#yeah i like that it sounds like vertebrae

[multiversewatchpost]

your early valentine's gift, so consider this a lunar new year lucky money packet for an auspicious new year lol

------

Dust lies on the couch, wincing and groaning, his hands twitching as if trying to claw at his face, but he doesn’t even have the energy to do that. He turns on his side, letting out another wretched whimper and gnawing on his fingers. His fangs feel brittle and weak, aching painfully in his jaw, a reminder of how much he hates his own biology.

For the longest time, he has been hiding this part of himself to the newest addition to their little pack, Color. The thought of revealing what he truly is has terrified him. What if Color was disgusted at him, or worse, scared of him? So, he’s refrained from eating, despite much nagging from both Killer and Horror. But now the truth is out, and, miracles of all miracles, Color stays, much to Dust’s shock.

The flaming skeleton stands by the fridge, staring at the rows of blood bags stored inside the secret compartment. There’s a reason the other three has been discouraging him from touching the fridge after all.

“Uh, so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do this,” Color calls out from the kitchen. “Do I just… grab a bag?”

Dust groans, a half-pained affirmative sound. His head lolls to the side, and he blinks sluggishly when he realizes Color is now crouching next to him. His eyes are fuzzy, shifting from Color’s hypnotically squishable face to the blood bag in his hands and glinting with a hint of feral hunger.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” Color says, cautiously lifting the bag to Dust’s drooling mouth. “Just, don’t bite me, okay? Being a midnight snack is not my thing.”

The first few bites are embarrassingly uncoordinated – Dust’s too weak to properly sink his fangs through the plastic bags. And when he finally does it, the pressure sends a thin spray of blood onto his face, making him look like a messy eater, and the first few drops spill onto the cheap second-hand couch that Color brought into the apartment as a housewarming gift. He swallows, each motion of his parched throat accompanied with both lingering pain and explosive relief. In the haze of euphoria, he dimly feels Color dabbing a cloth on his face, cleaning up the blood.

“You’re a mess there, Dust,” he hears Color say.

Reflexively, his hand shoots out, gripping Color’s wrist with such force that he can feel it crack a little bit. He sees his prey freeze, the pretty rainbow-colored flames going from pleasantly warm to sparking burning hot in an instant. His mouth leaves the paltry blood bag. His fang aches to sink into something more substantial, more real. He locks his gaze upon the sweet spot on his pretty prey’s neck – the vertebra just above the first rib – and salivates. It’s so close he can smell the blood running inside those bones… Just one bite wouldn’t hurt… One lunge and it would be over…

“Hey! No biting!” Color jerks his hand away from Dust, his stern voice snapping Dust back to reality.

Dust stares at Color’s guarded expression, his mind slowly realizing what he has almost done. With a pitiful whimper, he turns his head and sinks his teeth into the couch pillows. Stupid, dumb, untamed animal! He can’t control himself and his bloodlust! Maybe Nightmare was right. Maybe it’d be best to-

“Hey now…” He hears Color coax him softly, one hand on his sweating skull. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you, okay? I was just startled and all. No harm done.”

Dust shakes his head, his body trembling. Color doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know how close it was, how much Dust has wanted to bite him, to drain him of all his life essence and leave him and empty husk. He does drink from Killer or Horror from time to time, but always with a supervisor nearby to stop him. And Color hasn’t said anything about volunteering to be his blood donor.

Killer will be so mad.

“You’re fine, Dust. Come on.” Color pats his head, moving the blood bag towards his mouth, trying to get him to eat again. Dust only lets out a hiss, and Color sighs. “I’m not angry at you. You have to eat something before Killer and Horror get back. Then you’ll feel much better.”

Right. Killer and Horror are out there hunting for Dust because he can’t do it himself in this miserable state. Dust can tell that Color is not comfortable about that thought, but he knows it’s necessary for Dust, so he doesn’t object too much.

Just another point of how Dust is clearly messing things up around here.

The room falls into silence, save for the sound of Dust’s ragged breathing as he drinks his fill. Despite his earlier outburst, Color doesn’t leave the room. He has one hand behind Dust’s neck, gently guiding him to finish his temporary meal.

Eventually, when the blood bag is empty, Dust lifts his head and gives a shy lick over a small bloody spot on Color’s hand. His eyes, glassy but less feral now, meet Color’s as he not-so-subtly nuzzles into his palm.

“Oh,” Color mutters, looking away as a blush creeps into his cheeks. “Geez, save the sentimentality for the others too, Dust.”

Dust laughs, a faint one. He lies back on the couch, closing his tired eyes as he feels Color drape a blanket over him. For the first time all night, the tension in the room eases. As Dust drifts off to sleep, he figures this isn’t all that bad – they can definitely get through this, somehow, together.

Hhhhhbdbdkdbzywidngahajsjdhfhfbdjdofkfnehegdgdhd

I LOVE IT I LOVE IT HHHHHHHHHHHITS AWESOME

VAMPIRE DUST VAMPIRE DUST VAMPIRE DUST VAMPIRE DUST EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

ANWKAJDGDYDUFIFV4HDKFUFUFKFKFKFKFIFKFIF

THIS IS JUST I LOVE IT ITS SO GOOD HHHDHDHDJDKDIDUKKDHDGEDVRGDFYFHDJROPFJDHDHDUDF

COLOR!!!!!!!

DUST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! VAMPIRE DUST

I LOVE THEM THEYRE SO CUTE EEEEEEJEJEEEJDJDUDJFLFJRHFHFHFJDNFNF

[darkspacelow]

i'm watching you watch over me...

[nochepsicodelica]

Suggestive

Toji proving that you get turned on by the simplest things...

"You already have goosebumps and I just started touching you," he says, dragging his palm over your soft tummy.

"Dahhh, don't say that!"

"Shh, shh, shh..." A beat of silence passes and through it, he amusedly watches you squirm. "You're squeezing your thighs over me getting you to quiet down, doll."

"Oh, whatever. I don't wanna do this anymore," you grumble, attempting to push off his lap.

"Nah, baby. Stay. This is fun," he says, enormous hands cupping your waist and pulling you back to keep you on him. "Let me experiment with you, yeah?" He mumbles into your shoulder.

"It's not an experiment if you're just mocking me," you say, with a roll of your eyes.

"I'm not, pretty. You get excited over the slightest touches. It's cute." He drags the knuckle of his index finger up the side of your neck, causing your entire body to shudder. "See? Barely even did anything to you."

"Stop! You know the sensitive spots on my neck," you argue.

"Yeah, true," he hums, lifting your shirt to expose your back. He'll choose the most random spot, just to prove his point. His hand goes to your shoulder blade, rough fingertips pressing into your skin to feel along the bone beneath it. He hears what sounds like a shaky exhale coming from you.

"Really, mama?" He's trying so hard not to tease you for the way you can't sit still.

"No," you immediately respond, in utter denial.

"No? You didn't just rub your ass against my crotch after I touched your shoulder blade?"

"You hallucinated that, you perv."

"Yeah? So if I do it again, you won't moan?" You shake your head, a little 'mm-mm' hummed out. "Alright, sit still for me," he says, eyes focusing on your back, again. He uses two fingers to gently prod into the middle of your spine, to feel the vertebrae, while his other hand tries the shoulder blade he didn't touch before.

"It's," you suppress a whimper as he continues to prod at your back. "It's basically a... um... a back massage."

"Is that why you're arching your back like want me to-"

"Ah! Shut up, shut up, I'm not doing anything." You begrudgingly straighten your posture and toss yourself back on him with an annoyed huff.

"Sensitive baby," he says, grinning like a menace.

[symbiomancy]

MASSAGE —ryomen sukuna

summary: Step-brother Sukuna is good with his hands. Why not take advantage of it when no one's home? It's just an innocent massage, after all.

cw: stepbrother!sukuna, stepcest, grinding/thigh riding, pet names

wc: ~1,1k

also on ao3

“You’re good with your hands,” you say one afternoon when it’s just you and him. Your mother and his father are at work, Yūji is meeting up with friends to go to a movie, hell, even the neighbors might have left town—it’s just you and him.

Sukuna looks up from his phone, face impassive.

“My back hurts. You’re good with your hands. Simple math.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen how you sleep; how do you even bend like that? It’s unnatural.”

“I’m very flexible.” You hold out the bottle of massage oil to him and shake it impatiently. “Please?”

He considers it for a moment, then rolls his eyes and places his phone on the small table next to the couch armrest. You grin, bright and wide as he accepts the bottle.

“Sit,” he says, spreading his legs, half-expecting you to pull out the ottoman underneath the coffee table. Instead, you straddle his thigh, facing away from him. He jostles his leg for good measure and you almost tip over, latching onto the thigh you’re sitting on to not fall. A laugh bubbles from his chest, low and smooth and rich.

“Dickhead,” you mutter, sitting up straight again.

“I can refuse service if you’re not nice to me, you know.”

You sigh, long and drawn out. “I’m sorry. Please, can I get a massage?” Though you don’t wait for his reply and hike your flimsy shirt over your head, draping it over his other thigh.

Sukuna allows his fingers to skim the length of your spine, from your tailbone up to the base of your skull, feeling the grooves and dips of the vertebrae under his fingertips. He maps out the beauty marks littering the expanse of your skin, tries to commit it to memory.

“Where?” He tips a small amount of massage oil onto the palm of his hand and rubs it around his palms. It smells like vanilla.

You place your hands on your waist and press your thumbs on either side of your spine. Sukuna makes a sound of confirmation in the back of his throat and pushes your hands away, placing his thumbs where yours just were. He presses down, hard, and you make a sound, somewhere caught between a hiss and a moan, hands clamped around his thigh again for stability.

He begins working the knots in your lower back and then you moan, actually, audibly moan—it slips from your lips so freely and he likes it, he wants to hear more of it, drawn out and loud. He needs to hear it again like he needs water. The sound sends a jolt straight to his cock. It twitches beneath the layers that separate it from your pretty pussy. Oh, it’s pretty, he just knows it.

His hands slowly glide up your sides until his fingertips ghost the curve of your breast. He hears the hitch in your breathing—like music to his ears, he wants to hear it over and over and over again until it's committed to his memory—but he doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he lets his hand explore further, cupping your breast from below, a finger swiping over the nipple. You buck against his thigh with a low whine.

“You like that, baby?”

“Y-yeah.” Your voice cracks and you hastily clear your throat.

His other hand finds your other breast and he swipes a thumb around and then over each nipple. A small, broken gasp escapes your lips. Your back arches, grinding your covered pussy against his thigh. Sukuna stills, flexes his thigh muscles, and eyes the not-so-subtle circling motions of your hips.

“Yeah?” He palms your tits, pinches the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You recoil, back arching even more, pussy dragging against his thigh, nails clamping into his flesh so hard Sukuna sees white for a fraction of a second. He can feel the damp patch on your panties and he breathes in slowly to keep his composure from slipping, from pouncing on you like an animal in heat.

He repeats the motion and he’s rewarded with another gasp, this one half a whine, and you fall back, resting against his shoulder.

Sukuna adjusts himself and leans his chin on your shoulder. His mouth rests at the shell of your ear now.

One hand dips from your chest, travels down towards your navel, dragging the massage oil along. He can feel the stutter in your breathing in the still and tacky summer air. He doesn’t stop, goes lower, lower, lower, stops where your skirt begins.

His hand finds purchase on the plush of your thigh, fingers sliding up, under the fabric, and stop just shy of your underwear. You buck your hips again, desperate for any friction.

“What?” He teases, his hot breath caressing the side of your cheek. “Need something?”

“Please.” You nod rapidly. “Please.” Your breaths are heavy, eyes bleary, mid fuzzy with desire.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear.

Your cheeks warm at his words—so warm and so close he can feel the warmth radiating from your skin. His fingertips ghost over your clothed pussy, just barely applying any force, then over the hem of your skirt, up your body, dragging along the grooves, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His hand finds its place on your breast again, so soft and plush and he breathes in the sweet scent of your strawberry body wash, nose pressed into the junction between your neck and shoulder. Fuck, you’re intoxicating. His cock twitches in his pants, throbbing like he’s about to cum in his shorts—

Voices.

Strange voices draw him from his reprieve. They filter in through the open windows, a female voice arguing with Yuji’s.

Then there’s a key jiggling in the lock on the front door.

Sukuna snatches your top from his thigh, presses it to your chest, and gently pushes you upright. You stand on shaking legs for a moment before the click of the front door’s lock sends you dashing towards the stairs across the room. You reach them just as the door swings open, three voices filtering inside.

“Dickhead!” You shout before you disappear up the stairs and slam your bedroom door.

Yūji pauses as the door falls shut behind him, Nobara, and Megumi, and crosses the few steps from the hallway into the living room. He looks at Sukuna, lying on his stomach on the couch, scrolling through his phone. “What did you say this time?”

Sukuna scowls and grabs a decorative pillow to chuck at Yuji’s head. “Mind your own business, brat.”

banners from @/cafekitsune

[dreamwatch]

STWG daily drabble

prompt: forehead kisses

(I’m trying some prompts out, and also - I wrote fluff! I actually did it! My cold, angsty heart is conflicted by this development.)

****

Wayne’s back feels like it’s splitting in two, muscles spasming, discs crunching. Years of hard labour and a car wreck after he came back from Korea (a little bit angry, a little bit reckless) and what else could he really expect? He was old, and all his chickens had come home to roost right in his lower vertebrae.

He hears the van before he sees it, wheels spitting up grit on the shitty excuse for a road, and then the bassy rumbling of loud music. Iron Maiden, if he’s not mistaken, and Jesus H Christ, he should not know that.

Eddie throws himself out of the van, and practically skips up the stairs, and oh to be fucking young. 

“Hey old man, what are you doing out here?”

“Drowning my sorrows,” he says, waving the beer and Eddie frowns, tilts his head.

“Why, what’s going on?”

“Just my back.”

“Bad?”

“Hmm.”

“Okay, give me a second.”

“Eddie, I’m fine, got a beer, I’m good.”

Eddie scoffs, “sure”, before he heads inside.

Trailers aren’t sound proofed. Every cough, every fart, your neighbour hears it and you hear them. So listening to Eddie on the phone just the other side of the door isn’t prying, it just can’t be helped.

“Hey man… yeah I’m good but Wayne’s not so I can’t make practice tonight… no, it’s his back so I want to be here incase he needs me…”

Wayne shakes his head. The shit people say about that kid, they have no idea who he is. He listens as Eddie hangs up then potters around the kitchen, drawers clattering, kettle screeching. His boy is so many things, but quiet sure isn’t one of them.

“Heads up, old man.”

Eddie takes a seat beside him on the porch, painkillers in one hand, glass of water in the other and a hot water bottle tucked under his arm. Wayne smiles, takes his pills while Eddie places the hot water bottle behind his back.

“That okay?”

And he can’t help it, but it strikes him how fucking proud he is of this kid, and alright, it’s a little thing, but still. He hears it all day long from the guys at work, complaining about their kids, how they’re selfish, how they don’t listen, and you know Eddie’s not an angel, and he’s not perfect, but he’s good, and he cares and he’s not afraid to show it if you let him.

Wayne gingerly raises his arm and pulls him in, hears him squeal “don’t kiss me!” He pulls him close, and lays an exaggerated kiss on Eddie’s forehead, and gets a “not in public, Jesus Christ,” for his efforts.

“You’re a good kid.”

“I know. You’re lucky to have me.”

He laughs, despite the pain in his back.

“That I am,” he says, squeezing his boy tight. “That I am.”

[felassan]

Snippets. 🐺💜 DA:TV spoilers under cut.

Game Informer reporter Wesley LeBlanc has mentioned that he will not be at the DA@SDCC stuff [source]

Saira: "i won’t lie, my very first council note for lucanis was “can’t wait to fuck puss in boots”" [source]

Jay: "And you killed it!" [on Alex Jordan's - one of the actors of Rook - post announcing his role in the game] [source]

Ashe: "say it with your chest HELL YEAH HE DOES" (context: Council members sharing that Lucanis' voice in-game does indeed sound like the actor's Spanish reel video) [source]

Erika Ishii might sneak into the actor panel at SDCC [source]

A user asked "when are the announcements of the different languages voices?" An EA Community Manager replied "We’re not ready to reveal everyone quite yet, but stay tuned!". [source: the official BioWare Discord]

In the Discord, the ask-bioware channel is for questions folks may have for BioWare. they can't guarantee that all questions put there will be answered, but if you have one it's still worth popping it in there as the channel helps them "for future Q&A sessions and the like" [source: the official BioWare Discord]

In the Discord, a user asked about pre-orders. An EA CM replied "Not yet announced!" [source: the official BioWare Discord]

In the Discord, a user asked about the release date. An EA CM replied "I wish I could. Gotta keep it under wraps until it's ready though!" [source: the official BioWare Discord]

EA CM Violet: "always stirring in the bioware lighthouse. hard working team full of passion ❤️" [source: the official BioWare Discord]

A user said regarding the talent lineup for Rook's actors, "This entire lineup is INCREDIBLE." Corinne: "So glad you like it! 😊" [source]

Ghil Dirthalen shared that she thinks Bellara "rocks- so excited for people to meet her ❤️" [source]. She also mentioned that Bellara isn't really like Peebee from Mass Effect: Andromeda [source]

Ghil also shared non-DA voice clips of the companion actors that she thinks sound most like their voices as-used for the companions in DA:TV. This is the clip shared for Taash, although it's not super-close as Caitie had trouble finding a clip of this actor. "but their voice in DAV is a lot more dead pan? In a good way though- Taash is fun!" [source]

This is the clip shared for Emmrich. "this is closer to the Emmrich voice than the other clip ive seen floating about. I would say less cartoony than this performance, but with the same voice??" [source]

Malcolm on Emmrich: "you might have to buy him dinner or something first. He's a classy guy." [source]

Bryce: "someone on Tumblr who follows me for dragon age content called this the Veilbus and I'm-" [source]

John Epler is heading to SDCC [source]

John on the recent Game Informer video: "not shown - the piece of wood digging into my spine for 45 minutes as i filmed this. me after: 'yeah i had a piece of wood digging in between two of my vertebrae' them: 'why didn't you say something?' me: 'i was on a roll and i didn't want to lose it'" [source, two]

Trick: "I thought I knew who I was romancing in DAI until the first time I heard Sera giggle. I suggest pinballing wildly between whoever strikes your fancy as you learn more about the characters until the game comes out and then seeing who wins your heart!" [source]

User: "I was wondering about tavern songs in DAI. There’s a song for Samson, but not for Calpernia. I was wondering if there was an in-universe reason for that, or if it was due to real world limitations?" Trick: "I think the tavern songs were about what the lyricist found interesting, so they weren't a sign that Samson or Sera or Harding was more important than anyone else." [source]

[inkykeiji]

character: todoroki touya | dabi x fem!reader

genre: smut | dark academia au

notes: this was technically supposed to be for the ‘ravens and crows’ prompt but it grew and it grew and it grew and so!!! here it is! set in my dark academia au!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, toxic relationship, rough and messy facefucking, semi-public, dubcon, dacryphilia, cum swallowing

words: 2.7k

The air in the library is sticky, humid and heavy with the heat of late summer. The casement windows, made of crystal and wire, are opened wide, letting streams of setting sunlight paint the aisles unhindered. It turns the library a hazy gold, highlighting the dust motes wandering aimlessly between the shelves, dislodged from their cozy homes of old paper and rotting canvas by curious hands. 

The wind howls gently, gathering stray leaves in its gusts and hurling them in swirls at the bricks, disturbing the tap of the ravens and the caw of the crows; a warning. 

Summer will be dead soon.  

A breeze meanders through the window, cool on your damp neck, and you hum softly, fingertips trailing along the spines, looking for the gaping space to wedge this recently returned book back where it belongs. 

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice him; don’t hear his Balenciaga boots or his soft breath, don’t see his shadow creeping up behind you, slow and steady as it engulfs you, don’t realize anything until it’s too late, until one arm is wrapping around your hips and the other is slapping a hand over your mouth. 

The sudden action startles you, a jolt of surprise coursing through your entire body and yanking a yelp from your throat, only to be muffled by the palm clasped tightly over your lips. 

He’s laughing in your ear, low and smooth, dark and decadent, a sound that pours over your body like a slow, thick syrup, leaving trails of chills in its wake.

Bigger than you, stronger than you, smarter, faster, better than you, he spins you around with ease, trapping your body between his and the bookshelves, the sharp wooden edges cutting into your back. 

“Surprise,” his breath wafts across your face, stained with cedarwood and smoke, word drifting through a lopsided smirk. 

“Jesus, Touya,” you’re nearly panting out, chest heaving against his. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Why not?” he asks, a slight pout to his voice. “You’re so cute when you’re scared.” 

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes, attempting to push past him and back to your book trolley. 

“Hey, where you going?” his hips shove forward, forcing your legs to part, the jutting bones  carving into your inner thighs, effectively keeping you pinned. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

And although his voice is amicable enough, the glint in his eye is sharp, shimmering as it catches on the setting sun, the ghost of a shiver climbing the notches of your spine, leaving each vertebra icy with dread.

“I don’t care whether you’re finished with me or not, I have to get back to work.”

“Aw, come on, you can hang out with me for a little longer.”

“Touya, I need this job. My father doesn’t own a tech company like yours does. If I’m caught—”

“Then I will pay for whatever you need, simple as that.”

“Yeah, right,” you snort. “And con me into being indebted to you for eternity? I don’t think so.” 

“Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Sounds like hell.”  

“I can think of worse.” 

“I don’t think I want to know what goes on in that head of yours.” 

That gets him to crack a smile; genuine, terrifying. Sapphire sweeps your face, slow and scrutinizing, gears of his brilliant brain beginning to shift in thought. A beat of silence passes before he speaks again.

“Gimme a kiss and I’ll let you go.”

“God, could you be any more cliche?” you struggle against him again, trying to worm your way free, and he pushes back hard, forcing a short, high pitched cry from your throat.

“I didn’t say on my lips.” 

“Oh, fuck off—”

“You’re brave, talking to me like that.” 

“Touya,” you say, and although it’s supposed to be a warning, firm and sharp, the name trembles on your tongue, wavering with fear. “If we get caught—”

“Look around you,” he says, eyes gleaming as he raises his brows in question. “Do you see anyone else?” 

No. You don’t. 

You don’t, because you’re in one of the furthest, deepest corners of the library; secluded, hidden, and utterly trapped. 

He’s been waiting for this. 

It dawns on you then, that he must’ve been following you, tracking you, stalking his prey and biding his time until the opportune moment to strike—when you were alone, unassuming, and entirely unarmed. 

His smirk has grown into a grin, stretched unnaturally wide across his handsome face, tinged with a deranged sort of glee. His eyes are soaking it all up, every little micro-expression that morphs your features as you realize the full weight of the situation.

“C’mon,” he breathes, hips rutting against your inner thigh in barely there gyrations. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

“You have?”

And you hate the sheer desperation in your voice, the question breathed out in a single breath, quick and airy on your tongue. 

“Of course I have,” he knocks his forehead against yours, malicious smile still in place, the words said like a slap to the face, like you’re so fucking stupid to think otherwise, but it’s so fucking precious how eager you are for the confirmation. “Don’t you want to be good for me and give my cock just a teensy tiny little kiss? It misses you, you know, can’t you feel how much?” 

And he sounds so fucking genuine as he shifts his hips between your thighs and presses his cock, now hot and hard, into your core, grinding up against your clit. It forces a moan from your chest, soft and pitchy, lips pressing together firmly in a pathetic attempt to silence it. 

“Don’t let me down now, sweetheart.” No, not after all the trouble he’s been through, all the watching and waiting. 

Oh, you would never, could never, even if you wanted to—no matter how badly you wanted to.

Glowing sapphire watches as you slide down his body and sink to the floor, kneecaps on his toes, delicate fingers making quick work of his belt, picking at the heavy chrome buckle and tugging at the strap. It clinks together as you undo the zipper of his jeans, the weight of the buckle pulling his pants open further, denim folding over. 

And God, his cock is so fucking pretty, dusty pink and smooth as velvet, save for that one big, thick vein that runs, almost perfectly straight, along the bottom of his shaft. 

Your mind is already beginning to evaporate into a dense fog of lust, starved for his praise and eager to please, torrents of saliva beginning to collect in the cavities of your cheeks and pool beneath your tongue.

A thick bout of shame surges through your veins, but it isn’t nearly enough to dispel the hedonistic haze Touya casts over your brain.

He holds it steady for you, a slender hand wrapped around the base, pupils gaping and unhindered as he watches you inch forward, puckered lips pressing a sweet, sloppy kiss to the tip of his cock. 

It’s open-mouthed, tongue swiping over the slit in a swift caress and collecting a weeping bead of precum, bitter and salty as it seeps into your tastebuds. 

Pulling back, you stare up at him with desperate desire slapped across your face, lips parted with panting little breaths, a glimmering thread of precum keeping your mouth connected to him, and holy Christ, he’s breathing as he smears the sticky substance across your chin and your jaw with the steadily leaking head of his cock, painting you in stringy webs of him, that’s so fucking hot.

It’s being shoved past your lips and down your throat without warning—there never is any, not with Touya—and you sputter around the unexpected intrusion, a film of reflexive tears shielding your eyes. 

“Good girl,” Touya breathes, and your jaw automatically stretches wider, peering up at him with a sort of insatiable devoutness. “Take it all for me.”

And so, you do.

Because he’s hypnotic, his presence an instant, addictive, irresistible pull, his praise and respect even more so. They’re drugs you gorge yourself on, drugs you vie and scratch and scream and claw for, drugs that make you feel pathetic, but drugs you can’t stop using nonetheless. 

Because praise from Touya makes you feel like you’re on top of the fucking world. Praise from Touya is a hard, precious, valuable resource to come by, rare and not easily doled out. You have to earn it, he had once told you. You have to really deserve it. 

“Yeah, yeah, s’it,” he encourages as you endeavour to swallow him more, to suck him down further. “S’a good girl for me. Go on, make me proud.”

It’s always speckled with a hefty dose of sugared degradation, cooed yet condescending. But the praise that falls from his mouth, cracking with sincerity as his head tilts back, strong jaw on display, the lines and ridges of his neck moving with his voice, soothes any sting his insults could bring. They make it all so worth it. 

Because Touya has what you wish you had, what you want to have, what you will have, according to him, if you stay his good little girl. Touya has executive access to that exclusive, elusive upper class world; a place you’ve always been able to worm your way into with pretty smiles and batting eyelashes, but a place you’re consistently pushed out of. 

Touya can make it permanent. Touya can find a spot where you belong, where you snap perfectly into place, cozy and comfortable as if you were always meant to be there—easy, effortless, effaced.

And, really, that’s all you want. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. 

Acceptance, belonging, community. 

So you take him down your throat with ardency, wretch your jaw open further, hinges straining with a dull, dense ache, doing anything and everything he says in an effort to make him proud, just like he asked you to.

You’re barely able to get a few good pumps in before lithe fingers are curling around your skull, palms pressed to your temples and thumbs digging bruises into your cheekbones as he grips your head tightly, holding you in place and wedging his cock down your throat.

The pace is brutal right from the start, the pounding of his hips so powerful that it has the tip of your nose repeatedly slamming against his pubic bone, swollen lips leaving crude kisses of saliva streaked across his skin.

The slap of your face against his groin is grotesque, paired with the sick squelching each thrust procures and the pathetic, embarrassing sounds oozing from the corners of your lips—choked off gags and snuffed out whimpers and those pitiful little sniffles, hiccuped with each hitch of your chest. 

But they all feel so good around him, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good, so you don’t try to stifle them, borderline weeping around him, unbridled and unreserved. 

Your fingers curl in the waistband of his jeans and briefs—a small comfort to hold onto as he fucks your mouth raw, hips snapping rough and fast and downright ruthless.

A condescending coo slips from between his lips, as if it’s precious that you need something to ground you while he ravages your throat, knuckles pressed firmly against flexing thighs as you cling to him, and he takes it as an invitation to speed up, movements turned vicious.

Your head thwacks off the edge of the shelf behind you, sending thorns of pain searing through your skull. A loud whine vibrates around Touya’s cock, the sound rammed back down your throat by the head, and he groans, deep and guttural, Adams apple quivering with the sound.

The sharp agony radiates, a deep ache that burrows into your neck, and you can feel the sore spot beginning to swell. It knocks against the wood again, your eyes snapping shut with a wince, tight enough to crinkle your lids, the motion dislodging tears from the corners, cascading down your face in fat, sticky streams.

“No, no, no,” he’s panting. “Keep those pretty eyes open for me.” 

Your lids spring open again, an involuntary reflex, a zealous attempt to appease their master, lashes heavy and weighted with tears, sparkling crystal drops clinging perilously to clumped spikes. 

Anything, anything, anything for him. 

And, oh, how those eyes shine for him. Such pathetic, pious dedication.

“Fu-Fuck,” he nearly whines, the curse hoarse as it splinters in his throat, eyes voracious as they drink you in, soak you up, swallow you down. “Yeah, yeah, jus’like that.”

It hurts, but it’s over quick; only three more pistons of his hips before he’s holding you flush to his gut, his whole cock jammed down your throat as it spurts hot, thick cum, that one vein throbbing on your tongue.

You’re absolutely sobbing around him, strings of snot infused drool dribbling from your lips as you suffocate on his flesh, lungs beginning to burn, shriveling to ash in your chest. Instinctively, your head wrenches, desperate for oxygen, but he growls, the sound so deep, so dark you swear it rattles his ribcage. 

“Hold it, hold it,” he keens, hips twitching a little as his fingers strengthen their grip, stamping bruises into the already puffy contusion, blunt nails carving deep crescent indents into the back of your scalp. Your struggling stops almost instantly, coughing harshly around his cock, and his hips jerk, a moan shattering on his tongue. 

You can do nothing but take it, take it all for him, just like you were told to. What a good little girl he’s caught himself. 

It’s only after he’s emptied his balls into your stomach, forced all his cum into your tummy, full and bloated, that his grasp finally lets up, tugging you off of him with knuckles rooted in your hair, groaning a little at the thick ropes of milky saliva tethering your mouth to his cock.

You’re sputtering the very moment he lets up, whole body shuddering as you gulp down razored air.

“You look so fucking perfect on your knees for me, baby,” he’s rasping out, collarbone shimmering with perspiration as it heaves. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prettier sight.” 

A whine slips from your lips, and he takes a moment to admire you, sapphire sweeping across your face in slow, deliberate motions, almost as if he’s cataloguing your expression, outlining it all—the tear-stained cheeks and the spit-slicked chin and the sheer devotion spilling from your lashes—and searing it into the fabric of his memory.

“You’re a piece of art all on your own, aren’t you?” 

Maybe you are, with streaks of glittering salt soiling your bruised cheeks and crystal dewdrops suspended in your spiky lashes and his cum, ivory and pearlescent, oozing from the corner of your lips to roll down your chin in thick dollops of cream. 

His pupils are cavernous, carnivorous, ragged little pants exhaled through parted lips, stare unblinking as he watches drops of his cum drip off the line of your jaw in sticky, viscous cords, mixed with your saliva, drizzling onto your bosom and soaking the unbuttoned collar of your shirt. 

“What a fucking mess you are,” he breathes, thumb and forefinger grasping your chin and yanking, forcing you to look up at him. “What a fucking mess I’ve made of you.”

All you can do is whimper and nod, fingers clinging to his waistband as you paw at him, a pitiful attempt to get closer.

A masterpiece. His masterpiece.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Did I fuck the brains from your skull?” he tuts his tongue, mouth fashioned in a mocking pout, eyes shining with amusement. “Where’s that smart, snarky little girl now?” 

“Wanna be good for you,” you drool out, looking up at him with lidded, bleary eyes, glistening with admiration, with awe, as if he’s the most magnificent sight you’ve ever seen, as if he’s a fucking god. “S’all, Touya, s’all.”

“Oh, precious,” he murmurs, thumb caressing a rapidly developing bruise, gaze following his movement for a moment before connecting with your own again. “I know. And you will be.” 

He promises, you will be.

Outside, as the light dims, sun devoured by the rapidly encroaching darkness, the ravens and crows pick at carcasses and caw into the night.   

[bits-and-babs]

𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔

pairing: johnny soap mactavish x medic!reader (stitch)

summary: a night of drinking with 141 pushes you to the brink of your friendship with soap.

warnings: [ 1k words ] pathetic levels of mutual pining, yearning, alcohol and drinking, (f) masturbation, reader fantasising about sex with soap.

notes: i had so much fun writing this <33

Soap leans back dangerously on the stool at the bar as he laughs, a deep rumble that rattles his ribcage. The legs of the seat teeter precariously on the edge of a broken floor tile, threatening to slip into the grout grooves and knock him from his pedestal. He’s like sunshine, glowing with the grin plastered on his face as he guffaws at something Ghost had grumbled across the bar.

Even in your drunken stupor, you manage to place your palm on his lower back, curbing gravity’s inevitable pull by easing him back into an upright position. He chuckles weakly, still struggling over Simon’s ridiculous comment as he blinks back humorous tears.

“Cheers, Bonnie,” he grins, the ocean in his eyes swimming with the whiskey The Captain had been plying you both with all evening. It knocks you seasick, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, weathered by emotional storms. They creased for you, now, his wide grin carving out crevices that would last a lifetime simply because he offered you a smile. “Always lookin’ after us, aren’t ye?”

“Y-Yeah, don’t go expecting me to catch you in the field. My job’s to treat injuries, not prevent them,” you murmur, heart cracking against your chest as it flooded your cheeks with blood, heating the skin beneath his gaze.

“Mhm- it’d mean y’d have less work,” he pointed out with a pert raise of his brows, picking up his glass of whiskey and swirling it around so that the ice tnk’d against it. Johnny doesn’t break eye contact, basking you in the warmth of his gaze that could only be rivalled by the sunshine on the beaches his salt-water eyes reminded you of.

Did other people bathe in that everglow? Did the golden rays of his affection colour the cheeks of other girls, or was that look of adoration reserved only for you? You dread to think of the possibility that you were misreading Johnny’s tender gaze, that what you had hoped were exclusive expressions of enchantment had, in fact, been handed out as frequently as the insults that Soap consistently levelled at the members of task force 141. Or even worse, there was a single ‘lass’ back home, waiting in the cobbled streets of Glasgow to receive his embrace.

Genesis: the split on his forehead that went straight to the bone. No bullets were fired; instead, Soap’s skull connected with Ghost’s knee during a football game with the rest of 141. Inexplicably, he and Simon had been on the same team, yet Johnny still managed to end up hurt. He’d smiled at you, and the sight had wormed its way into your bones, the sound of his accented voice all hushed and husky ringing in your ears. ‘Bet yer not used to fixin’ daftys like me.’

You’d assured him he wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Swallowing thickly, your fingers trail up the ridges of his spine through the thin material of his t-shirt. His back is muscular, leaking the heat of far too many whiskeys for so early in the evening. You’re sure you can feel his vertebrae ripple beneath your touch, his eyes zeroed in on your lips like he was aiming his sniper rifle at a target.

“It’s not work if it’s you,” you whisper, feeling the rest of the bar, the team, wash away in those ocean-blue irises. Soap hums softly, the weight of his hand resting on the top of your thigh beneath the sticky countertop of the bar. He seems to calculate the distance between you; the logistics of the shot.

You can’t breathe.

Defibrillator, chest compressions, mouth to mouth.

“Yer too kind, Stitch,” he murmured softly, giving your thigh a squeeze before withdrawing his touch almost as quickly as he’d offered it. Instead, he wraps his fingers around the glass containing the rest of his amber whiskey, the condensation clinging to the sides of the glass dribbling down the length of his fingers to the knuckles.

Code blue.

☆ ☆ ☆

Breathless, your back arches from the cot’s mattress as you sink your fingers into the dripping head at the apex of your thighs. You can’t help the moan that spills over from your lips as you feel how wet Soap’s single touch had made you, the burn of his palm still simmering in the flesh of your thigh.

You’d barely made it back to the barracks. Stumbling over your own feet, you’d whimpered in frustration when tearing off your clothes, needing to rub your throbbing clit to ease the pulsing need Soap had instilled in you with his fucking smiles.

They’re a nuclear weapon, so bright it hurts your eyes.

Alcohol made it so much worse. Your mind runs away with itself, imagining Soap had tripped into your bed alongside you. He’d be rubbing at your swollen clit with his thumb, sinking his fingers deep inside you while praising you for how well you received him.

‘Steamin’ Jesus, Bonnie,’ he would groan, kissing across your sternum while searching for that mind-numbing spot inside you that had your toes cramping as they curled, ‘so fuckin’ wet for me. Can ye take another? C’mon, that’s it-‘

You wail softly, rocking your hips up to meet the thrust of your fingers as you imagine the sensation of his lips on your neck, the scratch of his stubble against your pulse point.

“‘M gonna cum, Johnny,” you wheeze aloud, urging the ghost touch to keep going. Your fingers sink deeper, the ridges of your fingerprints scraping something cataclysmic when you curl them just right.

A long, anguished whine ricochets off the walls of your dorm as you drench your fingers with your cum, eyes squeezing so tight that you can almost see the ghost of Soap’s silhouette behind your eyelids, praising you for your devastating orgasm. It’s so slow, utterly debilitating as it obliterates every inch of your drunken limbs with a white-hot ecstasy.

Your lungs rattle with the force of your inhales, bleached knuckles gripping the bedsheets in a desperate attempt to brace against the explosive orgasm. Soap’s touch still simmers beneath your thigh muscles, buried into the sinews despite the trembles that wracked them.

Did he feel the same? Had your palm burned into his vertebrae, or did he imagine the touch of a girl from home, whispering her name when he came?

You dread to think. 

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[bleedingectoplasm]

Glowstick Danny

It's been a few days since Danny's accident, and, for the most part, he feels fine. Sure, yeah, he can see how to some other person the accident may have been horrifying or disturbing or something, but for Danny it seemed like just another day in the life of a kid with ghost obsessed parents.

The ghost powers are a little bit weird, but honestly, having superpowers has been pretty fun. Sam and Tucker have been coming over for sleepovers every night since the accident to mess around with his new abilities, throwing wads of paper through Danny's intangible chest and drawing on invisible skin with pen.

It's during one such sleepover that Danny, Sam, and Tucker are hunched over playing Doomed, having gotten tired of watching Danny walk upside-down on the ceiling while tossing a ball back and forth with Tucker. It's approaching one in the morning, and Danny has been sitting in the same position for far too long. His back is starting to ache and he feels like his bones are fusing together, so he reaches his arms above his head with a yawn and leans backwards as far as his chair will allow.

As he stretches, his spine lets out a series of small pops. Danny lets out a sigh of satisfaction as the tension in his body eases slightly.

"Dude, that was a nice one," Tucker remarks, leaning backwards to stretch his back as well.

Sam screws up her face in disgust. "Guys, you know I hate the sound of cracking joints, knock it off."

Danny throws her a shit-eating grin, and without breaking eye contact, he quickly presses down on the fingers of his left hand with the heel of his right, releasing a satisfying snapping sound from each of his knuckles. He braces himself for a punch to the shoulder from Sam, but it never comes. Instead of the trademark gross out expression he was expecting to see on Sam's face, her eyes are widened in wonderment.

"Dude," she whispers, "do that again."

"Uh, what?"

Tucker nudges Danny in the side. "Crack your knuckles again."

"Um...okay?" Slowly, cautiously, Danny moves to pop the joints on his right hand. This time, instead of smugly staring at Sam's face, he looks at his own hands. With the slightest amount of pressure, his knuckles release a small sound. This sound is accompanied by a faint green glow surrounding the knuckle, emanating around the joint before slowly fading, like a light shining through his skin. It seems his body has learned bioluminescence, but only in small doses.

"Woah," Danny murmurs.

"Do it again!" Sam encourages him.

He is more than happy to oblige. He walks over to the floor length mirror in his room, Sam and Tucker at his heels. He places his hand along his jaw and twists his neck. Once again, his joints crack, and each vertebrae in his neck is outlined in an unearthly green light.

"Dude!" Tucker exclaims. "That is so sick!"

"How does that work?" Sam muses. "I mean, I guess that cracking joints is bubbles popping in the fluid that lubricates your joints, and we know that your blood is some sort of weird ectoplasm blood hybrid now. Maybe all of your bodily fluid has a little bit of ectoplasm in it? And the light is from bubbles popping in the ectoplasm?"

Sam turns to look at her best friends, only to see that they are both staring intensely at Danny's hands. Danny is flexing his fingers with a sort of reverence.

"Tuck," Danny says as he locks eyes with his friend, "are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Absolutely," Tucker says with a nod.

In unison, they both shout at the top of their lungs: "HUMAN GLOWSTICK!"

[maespri]

your turn to die chapter 2 deaths ranked by how painful they were (and why)

CRAZY ASS TITLE AGAIN. i know. hear me out. this post is kind of an addition to this post i made ranking all the deaths in YTTD, but it focuses only on the "game over" deaths that occur in chapter two of the game. because... i watched a video on it, and jesus there were a lot. and i wanted to analyze it all again!

as usual, spoilers ahead, and TRIGGER WARNING that this post will be going in-depth on the deaths and the nature and science behind them. it gets gory and detailed. if that will be too upsetting to read, please keep scrolling!

let's get into it!

if you haven't read my other post, some backstory: i have a special interest in anatomy & physiology, and i find it interesting to analyze these deaths and try to work through and understand exactly how they occurred.

each death/"game over" is named after the attractions/circumstance under which they occur. then i'll go into specifics. some of these were difficult to analyze due to the fact that it wasn't totally clear what happened, but i did my best!

quick glossary: exsanguination: severe blood loss asphyxia(tion)/hypoxia: inadequate oxygen supply to the body artery: vital blood vessel carrying blood out of the heart and to other vital tissues/organs spinal cord: cord that carries nerve signals from brain to body and vice versa pneumothorax: condition occurring when no oxygen can enter the lung(s), resulting in the organ shutting down hypovolemic: loss of fluid in the body, often referring to blood or water shock: life-threatening condition where the body does not have enough blood circulating through it TBI: traumatic brain injury cerebral: relating to the brain hemorrhage: bleeding necrosis: cell/tissue death neurotransmitter: chemicals that allow neurons to communicate with each other throughout the body

most painful:

stay on target:

sara and her partner get eaten alive. that sounds painful upon first hearing it, and it only gets worse when you consider what that actually means. for starters, sara and her partner are alive for every bite until the end of their death, where the mouth spits out their blood.

getting chewed alive would be excruciating. necrosis occurs as the bones, muscles, and nerves sitting in the lower limbs get crushed into mush, and as it moves further up the body, it worsens. until the spinal cord is severed (and even then, there's no certainty it actually would be severed; whether or not that occurs depends on the strength of the bite and the angle), they'll feel every bit of that pain. and if the spinal cord is cut, they'll only stop feeling pain everywhere beneath wherever that part is severed. for example, if sara's spinal cord snaps around her thoracic vertebrae (basically the middle discs of the spine), she'll stop feeling pain from the mid-back down- but if it doesn't snap again above that? she'll keep feeling it, if that makes sense.

so... overall, i think this would be one of the worst deaths. just imagine getting crushed over and over and over again.

-> official cause of death: likely shock, and/or fatal TBI from the brain getting crunched last

hide and seek:

this one was really interesting to analyze. judging by the blood splatter, it seems sara was slashed with a scythe around the right shoulder/lung. which... i hope i don't have to explain why that would hurt like hell. namely because she would likely still be alive for at least some amount of time and in terrible pain until the damage to her torso results in death.

irreparable damage to her lung combined with exsanguination would result in death here. the axillary artery sits around the armpit, meaning a hit to that area would most certainly result in the huge amount of blood we see staining the wall behind sara. and once that artery is hit, and in such a severe way... yeah, it's over.

-> official cause of death: hypovolemic shock due to exsanguination + pneumothorax leading to fatal shock

fly swatter:

so... this one was kind of insane?

my friend and i did some research for this one as well as suspended some disbelief and decided the answer that made the most sense given the characters appearances is that the flies literally chewed through their scalps and into their brains. there are actual flies in the world that can bite, but not to this extent, so it makes more sense that asunaro would have created these flies specifically for the death game and given them abilities.

there is also the possibility they were stung, but the amount of blood streaming down their faces, in my opinion, makes me think they were actually eaten. i also think this because if gin is your partner in this game, there will be holes in his hoodie implying the flies chewed through them (not pictured, apologies).

anyway, in this case... having your brain get eaten from your scalp... um. that would suck! pretty bad! you'd likely be terrified, thrashing around, and have intense pain in your head while your brain literally gets eaten. while, fun fact, the brain itself can't feel any pain, everything surrounding it can. i think this is just a nightmare scenario all around.

-> official cause of death: cerebral hemorrhaging/TBI.

quick draw:

in this death, sara gets impaled by a sword. its unclear exactly where the sword impales her, but it is obviously somewhere in the torso. the exact positioning actually does vastly change the amount of pain.

if the sword impales sara through her lower torso, it'll certainly pass through her intestines. potentially the pancreas and/or kidney(s). if it does hit her here, she'd be in pain for a long time; the organs of the lower abdomen are not as vital as the organs of the upper torso such as the heart and lungs, so... she'd basically be lying there, in horrible pain, bleeding out for some time. also, the conus medullaris (where the spinal cord essentially "ends") lies in the lower back often above the lumbar vertebrae. a direct hit there would result not in loss of sensation as spinal cord severing often does, but instead in severe back pain alongside other painful symptoms.

my point is- it would hurt. bad.

if the sword impaled sara's upper torso, she'd still be in pain, but for a far shorter time. the blade would pierce the heart/lungs, and, being in the center of sara's back, likely result in a complete spinal cord injury and cut off all sensation below that. she'd be unconscious due to shock within a few seconds, and total brain death would occur soon after.

i also want to note that there is blood on the blade above sara's body, which means the blade was inserted very quickly and resulted in her blood splattering upward over it. all this really means is the damage was even more extensive.

-> official cause of death: exsanguination, shock

painful:

spirit shutter:

this death occurs from sara getting choked to death. the first hand that appears on her is the one wrapped around her neck. the others fade in to hold her down, with one even covering her nose/mouth to make it even harder for her to breathe.

i think this death is painful especially from a standpoint of pure fear. being held down, choked to death, unable to do anything, is a horrifying concept in and of itself. add to that the fact that there all these other hands covering your face and grabbing you as well, and it's all just. awful.

choking occurs from the crushing of the windpipe which doesn't allow for adequate oxygen supply. overall, terrifying and painful.

-> official cause of death: cerebral hypoxia.

arm-wrestling:

this death was. disgusting to think about in-depth!

i think the thumb/forefinger of the red hands are digging into the eyes of sara and her partner. first of all, jesus, that hurts. ultimately, i believe their heads are just squeezed until they explode.

it's difficult for me to consider the science behind that considering that, in real life, it is impossible to crush a 17-year-old and late-20s-year-old's live human head with one hand. but it would definitely be incredibly painful. first the skull starts cracking and splintering, then it closes in on the brain, just... eugh.

the fact that their deaths appear to be mostly instant, however, shown by a single flash of red before the screen cuts to black, makes me think this death is less painful than the others, at least. it's very quick, at the very least.

-> official cause of death: fatal TBI.

charge card battle:

in this death, a giant blue beam crashes into sara. while i have no way of knowing what exactly that beam is made up of, it's likely some very strong volt of electricity.

the wound on sara's chest, the blood splatter behind her, and the cracked wall implies the beam was powerful enough to cut all the way through her skin, muscle, bone, and organs and break the wall behind her.

what's interesting here is that sara is killed immediately upon impact, but keiji has enough strength to lean to the left slightly toward her (shown by his outline not making the blood outline behind him) and tell sara he's sorry, an apology which sara is not alive to hear nor respond to.

i think this would be incredibly painful for what i hope are obvious reasons. a fiery electric beam cutting through your body would result in blinding, burning, pain for at least a few seconds before leading to death. however, i put it lower because the death is almost instant.

-> official cause of death: exsanguination, blunt-force trauma to the entire body

"least" painful:

runaway-minecart:

i would argue this is the least painful death out of any in this post, because it is instant. there's no time to feel pain. they're just dead. getting crushed by a giant boulder? you're just nothing. dead instantly because the brain gets crushed.

-> official cause of death: TBI.

white gas:

this death occurs if you fail to help shin hack the security system in time. a white gas floods the room, sara says she "can't breathe," and the "game over" appears. i'm uncertain what kind of gas is thrown into the room; some sort of advanced poison gas. most poison gases cause terrible symptoms and pain for a long time in victims, but because sara seems to be affected and presumably die instantly, i'd guess it's some sort of specific concoction conjured up by asunaro.

either way, the fact that it kills her so quickly makes this one of the least painful deaths.

-> official cause of death: asphyxiation due to poisonous gas.

poison door:

this death occurs if you input the wrong number into the door. something pricks sara's finger and presumably injects a poison into her bloodstream.

poison works by unleashing neurotoxins, cytotoxins, and hemotoxins into the body, all of which affect the nervous system, cells, and the blood respectively. all of these can have adverse effects on the body which ultimately lead to the destruction of nerves and result in paralysis, seizure, and death.

in sara's case, she was likely injected with a very fast-acting poison. my guess would be a high dose of cyanide. cyanide interferes with cellular respiration, which causes cell necrosis and essentially results in the body's tissue being unable to use oxygen.

cyanide poisoning very quickly results in a loss of consciousness, which is also shown through sara passing out practically instantly. so even if she were to continue to have symptoms (such as seizure- which i would guess would be unlikely, given she would likely be dead before any would begin), she wouldn't feel it.

that's why this falls under one of the least painful deaths.

-> official cause of death: cell necrosis -> hypoxia.

uncertain:

i was unsure about how this death worked.

memory dance:

this one was very confusing to me. the death scene begins with white ropes wrapping around sara's arms and legs, keeping her in place; then, a curved woosh of something white crashes into her. the screen goes red, and this is the final thing shown. at first, i thought maybe she was hit by a large blunt object whilst being restrained, and that it killed her upon impact.

but the weird thing about this image is sara's stance. she can't be hanging from something because her arms are at her sides, not up, meaning her body is relaxed. but if she isn't hanging, that means she's standing up... despite being dead?

i really have no idea what to clock this death as. something obviously hit her and killed her, but i don't know what it was or where it hit. i'm also confused on the way she's standing. i could very well just be stupid though, so if someone else has an explanation, please do enlighten me. lmfao.

bonuses!

i wanted to touch on the hallucination-related "game overs," of which there are two. while they technically aren't deaths, i still think they're really interesting to talk about from a psychological/neurological standpoint. this might just be mostly mindless rambling, fair warning... but, whatever. here are my thoughts.

if you use the hallucination machine three times:

before i get into this, i'm really gonna need you to suspend some disbelief for this game. modern medicine isn't at a point yet where we can ultra-specifically cherry-pick memories to remove. i'm aware of that. i'll try to explain how this might work, anyway.

if sara uses the hallucination removal machine three times, joe will essentially appear to be "eaten away" by sara's psyche. sara appears to have become addicted to the machine, begging to be allowed to use it one more time. safalin uses this to her advantage, stating that if sara obeys her, the machine will be her "reward."

while it is impossible to pick and choose specific events or people to remove from your memory in modern medicine- as far as i know...- this is still interesting to me for a few reasons.

the first reason being that it illustrates how unstable sara's state of mind has gotten. she wants to keep using the machine, no longer out of a desire to forget joe- she already did that, it was shown- but solely because it's the only thing bringing her peace anymore.

so why does overusing the machine result in a bad ending- and if sara has forgotten joe, why is she still addicted to the machine?

countless neurotransmitters are responsible for memory formation, but i want to hone in on glutamate, acetylcholine, and serotonin.

glutamate is heavily involved in long-term memory. a decrease of this neurotransmitter can result in memory loss, alongside a myriad of other unfortunate symptoms.

acetycholine helps organize working memory into long-term memory. cholinergic neurons (nerve cells in which acetycholine works) innervate the hippocampus (the part of the brain where your memories are stored), and aid the formation of episodic memory (your memories of specific events) as well as semantic memory (your long-term, basic, memory, such as numbers, words, and concepts).

serotonin has a few ways of aiding memory, but one of its most vital functions is its construction of neural pathways which allow you to learn new information more quickly.

with that in mind, if i had to assign an actual science to the hallucination removal machine, i would imagine it works by:

impacting the hippocampus in some very specific way, to where it only impacts sara's memory of joe

or, somehow decreasing the level of glutamate, acetylcholine, and serotonin in the brain.

for the first two hallucination removals, maybe a minimal or safe amount of each neurotransmitter was removed. just enough to make sara forget about joe enough to calm down again.

but repeated depletion of these neurotransmitters would cause immense problems. i also want to point out that sara appears to struggle a lot with anxiety in chapter two due to the hallucinations, and anxiety is thought to be related to inadequate amounts of serotonin. my point there is that she was (obviously) already struggling before ever using the machine.

so by the third time sara uses it, something in her brain must snap. too much has been taken out, whether that be because safalin manipulates the machine to remove more than necessary, or just because sara's body has truly hit its limit.

this makes sara physically weak. each of the previously mentioned neurotransmitters affect the memory, but they also play a vital role in your body's basic functioning all throughout the body.

what makes sara mentally weak is dopamine.

dopamine is the feel-good neurotransmitter; it makes you relaxed and satisfied. every time sara uses the hallucination machine, she's flooded with dopamine; she gets to forget about all the pain of remembering joe. that feels amazing.

most likely, she came to associate the hallucination-removal machine with dopamine release, and in a situation where dopamine release would otherwise be incredibly minimal (not much satisfaction to be gained out of watching everyone around you die and lie and fight), the hallucination machine would be a godsend.

my point here is that sara basically became addicted to the machine because it became her only solace.

so combine her now-physical weakness with her addiction to the dopamine she gets out of the hallucination machine, and she gets this ending where she fully submits to safalin under the condition that she gets to keep using the machine.

so... that's my messy explanation there!

reaching maximum hallucination level:

if you reach a hallucination level of 130, sara will essentially lose her mind. she'll see a version of herself walking up to joe during his death scene with a knife in hand, which she ultimately plunges into his neck. after this, she screams, it cuts to black, and there's a "game over."

this entire ending is the embodiment of sara's self-blame as well as her desire for control.

when it comes to loss, the first person people tend to blame is themself. for sara, this is because she actually does blame herself for not being able to do more to save joe's life. but it is also because she felt powerless both in the death game and during joe's death. she clicked over and over and it led to nothing. by blaming herself for joe's death, she gets to maintain some control over it, even if she wishes it never happened to begin with. that control brings her some subconscious sense of sick comfort.

her self-blame and guilt for joe's death, despite not actually being her fault, causes her to conjure up this manifestation of her own internal struggle in the form of a hallucination of joe.

it's very realistic for sara to try to avoid thinking of joe during chapter two. i believe sara develops PTSD after witnessing joe's traumatic death in chapter one. memory loss is very common in PTSD and is a defense mechanism by the brain.

but sara doesn't forget joe entirely; she just tries not to think about him. unfortunately, she's triggered by certain things around her that force her to remember him. however, she can no longer conjure up good memories of joe; only able to think about the fact that he's dead. with no other concrete figure to blame, she blames herself.

psychologically speaking... no, you can't die of "losing your mind." but grief, PTSD, and trauma can result in physical symptoms. for example, a heart attack, which most certainly can kill you.

but in this ending, i don't think sara actually dies. her last words are just her laughing. i think she kind of just... loses it. and that makes sense.

i think the reason this ending happens, and the reason sara sees herself killing joe, is because her mind is no longer able to understand why joe died. so it makes something up.

she sees all these things that remind her that joe was alive once. every time we see something that reminds us of someone else, we think, "that reminds me of this person" -> "that makes me feel [sad] [happy] [mad]" -> "anyway..." and move on.

but sara's brain instantly jumps to extremes. she goes from "this reminds me of joe" to a very blunt "oh, joe is dead" to the question of "why is joe dead?"

and instead of thinking logically- "joe is dead because he got unlucky and drew the sacrifice card. joe is dead because he got kidnapped and put into this death game. joe is dead because miley told the wrigglers to drain his blood."

sara can't compute that. she sees hallucination joe blaming her. just goes straight to, "joe must be dead because of something i did."

in psychology, this is a very common way of thinking in children. they aren't old enough to understand that the world doesn't revolve around them, so they think everything that happens happens because of them.

in sara's case, she seems to kind of regress back into that way of thinking, even if it is only in relation to joe.

so after being reminded of joe so many times and going through this cycle of thinking, her mind gets tired of trying to sort between real and fake memories of joe's death and just solidifies itself on one side of the story.

sara's brain basically decides, sure, we killed joe. it's easier if we believe we killed joe. here's how you did it, too. you took a knife and plunged it into his neck. there, now it's definitely your fault.

which totally backfires for sara, who has now completely lost it. there's no line between real and not real for her anymore. anything she convinces herself she's done, she believes.

so that's how that ending works, in my opinion.

that's it!

as always, if i got something wrong or if you have any thoughts of your own, please do correct me or share with me! i'm not a professional, just insane.

thank you for reading!!

[someverygaymoth]

What do you think abt killer’s DT causing long term dehydration? It could also a dry throat, which would most likely be worse in the mornings bc he didn’t drink any water while he was asleep. On top of that Ik most ppl characterize he to have a certain reckless disregard for himself that could add to that if he doesn’t drink water a lot. This also adds to my hc that he has a kinda scruffy voice. But if it’s rlly prolonged he could have permanently damaged to his vocal cords. Which would add to my other hc that he has a pitchy voice.(no pressure, sry if I made you uncomfortable)

Oh not at all! yeah I love this! I already HC that his cervical vertebrae are all fucked up because of his DT dripping down them all the time. (That's why he always wears turtlenecks, and even has the tank top ones for the hot months) I love that idea of it fucking up his voice too though, i always thought he'd have a more scraggly voice, he just gives those vibes. I think a mix of Depression and ADHD contributes to him forgetting to drink water and ending up with a constantly messed up voice. Maybe when he actually drinks his damned water his voice sounds so much better that his teammates hardly recognize the sound of him.

[imtrashraccoon]

This one turned out a bit different than I had planned but I think it's better. Yes, Scar is a good cook since he's had at least ten years to learn...

@starlikeswomen

First, Previous, & Next Day

Chapter 3: I Guess We're Roommates??

Word Count: 885

You woke up to an amazing smell. Were you dreaming? It had been ages since you had woken up like this. Thankfully, you had enough awareness to put on some actual clothes before venturing into the kitchen to investigate.

Scar was standing by the stove, busy flipping pancakes and transferring cooked ones onto a plate on the counter. He had rolled up his sleeves and his gloves were sitting on the table where he'd taken to sitting. This meant you got a good view of how sharp the tips of his phalanges were and the numerous little cracks in his bones. You also noticed that he was wearing the "Kiss The Cook" apron you had been gifted years ago as a joke.

Your footsteps must've given you away because he suddenly turned to look at you. His eye sockets widened ever so slightly and he made a sound of clearing his throat.

"My Apologies, Did I Wake You Up?"

You nodded, "Yeah, your cooking smelled too good to ignore I guess."

He grimaced slightly and scratched at his cervical vertebrae. "I Did Not Mean To Disturb You; I Am Just Used To Getting Up With The Sun."

"It's alright, really. If you want to get up early, feel free," you responded. "My sleep schedule is kind of all over the place but Pickle usually makes for a good alarm clock if I stay in bed too long."

"That Seems To Be A Common Characteristic With Owning Birds," he commented while bringing the pancakes to the table.

You weren't sure if that was a hint of irony in his voice or if he was speaking from experience. Maybe you'd ask about it later but for now, you wanted to enjoy breakfast together. Scar carefully folded the apron and set it on the counter. After putting his gloves back on, he joined you at the table.

The pancakes tasted even better than you'd been expecting. Not only were they super fluffy, but they also didn't fall apart before you managed to get them in your mouth. What you hadn't been expecting was how they seemed to literally melt in your mouth before you could even swallow.

Your surprise must've been evident because the corners of Scar's permanent sneer twitched and he quickly covered his mouth in an effort to muffle his snickers.

"How did you...?" you started to question.

"Magic." He chuckled quietly before adding, "I Did Not Expect You To Be So Surprised, Since I Know You Have Had Monster Food Before."

"I just wasn't expecting it, okay?" you huffed. "You're a really good cook."

Your compliment definitely pleased him if the way he squared his shoulders back was any indication. "Thank You, Human."

"No, seriously. You could probably become a professional chef or even open your own restaurant with your skills."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe You Are Right... I Had Not Considered The Idea Before."

You nodded before returning to your food. It was actually kind of amusing how easily affected he was by your flattery. Maybe you'd make a point about complimenting him more? He looked good when he was happy and it only made you want to do more to see him smile again.

"Maybe my opinion doesn't mean much since I'm a decent cook at best, but..."

He tilted his skull and gave you a curious look.

You did your best to keep a straight face before continuing, "I could kiss you, your cooking is that good."

For a moment, Scar seemed utterly bewildered. You could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure out if you were serious or just pulling his leg. At one point, his eyelights flickered to the apron that he'd left one the counter and that was when you broke.

You clamped a hand over your mouth in a futile effort to keep your laughter contained. That had been such a corny thing to say and the look on his face was absolutely priceless.

His cheekbones turned a bright scarlet colour when he realized that you had been teasing and he quickly looked away. He almost looked like he wanted to crawl into a ball and disappear, which made you start to feel bad.

You frowned and leaned closer to him. "Hey. I'm sorry, that was too far..."

Scar stayed silent and still couldn't seem to look at you.

"I have a weird sense of humour sometimes but that's no excuse for making you uncomfortable."

"It Is Fine." He took a deep breath in an effort to compose himself again.

You gave him a small smile. "I wasn't joking about how much I like your cooking though. You're very good and I don't mind if you want to use anything of mine, okay?"

He studied you for a moment before huffing, seemingly returning to his usual self. Crossing his arms over his ribcage, he leaned back in his chair with a slight smirk.

"Just Be Careful What You Joke About, Human."

You felt a shiver run down your spine at how his voice had taken on a gravely tone.

"Or Else You May End Up Eating Your Words One Of These Days..."

Well, now it was your turn to blush. Was that a threat or was he teasing you now?

[karlachismylife]

Oh no when I say pressure I mean I haven't been able to crack my back in over a year now, never been able to pop my hips intentionally and the times I have it was painful, if I sit wrong I can feel each notch of my spine due to the pressure, my neck always feels stiff, the whole nine lol. I feel like it would be a hassle initially working all that out pfft

I know it sounds bad and it is but I've lived with it since I was 18, so it's just kinda my daily now. I just like to imagine having 4 men who most of them know what they're doing to help, Soap would learn after that first scare probably.

But also the image of Simon just sneak attacking me to pop my back is hilarious, ambushed with love and care lol

(for people out of the loop - first post here)

I have actually tried to imagine OVER A YEAR worth of tension and pressure and I think my fucking hips started hurting just from that. I'm so sorry, love, that must be really messing with, like... everything. You're so strong for going against that and pushing through, wow. I probably wouldn't be able to.

But yeah, no, sure, Price is like totally relating cuz that man avoids doctors better than he avoids getting his spine all fucked up, so he also has years of fuckuppery in those intervertebral discs and everything. He's there to hear you out whenever you want to just vent about this shit, and he'll offer you advice on how to cope when it gets bad. Ghost will fix both you and him up, can you imagine though Price's face if you handle everything being cracked better than him? All red and panting while his Lieutenant pushes a vertebra into its correct place, but trying to put a brave face in front of you, because you didn't even squeak! How the fuck do you do that??

Soap sure learns after that first time, even though he's still apalled at how long you had to endure it. He's so impatient, he'd get fed up with constant stiffness and pain too quickly and would be clawing at the walls, and you went so long?? Honestly he'll probably try to coax you do some "stretching" and "flexibility training" so it doesn't get so bad again. But if you're actually limited in those departments, he isn't the one to push. He's the one who tries to be the most helpful in all the other aspects of it, like helping around the house if you get nasty pains or somethng. Also the god of nape and neck massages, that he can work out the best out of all of them!

And Gaz is just going all-out to be romantic about it. Ghost is practical and efficient, sure, and he is immensly loving with that little ambush of his or when he just lays you and Price down and goes ham on your backs (does he do it shirtless "for convinience?" yes he does. also he gets hard from being able to help you out, sorry), but Gaz is next level when he offers you a massage and help with fixing your hips up. Candles and shit, even music to drown out the cracking if you don't feel like listening to your bodily symphony. He thinks it's beautiful in a way, though - cuz that's the sound of him helping your body feel better. And if it gets too painful, he'll make sure to soothe you, tender kisses all over your skin and gentle hands stroking you while he praises you for being strong and good.

Also they find the comfiest chairs and matress for you 100% to help with the pains.

[themastaralex]

Always, even to the End.

When an anomaly mission goes bad, you're left in critical condition, while a distressed Gwen is left to handle and process what just happened, while Miguel is there to save you, making sure you don't die like his daughter once did.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, direct talk of open wounds, very poorly studied medical stuff.

This shit was so much longer than I was thinking to make it like wtf do you mean 5k words?? Also Latina reader 🫶🏼❤️

"Oh, shit."

Wounded. Red. Pain. Talons.

Then, a voice, heavily muffled.

Ears. Ringing.

You open your eyes, barely able to see a figure. Then you feel a bruise on your eyebrow, moving to your eyelid.

"..fuck.." Strained, you groan, breaths ragged. Then the figure crouches down next to you, and they pull up your mask, right below your eye.

"-die." The figure's hand moves toward your bruised cheek, lightly brushing it. "St.."

Blood rushes out from your mouth, a sign of internal injuries.

Oh. I'm dead.

Almost.

Your eyesight starts to settle a little more, as you can finally make out some more detail of the figure.

White.. Hood..

Oh.. yeah.. mission. Almost forgot.

"Ngh.." Gwen looks around and presses something on her arm, her watch. Then as the portal comes up, she picks you up and speaks something into the watch.

You're not sure what happened to you. And right now, you're sure you want to sleep.

You're tired.

The blood loss.

She grabs you and runs into the portal. The portal is short, and she has no time to waste, so she doesn't wait for the elevator, instead, she just jumps, and even though you don't have the normal spider-person sticking, she keeps you close, and held.

You recall your mask, similar to Miguel's recall.

Your face moves to the left, as you see people running and rushing toward you, medics.

A smile comes up on your face when you see Miguel rushing towards you.

Haha.

Only time he'll ever run to me.

Then you look back at Gwen, her mask off and hood down. Her teeth are gritted as hard as she can as she runs toward the team of Spider-Medics. You didn't exactly get too good of a look at her face, but you see the gap in her teeth,

Cute.

Only a second later, your ears quit ringing, and you can finally hear, as she places you on a stretcher.

"Can you hear me?!" One of the medics yells as he flashes a light in your eyes, making sure you're still here.

"Ye..yeah." Just like earlier, your voice sounds heavily strained, as if it pains you to speak, which it does.

Up until now, most of your body has felt numb, but you finally feel it, the worst hit you've ever felt in your history of being Spider-Woman/Shadow of 2099. And you don't feel your legs. Or anything past when you got hit.

"I can't.. feel my chest.." You mutter out, a whisper in the wind.

"What?" Gwen asks, narrowing her eyes at you.

You desperately look at her, as your breaths become more and more labored.

The medics rush you to the medical bay, as Miguel and Gwen follow them. They place a oxygen mask over your mouth and nose, making sure you can breathe.

Gwen contacts Miles, Hobie, Pav and Peter so they know what happened.

"EVERYONE, MOVE! MOVE, DAMN IT!" Miguel clears a path, clearly worried for you, but he'd never admit it, at least not in front of everyone.

He always had that one soft spot for you.

You always did remind him of his daughter.

Your smile, your curiosity.

God, Miguel wishes so bad you didn't, because if you die now, he'll just get hurt again, and again.

So he'll do almost anything to save you, his 'adoptive daughter'. A year and a half ago, he would have said he didn't have anything to lose.

But now.. you know the rest.

After a few minutes of rushing to the medical bay, they get you into emergency surgery, then find what happened.

"Multiple broken vertebrae, shattered spine, fractured ribs, and a mediocre concussion. We have her in surgery right now to fix her spine." The doctor glances up from his clipboard, seeing a pacing Miguel and Gwen in a chair, slouched over, thinking over and over, 'how did this happen?'.

You don't blame her. Not after what the Goblin pulled.

"I'm not even quite sure how she survived, given she doesn't have the typical spider-powers. But I do know she has a similar physiology to you, Miguel." The doctor points his pen toward the 6'9 man, as Miguel turns toward him, encouraging him to continue. "You might have to do a blood transfusion, given that she's lost quite a lot of blood."

The Goblin, he's the one who did this to you. He mimicked Gwen's voice, saying, "Spider-Woman, help!"

It was in that second that you should have known. She never says Spider-Woman. She always says Shadow.

You should have known, you should have. But of course, your feelings and thoughts got the better of you. And the fact that you have no spider-sense only made it worse.

"Alright. I'll do what it takes to save my 2nd best Spider." Gwen quietly laughs at that, but only for a second.

"And you, Gwen, we'll need to check you out before you can leave." She nods, standing and following the doctor, but not without looking back at Miguel, who is glaring at her, his fangs out and everything.

Her eyes go wide, and she turns back around as fast as she can.

Oh, shit. Miguel's gonna kill me after I get bandaged up.

She can't help but get that awful feeling in her stomach just thinking about what Miguel will do to her after.

After Gwen follows the doctor in the doors, he drops the angered look, and instead dawns a tired look, complete with lowered eyebrows and small frown.

"Chingada madre. Kid always has to be in some sort of trouble. She can never stay still." He pinches his nose bridge, in between his eyes.

He keeps his eyes on the surgeons doing your operation, then looks at you on the table, under the effects of anesthesia.

"You better survive this so I can ground you." He barely smiles, giving the illusion he's still deathly angry with you, because he is.

The only thing you think about while under is a nightmare of not being able to save Gwen if the Goblin actually had her, which is almost traumatic for you. And whenever you think of it, your heart rate spikes, and the doctors have to give you additional drugs to calm your system down.

Regardless, almost everyone who knows you is worried, knowing that having your spine fractured, broken, shattered, whichever you want to say, is huge.

The doctor finishes treating Gwen's minor and major injuries, like cuts, bruises, and her broken arm. He gives her a cast to wear on her left arm for a week or two, before coming back for a check-up.

She heads back out the way she came, stopping for a minute to see the progress they've made. Virtually zero, but this surgery is complicated and will take hours of labor to repair the broken vertebrae, piece together the shattered spine, and replicate the ruptured nerves.

For some reason, she can't help but blame herself, just like she's blamed herself for so many other things.

But you don't think it's her fault, you know it's not her fault.

Other than blaming herself for something she couldn't have prevented, she watches the surgeons work for a minute, before wanting to head to your shared quarters, which for now, will be vastly empty.

For now, it won't be filled with the sound of your pencil going at it on your sketchbook paper, or you listening to some of your favorite songs, or the sound of you criticizing either a book you're reading, or something on the holoscreen.

And she feels alone. Again.

She hasn't felt this alone in a while, since after all, you're there next to her most of the time.

Grinning, laughing, trying not to laugh when Lyla "accidentally" turns off Miguel's hologram and his butt shows.

But she has Miles, Pav, and Hobie, right? Yes, but they're not you, one of her only girl friends, and best friend at that..

She stares at your bloodied and bruised face, reminding her of when Peter died.

Her thoughts go dark for a moment, thinking about you dying. On that table. Having to tell your parents in your universe that you died saving her.

Gwen snaps out of it, shaking her head.

'No. Stop thinking like that. She has the best doctors in the Spiderverse working on saving her. She'll be fine..' Gwen isn't even really sure if she can trust her thoughts, as she lightly frowns. 'Right..?'

She closes her eyes for a second, before turning around to leave the medical wing.

She's only a few steps away from the door when an alarm goes off, flashing red lights going off all around.

"Code Red in Medical Wing B, Code Red in Medical Wing B."

"SHE'S GOING INTO SHOCK, PUMP IV FLUIDS AND GET MIGUEL BACK IN HERE, STAT!" The head surgeon yells to a nurse inside the room, as he rushes to get the fluids and calls Miguel on his watch.

Gwen rushes to turn around, as she sees the surgeons working hard to save you. Then she hears the doors slam open to her right, as Miguel sprints to the entrance of the room.

She can't bear to watch, so she doesn't. She runs, out of that wing, to your shared quarters.

She runs, just like she ran after Peter died, and after her dad aimed his gun at her, not even giving her a chance to explain.

She opens the door, moving inside, not sparing the outside a second glance. She slams the door closed, sliding down it, sitting down onto the floor.

Her eyes darted around the floor, not thinking of anything in particular, other than the obvious: that she just ran away from having to see another person in her life die. Especially one she cares so much for.

One that she cares so deeply for, that she would gladly spend everyday with, that she'd give her life for.

She raises her head, a grave realization coming to her.

"Ah, shit.." She furrows her brows, the smile on her face bitter. "I like her. Just had to realize this now, huh?" Gwen just shakes her head, biting the inside of her cheek, holding back everything else she's feeling.

Aka, everything else she's feeling that she hasn't allowed herself to feel, like loss, or anything other than the wall she put up for a while, which was promptly taken down by Miles, Pavitr, Hobie, and most predominantly, you.

And right now, all she does is sit there, thinking about how pissed she'll be at herself if she doesn't get the chance to tell you that she likes you. If she doesn't get the chance and you die, that's just another death she'll claim responsibility for, even when both you and her knew the risks.

She'll blame herself for making the multiverse lose such a beautiful smile, a selfless hero, a brilliant mind, and the girl she likes.

And again, it's only now that she realizes her stares, because back then, she took them as just admiration, respect. Especially when she looked at you in the gym, bench pressing, with Miguel spotting you. She thought that she reacted like, 'Holy shit, that's impressive!' But she was like, 'Holy shit.'

Regardless of what she used to think, she knows now. And she knows she has to tell you, if you live. And if you don't, she'll carry it to her grave.

She wishes she could just curl up into a ball and cry, but she has hero work. Anomalies to take care of.

In a rude interruption, someone knocks on the door, then it's accompanied by a light voice.

"Gwen, you okay? Open the door." Only Miles would have that soft of a voice, especially when speaking to someone who's just experienced something more than bad.

She pauses for a second, trying to think up an excuse.

"Uh, I'm changing, can't." Real smooth.

"Mhm. Okay. I'll wait." And there he goes again, with his caring demeanor.

Gwen rolls her eyes, standing from her spot on the ground. "Fine. Come in." She opens the door, allowing Miles to come inside, then quickly shuts it again.

She moves over to her bed, passing a cabinet with a couple of pictures on top, with her and you in them.

She looks at them, grabbing them after a moment of staring. In all of them, you're smiling, whether that be brightly or annoyed.

"I know you're probably feeling guilty right now. But it wasn't your fault. Risks come from being a spider-person, especially one that doesn't have a spider sense." At those words, Gwen just nods, the words going in one ear and heading out the other. She just walks over to her bed, sitting on the edge.

Miles can't help but cross his arms, furrowing his eyebrows. "That's not the only reason you're worried, is it?" He finally asks the question.

All this time, Miles was deathly sure that you liked Gwen. He knew that for sure. But he never completely expected to realize Gwen liked you back.

He always had that small thought in the back of his head, but nothing had ever come of it, until now.

When Gwen doesn't do anything but look down at her feet, it confirms Miles' suspicions.

He nods, softly smiling. Nothing needs to be said by either of them.

Miles had always liked Gwen ever since that super-collider brought them and the others together, including you.

Ever since then, she's been heavy in his head and heart, as so much of the stuff he drew during that middle year was just her. Even his mom called him out on it at one point, but he heavily denied it.

Right before the super-collider incident when you and the others were brought into Miles' universe, you were busy battling Loki, along with the Avengers.

He was beating you guys badly, until you temporarily got the upper hand. But then you got sucked into Miles' Earth, effectively making your Earth lose the battle with Loki.

When you came back, most of the Avengers were in critical condition, and your mother along with thousands of New York citizens, were dead.

You wouldn't have known. You couldn't have. Yet, everyday, you blame yourself for their deaths, because if only you had defeated Loki faster, right?

If only. That's all anyone tells themselves.

She still has the photos in her hands. She can't let go of them, because what if she loses you at that moment? Those photos will be some of the only happy moments of you two she physically has.

She laughs, for a split second, as she looks up at Miles, sitting up straight.

"She always had that same old dumb smile. Every time." Her smile is small, reminiscent of the many smiles you've had, and many of them pointed at her.

"Tell me more." Miles nods, a smile evident on his face, after getting Gwen to talk about something to cheer her up. He drops his arms from his chest, instead opting to drop his arms to his sides and loosely place them on his hips.

Of course, Miles feels sad that Gwen doesn't like him like that, but now wouldn't be the time to say anything like that. He instead focuses on giving her some comfort in your stead.

"After she smiled, she would like, laugh but it sounded like exhaling a breath, if that makes sense?" She'd take a deep breath, looking at the pictures again, softly smiling.

"She'll be okay. I know it. And if she isn't.." She quiets down a bit, slouching and placing her arms on her legs. "I'm not even gonna imagine that." She finishes off her words with an exhausted sigh. She casts the pictures one last glance, before standing and placing them back on the cabinet.

Miles follows her figure, his tone gentle. "Are you feeling better now? Need time?"

Gwen would nod at his words, always thankful for such understanding friends.

"Okay. I'll go. If you need something, don't hesitate to call." He gives her a thumbs up as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

For now, Gwen is more than content with her current thoughts about your situation, even with the slim chance you might not survive.

But she doesn't think about those odds. No, not for another second.

—————

Around 2 hours later, Miguel speaks to the doctors working on your spine, as they tell him they can't fix your spine.

"What do you mean, 'We can't fix her spine.' Huh? I've given you all the medical instruments of the future! Fix her damn SPINE." He looks at all of them, mentally and physically drained. His look of anger seems to dissipate when he looks at your body however.

"Her spine is beyond repair. There's too many shatters and fractures and missing pieces. She is quite literally better off with us removing her spine and installing a completely cybernetic one-"

"I don't want to hear it." Miguel sighs, his eyes looking at you on that table, bloody and unconscious.

I can't. When you need me most. Oh, kid..

He thinks for a moment, his face desperate.

You're strong, determined. So I'm hoping you can handle this.

He sucks up his pride, wearing a scowl. "I'll get you the fucking spine. Just.. make sure my kid's okay. And don't mess this shit up." He growls, only proving how serious he is.

They all nod, albeit a few of them scared. Then Miguel leaves the room, readying himself for a long night ahead of him, creating a cybernetic spine.

At that time he rushes to his lair, taking out some blueprints from when he was working in Alchemax.

He scrolls through various different types of cybernetic spines, some that attach to the intact spine to strengthen it, others that just line the spine, then there, full spine replacement cybernetics.

There's only a couple, due to the fact most of them were for cosmetic reasons. But out of the few there were, one stuck out to Miguel, a carbon black color, stemming from the part in the neck to the bottom of the pelvis.

"It looks chunky, but I'll admit, looks practical and badass." He pulls the blueprint down to his workstation, projecting it in front of him. "Okay. Hardest thing is probably how the hell the nerves are gonna work with this. But not my circus, not my monkeys."

Miguel takes a deep breath and cracks his knuckles, calling Lyla.

"Lyla, lock down the lab. I need absolute concentration to finish this in time."

"Hmm? Lock down the lab? What for?" She innocently asks, standing in front of him, on his left.

"You know why. Just do it, you know damn well you don't want the kid to die. She's the only one who tolerates your bullshit jokes." His voice takes an angered tone, as he grits his teeth.

"Alright, fine. But this wasn't for you." She locks down the lab momentarily, giving Miguel a peace sign before disappearing.

He mumbles under his breath about how much he hates her, but he won't do shit to change her.

Anyways, after his little issue with Lyla, he studies the blueprint, although it'd be so much better if his brother Gabriel was here. He always was better than Miguel at technological stuff.

Miguel clears his workstation of anything else other than anything regarding the spine.

"Time to get to work."

—————

Miguel works meticulously, yet still with a fairly quick pace. In around 11 hours, he has the spine done, and if he made it correctly, it should latch onto where the missing spine should be and 'solder' the nerves into itself.

"Hopefully.. this is good." He pauses before continuing to speak, to no one, other than Lyla, who is probably listening. "I need to rest." He breathes for a second, just taking a moment, before moving to deliver the spine to the surgeons, who right now, are probably taking short breaks while they wait.

He walks to the medical wing, the Spider Society HQ quite quiet for 5 a.m. Not many people are awake yet, seeing as Miguel pulled an all-nighter out of his ass to save you.

When he arrives, the surgeons look surprised, their eyes almost popping out of their sockets. Miguel currently looks like a ghost and a vampire had a child, and decided to never let it sleep.

"Here. I promised, and I delivered." Miguel's voice sounds strained, as he hasn't had many liquids either. He's just been so focused on saving you. Losing another person he loves, especially one he sees as a daughter would be devastating for him.

"Y-You got it?! Okay, we'll get right on it." For a few minutes, the surgeons just took a small break, maybe a few minor power naps. Because during the 11 hour period where Miguel was busy on the spine, they got on taking out your spine, part by part. So right now, you just look like muscle and fat, with your back opened up.

They were slow and steady, making sure to not take a risky shot at any point. Either way, they weren't expecting to see Miguel with the spine so soon, especially one that smells fresh off the factory line.

They carefully place the spine on a table, near your body.

At this point, they've given you so much drugs that not even a junkie would have taken this much in their whole life. But it keeps you down and out, so that's what they keep doing.

They disinfect the spine, as they lift it above you, ready to insert the brain stem part first.

All the while, Miguel waits, his face expectant. "Work.. Chingada madre, this better work." His eyes dart from your back to the spine, as they move it in.

The spine acclimates to the area, as it connects itself to the nerves. The surgeons have never seen anything like this, not in video games, TV shows, nothing. They slowly push the rest of it in, the last part in the pelvis a bit of a trickier challenge.

"Yes! YES!" Miguel smiles, his desperation turning into relief as he starts to cry, an unusual action for him. "Y-You're gonna be okay, kid." His breath hitches as he steps back, running his hands through his hair, then down his tired face.

The surgeons finally finish, after 14 hours of straight, hard, no sleep, work, they manage to save you.

They call some nurses to move you to a different room, gently placing you on the bed, hooking up all kinds of medical stuff to you, as Miguel stares at your bruised face.

He can't help but have a small smile on his face, knowing he managed to save you.

Thank God you're okay. Losing you would have sent me off the deep end.

I'm still going to ground you to high hell.

—————

3 days later, everyone's seen you in the hospital, resting. And at that time, Miguel stands next to your bed, arms crossed.

"Doctor says you should be waking up around now." His voice stays monotone, not wanting to let an inch of emotion out. "But I know you. You'll wake up unexpectedly and keep your eyes closed to surprise everyone." He'd chuckle, the corner of his mouth turning up.

There's silence for a few moments, before you start groaning.

Huh.. que chingadas..

You rustle around for a second, as Miguel's eyes stay on you. Slowly, you open your eyes, the lights of the room bright, as you get readjusted.

"Ugh.. my head. Jesus, f-" You don't dare finish that sentence the second you see Miguel right next to you. "Miguel.. Wh-What happened? How long I been out?" You try not to speak too loudly, given that you haven't spoken in the last 4 days.

"You've been out for a few days, kiddo. Anything hurts like you're gonna die?" He pulls a chair next to you, leaning back in the chair, arms on the armrests. "Or are you feeling good?"

You nod, your head still feeling a big groggy.

"No, 'stoy bien. But.. What happened? And where is everyone?" You sit up, touching your back and feeling the outside of the spine. You recoil your hand at the touch, as Miguel sighs.

"Ah, your spine was too damaged to repair. They.. removed the whole thing and I made you a new one. Like from that Cyberpunk 2077 game you like to play. And everyone.." He clicks his tongue, as he presses some stuff on his watch. "..is coming now."

You look happily surprised, a large grin making its way on your face. "Thanks Miguel. Siempre me ayudas cuando te necesito." He smiles at your words, as he pulls you in for a quick hug.

"Siempre, mija." He takes an affectionate tone, as he lightly squeezes your shoulder, letting go of the hug.

Not even a minute later, the 4 musketeers show up, with smiling faces.

Your eyes light up at their appearances, especially after seeing Gwen's relieved face. She smiles, and you can see that tooth gap you love so much. Then you see the cast on her arm, but decide to bring it up later.

Miguel follows your gaze, landing on Gwen. He looks back at you and just smiles, as they approach.

"Heard sleepin' beauty was finally awake from her kip. Gwenny here was in bloody shambles the entire time. We were too, 'course, but, ah, she barely slept, ate—" Gwen interrupts Hobie, nervously laughing, trying to keep her collected persona intact.

"He's uh.. exaggerating." She walks over to the right side of the bed, crossing her arms as she glares at Hobie near the head of the bed. "But I'm really happy to see you're okay."

Everybody else other than Miguel either awws, or oohs.

Meanwhile, you just keep your eyes on her, smiling like an idiot. "Thanks, Gwen. Means a lot to hear you say that." Then your eyes move to the three dudes bunched up together at the head of the bed.

"And you three, what no, 'Congrats on not dying!' shit? Nothing? Damn, leavin' me out to dry here."

Miguel enjoys the active atmosphere around him, but he has work to do, so he leaves, giving everyone a quick goodbye and you, one last hug.

After he leaves, Miles sits down in the chair Miguel was in, leaning back.

"So how long you gotta be here? Few weeks?" Miles asks, as he looks around the room.

"Not sure, I doubt a few weeks. Maybe another few days. Just gotta get used to the new spine, I guess."

"New spine? Fucking cool."

You spend the next hour talking with all of them, as they recap what's happened over the last few days you were out, nothing much.

After the hour's over, Miles is the first to say goodbye, as he has something to do with Margo. Then Hobie and Pav have training to do, as they said, 'He needs to learn to not be such a pussy!' 'Says you!'

Regardless, you don't mind as they leave, because that gives you some time to talk to Gwen, alone.

She walks to the chair, sitting down.

"I haven't asked you if you're okay yet, have I?" You turn towards her leaned back figure, wanting her to be completely honest with you.

"No, you didn't. But, I'm fine. Honest." You raise a brow to that, knowing she's not completely telling the truth.

"The cast?"

"Oh, this? Just to stabilize my arm after the break." Your heart drops hearing that, as you take a breath.

"Your arm broke?" You say, pausing as you look at it. "Shit." A mumble under your breath, as she sighs, gently punching your shoulder with her right hand.

"Yeah, it broke, but it's fine. I'll be fine, don't worry." She smiles, with a slight nod at the end.

You tiredly sigh, mindlessly grabbing at the blanket on top of you, thinking. "You know," You didn't use the 'y'know' combination, so Gwen knows this is serious. "The entire time, while I was out, you were the only thing I was thinking about." You keep your voice quiet, as your face expression is soft.

"I like you, Gwen. And I wanted to say that now because who knows if something like this happens again, to either of us, but we don't survive?" Your words are raw, coming straight from the heart.

Every time you've envisioned yourself telling her this, it's always been during a rainy day, particularly on the roof of the Spider Society HQ. Either way, you never got far enough to see what she'd say.

But now, you've shot your shot, and you're hoping you don't miss.

Gwen bashfully smiles, looking from your hand to your face. "I like you too. It took me a while to realize, but I know."

You turn your body slightly to face her, butterflies in your stomach. "Good. I thought I made it kind of obvious." A gentle laugh emanates from you, as she looks at you, from your smile to your nose, to your eyes.

"Obvious? I don't think you were obvious if I didn't catch on to it."

"No, you're just super oblivious."

She stands up, leaning on the guardrails on the bed. "Oblivious, huh?" She chuckles, leaning in.

You smile, moving a hair out of the way, then pulling her in for a kiss. Your hand moves to her neck, with your thumb on her cheek. Her soft lips connect with your slightly chapped ones.

It lasts for a few moments, before you separate, dumb excited grins on your faces.

"Was that obvious enough?"

"Hmm, no.. I think you'll have to show me again."

You laugh, looking all around her face, remembering every little detail, down to the last almost invisible freckle.

You'll never forget this, mainly due to the fact that right afterwards, your heart rate monitor spiked and some nurses came in and saw you guys. Now, that, you'll never forget, because Gwen was there with you.

(If yall are at all curious as to what the spine would be here it is, cyberpunk77 reference 🫶🏼🗣)

[techs-goggles9902]

Hello! a couple things

1 youre so freakin awesome and i love your writing

2 what does your nickname ge'tal mean?

3 are you willing to write something sweet and fluffy for fives x reader x echo?? like theyre not dating each other just both dating reader and its all lovey and completely okay w everyone if not maybe just echo x reader? 👉👈

Mr. Echolocation (Echo x GN!Reader)

Summary: Echo’s on leave (thank Maker)

Warnings: none just fluff. THIS CAN BE EITHER PRE OR POST CITADEL ECHO

Word Count: 484

A/N: Hi!!! I wish I know who you are, anon!! 1) THANK YOU 2) Ge’tal means “red” in Mando’a and my pookie bear Jamie AKA Ka’ra named me that 😊 3) okay, I spent a long time simmering on this. I’m comfy writing it but I’m not sure how and I don’t want to give you a crap story so I chose the latter option 🥺 I’m sorry though!!! I’ve been dealing with stomach and leg issues so I’m really sorry I took a while to answer :(

Requests are open! See Masterlist for details!!!!

Echo’s fingers drum against his chest softly, the only sound other than your quiet snoring. He returned from his latest mission yesterday afternoon, spoiling you with so many loving kisses.

His hazel eyes drift over to you. The gentle curvature of your figure nestled beneath your bed sheets brought a warm feeling to Echo’s chest. He slowly turns onto his side to face you, bringing his warm hand to your cheek, brushing over the bone.

“Cyare… are you awake?” He whispers, soft enough that if you were still sleeping, he wouldn’t wake you.

“Mmmm… no,” you reply, your voice laced with sleep. Your eyes crack open to find Echo’s staring at yours through the darkness.

“Oh, okay,” he grins, his thumb brushing over your soft lips.

“Mr. Echolocation, it’s barely tomorrow… why’re you awake?” You ask as he pulls you closer and curls a leg around your own.

“I didn’t wanna sleep… ‘cause then I’ll miss out on time with you,” his eyes look so innocent, his eyebrows just barely knitting together and turning up in the middle. His little pout that always makes you fold during arguments or spats.

His gentle fingers gliding along your soft skin, down your cheek, tracing your Adam’s apple, tugging slightly at the collar of your sleep shirt.

“You may be here today, gone tomorrow… but it’s the fact you made it home, no?” You groggily mumble, this time pulling him closer and burying your face in the warmth of his neck.

“Yeah… home to you.’ He presses a kiss to the top of your head, your hair ticking his lips.

“Go to sleep… we have tomorrow to have fun.”

”Is that an order?”

”Yes, it is, Mr. Echolocation.”

A soft chuckle leaves Echo’s lips as his breathing becomes more and more even and quieter.

How you managed to escape Echo’s grasp, you have no idea. The man barely moves in his sleep, his arms never releasing you throughout the night. You would’ve stayed in bed longer, just to watch him get quality rest for once.

The way his ARC Trooper expression softens in sleep, the tight muscles finally smoothing back into his skin, makes your heart melt. Even thinking about it makes a small grin creep onto your lips as you stand at your stove to make breakfast - real breakfast.

You’re so lost in thought you don’t hear the soft footsteps behind you. You only come out of your trance when you feel Echo’s arms snaking around your waist from behind, his chin resting in the crook of your neck.

“You left me, cyare… wake me up next time.”

“No, you need the sleep, Echo. Plus, you’re cute in the mornings.”

”What, I’m not cute all the time?”

”Oh, you…”

His gruff - yet warm - chuckle sends a ripple down your throat and through the vertebrae of your spine.

“I love you, cyare.”

”I love you, Mr. Echolocation.”

Cyare = beloved [sha-rey]

Taglist: @will-is-silly @fionajames @sevdidntdie @hellhound5925 @dangraccoon @skellymom @isthereanechoinhere96 (<- in case you come back and youre interested:)

Dividers by @ saradika

Lmk if you want to be taken off or added to taglist 🫶🏽

[theamityelf]

I know you answered a zombie au ask just yesterday, but, do you have any more drafts of Makoto interacting with his class? Or class 77?

No worries; I love that you guys enjoy this AU, and I enjoy writing it!

...

"...Thirty-six...Thirty-seven...Thirty-eight..."

"Can she tell if you don't do all fifty?" Nagito asked, a curious tilt to his head as he ate a handful of popcorn, watching Makoto brush one of Junko's somehow-intact pigtails.

"Yeah, she can tell." (Makoto interspersed his counting throughout his explanation.) "I always thought she was joking when she said fifty, but one day I tried it, and it actually curbs a lot of her, uh, mischief."

In fact, Junko was genuinely falling asleep, her head dipping to rest against his knee.

Nagito looked fascinated. "You mean, she notices if you skip numbers or-?"

"Yep. If I try to cheat, she acts out again."

"Amazing. That seems to mean she can still count!"

"I guess so."

"Does she still talk?"

"Noises, mostly. Sometimes she says words, but they seem random. When Kyoko says words, they're definitely related to what she means to say. I'm not sure if Junko still understands what she's saying or if she just remembers the sounds of some words." He switched sides. "One...two..."

"She's putting a bone in your sock," Nagito observed.

Junko's eyes were still closed, and her body was still relaxing against Makoto's leg, but her hand had found his ankle and slipped a sparrow's vertebrae as deep into his sock as she could get it. It looked like she did it just absentmindedly.

"Yeah, she does that. It's fine. I'll take it out later. The real problem is when she pretends to choke on a bone so I'll get close enough for her to bite. She's really good at it."

"Hmm." Nagito smiled absently. He set aside his popcorn to help Ibuki un-snag her shirt from one of her piercings, but his mind was still on the previous topic, as evidenced by him shortly inquiring, "Do you like it when they bite you?"

"Like it? What do you mean?"

"Well, at some point, doesn't it start to seem like a sign of affection?"

"Oh, that. I guess in a way, yeah. I mean, they're definitely not doing it because they want to hurt us. It's just part of how they communicate. It's to show us what they're feeling."

"Exactly!"

Makoto wasn't sure what to make of Nagito's big grin, but he did his best. "It's pretty reassuring, how they can still make sure we understand them. It shows that they're still themselves, even though they're different in a lot of ways."

"Still themselves," Nagito echoed wistfully.

"...Forty-eight...Forty-nine...Fifty." Makoto finished at last with the other pigtail and carefully maneuvered Junko to sleep on something other than him. While he was getting her settled, Leon took the hairbrush and started brandishing it at him, but he merely said, "Sorry, but my hands need a rest. We'll do it later, okay?"

Leon tried to forcibly wrap Makoto's hand around the brush, and when Makoto stood his ground about taking a break, Leon huffed and threw it so hard across the room that he cracked the leg of a desk.

"You're just gonna have to go get it," Makoto said wearily.

Leon stalked away to get the brush.

Nagito offered Makoto some of his popcorn. He took a few kernels.

"That's one way he's different," Makoto said. "Leon never wanted anyone to touch his hair before."

"The dye job looks good," Nagito observed. "It was your first time, right?"

"Yeah. They sent me instructions with the dye, though, when I told them how agitated he was about his roots growing in." Makoto smiled at the memory. It had been difficult to dye Leon's hair, but he did feel like it had brought them closer. "My hands were stained for days."

Nagito looked at him a little oddly. Almost...sadly? No, that wasn't quite it.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Then, what are you thinking about?"

Nagito took some more popcorn, affecting a casual look. "Just that it's ironic, that's all."

"Ironic? That...my hands were stained? Or...?"

"Ah, Teruteru!" Nagito sighed, pulling his bag of popcorn out of the way too late to stop Teruteru from dropping a handful of bloody meat into it. "Well, that's a shame. We had so much left."

Makoto couldn't help thinking that Nagito was usually better at anticipating Teruteru's acts of food vandalism, and that he seemed relieved for the change of subject.

But he guessed it wasn't that big a deal, so he moved on. "Hina and Sakura always love having Nekomaru over. It's nice to see them having fun."

"I've been thinking about that," Nagito said. "What if, every now and then, we took the athletes outside? They really do need more room to run around."

What? Makoto checked to see if he was serious. "Outside? Where the reserve course are?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure most of them are hunkered down in the reserve course buildings. And if we both do it together, then we can both make sure there aren't any problematic consequences. I think Peko and Sakura will stop the others from going too far."

"Yeah, maybe they would..." Makoto frowned. "But I still don't- Oh, hold that thought; Syo has scissors again." He sprang to his feet. "Byakuya! Help?"

Hina ended up being the one to restrain Syo, who had come perilously close to cutting off Hiyoko's ponytail.

...

(For the record, I assume the colorful hair and eyes are the characters' natural features until given contrary evidence, but Leon does say that his hair is dyed, like, the first time we meet him, so.)