapping against his fingers.

And he smiled, a predatory, victorious smile and you couldn’t help but think he looked ethereal in this moment. His hips stuttered one once more, his seed hot inside you and you clenched around him, white blurring your vision for the umpteenth time. 

He slowly pulled out, his gaze dropping to your entrance, watching his cum dribble out with a lust-blown stare. Your whole body still shook in the aftermath, your breath scattered and you spasmed at the feeling, a last vestige of submission as you whimpered. 

His fingers left your mouth and almost tenderly wiped your tear-stained cheek, brushing strands of hair that had been plastered on your sweat-covered skin behind your ear. His gaze stayed on you, considering.

“You’ve been more interesting than I expected,” He admitted as he pulled back up his pants.  “Very well, I’ll consider your offer on one condition.” He gently unraveled his belt, his hand lingering on your wrists and you gave a sharp hiss of pain he seemed to drink in with delight. 

“And that is?” you asked, your voice sounding far away, not your own.

He lazily passed the leather back in the belt loops, put back on his hat, making you wait.

“You’re the one who handles the negotiations. Just you and I. No one else.”

A slow smile of victory made its way to your lips.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Masterlist

Might consider making a part 2, but don't hold me to that.

[thevenerated]

04. Bass Fugato

Coda

Synopsis: Eventually, the bile rises back from his throat, smears his teeth, and burns him whole. (tw suicidal ideation, unethical medical practices, curly’s misogynistic + trad awakening, manhandling, likely ooc curly. MINORS DNI.)

Word count: 2.5k

Chapter Navigation: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Notes: hehe. this is what i was building up to write... i love you misogynistic curly my beloved.

Call it an impulse, call it a consequence, or the price of free will.

Curly didn’t know what exactly called him to scale the abandoned parking lot; nor did he understand why he was so compelled to stand on the rooftop, feet planted on the very edge of it. It’s not like he wanted to die. He hadn’t a single suicidal bone in his body.

But he was curious, what stood between where he was, and the plummeting depths below. A conclusion to his lifetime of cowardice, probably. Likely something more, beyond the bleak loneliness of space. 

You were at home, sleeping. He was rougher with you, in all the places he hadn’t before. You seemed to take it well, enjoy what was never in his nature. 

Fuck. Just what did any of this mean? And why was he so compelled to find the answer to this stupid question? It was only a step and a short fall away. Maybe everything he’d wanted in his life would be there. His past would be meaningless. 

But was it cowardly to abandon what he had now, or cowardly to forego a future possibility?

He closed his eyes, feeling the wind tug at him, daring him to let go. A part of him wanted to. But a deeper, quieter part whispered something else—stay. Not for you, not for love, not even for the hollow comfort of familiarity. Stay, because nothing else had worked, and maybe, just maybe, there was something left to try.

With a sharp exhale, Curly stepped back from the edge. All this will be a reliable end if that ache gets worse. It’s all it should ever be. 

It’s as good a day as any could be.

He’d finished with what little he had to do early: went on a run, did some pumps that bit his muscles in all the right places, and made breakfast. He even cleaned up after himself. It was only 9 AM. Not much else to do.

Curly rolled his shoulders, feeling the pleasant ache settle in his muscles. For a fleeting moment, there was a quiet satisfaction in the routine, in the control of it. But the moment passed quickly, leaving him restless, an itch under his skin that had nowhere to go.

His feet carried him without thought, wandering through the apartment, past the things that were once his, now softened by your touch, your choices. He found himself outside your study, the door ajar just enough to peek inside.

He hesitated.

It wasn’t like he was snooping. Just looking.

The desk was cluttered, as it always was. Your laptop sat open, but it was the papers strewn across the surface that caught his eye. 

His name. Over and over. Scattered across the desk like the pieces of a shattered mirror, each page imaged detailed pieces of himself to form a dirty, wounded reflection. Curly stepped in, his stomach twisting with a visceral unease. He reached for one of the papers, fingers brushing it like touching something dangerous, and scanned the words before his brain could keep up.

‘Unresolved attachment issues. Aversion to emotional vulnerability.’

His jaw tightened. He shuffled through the stack. Psychological assessments; evaluations of him.

‘Need for control rooted in a lack of foundational self-worth.’

‘Reluctance to assert needs or boundaries due to chronic validation-seeking behaviour.’

It was accurate. Too accurate. But as he read, that accuracy only made it worse. Every carefully worded observation, every neat, clinical summation of his entire fucking life reduced him to a collection of symptoms, carving away anything human until all that remained was a hollowed-out list of defects. His life—his essence—is compressed into bullet points and diagnoses. 

A project. A broken thing to be analyzed, studied, fixed.

It didn’t say anything about the nights he stayed up with you, laughing at dumb movies. It didn’t mention how he still carried the lessons he learned from falling on his ass a thousand times, or the times he made people feel safe just by being around. None of that was here. Just deficits. Weaknesses.

‘Subject exhibits passive tendencies that indicate a deep-seated need for external guidance.’

Subject. Subject.

His grip tightened on the paper, fingers curling so tight the edges crumpled. Is that all he was to you? A case study? A puzzle you were piecing together in your spare time?

His eyes landed on another section; this one made his stomach twist.

‘Potential paths for improvement: Encourage assertive behaviour within a structured environment to counteract learned helplessness.’

Learned helplessness. Fuck.

His breathing grew uneven, heat rising to his face. Is this what you thought of him? That he was just some helpless thing trailing in your shadow, waiting for you to guide him to salvation? His fists clenched at his sides, muscles twitching with restrained anger.

And then, there it was: the final blow.

A note, scrawled in the margins, like an afterthought.

‘Sometimes I think he doesn't even know what he wants. Maybe he never has.’

Curly’s heart slammed against his ribs. He swallowed the lump in his throat, but it did nothing to smother the sick, simmering feeling inside him.

This wasn’t just disregard. This was everything. Every ounce of himself, every scrap of pride and autonomy he had left, compressed down into a neat little file for your convenience.

He let the papers fall from his hand, his pulse a steady, pounding drum in his ears.

You thought he didn’t know what he wanted?

Curly’s lips curled into a humorless smile, something dark and bitter rising inside him.

He stood there for a long moment, the papers scattered at his feet like the remnants of something he should have seen coming. His hands flexed and curled at his sides, itching for something—anything—to ground himself. But there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of your study, the soft scent of your perfume lingering in the air, and the sharp, suffocating realization that you’d been dissecting him like some kind of fucking specimen.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand down his face.

Alright. Fine.

He turned and left the room without a sound, but each step felt heavier than the last. He could feel the tension coiling inside him, wrapping tight around his chest like a wire about to snap. Every second, every breath, the weight of it pressed harder.

By the time he found you in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book in your hands, he wasn’t even sure what he was going to say. But it didn’t matter, because the second you looked up at him, eyes soft and warm like you hadn’t just shattered something inside him, it all came rushing out.

“Is that what I am to you?” His voice was low, rough, edged with something. “A fucking case study?”

Your brows knit together in confusion. “What?”

Curly’s jaw tightened, and he took a slow, measured step forward. “Don’t do that.” His voice was sharper now. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

You blinked at him, setting the book down. “Curly, what—”

“I saw them.” His words cut through your sentence, and the shift in his tone made your lips part slightly in surprise. He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “The psych evaluations. My life—my mind—spread out like some kind of fucking school project.” He took another step forward, and this time you leaned back slightly. “Is that what I am to you?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. When you finally spoke, it was quiet, careful. “Curly, it’s not like that.”

He let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Then what the hell is it like?”

You hesitated, and that hesitation was enough. It was all he needed. His patience, his restraint—whatever fragile thing had been holding him together—shattered in an instant.

Before you could react, he was on you, hands gripping the arms of the couch on either side of you, caging you in. His face was inches from yours, his breathing heavy, controlled, but his eyes—his eyes were something else entirely.

“You think you get to decide what I need? What’s best for me?” His voice was a low, dangerous rasp, the weight of it pressing down on you like a physical force. “You think I don’t know myself well enough, so you had to do it for me?”

Your lips parted in protest, but he cut you off again, his voice rising just enough to make your breath hitch.

“No. Not this time.” His grip on the couch tightened, knuckles white. “I’m done letting you make the calls. I’m done being your goddamn… pet project.” He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing yours, but there was no tenderness in it—just the sharp, electric tension that had been building for too long. “If you want to stay in my life, you do it my way. Do you hear me?”

Your breath trembled against his skin, and for the first time in a long time, he saw something other than certainty in your eyes. Doubt.

Good.

After a moment, your fingers hesitantly found his shirt, grasping it tightly as your face pressed itself into his neck. He doesn’t waver, and he doesn’t breathe a word, even when your hands tremble, and dampness smears the skin of his neck.

He lets you breathe for a moment, a small mercy he allows, before sitting on the couch and dragging you right onto his lap. His instincts war against the rational part of his mind, leading to a palpable stiffness in his limbs as he struggles to not hold you too tight. For all your indifference and unwavering nature, you always have bruised so easily.

But was it wrong that everything felt so fucking right, seeing you tremble on his lap with the uncertainty that plagued him, weighing on your shoulders? 

Thumbing your cheek with a calloused thumb, coaxing you to shamefully meet his gaze, he spoke quietly.

“You don’t respect me.”

“I—I do—”

“You don’t do this to a man you respect.”

“I just wanted to help you.”

“You didn’t. You made everything worse,” he muttered, pinching your cheek gently while the other hand settled on your hip, squeezing the flesh. You don’t push at him, instead shifting your hips to sit more comfortably on his lap, straddling his thighs. 

Curly’s hand on your hip, though tense, wasn’t threatening anymore. It felt like an anchor, like he was trying to keep both of you from spiraling into something neither of you could come back from. His fingers dug into your skin, but the pressure was different now, not out of anger, but as if he was grounding himself—and you.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, his voice a quiet command. “Just stop talking.” His words weren’t laced with venom, but with something harder—something like control. He’d taken the papers, the clinical assessments, the theories, and thrown them out the window. His being isn’t a collection of issues. 

“You think you’re the one who’s been hurt in this, don’t you?” Curly’s voice was low, steady

You opened your mouth, but he cut you off, palm pressing to your lips.

“You’ve been so busy trying to make everything right that you’ve lost track of what really matters,” he continued, his voice rough but calm, measured. “What matters is us. And you don’t get to decide what that looks like.

“I want kids. I want a small home near the woods. Away from the noise of this stupid fucking city. We’ll get married, we’ll pack our shit, and we’ll leave. On my dime.”

Your head bows, nose brushing against the stubble of his jaw. A pause, and then you spoke. 

“You’re serious?” The words barely made it out, caught somewhere between disbelief and something darker you didn’t want to name. You were so close now, so tangled in the warmth of his presence that it was hard to tell where you ended and he began.

“When have you ever known me to joke about something like this?” His voice was calm. Calmer than the turmoil in your mind.

You leaned back just enough to look at him, your eyes searching his face for cracks—some sign that he wasn’t as steady as he seemed. But his expression was unyielding.

“Curly,” you began, your voice softer than you intended, “this isn’t something you just decide on a whim. People don’t—”

He cut you off, his head tilting as if he were observing something small and fragile. “People don’t what? Make decisions for themselves? Take control of their own lives?” His lips quirked, not quite a smile. “Sounds exhausting, being the one holding the reins all the time. Maybe you should try letting go.”

“That’s not what I meant.” The words rushed out, defensive, but they felt hollow even as you said them.

He let out a quiet laugh, low and bitter, his gaze locking onto yours. “Of course not. You never mean anything, do you? You just... guide. Shape. Mold. All for my own good though, right?”

“Don’t twist this,” you snapped, though your voice trembled. “I’ve always been trying to help you.”

“Help?” He scoffs softly, his hand slithering to cup the back of your neck, then gently tugging your hair, goading you to look at him. It was hard to. “You mean help me become the version of me that fits your description? That’s not help.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. There was something about the way he was looking at you now that froze the thoughts in your mind before you could grab hold of them.

“I let you steer for years,” he said, voice steady but cutting. “Told myself it was safer that way, easier. But letting someone else lead? It’s never where you need to go. It’s always where they think you should be."

“I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted over your skin, close enough that his presence felt overwhelming. “Didn’t mean to strip me down piece by piece? Didn’t mean to leave me feeling like nothing I do is ever enough?”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, but the words carried no weight.

“No,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous softness. “It’s not. But fair doesn’t matter, does it?”

The air between you felt too heavy, oppressive, and you realized too late that he wasn’t waiting for a response. He wasn’t asking.

“Curly—”

“No. Enough. I’m sick of your voice. I made myself clear. Once I get some things put together, we’ll start preparing for a baby and move into the countryside.”

Again, you opened your mouth to speak, but he tugged your hair again, a little rougher.

“Enough.”

You fall quiet.

“...Good. Good girl,” he sighs, softening the slightest bit, cupping your jaw, fingers digging to the soft of your cheek. “I get that in your field, drugging your patients is the key to happiness. I wouldn’t be surprised if you eventually would’ve tried to prescribe me something.

“...”

“Hundreds of years, societies found happiness in their homestead. The answer doesn’t need to be some bullshit established just a couple of decades ago. So be quiet, and I’ll bring us somewhere peaceful. Spiritually and physically, because God help me, I’m done with this shit.”

A pause. You contemplate.

Then, with uncertainty, you nod quietly. With a huff of a laugh, he kisses your forehead.

“I knew you’d understand. You’ve always been smart.”

[snoopledrooplecheesedoodle]

Day 4: Christmas Shopping: Sampo Koski

My first Honkai fic for Christmas was going to be Dan Heng but Sampo managed to bargain his way to the top. Also What happened to characters that weren't in Penacony guys? Sunday and Adventurine aren't the only people you know (they are hot tho). Koski's English VA muah chef's kiss.

TW: Trickery (it's Sampo what do you expect), unfair bargains, reader not having any of the slimy man's antics, mentions of unethical business practices, kidnapping, a fucked-up Christmas in general

(*)= Whispering

Christmas in Belobog was interesting to say the least. Snow and ice were typical to see even with Bronya being the new Supreme Guardian. Freed from its icy curse the planet was still frozen over as if it didn't get the memo. Speaking of getting the memo...

You wanted a nice and easy shopping experience so you can get all your Christmas gifts for friends and family and leave. No drama, no fuss, no frills. All of these traits describe the cheerful "merchant" you had bumped into.

Sampo Koski... the Bane of Belobog, the slimiest of salesman, the one who got away (from the Silvermane Guards). The man of the hour was hustling...stocking stuffers? "That's right valued customers Sampo Koski guarantees these trinkets will put a smile on any adult or child." The blue haired charlatan spoke animatedly green eyes sparkling with joy and Christmas cheer (more like Christmas greed).

Any normal sane person would scoff at Koski and go to a legitimate business, which is exactly what you were doing before you got accosted. "What about you, statuesque stranger? You look like you could use some Christmas cheer." You ignore the man believing he personalizes with any sucker he can to get a sale.

However, no one says no to Sampo Koski. You learned this firsthand as the mythical man himself turns you around with a gloved hand. Cheerful smile never leaving his face as he holds your skeptical form in place.

"Hey there friend what's the rush? You won't find steals like my prices anywhere else in the entirety of Administrative Square, I wager my prices are best for an Overworld resident such as yourself." That obnoxious grin deserved to be slapped right off his frustratingly handsome face. "Buzz off Koski I know your reputation, leave law abiding citizens like me alone." You attempt to free yourself from his grip, but his gloved hands dig harder into your skin causing you to wince under the pressure.

"I can't believe someone as cute and intelligent looking as yourself would believe idle rumors so quickly. There's a lot of people hating on young entrepreneurs these days. Besides I only wish to bring joy around Christmas with my merchandise." Sampo gestures to the brightly colored bags of Christmas goodies spread on his makeshift table (the floor).

You will admit they do look very appealing; you could see your little siblings raving about the vibrant candy and toys if you bought a couple. You sigh knowing you're about to be ripped off big time.

"Alright Koski let's see what you got?" Koski stops his fake crying and shakes your shoulders with glee before manhandling you over to his "stand". "Excellent friend and please just Sampo is preferred as this exchange makes us friends now." You glare at him shaking your head making Sampo laugh a bit. "Well, the customer is always right."

You spot an adorable trotter plushie and a toy Silvermane guard perfect for your brother and sister. You smile imaging them grinning with some baby teeth missing. "I would like these please." You gesture to the two items you spotted Sampo's smile widens. "Excellent choice dear friend, both cost ten shield each...but for you dear friend I'm will to half that price." Sampo's generous offer make you wonder if the rumors that people have told you are true.

"Thank you Sampo, my little siblings will love these." Before you can hand him the ten shield total Sampo sticks his hand out. "While I love the enthusiasm dear friend, I'm afraid I'm not quite finished." You sour at the conman's words, of course he would do this. A mischievous twinkle enters the man's green eyes as he continues. "Halfing the price of two very rare dolls is simply bad business, I believe that something of equal value must be exchanged." Bitter bile rises up your throat as anger clouds your expression.

"Rare dolls my ass, if they're so rare why not sell them for one hundred shield, huh?!" Sampo holds his hands up in defense as his face becomes uneasy. "Speak gentler handsome friend, the *Silvermane Guards* will hear your impassioned speech." You are so angry at the blue haired man that you grab his collar without asking him to speak up at his whispered words. "Either sell me the dolls for ten shield or don't. I'm not wasting my time playing your games." Sampo cautiously looks around which makes you shake his collar in anger. The bastard won't even look you in the eyes.

"What are you-" "HALT, Sampo Koski you are under arrest for smuggling, selling illicit substances, fraud, and unlicensed sales of commercial goods." Five Silvermane guards surround the two of you with the commander speaking in a booming voice. "And here they are what wonderful timing on their part." Sampo mumbles at a decibel only the two of you can hear. You put Sampo down and raise your hands up backing away slowly. Technically you didn't buy said goods so you should be able to walk away and-

"HALT citizen, you are under arrest for attempting to buy fraudulent goods and aiding a criminal fugitive." Aiding a criminal fugitive?! Your eyes pop out of there skull as the Silvermane Guards close in on your shaking form and Sampo's unbothered one. This was it you were going to jail, you won't be able to buy present, you won't be able to celebrate with loved ones.

You won't be able to return home to your siblings.

You lower your head in defeat as there is no good in struggling as it might make you look more guilty. Sampo walked behind you a charismatic smile on his face. "Gentleman I'm sure we can handle this in a nonviolent manner. Perhaps put this whole incident behind us, it is the Christmas season after all." What is Sampo doing? You glare at the idiot behind you before he looks at you with an unreadable expression before turning back to the guards closing you in with their spears. Before you can move a hissing noise fills the air as a bomb lands in front of your feet.

Boom! A thick smoke fills the air causing you and the Silvermane Guards to cough harshly. The world around began to blur as you see an outline of a man lean down to pick you up. "Good thing I've always got a plan B huh? You can thank me when you wake up (Y/N)."

You groan as you feel great fatigue just from opening your eyes, it feels like you were hit by a blizzard. Straining to look around your surroundings you see you're in a hotel bed which was decent quality with the room around you being rather plain. Stretching your arms you attempt to sit up before feeling something holding you back. Your arms with tied to the bed as well as your legs. What the fuck was going on?

You were about to shout for help when the door opens revealing a very pleased Sampo Koski. It all clicked together his smug grin, the restraints, the soreness in your chest, the darkness outside the window. The slimeball kidnapped you.

"Koski what is the meaning of this?!" You shout causing Sampo to wince. "I think we need to work on your voice modulation skills but don't worry I love you all the same." WHAT?

"Before you ask dumb questions I'll answer them for you. You think it's a coincidence we met? No no Sampo Koski doesn't leave anything up to fate. As for where you are, we need to lay low in the Underground for a while. At least until WildFire catches word and Seele comes to catch us for her girlfriend."

The amount of information you just received was mind numbing. Also wasn't this the first time you met or had Sampo been stalking you? Probably the latter. Sampo's emerald eyes look down at you with a look you thought he only had reserved for money.

"Aw look at you (Y/N) all tied up like a Christmas present just for Sampo Koski!" His comment causes you to thrash wildly spitting curses. A harsh prick makes you come back to your senses. Sampo stands over you with an empty needle.

"You should take a nap; I almost thought you hated me for a second there. Oh, I knew "borrowing" some tranquilizers from Natasha would be a good investment." You try to fight but you're too tired and overwhelmed to make sense of anything. You glare at Sampo who looks down at you greedily

"Sleep tight darling, we've got a whole galaxy to see~"

You never did get your siblings those presents

I think I did a damn good job representing Sampo for being too mysterious and avoiding revealing his true intentions. I plan on doing one for Robin as well. This one isn't very romantic so it could be construed as platonic yandere as well.

[multifandomthoughts]

GN Reader

Tw: Canon typical shenanigans, grave robbing, mentions of death and corpses

“Medic, we can’t be doing this! It’s not ethical or legal!” Your voice trembles as you follow the doctor down a secluded dirt path. “And when has that ever stopped me? Those qualms aside, I am in the pursuit of scientific advancement, you know that. You can’t believe you’re actually going along with one of his schemes.

There was a tendency you had to stay up late, but you had been methodical in your efforts to stay away from medic during these periods. His mind was the most unstable, most creative. And often was in need of companionship in order to carry out whatever experiments or other activities he had going on in the dark of the night.

He had caught you red handed. Sneaking a drink out of the shared fridge, the door creaking open alerted him to your presence. “Oh, there you are…” He growls.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You can tell by the tone of his voice that he has some sort of shit-eating grin on his face, and that only means one thing. He was going to persuade force you to help him with whatever dastardly plot he has going on.

Before you can even respond to his comment, you drop your drink and try to sprint past him. He grips your shirt and with that same devilish smile, he shakes his head. “Now now…you’re going to help me with my experiment whether you like it or not.”

An hour later, all you’d managed to do was grow increasingly hoarse as you kept futilely protesting the whole way to your dark, unknown destination. You stumble, tripping multiple times over what seem to be tree roots and rocks. But, not knowing where you are, and the fact that fog has begun to set, distorts your vision heavily.

“Yes, yes! We are almost there, Schatz.” Medic says, his grin spreading ear to ear and his voice sounding like a giddy school boy. “Medic, where exactly are we going?” You question timidly. “Why, we’re going to the cemetery of course! I needed new specimens for my studies, and Miss Pauling refused to give me the bodies of the people we killed, so I had to resort to….drastic measures.”

Your stomach is now in your throat and your skin goes pale. You knew you were doing something unethical, but you didn’t know how unethical. Your footsteps slow, but don’t stop as you have nowhere to go, Medic was the one who drove you here.

As if he had eyes on the back of his head, he mumbled: “We’re not using fresh corpses you know…” Upon hearing that you spat “How does that make it any better?” “Well, I’m trying to run some tissue decomposition analysis so I can see how long it takes, and how I can potentially speed up the process.”

The gears turn in your head as you realize what he’s getting at. Your jaw drops as you look over at him. “Medic! That makes things worse!” Looking back at you, Medic gives you a sheepish grin. Or what could be described as a sheepish grin if he wasn’t absolutely unashamed of what he’s doing.

You continue to follow him as you have no way to get out of there, he did drive you there. Sighing, you know that no matter what you do, you can’t dissuade him from what he’s doing. He practically has no morals, so any way to change this would be moot. “Ah, here we are.” He comments, arriving at a relatively old grave.

It wasn’t by much, but it made you feel a little bit better that you weren’t disturbing a freshly dug grave. You can’t help but feel a bit on edge as you begin to dig, not wanting to destroy the remains. For what seems like forever, you uncover dirt and remove it from the grave. Finally, you come upon something as the shovel makes a “thunk.” noise, causing you to jump a bit. Beginning to panic, you remove the rest of the dirt, trying to see what you hit. The noise you had caused turned out to be a coffin, which relieves you greatly.

“Oh, what do we have here, hmm?” Medic mutters as he stops his digging, wandering over to you. He eyes the coffin devilishly, eager to open it up and see what’s inside. With a subtle nod, you both kneel down and open up the body’s final resting place. To your relief, it was only bones. Even though it was a relatively old grave, you weren’t quite sure what you were going to see.

With a rather giddy sound, Medic begins to appraise the skeleton, seeing if the specimen is up to his specifications. Gleefully, he decides that he can use the bones, and begins to pocket them. Within the next few hours, the cycle rinses and repeats. Sometimes you didn’t find anything, sometimes the body wasn’t up to his standards and sometimes it was perfect.

“Now that we have all the specimens we need…” Medic states calmly “You won’t ever have to do this again. I’m quite aware that this frightens and disturbs others, but I figured that since you were around when I needed you, you would comply like a good little assistant.”

Fidgeting with your hands, you begin to speak up. “No, I.…I actually loved it. At first it terrified me, as it would anyone, but as I got into the swing of things, it felt nice to actually spend time with you, get to know you better, even crack jokes with you. But next time, I’d prefer a heads up of what you’re going to be doing instead of forcefully dragging me along.”

And in that moment, you saw something incredibly rare from Medic: a genuine heartfelt smile. “My friend, that pleases me to no end to hear you say that…some people don’t exactly enjoy my company due to the reasons you stated before…but to hear you say you enjoyed it, makes my heart soar. And I promise that next time I will ask for your consent for these little excursions, alright?” Medic states, holding out his hand for a shake.

Taking his hand, you give it a firm shake before letting it linger a little longer that normal. And with that, you follow Medic into the night, ready for the next new adventure.

[likethe-month]

The Time Between Us -Historical Yandere x Reader Pt. 2-

Yandere x Accidental Time Traveler Reader Part 2

Reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns

TW for unethical practices in metal health hospitals, depictions of violence and blood, possessive behavior, mentions of needles

Here is the link to part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/likethe-month/762159401755869184/the-time-between-us

-

The heeled shoes you had been previously given were not assisting in your attempts to escape. James had handed you over to the authorities, and your kicking was of no use. You shrieked and howled as the policemen dragged you away, but your cries fell upon deaf ears. No one would help you. The day had become rainy during your confrontation in the university building, and you blinked as raindrops pattered onto your face.

You felt multiple pairs of eyes staring at you before you were tossed into the back of a carriage. The horses in the front began to trot away, and you pushed yourself to the back of the cart as the container jolted at the movement.

Your hand gripped at your hair as you tried to calm yourself down. Ragged, desperate breaths were materializing in front of you as little puffs of fog due to the cold.

Once you had been taken to the asylum, a group of women wearing nurses' dresses gently led you to a room that was labeled "sanitation" by a metal plaque on the front.

You grabbed the arm of one of the women, and you looked into her eyes with all the desperation in the world. "Please- I can't be here- I have to go back," you gasped. She only gave you a pitying look and prepared a bath for you.

Once you had been cleaned, clothed, and stripped of any remaining dignity, you were put into a concrete room with only a bed in the corner. Pounding your fists on the door was futile, and a guard warned that he would "call for the doctor" if you continued. Images of rusty syringes and bloodstained metal filled your mind as you recalled scenes from some of the more morbid documentaries and photographs you had perused as a student.

Unfortunately, you would inevitably find yourself subject to the questionable medical practices of the time. You had no idea what they were doing to you, but you protested nonetheless.

Days of thrashing and babbling about “needing to return” to your own time did not help your case with the workers. They injected you with strange liquids despite your protests as you insisted that the medicine at the time would kill you. Remembering your professors' lectures about old mental institutions, you now fully understood why they were so horrible and torturous.

And then there was James, or, rather, the absence of James. His face would always appear in the constant nightmares that you couldn’t escape. You would shriek and dig your nails into the flimsy mattress provided for you to sleep on, and a guard would impatiently rap on your door in response. Whenever a nurse would tend to you, you would ask about him, dreading the day he decided you were well enough to return to him.

If the nurse was kind, she would smile and place a comforting hand on your shoulder, reassuring you that you would "stay until things were safe again."

If the nurse was cruel, she would scowl and ask why the likes of James was "engaged to a lunatic like you."

When you heard this, you heart skipped a beat. After you pleaded with her and pretended to be as stable as possible, the nurse finally presented you with a form that James had apparently submitted to the institution.

The paper contained your full name and James's next to it. But, he was listed as your caretaker and fiancee. Afraid of losing too much progress, you swallowed thickly and shakily looked away from the piece of paper. Maybe you could cry later, but not in front of this particular nurse.

It was difficult to decide if the asylum or James was the worse punishment. At least, with James, you would feel true warmth again. Somervault had a fireplace, but you hadn't behaved well enough for this privilege yet. Without a phone or any means to communicate with the outside world, you were able to entertain yourself with your own thoughts, and the kind nurses would occasionally bring you a new book to read. You had to keep your mind stimulated, or else you would lose everything, if you hadn't already, that is.

One day a nurse brought you into the large, white visiting room after tenderly making sure you looked presentable. This marked the first time you had felt sunlight in a few days, and you yearned to be closer to the tall windows. “A very nice man is here to visit you, Miss (L/n).”

He was here. James walked in, his shoes softly clicking on the wooden floor. His expression was unreadable as he sat in the chair in front of you. The only thing separating the two of you was a small coffee table.

You quickly looked up at the nurse from the chair she had sat you in. “I don’t want to see him,” you whimpered. “Please, keep him away from me,” you begged as the woman gave you a sad smile.

“I’ll give you a minute with Mr. Harrington, dear girl,” she said as she removed her arm from your grip.

"No... Please-" you begged as she stepped away from you to allow James to approach.

James approached you hesitantly, and you couldn’t tell if he was acting or not. “Is-is she?…”

The nurse smiled at him. “She’s mentioned your name quite a few times. We’ve had to subdue her, but she’s become much more docile in the days she’s spent here!”

“Oh, dearest (Y/n),” James murmured, gingerly taking your hand in his.

The nurse was gone by now, and you were left with the man you wanted dead.

Despite every instinct screaming at you to pull back and run, you stayed perfectly still. The fear coursing through your veins turned to a subdued rage.

You flinched back as he brushed his hand over your cheek. "I do hope you've made progress here. I hate the idea of these people bringing harm to you, but this is necessary."

“You-you’re evil. Do you know what they put me through here? I hate you!”

He chuckled in response. “Don't you understand that I was forced to teach you a lesson? Has this place already done you in, my sweet (Y/n)?”

You shuddered violently at this, trying not to throw up. “You left me here to teach me a lesson? You’re sick. It’s you who should have been tied up and force-fed all sorts of poisons.” You whimpered when James' grip on you tightened and he pulled you close.

“Don’t you worry, pigeon,” he murmured into your hair. “I’m going to take you home and we can live a happy, peaceful life together. You were brought to me for a reason, and I simply cannot let you go.”

Shuddering at his words, you began to sob.

“Don’t you see? The universe has granted me the perfect partner to be by my side for the rest of my life," James then lowered his head so that he spoke directly into your ear. "Once I bring you home, you will be the envy of every woman in the city. I've made some substantial strides in my work, and my pay has increased by quite a bit. All we need now for the perfect life together is for you to come home."

You would’ve sobbed, but you couldn’t seem to make any noise at all. You couldn’t come to terms with the idea of being stuck sometime in the 1880s. It wasn’t fair. The benefit of being fascinated with history was that you could look back into the past from a much more comfortable position. Instead of enjoying modern technology, medicine, and food, you would probably get yellow fever and die within five years.

“Please,” you choked out, your nails digging into his suit jacket. “Let me go back, this isn’t right. I’m not supposed to be here.”

"What does it matter if this is right or not?" he chuckled lowly. "You're going to be my wife, and if you thought you had no freedom here, then just you wait."

With a shriek, you lunged at James, pushing him to the floor with a heavy thud. He struggled underneath you as you brought your fists down upon his face with blinding rage. The man cringed in pain, groaning as you hit him, but his attempts to defend himself were fruitless.

"In my time, James, women are encouraged to fight their attackers," you snarled breathlessly as you wrapped your hands around his throat. "If you think I will ever be a docile little wife, then you are sorely mistaken."

Suddenly, hands grasped at your arms and threw you off of James. You cried out as you hit the cold floor. Two of the guards had entered the visiting room at the sound of a struggle and quickly apprehended you. The nurse had returned, and she was holding one of the large syringes that sent your heart racing whenever you saw one.

"Whatever you're doing here at Somervault clearly isn't enough," James growled at your captors, rubbing at his neck, which was now red and showed signs of eventual bruising. "When I return, she must be fully compliant, am I understood?" he barked at the workers.

When they nervously agreed, he stalked back over to you, kneeling so that he met your gaze.

You let out a small hiss between gritted teeth when you felt the familiar sting of the needle. The injection was already working, and you felt your eyelids growing heavier and heavier.

"Sleep well, my dearest," he murmured, wiping a stream of blood from his lip. "No matter how you fight, nothing will keep me away from you."

You fell unconscious, slightly triumphant at the sight of his bloody face. As you slept, however, James was there, taunting, laughing, and scowling at you.

You were beginning to believe that there was no corner of your mind you could retreat to where James wasn't lurking.

[thecameronchronicles]

From Afar

TW: Dom!JJ. Smut. Public acts of sexuality. Language. Degrading Language. Cheating. 

Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank. 

SUMMARY: Your decision to entertain yourself at the expense of a pogue has unforeseen consequences.

WORD COUNT: 3000

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

From Afar

Halfway through the summer meant all of the best parties had come to pass and became memories of such reckless and immature highlights. Memories you may come to regret or cringe at when describing in reminiscence had been proof of your vitality. But for now, it just meant that you were unbelievably bored. 

Picking at your nails had been the most productive trait you'd performed today. And with the heat blistering and a lack of motivation from an entitled lifestyle you had become entitled to as a birthright, you sought out entertainment in the most unethical, and immoral, of ways. 

A way that came in the form of a six foot blonde surfer loitering outside his best friend's father's store with a puff of smoke omitting between a set of dangerous dimples. The same dimples you'd always noticed even when the words spoken between would be mindless and a reason to cringe or become upset as he often spoke against those you called friends. Those dimples were always a means of silent intrigue. 

But as you looked at him from the passenger side car while in wait, you saw his eyes flick towards you. You tested the duration of his focus, almost as if to ensure he was worth the risk you were preparing to take. Once his eyes trained to you, almost as if to question if you were truly before him, you set two fingers into your puckered lips. The slow insertion was contrasted by the satisfying pop as you lowered your fingers into the bottoms of your bikini. His eyes widened as his jaw tensed at the sight. 

Shameless. 

His eyes followed the rise and twist of your wrist as you experimented to what angle could bring you to that edge fastest. But you were aware the only way to find that release would be a fondling of a secondary sensation. To this, your second hand rose to your breast, pulling down the fabric just enough to tease the breast he has been tempted with in the design of the suit already leaving such little to the imagination. Rather slowly, and with eyes set into his own, you pulled at the pebbled nub and released a silent moan that set him to shift in place. 

You were always a luminescent yet untouchable object just out of reach. An ornament to some Kook as you accompanied them throughout the island. But at this moment, you were performing for him. Striking those unsavory chords with nothing more than your well versed fingers and a former layout of late night practices. 

"JJ..." You mouthed his name as your body rose from the seat, chest heaving, and an expression compressed to fight the desperate whimpers you knew he would elicit from you. His reputation between your friends, and advisaries, validating this. Positions and sensations even those before him in their most valiant of attempts couldn't come close to. And he could do so without much effort. It was that effortlessness and danger you craved above all else. The unknown you wanted to uncover, even if you were the one bare for him now. 

"Fuck..." He breathed to himself, a tightened jaw showcasing his dimples and bone structure as you looked at him from across the scene, forgetful of how risky this had been. But that high was near enough to accept such radicular beratement. 

Heat pooling at the center of your suit, that release was on the other side of a handful of swipes. Thoughts of his skin rushing yours, his face contorting to his own pleasure, and the ultimate sound of your name as a whimper from his lips sent you riding into your hand as you shuddered midday in broad daylight with that well needed orgasm. 

In the nick of time of your fingers leaving your jean shorts pulled apart when first witnessing JJ, the door to the hardware store came open to reveal your boyfriend. The very reason you could never act on your fantasies no matter the desire to do so. A constant desire it was, always just out of reach. 

As the car passed the corner in which he stood, mouth hung open and eyes heavy with lust, the most victorious of smiles came over your expression as you left the moment of recklessness at your rearview. 

But he would remember. Every detail of how you appeared to him. How you tormented him. And JJ Maybank was the type of guy to get even...

Hours passed as Topper's arm pulled from your shoulders to slink down onto Kelce's couch. He kept you close, a sign of possession worn on the heavy hand at a rest between your thighs, but he was too drunk to notice, or care, for how monotonous the night had become. The same conversations of them discussing surfing and college as you felt as more of an accompaniment than a partner. But you blamed it on your inability to find comfort at rest. Too lively to be content in one place for too long. A nomad at heart. Possibly born into a family on the wrong side of the island. 

"Want a hit?" Rafe teased as you rejected his offer of the line drawn on the table. Making some comment about how you couldn't handle it anyway, you took it as a chance to leave as Topper was fading on the couch. Half drunk and half fatigued, you left him behind you. 

Your cheeks blushed as you thought of your actions earlier that day as everything at this party reminded you of it. Any girl in matching jean shorts or any guy with blonde hair. Even the song playing as background noise had returned you to the bold moment you'd experienced without so much as his touch. 

The heat between your thighs returned as you wondered if you could satisfy it without returning with a guilty expression. But ultimately, your duties as a girlfriend would come first as Topper swayed as he stood. It was enough to make you roll your eyes and regret coming with him. 

Finishing the drink you'd made in the kitchen, you promised your mutual friends you would take him home when you came back from the restroom. Pushing through a selection of nameless guests, many of whom were friends of friends, you climbed the steps in a slow gait, no need to rush. But the second you broke from the stair and to the steady ground of the second floor, you were taken into a bedroom. The door closed behind you and a familiar scent of sea, marijuana, and salt exposing his identity. 

"I don't like games, princess..." 

"Who said I was playing anything?" You asked with a grin wide enough to be noted in the darkness. 

"You couldn't afford to play with me..." You teased, the smirk heard in your words as you could feel his scoff, see his dimples, read the sin behind his eyes. The very sin you were responsible for not even a handful of hours prior. 

"Who says I want to?" 

"You're here..."

"Because I'm tired of you Kooks thinking you can do whatever you want without repercussions." Your lips parted in surprise. 

"A big word for you, Maybank, gold star..." 

"Think you're cute, huh? Think every guy is just dying to take you out? Buy you flowers?" He took a step closer, the extent of his body felt as he pinned you to the door at your back. The wood creaking as you turned to view it before turning back to him. But once you had, you were a centimeter from his face as the edge of his nose brushed yours. 

"I don't want to date you. I don't want to be nice to you." He set his palms on the wall on either side of you. 

"I want to fuck you." 

"What's it like to want?"

"That's right..." He slowly nodded, "You don't, do you? Want a necklace or some bracelet and you scheme one of your monetary idiots to get it...daddy buys everything for you...right? Guys lining up from here to The Cut for a chance with you? Well...they must not be doing it right if you were touching yourself in broad daylight to get my attention..." His hand was on your hip, a thumb extended to your seam. 

"So you have it...what are you gonna do with it?" He teased as your fingers rushed through his hair as you pulled him into you. The curiosity to know his kiss was no longer an unknown. His lips were softer in ambition and existence than you could have imagined, worsened by the smirk that crafted by your initiation. 

"Who says I want it?" He appeared indifferent before those fingers brushed your clothed clit. A short skirt making this easy as your back arched from the wall. 

"Every inch of you...Jesus, can Kooks do anything right?" His second hand came to your breast before you could defend the group in which you belonged. But trust funds and money could not teach them what experience he brought onto you. The perfect motions of his touch, tormenting you just enough to be unbearable and the occasional peace brought in the pleasure offered for only a moment. 

"Apparently you didn't come hard enough earlier if you're still this wet...this desperate...So let me show you how to do it properly..." He set your own fingers to your sex , mimicking how his fingers danced just moments prior, but with the pads of your own touch. 

"Maybe you don't have to risk touching yourself on my side of the island just to get my attention...." Your mouth pulled apart. "Maybe you can just get yourself ready for me..." His fingers suddenly withdrew as he had you nearly panting for him. His name, a near plea on your lips. Your body tremulous in the desperation of his touch. 

"Let's see what sounds a princess makes when she makes herself come for a dirty pogue..." The way your fingers fisted his shirt widened his smirk as you pulled him harder into you. His scoff felt at your parted lips. You needed more. All of him. But as you ventured to capture a kiss, he retracted. 

"You aren't in control here, sweetheart. You had your fun. Now it's my turn..." With your fingers still active between your lower lips, he pulled you to the bed you had forgotten was even present in the room. Yet, he wouldn't allow you the comfort of a rest. As you went to sit, he took hold of the back of your neck and pounded his fingers into you. 

"You don't say a fucking word. Listen to how wet you are...listen to your body wanting me." He spoke against you, forehead at rest to yours that strained beneath him. 

"Don't come-"

"JJ-" He scoffed. 

"This isn't the part where you scream my name..." To this you were offered a few more pumps before being pushed to the bed. 

"I want to watch closer." He explained, standing between your legs and unlatching his belt. His rings catching the light of the window as you craved the fingers against you. Inside of you. Pinning you. Anything! It was maddening. 

"I want you..."

"Probably the first time in your life to want..." You gasped as he pulled you further to the bed, closer to him. 

"You wanted to show me...so show me..." His voice was low. Guttural. Threatening even as you began to stroke yourself. Some forbidden chord set in a perfect rhythm as he lowered, sending your eyes to roll. But the lower his descension, the wider your legs would be pulled until your knees were against the bed. 

"Faster-" He instructed, his mouth parting, nearly watering, as you toyed with yourself for him. 

"I just showed you how...you can do better than that..." He patronized as you narrowed your eyes. 

"JJ-"

"Just what would all your little friends say to you touching on yourself for a pogue? Hmm? Calling out his name?" His fingers swiped around you motions. "Dripping for me?" His mouth parted as he licked his lips. 

"And Jesus, you are dripping…fuck…"

"I don't care.."

"No? So you don't care if they hear you?" 

"No!"

"Don't. Come."

"JJ!" 

"Faster." He forced your hand to make the speed you hesitated to. At the moment as your body became lost to the sensations, he retreated. 

"Well I don't want anyone to hear you. Can't ruin my reputation thinking I want some bratty little Kook."

You were breathless. Winded. Even more desperate for him that you were in the car-even ten seconds prior. 

"JJ..." 

"For the first time in your life, you're going to do it yourself. You want it...take it..." He motioned down to his pants. You moved from your elbows and closer to him. 

"Go on..." He continued as your eyes flashed to him. But as your gaze fell to take in his anatomy as it was pulled by your activation, he pulled your hair slowly. 

"Keep your eyes on me..." You didn't fight him as you only lowered to your knees and pulled his shorts to his ankles. An intimidating yet aesthetically pleasing cock teasing your kiss. A teasing peck set on the edge as he breathed a simple deep exhale. 

"Don't act all sweet. You wanted to be a whore, so take me in the back of your throat like one-" He gasped with the depth in which you took him. The same depth you kept and released as he bent over you and grilled onto the bed. 

"Fuck!"

It was the only utterance he was able to make. Your name sounded too innocent and God himself shied away as he called on his wavering faith. You were his anchor, his pain, his pleasure, and at this moment, his vice. Your hand twisted from base to tip as you  broke for breath. 

"Enough..." He winced weakly, hoping you'd be more desperate than him. But your suction and hollowed cheeks, the vibration from your moaning, all of this became too much too quickly. He was spilling into you despite his best efforts, forcing him to pull you on conviction. You were allowed even a breath before being turned on the bed. 

"My way, princess...like the whore you are..." He smacked your ass, making you gasp, before he arranged himself with a condom. You looked back in the nick of time to watch him align his cock with you and slip in effortlessly, you holding him like a vice once he bottomed out. 

"Goddamnit-" he grunted. 

"I know you aren't a virgin, but you're too fucking tight to be the whore I thought you were...maybe you just need the right dick, right?" You bit your lip.

Plowing into you, you were unhinged before him, a vessel as your release was on the other side of his mercy. 

"JJ!" You shrieked as he swipes your ass again. 

"Look at me...Watch me fuck you..." 

"I can't..." You explained as he pulled you at an angle in which your leg would come to rest at his shoulder. 

"No more fucking excuses." He spat, eyes wide for a moment as his lips parted in pain of a rush of stimulation. Too much pleasure. Too much of you. 

"You like that?"

"Yes...." You groaned. 

"Tell me it feels good..."

"It..." He took his hand around your breast, a pinch made to your nipples as you trembled. Your legs taking on a life of their own as they were kept locked by his motions.

"You like being fucked like this, don't you sweetheart…can't even tell me how good it is…" Not a nerve untouched as your eyes pryed open to take in the way he responded to you. The look across his expression, the sweat gathering at his naked chest, you could recall had been made bare, and the animalistic groans and grunts acted accordingly to the rise of your release. That close release, too deep and too favored to be truly appreciated. 

"Tell me..." He almost begged, a wince of unbearable pleasure making his cadence alter as he bent your leg to your chest as he pulled over you. His grip eating into the sheets beside you for stability as he rooted into you. Your cervix teased and tested as he pounded ok repetition. Pain quickly eased by pleasure as you moaned in accordance to him. 

"JJ!"

"Fucking tell me how good I feel or you-"

"You feel so good!"

"Better than him?" 

"Fuck, yes!" 

"Beg me to let you come. Tell me you want me to make you come..." He spoke through accelerated thrusts. Your body gliding easily beneath his as you continued. 

"Make me come."

"I said beg. You demand enough."

"Please!" With a recline of corrected posture he spit on your clit unnecessary for anything aside from the aesthetic of eroticism between you, before rubbing vicious circles. Your body rose from itself. Ethereal life and deaths at war to claim you first until pleasure won overall. Your body in tremors your eyes pulled into a roll, and your voice silent following that whimper of release. You looked over him, a gush granting his final thrusts at ease as he tightened and relinquished himself in that final flex before kissing you. 

"You pull another stunt like that in public sweetheart, and THAT happens on the hood of whatever car whose seat you're leaving wet." He retracted from you. 

"No matter whose car it is." 

"JJ..." 

"Until you can learn to keep these dry, I'll take em for ya..." He stole your panties from the floor before setting his shirt over his damp skin. 

"See ya 'round, princess."

If you could have walked, you would have followed him far enough into the hall to berate him. If anything, to demand he return your underwear. But a part of you liked the fact he had a piece of you. 

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916  @pankhoeforlife @pankowperfection

MASTERLIST

JJ MAYBANK MASTERLIST

JJ MAYBANK 2nd MASTERLIST

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MARCH MADNESS MASTERLIST

[digenerate-trash]

Harper with starcrossed is crazy ngl💀

okay- I tried so hard. Please enjoy

AMAB Harper | GN PC

TW hypnosis | implied molestation | implied rape | implied blowjob | malpractice

Arriving at the hosbital early as always harper adjusts his shirt and tie and fiddles with his pen. He's been practicing quite a bit lately and he's eager to show off. Though he knows that sometimes you don't always have the time to indulge him. Really it's just a hope of his. That you'll let him have as much time with you as he wants. Though it's a long shot... you're always busy after all...

But still he has hope as he strolls into the office. Clean as ever. He glances at the desk and the lab coat hanging off it. Wasting no time at all he let's his fingers trace over the fabric of it before taking it off the chair and fitting it over his shoulders. A little too snug for him but he loves the feeling.

He adjusts his glasses and sits down at the desk smiling to himself as he takes out his pen and starts to spin it between his fingers. He's happy. Relaxed. In an environment he knows and even loves. And soon. You'll be here.

Harper looks over the desk taking in every detail. Adjusting everything almost compulsively as he waits for your arrival. He admires the degrees on the wall. The negelcted plant in the cornner. He flips through the Callander looking over every appointment for the next few months. He can't even describe the feeling he gets as he sits here.

"... harper-" your voice is sweet like a bell. As you open the door. Harper gets up and smiles so wide your sure it must hurt. "You're wearing my coat again." You say slightly exasperated as you walk over to your desk and place down your clipboard.

"Sorry- just wanted to see what it would be like to be the doctor for once." Harper apologies. He takes off the coat gingerly putting it back over your desk chair before he returns to his usual side of the desk. He sits in the chair opposite yours as you take your seat and the note pad you use to document harpers progress.

He sits in the little padded chair. His legs are awkwardly pressed together as he fiddles with a pen, he's almost 22. Obsessive. Has a superiority complex, and dispite being very odd he's polite.

"I'm glad you could make it to your appointment harper-" you say in Ernest "I'm glad your committing to your progress to lead a healthier life."

"Yes well. How can I refuse when they said for one hour a week I'd get to be locked in a room with you?" Haper says. You let out a sigh. This again.

"Harper. We've talked about your professionalism before-" you start.

"I'm kidding!" Harper intersects almost too quickly.

"Still. Remeber that doctors and paintents can't talk to eachother like that. The boundries between medical professionals and the people they care for are there for a reason. It's unethical to get personaly involved." You scribbled harpers response down before continuing "and I'm afraid your deflection instead of agknowaging your mistake sets you back once again. You can't hide behind a facade of humor every time you say something unseamly. It's better just to think before you speak."

Harper looks disappointed as he grips his pen. But still you continue on. "Why don't you start the session. Tell me how your week was. How are you adjusting to life outside the asylum?"

Harper twitches a bit at the word another thing to note down. He's still uncomfterble.

"It's fine... I have an apartment now- and a TV that I can change the channels on..." Harper says leaning back in his chair. "but I've been reading about hypno therapy lately. And to tell you the truth I'm fascinated..."

"What about hypnotic therapy do you find yourself being interested in?" You ask. Writing down brod strokes of what harper has said.

Harper seems to grin a bit wider as he continues "I think I could be one. I'm a pretty quick learner. And the material is easy to understand. I think I might have found a talent in it."

You nod along adding the sentence 'paitent is desprate for control' in your notes.

"Mind if I show you?" Harper says. The request is so Ernest that you tentivly agree. And harper holds up the pen. Swining it back and forth.

Harper tells you to keep your focus and you do. He continues to keep the pace of the pen and you keep stareing

Your mouth goes dry but you don't close it. Haper seems happy. Excited even but you're not sure why. The rest of the therapy session is like a dream. You're pretty sure harper has done something bad. But you can't image what as you wipe the salty taste from your mouth. As you head out to the break room you don't remeber ending the session with harper but your left thirsty and confused.

You must just be out of it today. As you drink a glass of water and look over your notes you only have more questions.

"Cured" is written out in your handwriting.

[carnivorousyandeere]

tw: dubcon

my lil dream is darling admitting to marcus physical contact/physical affection/sex??? makes them uncomfortable becos of their past (if you know, you know) but it's something that torments darling becos it makes them feel like a freak. like darling wishes they could be more physically affectionate with hypothetical significant others and be able to have sex like others have sex.... and marcus instantly is like (: interesting (: well we could defo do something abt that (:

IDK YOU SAID SEX THERAPY AND I IMMEDIATELY GOD I WANT IT SO BAD

marcus starts off with just soft light touches and darling is trembling becos touch from others has always hurt and it pains marcus to see darling like that but now he gets to introduce gentle touch to them. he skims his hand across their skin and darling is so brave, eyes fluttering close, focusing on the touch.

then it escalates from there every session. marcus is always so gentle, so encouraging, so loving. they hold hands for long periods of time. they hug. after a certain session, they start sitting side by side every single session. eventually, even that escalates to darling sitting on marcus' lap, his arms wrapping around her waist.

idk abt marcus but MAYBE he likes the way that every single session, darling trembles under his touch but darling puts on a brave face anyway. like a rabbit that so desperately wants to run away from a predator but, instead, decides to face it head on. something abt it whets his appetite?

eventually, darling happily tells marcus that they've started to really recover and that they've incorporated what they've learned in therapy. they've started being okay shaking hands with friends! isn't that great??

of course it is! except, no, internally, marcus isn't okay with it. becos he liked being the only one. he liked his darling exclusively being his. so he ups the stakes.

he starts slipping his hands under their clothes, fingers skimming across their hips, across their waist, across their thighs. darling trembles, wondering if this is right but... marcus knows best doesn't he?

then marcus cups darling's cheeks and soundly kisses them. darling wants to pull away but marcus is stronger and so, instead, trembling so very much, darling returns the gesture. becos..... marcus...... maybe..... marcus knows what he's doing...... right?

and then marcus tells darling next session they'll really practice intimacy and darling can't tell if the feeling in their stomach is anxiety or butterflies.

ANON WHO ARE YOU. WHO GAVE YOU THE KEYS TO MY BRAIN?? Same wavelength it’s kinda scary 😳

Iykyk— I think I get what you’re putting down. That wasn’t exactly my experience, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that.

( MDNI )

CW: dubcon, abuse of power/authority, EXTREMELY unethical therapy practices, manipulation

Marcus has you in his lap, facing him, positioned just so that you won’t feel his hardness. He doesn’t want to scare you by having you feel that— this is about you, about making you feel better.

You cling tightly onto his shoulders, eyes shut and lips trembling as his hand travels under your waist band to gently stroke you through your underwear.

He leans in to press a soft kiss to your hairline, reminding you as he always does that it’s okay, you’re safe with him. He won’t hurt you. You can ask him to stop any time and he will. You nod, eyes still screwed tightly shut. Marcus keeps his pace steady and touches light, waiting for the tension in your body to unspool and melt into a different sort of tension.

When he notices your breathing become shallower, Marcus pauses and moves back to cup your face in one hand. Your eyes flutter open, dark and hazy.

“Do you need me to stop?” He asks softly.

“…..No,” you whisper, before letting your eyes close again and nuzzling into his hand. “Please….?”

He smiles softly at how cute you are, despite the pain of seeing you so obviously struggling, and leans in to kiss away the little tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“It’s okay if you’re enjoying this,” he whispers. “It’s okay to feel good. This is supposed to feel good. You deserve to feel good.”

You shake your head no at that, beginning to really cry.

Marcus shushes you, wiping the tears away, “But it’s also okay for it not to feel good. You’re allowed to feel however you feel, and if it doesn’t feel good we’ll stop.”

When you don’t respond, Marcus sighs a little, fighting the urge to hug you closer to comfort you. “It’s alright, that’s enough for today. You did so well for me.”

He tries to move you off his lap to sit next to him and bring you some tissues— he can’t possibly let you leave his office like this, so wounded and vulnerable— but you just cling tighter to him and shake your head again, eyes still screwed shut and head turned down in shame.

“P-please… please don’t stop, Marcus…”

His heart stutters in his chest. How could he possibly refuse your heartfelt plea?

[dnpanimationstudioclone]

Will we get to see Sir Pentious's backstory too? I want to know what his backstory look like in your rewrite

Oh yeah! I def got plans with Sir P along for the rest of the gang. CW discussion of child death, experimentation of sorts,(general spoilers S2, brief discussion of what was shown during that leak phase)

So far, the main concept idea I have for My Sir P was that he was an aspiring inventor. Filled with grand ideas and aspirations but constantly dismissed, overlooked by others and for most of his life, spent stuck doing not exactly fulfilling maintenance/repair jobs just to make a living. before finally getting the chance, becoming involved in some shady unethical medical company using poor sick kids, to test medical devices on. ⛑️⚕️ One of those devices included a 🐍snake venom extractor🐍. Big thing is….they often made the problems they tried to treat but….often weren’t able to treat them….They weren’t exactly doing well to begin with and their families couldn’t afford to get better help and were desperate to just have a general living…they had no idea what the place was fully doing with their kids💔

While he wasn’t getting them….”prepared “ himself, he was still aware of what was going on but with his position(especially cause of his roots) aswell as not wanting to lose his job and best chance to become an inventor….didnt do anything and just kept trying to make something that work. He told himself it would all be worth it, for society, the greater food, that it wouldn’t be for nothing, that they wouldn’t….

Something he’d do atleast for the kids out of kindness(and guilt) was invent some toys they could play with. They really liked them…and him💔 🧸

Brainstormed stuff on HTH @hotter-than-hell-rewrite server and inspired by @stillwaitin76 MASH inspiration stuff, reminded me of that whole “Hawkeye and the chicken situation”. Sir P at first says he was having his inventions being tested on baby mice or baby chicks. Baxter-I mean, kinda a bummer about those baby animals but it’s not like companies now a days don’t practice animal testing themselves. The medical field did all sorts of things back then that’d be considered far more unethical today. It’s a pretty gray situation. And for what it’s worth, wasn’t for something unnecessary, u were testing out important medical items that could help people. I don’t see how that would condemn you to here.

Sir P-But there could’ve been a better way. We could’ve gotten some adults atleast. They were so young and full of life and their own dreams, they trusted me, to help them and-

Baxter-Hang on how would baby animals understand all-…they weren’t mice or chicks were they?

Oh! And the Egg Bois…Hell’s clever way to remind him of his sins. Always being followed by small, fragile lifeforms that put their full trust in you only to often get hurt or even worse for your projects….

I def want his sin to be involved with his inventions or atleast ambitions causing harm in some way. I feel like that would fit into his character and what he was doing in Hell more in my opinion. How he was in the show, alive and his OG inaction feels really different from the Sir P we were watching and what he was doing to really feel connected in my opinion. And with all the other stuff that was happening, there wasn’t really much foreshadowing shown of his past to begin with before his redemption which I feel like was a missed opportunity for his arc. TW, child death, ptsd/trauma.

What do u think? Any ideas you have for Sir P and his backstory? What do u think of his OG one? I’d love to know 💖

[semisentient-entity]

Lab Work

A short interaction from an original work I'm messing around with. Lydia has been called to fix some equipment of her coworker Marilyn. She's... not exactly sure what Marilyn is meant to do, but she's learned that it's best not to think about it too much.

TW: Mild gore, blood mention, decimation of a corpse, implied sensory overload, unethical scientific practice.

~~~

“Am I interrupting?” Lydia asked as she stepped into the lab, the metal door swinging shut.

“Yes,” Marilyn said bluntly without looking up from her work. Lydia did her best not to focus on it too much, but the strong, rotten, metallic scent was difficult to ignore. The red-stained tabletop made quite the contrast to the rest of the lab, which was illuminated a sterile white by the fluorescent lights.

It seemed Marilyn wasn’t too fond of the smell either. She took shallow breaths and kept her answers short when Lydia asked about what needed fixing. After a brief exchange, she was able to determine that the scanner had been malfunctioning again.

“I thought you fixed that last week,” Lydia commented as she set her toolkit down beside her.

“I did,” Marilyn answered. She pulled out a pink chunk of something with a sickening squelch, looked over it for a moment, then set it aside on the table. “Didn’t stay fixed.” 

Lydia stifled a shudder as she opened the scanner and heard wet cracking as Marilyn pulled open the thoracic cavity of her subject. She maneuvered through the wires to the sound of Marilyn rummaging through said cavity, and removed her hand from the machine to the splat of tissues discarded on the tabletop. 

More wet slopping, and the smell of rot continued to suffocate the two of them. Marilyn had grown accustomed to such unpleasantness, Lydia couldn’t say the same. She pulled her shirt over her mouth and nose and continued tinkering with the scanner. Though some tools were a nuisance to use with only one hand, it wasn’t impossible. She tried to focus more on her own work rather than Marilyn’s. The light clinks and clanks as she moved about within the scanner, along with the occasional bzzt when she fiddled with the wires, and the perpetual buzzing of the fluorescent lights above her.

Clink

Clank

Spurt

Bzzt

Crack

Pop

Clink

BANG!

Lydia jumped and whirled around to see Marilyn’s metallic hand balled up into a fist. Her whole body tense, she muttered through gritted teeth: “Are you done?” 

“Er, just about.”

“Then hurry up,” Marilyn said harshly.

Lydia turned back to her work and hurried to finish up with the scanner, put away her tools, and leave. As she approached the door, Marilyn spoke again.

“Turn off the lights on your way out.”

Lydia paused and looked at her with mild confusion. “Don’t you need them if you’re still working?”

“Just turn the damn things off.”

Another moment passes, and Lydia does as she’s told. The lab is briefly pitch black, until Marilyn flicks another switch and the smaller, quieter lights activate. They’re not as effective as the larger lights, and Lydia can’t imagine they’d be very useful to Marilyn’s lab work. But she’s not about to question her methods. God knows they’re strange enough as is, and the lights don’t even come close to the most questionable of them.

~~~

(Taglist under the cut)

@abluehappyface @possibly-eli @the-cinnamon-snail @pinelo-hearts @katherann227

@bloodiedbyers @lysergidedaydreams

[spotaus]

Woah!!! Ec-4o.Verse reference?? Bringing you Geno! (With a bunch of notes that are intelligible off to the sides-)

Cropped versions for easier reading/zooming! But to be more fun about it, here's a Lore Recap for each design! (I'd say these designs are from... hmm, a hundred years or so? He's a Boss Monster so he lives a lot longer.)

(Tw: Mentions of Death, Self-Loathing, Mental Illness, and I feel a few other things)

Pre-War:

Geno was a normal guy, had a dayjob, but was beloved by his friends for being a Programmer. He was lazy, had awful work ethic, but would pump out amazing quality work for cheap as long as he was given the time to do things at his own pace. He has a passion for Psychology, but was awful socially, so he designed programs that mimicked mental illnesses in Test Ectos (ectos not embedded with personalities or magic) so people could research mental health without risking patient wellness. He made A.Z. too, the first real mimicry of mental illnesses in children. Geno got attached and kept A.Z. himself, the last prototype of the code. The finalized ones can be found anywhere, but he kept A.Z. around, and even though A.Z. wasn't sentient it was such a good mimicry, Geno practically treated him like a son.

Geno was known for his work, and was contacted by the government of his country to come and work on a big nation-wide upgrade they were planning to improve ecto functionality. Again and again Geno simply ignored their letters, emails, chats, and attempts to call. It wasn't his field of study, so he could care less. So, all that led to the government sending people to confiscate A.Z. from Geno and shut down his workshop under the pretenses of 'unethical programming methods'. He was forced to relocate, and A.Z. was basically held as blackmail to force Geno into working. (Since A.Z. wasn't sentient, he was simply property, and therefore there was no legal issues with the government taking him.)

Before/During the War:

In this time, Geno was among hundreds of other talented people from all across the country who were 'recruited' to work on this project. People who didn't comply with orders went missing, loved ones were "lost" and life projects destroyed. Geno was part of the Programming team (there were also Medical, Bio-Enhineering, and Engineering teams) and he was initially supposed to just shut off the programs within an Ecto that gave them emotion protocols, even the ones infused with magic.

But, as things went on, he was told to do more and more. He was involved in more marketing and branding and announcements. He was made to be on screen, be the face of the change. His background was good for publicity (man who studied ways to harmlessly study mental health) and he was supposedly trustworthy. By day he'd stand up beside someone and listen to them implore people to bring their ectos in for this quality of life upgrade to their nearest government office. By night he'd be slaving away infront of code, being forced to find a way to make these robots kill people. Just enough people. To nullify themselves when it was all over. I'm his despair he tried to make it so that their emotion drives would at least register these events as something positive, so they felt no distress if they were sentient. He tried so hard to stop but any backlash did nothing. So he kept his head down and worked quietly.

And then he was transferred locations. Somewhere closer to the heart of the operation. He met Sci, a man unaware of the Culling Orders or the heartache, because they government had been treating him well. He was a bio-engineer, and his project (nicknamed Fresh) was like if a self-healing code was a living thing and could slow, or even heal, wounds. The government wanted it, in the case that it could unlock immortality. Sci was getting funding and a cushy life. Geno realized Fresh was the best way he coukd possibly end all of this war that was in the works. For good.

So he poured hid heart and soul into finishing that code. "A change of heart prompted by wanting so desperately for his prized project, AZ, to be saved" He claimed. There were a few useful bots that filled through the office. He offered to install code that would prevent the Culling Order from activating inside them since they were going to be preserved. While adding code he added failsafes and kill codes and important information from his and others work he wanted saved. He added the names of every researcher he knew had been drafted into this unwillingly. He did it in secret, so entrenched in code only another programmer would notice.

And then the war started, and Sci learned the truth, and people started dying. Geno had to convince Sci to help him after that. Sci feared being killed. He feared not being able to finish his work. He feared not being protected from the pain and destruction outside. It was a long plenty of *years* that Geno had to configure just the right plan, just the right way to ensure that Sci abd Fresh would survive it. That the rest of the base would be no threat and that it'd stop the Ectos and the Culling Code.

And then he did it. He put an end to the war, at the price of all the power on the continent running to every piece of tech, and at the price of his own arm and eye.

Post-War:

Geno was disfigured. He knew that to make an EMP large enough to cut off all electricity, he would need to overload his own master consol to the point of battery meltdown. An explosion. He didn't tell Sci. Only mentioned he'd need Fresh on-hand. So when it exploded, his left arm (non-dominent just like he planned), his chest, and the right side of his skull (his left eye was better) were demolished in the blast and dusted near instantly. Sci and Fresh managed to save his life, and Sci, resident Bio-Engineer, was able to replace his missing limbs and his wounds with spare ecto parts over the course of a few weeks.

Geno was slow to recover, nearly on the verge of falling down during recovery (He didn't know where they'd stored A.Z. if he was even still in-tact, he had been the reason so many humans and monsters had died, and now to reverse his mistake he'd taken out the electricity the country had been relying on for the past thousands of years.) But he pushed through. He was Determined. He needed to get to the four robots he embedded information and failsafes into. But they were scattered across the country for aafe-keeping. Incase he'd failed. So he has to hunt them down.

As soon as he can he leaves. Sci stays. Geno promises he'll come back (he doesn't). Geno takes a medical uniform, packs the supply belt with programming tools, and moves out. He enters the main story while on this trek to hunt down his Ectos. Not a single one is where they should've been, and he can't help but be furious, praying to a non-existant God that they weren't scrapped by heathens out for parts or destroyed in a rage by scared survivors.

Looking for the four? One day their trackers finally Light up again. One by one. All in the same location. And Geno follows it like a moth to the flame.

[evilsystemm]

hey!!! first of all u seem cool 👏💪😎 and secondly i was reading ur pinned post (and obv if this is weird or makes u uncomfortable or is a stupid question pls just like. delete it and i'm sorry cause i swear i mean no harm) and i'm just wondering what u mean when u said that ur anti comshippers but respectful and sympathetic towards underage comshippers? i don't know much about comshipping bc i'm not one (so i tend to stay away from any discussion or discourse) but do underage comshippers have different beliefs/rules than over-age or smth like that? i tried looking it up but i just got smth about economics :') . pls dont take this as anything negative i'm just genuinely a lil confused if there's some rule/definition that i'm missing? anyway hope u have a nice day ☀️!

TW for any and all things that would fall under comshipping.

No worries at all, im glad you asked. As an overall statement, I am firmly against comshipping and proshipping. I think its very dangerous and that engaging in sexual/romantic ideas that are illegal and unethical bleeds into a person's psychological state and influences how they think, feel and act outside of the activity of comshipping (this is proven to be true in relation to pornography), affecting real life people. I don't consider this to include headcanons of these situations that are NOT romanticised or sexualised, because I think that can be an informative portrayal of abuse/assault etc.

The reason I mention underage comshippers is because a large portion of them do it because of something that may have happened to them (exposure to inappropriate content too early, sexual assault etc.) and it acts as a form of coping/reenactment. Not dissimilar to how children who have been abused will often act out the abuse through toys and drawings or on other children. Traumatic events like that damage the psyche majorly, and you *will* see symptoms that aren't morally correct, comshipping being one of them.

I dont think this makes it okay, and I still stay far away from comshipping at all because it's incredibly distressing for a lot of members in the system, but ultimately I think the best course of action for people under the age of 18 is understanding and support where it can be given.

Very few people who engage in this (including adults) mean harm, and I think its mostly a matter of them simply not believing or understanding how dangerous the practice can be. But I do hold more scrutiny to adults, because they are more capable of the logical reasoning to come to the conclusion that it's dangerous for them and others. Children generally aren't.

So no, underage comshippers don't have different rules, but I hold them to be more vulnerable individuals and I don't think outright criticism is an effective approach at helping them. That being said, I don't agree with comshipping in any capacity.

Thank you for taking the time to ask and clear up confusion!! and also thanks for saying I seem cool <3