#yes this is quite a petty thing to be annoyed by but ????? it tastes like coconut bro | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bubblegumbeech · 2 years ago

Text

We Interrupt Your Scheduled Programming.

Nocturn and Clockworks friendship stands on a sturdy foundation built on gray morals and dark secrets, trust formed through mischief and misdirections—as well as frequently helping each other out of situations of various kinds. Unfortunately for both of them, Clockworks latest problem has become a rescue mission scenario

For @ravenatural (Enjoy my beloved.)

AO3

“You’re joking.”

“If I am, it’s in poor taste.”

Nocturne was leaning back in his chair—a comfortable amalgamation of pillowy soft aspirations for the cushions with a sturdy frame of hope holding it together underneath. His chin was balanced on the palm of his hand, one sharp nail tapping impatiently on the wood of his mask.

“How long do I have?” he asked, giving up on any attempt at gauging the urgency in his brother's demeanor.

Clockwork was aloof as ever, despite the circumstance he had just described. “Not long. But I cannot stay—”

“Naturally.”

“As the result is fundamentally up to your decisions.” Clockwork tipped his head slightly, the mischief in his eyes no more hidden than the bitter twist of his lips.

Yes, the result would be up to Nocturne, but he had no doubt at all that it would also be to Clockwork’s taste. And while the thought of playing into the bastard's hands went against every fiber of his being, dating back to when they were more concept in their mother’s shadow than full entities themselves… the thought of missing out on such an interesting opportunity left a sour taste in his mouth.

Oh well.

He’d have to be one step ahead next time. Pride was such a killjoy in situations such as these. Perhaps if great and powerful ghosts, such as the likes of Pariah Dark or Erinyes, had a looser grip on their pride, they too might have found themselves less acquainted with repeated defeat.

“So you’ll do it?” Clockwork asked, knowing full well what Nocturne’s answer would be.

What a bother this whole thing was bound to be. “Of course, as annoying as you are, I hardly want to lose my favorite brother.” Nocturne leaned to the side, balancing his chin in the back of a loosely curled fist. “Well, at least of the ones left.”

There wasn’t even an exasperated eyeroll. Things must truly be dire.

“It’s… dangerous,” Clockwork warned, quite uncharacteristically.

Nocturne barked out a laugh. “Oh you know me, I won’t be getting involved directly.”

“Of course.” If Nocturne hadn’t known better he’d say Clockwork sounded relieved.

What a worrying thought. Perhaps his new young charge had made him overly cautious, in a way Clockwork never had been in his youth.

“You do know you will owe me quite the favor?”

“...Of course.”

Nocturne sighed and stood from his chair as Clockwork disappeared into nothingness. It truly was going to be a tedious task. Well, it didn’t necessarily have to be as tedious as Nocturne was going to make it, but he was not nearly as fond of consequences as his brother and would at least try and prevent them wherever possible.

Especially given his strange reticence.

It would have been easier, of course, if Clockwork had given him any kind of deadline. Nocturne was half tempted to take his time, leave his brother waiting and suffering both before swooping in just to prove a point.

But if anyone was well versed in petty retribution for petty transgressions it was the Master of Time.

He readied himself to leave his Lair, sealing his mask properly over his features and styling his hair so that it blended seamlessly with the rest of the endless night sky he garbed himself in.

Once he was presentable, he started to think about what exactly it was he was going to do. If he wanted to keep true to his word, that he would be careful (and hopefully unseen) there would need to be a not insignificant amount of planning.

The Clockwork that had visited him just now was from four rotations past—and had seen the possibility of the future Nocturne currently occupied.

It was the current Clockwork that needed his help.

Well, at the very least he needed something resembling help. Though it was more in the line of holding up a painting as Clockwork nailed it into the wall. Nocturne would hardly be necessary, but he’d help keep everything straight.

First… was a trip to Clockwork’s Lair. If his visitor was to be believed, Long Now would be abandoned, but Nocturne should still be able to gather at least a few clues.

His brother may be a cryptic bastard, but even he would let down his guard in his own home.

Nocturne stepped over the threshold—the lair accepted his presence easily with the bond between them as strong and often reaffirmed as it was.

There was something though, leading him away from one of the wings of the tower. Nocturne mostly ignored it. He wasn’t here for his brother’s secrets, or to break his trust. And if his Lair had something it did not want Nocturne to see, he would simply not see it.

Besides, he was here for a reason.

He mostly needed to know how long Clockwork had been gone. The time, frozen on the main screen in Clockwork’s viewing room, hinted that it had been only a moment since he’d been taken. Almost a breath between his captors dragging him away and Nocturne stepping foot inside.

It was a wonder he missed them.

Nocturne kicked away some of the mess that had been left in the struggle. Leave it to his brother to time things so perfectly.

Did it not occur to the bastard that Nocturne’s presence might have prevented this outcome entirely!?

He tapped at the edge of his mask, taking another look around before leaving to explore some of the other rooms.

Clockwork’s Lair was… strangely organized, outside of the viewing room where the recent struggle had destroyed almost everything short of the screens themselves.

He had never known Clockwork to be organized. It was…

Well, Nocturne was hardly going to start digging. His goal this time was his brother’s favor—not his displeasure. It would be just his luck if Clockwork decided whatever secrets he might uncover would count to even their score.

Next stop was setting the scene.

As powerful as Nocturne was, he didn’t particularly like his chances against the mass of Eyes That Minded Everyone’s Business But Their Own. But he did have a few tricks he could use to thin their ranks.

Perhaps he could use this as an opportunity. After all, Clockwork wasn’t the only one who enjoyed a good scheme. And he had learned many of his tricks from Nocturne himself.

He stopped by Clockwork’s kitchen, grabbing some of the supplies he had left behind on one of his previous visits. There was a surprising amount of Coraleander Tea left, but Nocturne did not dare attempt to partake.

It was Clockwork’s favorite and he had been lamenting for the past few centuries that there were too few gardeners left patient enough to cultivate it.

Instead, he made a simple glass of Sweet Dreams and allowed it to try and evoke some modicum of creativity.

There were very few ways to create a distraction catastrophic enough that it would actually get Those Who Watch But Rarely Act to… well, act.

He could start a rebellion in some of their territories, but it would take time. And upon reaching out his tendrils to read the underlying thoughts and desires of the District of Jurisdiction or the Dictator’s Ship, he found them amidst rebellion already—and planning revolt.

Observants and Sympathizers were already stalking the streets (and the passageways) to keep their disobedient subjects in line and under Control.

It certainly made Nocturne’s job easier. He sent a silent ‘thank you’ to whomever paved the way and nearly severed the Collective in half.

Even if it was… conveniently timed.

With such a large-scale operation already clearly underway and under someone’s control, Nocturne could make some more pointed attacks to start spreading what was left even thinner.

Yes, rather than trying for the tedious task of collecting the masses, he’d grab a few powerful ghosts that could get the Watching Eyes moving. It was more his style besides, and significantly less effort.

Convincing one or two… or three ghosts to do something was as simple as reading their nature and granting them a genie’s wish. Convincing an entire Realm… well, that took something far more dangerous than simple power.

Nocturne slipped away, his first target already in mind.

Of course, thoughts of powerful, dangerous ghosts and slow rising revolutions and revolts—only one ghost truly came to mind.

Pariah’s right hand. He certainly had no love lost for the bastards that had attacked Nocturne’s brother. Not since Pariah had turned against them during his first reign, and especially not in the eons after as they chased after him only to seal him away over and over again.

It was a simple matter to seek out Fright Knight’s specific flavor of fear and where it left its trails in the greater subconscious. Even simpler still, to use it to find where exactly the spirit was last seen.

It didn’t take long.

Fright Knight was spending his time, as he often did since his unfortunate curse, in a pumpkin. If Nocturne read it correctly, the pumpkin he was currently sealed inside had been left floating—lost in the thinner regions of the drowned quarter, just outside one of the smaller civilizations.

Nocturne was not personally a fan of visiting that particular region. Call it a character flaw, but he preferred the soft sweetness of happy dreams over the heavy cloying taste of fear and nightmares.

And if the deep inspired anything at all, it was fear of the unknown.

Either way, it was easier to travel in a different form through the thick ectoplasmic mimicry of ocean water. It was only mildly annoying to keep his mask fixed in place, but his hair ran completely wild and out of his control.

He wrapped his coat around him, twisting it into the vague shape of a selkie’s tail before relaxing and letting himself merge back into it. The entire visage was rather romantic, an ink colored night sky in the shape of an ocean dweller.

This particular trip would have to be quick—there was no way of knowing which of his siblings might catch him like this, and it was not something he wanted to risk for long.

They had disgustingly long memories, after all.

The search would be tedious, and Nocturne found himself fighting with an unfamiliar bitterness—oh how convenient it would be to have an ability like Sojourn’s in moments like this? Even Clockwork would know where the exact thing he was looking for awaited him.

This was exactly why Nocturne was very rarely one to get out and ‘join the fun.’

Oh well. They say to play to your strengths.

Nocturne let himself sink, just slightly, into the subconscious thread of thought all around him. Plucking at the different strings, until he found one so saturated in fear it was positively dripping with it.

Ah… he opened his eyes and swam towards the feeling—pulling at the string to guide him as if it were Ariadne’s and the open ocean around him a twisted labyrinth. It led him, successfully, to a young mermaid-like ghost that had found the floating pumpkin accidentally.

They did not dare get close to it, their subconscious thick with stories of the Spirit of Halloween and his Dimension of Fear. They had made at least three or four laps around some internalized perimeter, curious but wary. Unwilling to take their eyes off of it but even more unwilling to swim closer.

Nocturne paid the spirit no mind and simply collected the pumpkin, sword and all.

He began to swim away, thoughts clouded by future plans and possibilities.

The mermaid reached out, claws just barely missing the edges of Nocturne’s cloak. He did not know if they were trying to stop him—it did not matter. He had what he came for.

He kept Fright Knight sealed as they traveled towards Verification City, the Observants’ controlled little pet metropolis where their rules were law and weak orderly-obsessed ghosts collected like hive insects.

It was important as a display of their authority, and Nocturne had no doubt they would deploy a number of their slimy little congregants to try and ‘protect’ it. Especially when, as far as Nocturne had managed to observe, it was one of the few Realms left to them not showing open Revolt.

So Nocturne set the pumpkin down, the delicately carved swan facing the lights of the city, and drew the sword. Then, as the storm raged, summoning its captive in a blaze of terrifying glory, Nocturne took the sword and threw it into the middle of the Market Square. It pierced into the ground and buried itself—even the power of Pariah’s Knight would struggle a moment to dig it from the ground.

A moment enough to sow the chaos Nocturne desired.

He felt the gaze of the Watchers turn towards them the next moment and hid quickly in the shadows of the curious and confused residents. It was easy to hide amongst the sudden commotion, but Nocturne was careful nonetheless. Fright Knight was truly, as his name implied, a ghost to be feared.

Nocturne, like any other spirit, had dreams he did not wish to visit, even if it would be but a brief struggle. (Nocturne’s own Realm was so very similar to the power of Fright Knight’s sword after all. And Nocturne was much, much older.) So he kept his distance and slipped away, the buzzing hive-like thoughts of the Observants growing closer as they deployed yet another battalion to keep their precious Order.

Tedious.

He’d only gotten one done so far, and it had been a terrible amount of work.

Nocturne let himself take a proper breath once he was away from it all. His hair was still wet, dripping onto his neck and shoulders. The feeling was uncomfortable at best, and even as he combed his claws through his hair to untangle it—wetness clung stubbornly.

Well. He shook his head. There was someone he could visit that might help.

The trick was finding out where Vortex had last rampaged.

That should be easier than finding Fright Knight, as Vortex’s rampages were often calamities of their own—leaving destruction and victims in equal measure.

But theory was often simple until reality introduced itself.

He followed the muted screams to the nearest disaster but found it a wasted trip. This one, despite Nocturne’s hopes, had been entirely natural. (As natural as something in the Infinite Realms could possibly be.)

The Voidcano had erupted recently, leaving many ghosts damaged, disfigured, or trapped. But there was no sign of meddling from Vortex.

If his wayward little brother had ever been here at all, it was long enough ago to be useless. And certainly had nothing to do with the thick frosting of tragedy that coated the entire Realm.

Nocturne tapped his nail rhythmically against the wooden edge of his mask, trying to think. It had been mostly quiet in the Realms recently…other than some passing rumors Nocturne didn’t really bother to pay attention to.

Ghosts would always be fond of ghost stories after all.

It would be easy, he lamented once again, if Sojourn had not disappeared. He was by far the most friendly and easygoing of their siblings. Nocturne wouldn’t need to bend over backwards or sell his soul to get help doing things like finding where Vortex decided to hide or hunting down a single pumpkin.

He cast another glance out, only to find the repercussions of the Voidcano’s recent eruption acting as a blanket to smother all similar thoughts. Nocturne would have to leave the vicinity if he wanted to seek out another disaster of this magnitude.

Quiet was what he needed now. So naturally, his next stop was outside of Ghost Writer’s library. If only to get a moment of peace before trying to dive once more into the collective unconscious.

“I don’t suppose you’re looking for a book?” Another young ghost broke his concentration. This one was slightly more familiar to Nocturne, if only because she had the clear mark of his Sister stitched delicately around her core. A niece of his then.

“No, just a moment of respite, Spiderling.”

Her expression twisted slightly at the nickname, and Nocturne could taste a small, mostly suppressed, wave of bitterness before she smiled and said, “Then if you don’t mind…?”

Nocturne raised an eyebrow.

“You’re blocking the door.”

Ah. He turned behind him—the door had shifted from just beside him to immediately behind him. Either acting to try and invite him in, or simply attracted to Nocturne’s own connection to creativity and thought.

He turned back to the girl and stepped aside. “So I am.”

Waiting until she stepped through the doorway, Nocturne turned to ask, “What is someone like you doing at a library?”

Misery’s children were hardly known for being studious, and this girl’s obsession was hardly scholarly either. Books, in the Infinite Realms, often came at quite the price, and few were willing to risk paying for little to no reason.

There was a moment Nocturne thought he might be ignored. Misery’s children often had spines of steel, even among ghosts stronger than them. But it was still irritating—

“I need the history…” the girl said. “I need to know why—”

Nocturne felt a wave of grief hit then. Something had happened to this child—no, to someone this child cared for. He almost reached out, if only to offer sweet dreams. But that wouldn’t help, not when she had already given herself a task in her grief and when Nocturne was busy with a task of his own.

Instead he read her obsession, cultivating flowers (How sweet. How soft.) and created a Blinking Bloom to gift her. It would do nothing for her loss, but when—if— she decided to sleep, it would bring her dreams of the softest and kindest caliber.

She took it, suspicious but obedient, and turned away to continue walking into the library.

Nocturne did not watch her form disappear behind the haphazard stacks and poorly managed shelves of books. He had his own task, so that he might avoid feeling grief of his own. It was truly so terribly sour, one of the worst flavors he’d ever had to suffer.

And one he’d not like to suffer again.

The respite had been helpful though, as he was able to quickly find exactly what it was he was looking for. The grief he felt from the young Spiderling was a clue: many of the tragedies he felt in the collective unconscious held tenuous connections to it (were either grieving the same loss, or losses indistinguishable from hers), and once he filtered it out, there was only really one massive trail of disaster left.

Vortex was outside of the Acropolis of Athens and Nocturne was just in time to stop him before he decided to get into a fight with Pandora.

All this travel was really starting to catch up to him. He took a moment, upon finding his little brother, before trying to say anything. But the ticking clock in the back of his mind reminded him there was a time limit. Even if he was not personally savvy to it.

He floated closer and reached out a hand.

“Not that I would begrudge you picking fights normally—” Nocturne sidestepped a flash of lightning as Vortex turned around, instincts striking when his senses failed to pick up a possible threat.

The attack was vicious, instinctual, and cruel. Something that had become a recent hallmark of Vortex’s travels. It left Nocturne discontent, still, to see their youngest so taken apart.

“Nocturne?” His little brother looked surprised, even through his half-madness. He stopped his attack, but the ambient ectoplasm around them was still charged with static. “Why are you—?”

It was a calculated risk, what was he willing to give Vortex versus what he might be able to collect from Clockwork. Though, even without the reward of having his most troublesome sibling owe him a favor, he would not like to see this particular fate played out.

Not again.

“There’s some trouble with the Observants.”

Vortex stiffened, his form fizzling into a chaotic mess, already fuzzy edges growing fuzzier and undefined. When was the last time Nocturne had seen Vortex as he was meant to be seen? Instead of the indistinct and haywired lines of plasma and lightning that he had managed to shape himself into?

“I…” Frustration bled into the ambient ectoplasm around them, curdled and spoiled by fear.

Nocturne picked through it, searching for a reason, a balance he could strike… Ah. There it was.

“I will protect you,” he said, using his power to sooth his little brother’s fears, “and you can take out some of your anger, your frustration.” Perhaps it would be cathartic.

Red eyes turned to him, interested but not convinced.

“I am laying other traps, of course. I wouldn’t ask you to fight against the mass of the Collective on your own.” He took off his mask, shaving a sliver of the wood from it and folding it into a ring. He placed it on what was left of Vortex’s left ear and watched as it burrowed deeper, growing small roots to take hold. “It’s risk free brother. Go crazy.”

Vortex reached up to the gift he had been given, unwilling to dislodge it. “Did you lose a bet?”

Nocturne laughed. “Yes. You could say that.”

His smile was vicious as he explained the circumstances that had led them here, and before long Vortex had one to match.

There wasn’t even a moment to blink before Vortex had sped off towards the Observants’ Center for Detention and Confinement. It was in the opposite direction from their precious Metropolis at Verification City and would do well to split their forces.

Once more, Nocturne had spent far too much time and energy on what would only amount to a simple distraction. He was beginning to think this endeavor would not be worth the favor owed.

At least his hair had dried.

Now… to split the Observants’ attention once more.

There were only so many things they could keep watch over (despite their name), and Nocturne knew one little thing in particular that would make an excellent distraction.

Along with a small, harmless, bit of payback towards Clockwork for dragging him into this.

Well, if he didn’t want the child involved, he should have said so directly, right?

Nocturne replaced his mask and began his journey back. One more stop before the finale, and then he could leave all of this traveling to Sojourn. Wherever he was.

He made his way to the outskirts, where the Barrens had settled.

The permanent portal the child’s mortal parents had created was still there—a garish and painful looking wound torn into the fabric of the Infinite Realms.

Nocturne wasn’t here for the portal itself though; he needed what lay sleeping on the other side.

The boy was indeed asleep in his bed, thankfully. (Nocturne hadn’t been sure that he would be—he was often kept awake beyond what was reasonable. Whether it be due to his obsession or teenage whims was a matter for Clockwork and not of any particular interest to Nocturne.)

He used a touch of sand to weave—not a dream, per se—but a suggestion. He needed the boy to do this unsuspiciously if he was going to do this. Daniel had already met and been in conflict with him. He knew at least the bare breadth of Nocturne’s power and if he showed his hand in any way in this dream, the boy would seek out him rather than those Nocturne needed him to distract.

Besides, the last thing Nocturne wanted was the Observants’ interest reaching toward him just because he was a little lazy . Clockwork pushed his luck with his mischief and hands-on interventions. Nocturne preferred a position behind the curtain so to say. Pushing things along in the shadows to enjoy the performance and the audience while being party to neither.

Idea implanted, Nocturne slipped away—only to be stopped at the portal by a mortal girl.

It was the Halfa’s sister, long red hair unmanaged as if she had crawled straight from bed to place herself annoyingly in his path. She was holding a weapon. One of the ones that actually worked, and that Nocturne was certain the two adults had not managed to complete before it had been hidden away and out of their reach.

“What did you do to Danny?”

Quite the protective older sister she was. It reminded him of his own sister—though he doubted Misery Vex would resort to threats over implementation. She was always a ghost of action like that.

Nocturne was in a hurry though, and as fun as it might have been to play a little longer with the foolishly brave little mortal… he had his own brother to save. So he sent her into a dream with a wave of his hand. In less than the time it took to blink, he watched as she fell into a pile of tangled limbs on the ground. It was easy enough after that to step over her and through the portal to get back into the Infinite Realms.

Now, he could have washed his hands of it here, gone back to his own Lair to relax and watch what happened next…

But he had promised to help, and so that was what he was going to do.

The journey to the Observants’ Main Observatory was just as tedious as the rest of the errands he’d had to run since his brother’s unwelcome visit. Keeping out of sight, and in the shadows (and occasionally hiding entirely in the subconscious of another ghost) so that he himself did not attract attention and become another distraction for the Ever Watching, was a miserable way to travel.

And one he would not have chosen had he been given much of a choice in the matter at all. As it was, the Observatory was quite well situated in one of the more popular Realms, and Nocturne was not as unknown as he would have desired since Pariah’s fall.

There was only so much of himself he could scrape from another ghost’s thoughts and memories after all. He existed half in and half outside of a collective subconscious—everyone knew some piece of him in some way. It was only when they could match that piece to a face that it became troublesome.

He fiddled with the fit of his mask, making sure it settled properly and hid his features.

His arrival at the Observatory was quiet, thank Chaos, and there were none who noticed. Though, as he looked around, it also seemed there were quite close to none left to notice anyways.

Normally, Nocturne would have started his search in the bowels of the Observants’ shared Lair—Digging through a twisting labyrinth of under tunnels and cellars and working his way up to the highest tower—but it turned out there was no need.

Someone had already made short work of large swaths of the Observatory: the under tunnels and the dungeons were ripped apart and filled with shattered cores and spatters of ectoplasm along with the occasional unconscious (and badly damaged) spirit.

Nocturne was reminded, rather bitterly, of a certain familiar someone’s handiwork and forced himself to continue to ignore it. He was here for exactly one reason and one reason alone.

That reason was trouble enough without adding an investigation.

His brother would be where he felt the buzzing collective of the Observants’ minds, as disgusting as they were.

In their hubris, the pathetic things—at least the ones left behind—had crowded into the central hall where they had Clockwork paralyzed and on display on top of an altar in the middle of the room. He was surrounded on all sides, Observants packed like sardines in a tin can with the bloodlust of piranhas.

How absolutely disgusting. Nocturne didn’t step fully into the room, not yet.

The shadows hid him easily, though there was little point to it. Those Who Watched and Rarely Acted were quite focused on their macabre task. Voyeurs, the lot of them.

Clockwork’s chest had been carved open. Some form of magic keeping it parted as the edges bubbled, the gaping wound fighting back against reaching hands and sharp scalpels as if it were attempting to close—to heal—and failing. His core, a vibrant shining light that even Nocturne had difficulty looking directly at, thrummed at a slower beat than what was generally considered healthy (though Nocturne wasn’t sure if things like thrum-rates were nearly as important to the time-keeper’s functions.)

One of the Observants held something in its hand, a small scalpel-like device, and was using it to slowly chip away at the exposed core; but every severed sliver fell like drops of rain through its hands. Nocturne felt something akin to nausea at the sight—how long would it take to heal a wound like that? Was it… was that how they had damaged Vortex that time long ago?

Would the Clockwork he saved be the same one that asked for his help? Was this enough to damage him permanently, or was Nocturne in time to prevent the worst of it?

Newly anxious, Nocturne studied the room. He hadn’t run into anyone in the halls or corridors when he first snuck in—though he did watch entire battalions worth leave the Observatory before he had made his move to enter. It was like watching bees flee a Queenless hive once word had reached them of the different little gifts Nocturne had gone out of his way to prepare.

Apparently the Fright Knight had destroyed the the entire Market Square and started rampaging around some of the Communal Plots once he manage to dig his sword back out from where Nocturne had planted it. Vortex was wreaking havoc the likes of which he was generally known to wreak, and the young Halfa was ‘asking questions’ those who Watched would never answer… and was getting increasingly, dangerously, irritated as well.

All in all it was all going very well to plan, and Nocturne had nothing to worry about so long as he wasn’t too late. And knowing Clockwork, that was unlikely to be the case.

Clockwork, when he was awake, would probably be angry Nocturne had involved his young charge. He had been very overprotective since the adoption, and Nocturne remembered just what had happened to Undergrowth when he admitted to trying to jumpstart the boy’s juvenile core-formation.

It wasn’t pleasant for anyone.

Nocturne stepped back, deeper into the shadows when he noticed one of the younger Observants cast its gaze about the room. It then raised a hand and volunteered itself for some macabre task or another, one of the others handing it pliers and a clamp.

Disgusting.

Tedious.

Annoying.

It felt stuffy, in his chest, some ugly foul-tasting emotion building in the void he called his core. He did not like seeing his brother like this, trapped-frozen-taken apart by those weaker than him for the sake of their curiosity–no.

This wasn’t about curiosity at all. Nocturne could taste it, saturated in the ambient ectoplasm around them. There was a thin thread of curiosity, sure, from the younger, more newly formed Observants mostly. But what the atmosphere was heavy and suffocating with, was the Watchers’ desire for complete, uncontested control .

It was a pipe-dream. One they had long since attempted to wage war over.

They did not like that power reigned supreme in the Infinite Realms. They did not like that their collective was so pathetically weak, that any attempt to control those Ancient Enough To Have Come Before was merely laughed off as the paltry inconvenience it was.

Nocturne felt his scar itch.

They had long been a tedious thorn—painful and irritating but unable to truly hinder.

Maybe that was why the sight before him, of his kin—Ancient and Powerful—torn apart as if on an operating table, left his chest smoldering.

It didn’t really matter…

No, it shouldn’t really matter.

Nocturne had already long decided on his next course of action. He stepped forward, and let loose the writhing dark hidden in his Core to surround him. A growing, thriving mass of night-dark tendrils slithered into the auditorium, slinking between green transparent tails and trailing capes.

The exclamations started quickly after.

Like a song, building to crescendo.

It began with startled confusion. Questions like, “What?” and “Where did these come from?”

Then it was indignation. “Who dares?!”

That was when Nocturne smiled behind his mask. He was in the middle of it all now, having walked towards the center stage where his brother laid while his tendrils covered the rest of the chamber.

The Observants who had just been elbow deep in Clockwork’s chest were stumbling back, tripping over tendrils. Some even tried to fly away. He did not let them.

“You—?!”

Nocturne ripped the last Observant away from his brother’s body and turned to address the class.

“There’s a lesson to be learned here,” he said smoothly, stealing his sister’s favorite words. “Allow me to teach you.”

It took less than a thought for every single entity inside the chamber to be absorbed entirely. They would not stay long—it was a struggle even for Nocturne to keep such a large collective contained in this way, and he was grateful he had thinned it as thoroughly as he had.

Once the room was quiet, he turned to the frozen fool laid out like a sacrifice before him.

There was nothing obvious holding him there, and Nocturne pinched the wooden bridge between the carved eyes of his mask. Tedious. This entire thing was dreadfully tedious.

Would it truly have been such a disservice to have given Nocturne some infinitesimal clue beyond: “The Watchers have grown beyond themselves and I fear I shall be the first they seek to reap.”

He reached down, careful not to brush against his brother’s exposed core. He was uncharacteristically cold to the touch—and Nocturne drew his hand back quickly.

Had the Observants truly been capable… It seemed so unrealistic. A possibility that even Clockwork would have written off as a fraying thread in the tapestry of timelines he weaved.

But the proof was before him.

What could have had their sister so distracted? That these pathetic wastes of ectoplasm could get their hands on one of her heartstrings?

He sighed.

There was little that could be done in this exact moment other than freeing Clockwork from the constraints and allowing his time to tick once more. The utter freeze of his features was likely more due to his own abilities backfiring against him than the restraint itself.

Nocturne just needed to find where these pathetic wastes of ectoplasm had sewn the thread. He followed the chill of it with the edge of his nail, unwilling to touch it properly until he found where it stitched into the back of his brother’s left retina.

He held back a flinch. His brother had sown this for himself, and was reaping the rewards of his rebellious nature.

Still. Nocturne’s hands remained gentle and steady as he began to unweave some of the knots tied into the Heartstring.

His mind wandered as his hands went about their work, thinking back to what actions his brother had taken to end up here, vulnerable in a way he had very rarely allowed.

There had been secrets, beyond the hints and clues scattered around Long Now and the Infinite Realms that led to a correspondence Nocturne had no desire to know anything about.

But there had always been secrets. Clockwork did not think it necessary to tell anyone the in depth details of the possible futures and long forgotten pasts that stretched out around him.

Not anymore than Nocturne found it necessary to share the thoughts of those around him when they themselves did not dare.

Thoughts meant nothing against actions—and possible futures meant nothing against the choices of the present.

That said…

There was little Nocturne could think of that would have set the Observants into such a desperate fervor. Such that they would storm the Realm of an Ancient and steal him away to dissect in an attempt to collect his power for their own.

The simple fact they had even achieved this much was frankly ridiculous.

And those rebellions—did this have something to do with that?

It was hardly Clockwork’s Modus operandi—he preferred cryptic one on one intervention. Dominoes lined up perfectly to fall into the picture he desired.

But he knew one ghost that was very very good at building a following. Especially a violent one.

And if he was the one pulling the strings, it made sense that Clockwork would be the one to take the fall.

Nocturne shook his head, shaking the thought clear before it blinded him. It would do no good to assume, and more rumination on the thought would only blind him with fury.

He focused once more on the task at hand.

The work was long and tedious—even before he was interrupted.

The whine of an ecto-gun alerted him to her presence, well before he tuned in to the familiar waft of her dreams, muted by her conscious mind. He stopped, but did not turn around. Not yet.

“And what are you going to do with that little thing?” He asked, feigning a disinterested and absolutely not at all irritated countenance.

“I just wanted to get your attention.” The girl’s voice was casual, but with a sharp, thin edge to it that had Nocturne looking up from his work.

She was standing a few feet away—far enough that a human would have to lunge to attack and she would have time to pull the trigger.

A sign she had been well trained, but that her training was limited to fighting humans. Or at least, the training she focused on was against humans.

He turned back to his brother, sure that she would not shoot him until he was finished.

The gun was a bluff. There was no internal struggle between the options nor a pre-made decision to fire at a given moment. Only a loud, static-like anxiety that he might not take kindly to her threat and retaliate against her instead.

Luckily for her, he had more important things to do.

“You chose a bad time,” Nocturne said with a forced casualness that did not betray the strain he felt with his brother’s sight in his very hands. “My attention is rather split at the moment.”

“I can tell.” Her voice wavered for a moment before hardening again. “You missed a few of those creepy little green guys watching the main entryway. I got them, though. You're welcome.”

“...Thank you.” He returned to his task. The gun she was holding was unlikely to damage him permanently, even if she fired at him now distracted as he was. But even if it were to do so… Well, it was certainly going to be something to hold over his brother’s head once they got out of this mess.

Ignoring her didn’t get him shot at, thankfully. But it did invite her to continue her line of questioning. “What did you do to Danny last night?”

There was a knot, tangled just beneath what would have been a major artery had Clockwork been human. It made Nocturne wonder just what methods the spineless green blobs were using to restrain him.

Ghosts usually went with non-traditional bondage—almost all of them could manipulate their form at will after all—but as with all magics, there was strength in grounding tools and tasks to reality. Though Nocturne would have expected them to use pressure points or even acupuncture or Qi points to restrain a ghost.

Instead they threaded it through major arteries… that did not exist. Were they trying to give him a weakness to exploit later on? It was worrisome, but they had not gotten far enough to bury the thread properly.

Luckily Clockwork had asked for Nocturne’s help. He would have awoken on his own—a thread this thin would not be able to keep his power contained, especially not when it was cannibalizing him like this—but the Observants would have also long accomplished their task and…

It gave Nocturne an idea. He thread an additional suggestion into the nightmare he had weaved for the Collective he currently had contained.

The mortal girl growled in frustration.

She was in front of him, close enough to touch—no—she was touching. Clockwork. Her hand had phased partially underneath his skin and she slowly and carefully began removing the Heartstring that had been threaded and tied so thoroughly through his body.

Nocturne watched closely, an analytical eye on her movements just in case she decided she wasn’t actually going to help. He was frustrated enough that the Observants had taken his brother as some kind of experiment. He would not stand for some mortal taking him as a hostage.

His vigilance was wasted though. She simply and perfunctorily slipped the entire thread out and set it aside in a matter of seconds before turning back to Nocturne.

“Is your attention still split?” she asked with a sharp smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Nocturne gathered his sister’s Heartstring from where the girl had set it. With his luck, he’d get distracted and forget it, or something else could happen and leave it once again in the hands of those who would seek to abuse power that was not their own.

#Danny Phantom #Nocturne DP #Nocturn DP #Clockwork DP #Jazz Fenton #Vortex DP #Gore #Ghost Gore #mild body Horror #phic phight 2023 #phic phight #Bee’s writing

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bevy-obeyme · 5 months ago

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yk chiori from genshin? So what if like...someone like her was in devildom? (Personality and occupation)

How would that go down?

(Also love you darling)

Interesting question! I can imagine a lot of drama and probably besties with Asmodeus!!

(Love you too haha 🫶)

Lucifer

- The annoyance you caused this man. He could swear his black hairs were turning grey quicker.

- At times, he appreciated your fashion sense and need for looking stylish, in fact, it had been amusing to see you prattle on to Mammon about correcting his ‘’unruly atrocity of a uniform’’.

- Your blunt nature could be amusing too, and Lucifer liked it compared to the coy tones his brothers’ would use when they were in trouble.

- However, due to your troublemaking tendencies, he found it hard to relax around you. It was like a Belphegor 2.0 except one that wasn’t actively sleeping all the time and in fact berating anyone else’s fashion sense.

- But he loved you for it. How could he not? You fussed over such tiny details as if you were some sort of mother and that was endearing to him.

Mammon

- He was not a big fan of you at first. At all. You were so pompous, just like Lucifer with all your fancy clothing and all.

- But when he got to know you.. well, he started to ease up on his petty insults. He could see that behind your pride, you had true talent.

- The fact you were quite mischievous yourself helped with his schemes which made him like you all the better.

- At times, he’d joke and ask you to become his personal fashion designer for his modelling gig yet that glint often told you it was a genuine desire of his too.

Leviathan

- To him, you were just another normie.

-UNTIL.

- When he noticed you see your own outfits, he was immediately enraptured, as he too sewed!

- He loved how odd yet elegant your style was and often commented wishing that he had such tastes as yours!

- Your blunt nature did scare him at times, yet, he found himself growing closer to you. Often, he’d just take time out of his day to watch you sew. He never knew someone as amazing as you could exist!

Satan

- He was initially not on board with you, simply due to how prideful you were, but he was quite fond of your blunt nature and unusual yet stylish look.

- He could appreciate your talent in making clothes and accessories - it took a lot of time and clothes often presented a picture of who you were.

- In addition, designing clothes was an expression of art and Satan was stunned with the creativity you poured into your work. It was impressive.

- He especially admired how you cared not for other people’s opinions on your work. It made him respect you even more.

Asmodeus

- Immediately, he felt like Cupid shot him. A fashion designer?! Yes please!

- He loved, loved, LOVED your extraordinary style.

- Asmo was a big connoisseur of anything fashionable after all and he gushed about how sexy your designs are.

- If you ever needed a model, he was right there. So what if Mammon was technically the model of the family? If it was your designs, he’d wear them any day!

Beelzebub

- Now, Beelzebub didn’t pay much attention to fashion. That wasn’t his thing. But he could appreciate how peaceful you looked when you indulged in your passion.

- Beel did admire your creativity, as it clashed so much with Devildom standards and it was intriguing to see how different humans have become in contrast.

- He also appreciated your blunt nature, honesty was something Beelzebub valued even if it came off as rude from you sometimes. But he knew you never meant harm.

Belphergor

- Unlike his twin, Belphegor found your bluntness to be annoying somehow.

-Whenever he tried to sleep in and you were there telling him that he had a RAD meeting to attend it gave him a migraine.

- Or whenever he tried to lie but you’d bluntly point out the truth to Lucifer and he’d get lectured.

- So he did the same in return whenever you were troublemaking with Mammon. Consider it a friendly rivalry of sorts.

- He acknowledged your skill in designing albeit cared little for it as he only believed in comfort rather than style.. but you were impressive in your own right. For a human anyway.

#obey me x reader #obey me #lucifer obey me #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me Satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me imagines

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dr-abitat-blog · 5 days ago

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Day 27: "Well, there's a first for everything."

@ailesswhumptober

T/W: Kidnapped, bound, enemies to allies, former whumper and former whumpee, shock collars, imprisonment

Slade belongs to @whumpsmith

Life can be a funny thing sometimes. We may commit atrocious acts that we never once imagined were feasible, acts that we had no idea we were capable of when pushed to our very limits. Sometimes we may find ourselves in situations that we never imagined possible.

Situations like…right now.

“I have to say, Viktor — I would never have predicted this scenario in a million years.”

Slade twists his head over his shoulder. I can practically hear his eyes rolling as he speaks. “You — my former captor — and I — your former ‘patient’ — held captive together. Definitely not something I imagined possible.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything.”

I sigh aloud, turning my own head towards him. My glasses barely stay balanced on the bridge of my nose as I peer at him with exhausted and narrowed eyes. “And perhaps if you spent less time complaining and more time trying to figure a way out of this predicament then we might have managed to get out of these things by now!”

I manage yet another defiant tug on the sturdy coarse ropes keeping the both of us pinned uncomfortably closely together. Of course they had to add extra humiliation to the whole process. My own wrists rest in front of Slade’s chest, crossed and bound with ropes, whilst his arms encircle my own chest, trapping us both in place. Even more ropes bind us together at the waist, with separate bindings knotted tightly above and below our knees. I try to kick out with my bound ankles, but all I manage to injure is the surrounding air. Either way, the ropes won’t be budging any time soon, leaving the two of us — essentially former enemies — bound back to back in the middle of a dark and damp holding cell.

Wunderbar.

“Well excuse me for not being thrilled about our current situation!” he retorts, shaking his dark hair in disbelief, “I think I have every right to complain!”

“The feeling is mutual,” I inform him, glaring tiredly at the wall in place of his annoying face. “As if being captured in the first place wasn’t bad enough.”

I sigh, attempting to sit up straighter. “So? How do you propose we get out of this mess?”

“What are you asking me for?”

“Oh, because you are the one who has been alive for over two centuries?” I remind him coolly, “And you are the one who has previously boasted about your numerous escape attempts from similar facilities?”

“I suppose so,” he sighs, moving his arms against my chest, “Nothing so far. Every possible exit is under heavy guard. They all know exactly what they’re doing — unlike your own guards back there.”

“How some of them even passed the competency checks, I have no idea — but that is beside the point. You’re saying there’s no escape from—”

I suddenly pause, realising what I’ve just said. “Heh. No escape. Oh the irony.”

“Karma at its finest,” Slade adds, “Although I don’t see why I had to get dragged along with it.”

“Oh quit your whining, Slade — don’t you see why I kept you gagged during procedures?”

“I wish they’d gag you right now,” he scoffs.

“Very mature of you — maybe I’ll ask them to—gnnk!”

I suddenly find myself cut off by a sharp pain burning my neck. The collar zaps to life, silencing our petty argument. A loud curse from Slade soon follows.

“Gah! Mother lover—oh these monsters will pay.”

“There’s not exactly much we can do in this position,” I point out, “but yes. No matter what, we can’t allow them to succeed.”

“Well, that’s one thing we can agree on.”

“I…suppose so, yes.”

I shuffle back a little, hissing at the sudden pain flaring through my muscles from yesterday’s…interrogation. Even now I can still taste the blood in my mouth from their ‘persuasion’.

“Nnngh…”

“...are you arite, Viktor?”

Slade’s words…surprise me. He genuinely sounds concerned. “I don’t know what they’ve been doing to you, but—”

“I-I’m fine,” I answer, drawing in another deep breath that sends pain flaring through a presumably broken rib, “I…haven’t told them anything, neither do I intend to. Every piece of information they get is a further piece they can use to bring down the resistance entirely — and that is not an option.”

I don’t care to elaborate on the details of said ‘interrogation’. My thoughts turn instead to another matter. “Is…is Kristoff safe, Slade?”

“...as far as I know,” he answers quietly, “Last I heard, they were gathering intelligence in one of the other factions. I’m sure they’re still kicking though. They’re a real fighter.”

“Yes…yes he—they are.”

My heart swells ever so slightly with pride for my boy, although it also aches at the thought of anything happening to him. I’m supposed to protect him, as his father, yet that is impossible as long as I remain in here — and if they catch my boy, then I know full well what they will do to him. I will not have him go through that again.

“Aye. They’re a brave lad.”

“Thank you, Slade.”

I hesitate for just a moment, before adding quietly. “...so are yours.”

“Oh they are, both of them,” he replies, shifting ever so slightly, “I just wish I knew where they were. We lost connection with them a few days ago. I’ve heard nothing since then — I-I just hope that they haven’t managed to find them.”

“...I am sure they’re safe.”

The last thing I ever expected to be doing is…comforting my former enemy. “Ashley and Achilles are both strong and determined. They don’t give up easily. They proved that to me all too well. Still, perhaps they are with Kristoff, looking out for one another.”

“...I’d like to think that’s the case.”

He turns to peer at me again. His voice softens slightly. “They’re out there, Viktor. Our sons are still out there, fighting for what’s right. If they can make it, so can we — because we are going to get out of here and see our sons again, arite?”

His words…they ring so true. In this one moment, a shared trait connects the two of us — fatherhood. Our sons. Our love and care for them.

“...yes. Yes we will.”

I allow myself the smallest of smiles — until the door to our cell suddenly creaks open. I immediately send the familiar gruff guards an unamused scowl, whilst Slade snarls at them. None of them grace us with any conversation — they merely remove our restraints, yank us to our feet and apply sturdy cuffs on our wrists before beginning to lead us out of the cell. Of course Slade’s persistent struggles of defiance earn him a few additional shocks. I soon find myself joining him, both of us sharing a knowing look of camaraderie in this particular time. We have to survive this — we will survive this.

I’ll see you soon, Kristoff.

With that silent vow, I hold my head high and brace myself for whatever lies ahead.

#whumptober 2024 #whumptober #ailesswhumptober2024 #whump prompt #whump event #oc whump #fic #banner by cafekitsune #superpowers #whump writing #Voss #Slade #Imprisonment #Bound back to back #Enemies to allies #Former whumper x Former whumpee #Isn't this ironic #well there's a first for everything #Dougtor

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deus-and-the-machina · 1 year ago

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something I get annoyed at quite frequently is when people say you’re hypocritical for disliking one character but not liking another despite their seeming similarities. and yes sometimes there are factors like gender to look at and questioning your biases and all but often it just feels preachy and judgmental.

Sometimes I dislike fictional characters for extremely petty reasons and there's nothing more to it. sometimes they just didnt vibe with me. sometimes its just not that deep lol. sometimes something about them or their writing deeply frustrates me on a personal level. what ig im saying is that just because you like a character or think they’re well written does not mean you get to go around judging others for not sharing your tastes. they probably have their own reasons and making assumptions about others and saying nasty things about them based on that (esp stuff along the lines of “no critical thinking skills, dumb” etc.) is just plain rude and unwarranted.

#again this isnt about someone clearly having bigoted takes or opinions on a character trust me ive been in many a fandom that does that #this is more along the lines of someone going 'well both of these characters are morally grey but you only like one? fucking perish clearly'#you are less Based and Right and Smart than I am' and its like. idk one of them was annoying and kind of weird about women so yeah I only #liked one of them lol. look man I know there are themes and stuff but sometimes a character just doesnt jive with you. you literally do not #need anymore justification than that as long as you're not being a dick about it.#writing stuff #siren says

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fatedevour · 2 years ago

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♢ — @bitbrumal asked: ON THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS PANTALONE SENT TO ME twelve personal records kept eleven projects approved ten fishbone corsets nine leather leashes eight spy assistants seven lambskin gloves ( yes seven you're getting an odd number f you ) six tailored waistcoats five fresh cadavers four fraudulent receipts three soft fur collars two dismissed requests & a pension fund committee

UNPROMPTED ASKS : ALWAYS ACCEPTING!

“ Just WHAT is all this doing in my LAB, Regrator? “

Had it been anyone OTHER than Dottore, they would have gazed upon the mountain of presents with DELIGHT and GREED. But this is not anyone else. And because of that, it is most likely to achieve the EXACT thing Pantalone desires. Beneath Dottore’s masked visage there was only ANNOYANCE at the clutter that has been brought into his lab with garishly bright paper and bows. An already annoying situation was EXASTURBATED by the presence of Pantalone’s SMUG smile beside him. Despite how TEMPTING brash action might be to rid himself of these presents, curiosity and the faint hope of something actually USEFUL among all the gifts makes him wait.

( Well, MORE hope of usefulness at least. The cadavers had ALREADY been found, and thus had been planted the idea that it might not ALL be pointless. The eight new agents assigned to him however was NOT something he was wanting. He’d be discussing having them moved away anyways. If all else failed, terrifying them to death would work. )

And thus begins the grueling task of UNWRAPPING gifts. Weren’t people always saying this was supposed to be FUN? Quite frankly, Dottore was of the belief that this pile would convince him otherwise by the end of it. The records earned an eyeroll, but the APPROVED projects gained an visible expression of delight. Yet BEFORE he can already come to a screeching halt to ramble about these projects, another gift is shoved into his hands...and thus begins a rather BAFFLING experience for THE DOCTOR.

Leashes? Well THAT certainly sends a message (a BOAST to the fact Pantalone has the MOST influence over him, or a more LITERAL message of a desire? Perhaps it was both.) as do the dismissed requests. Yet the waistcoats and gloves say another matter and resemble what he’s heard of as more traditional gifts. He is every bit as PETTY however and seeing the odd number only guarantees the fact that ONE SEGMENT at least will just wear one. (And THEN who would be annoying who when Pantalone sees?) As for the corsets...Well quite frankly, he isn’t quite sure WHAT to take away from that. Is it a jab at posture? Is it just Pantalone’s appallingly lavish tastes? They’re clearly expensive, but even PANTALONE must know such a gift is IMPRACTICAL for the doctor. He hardly attends formalities as it is and prefers sending DELTA, the one most similar to PRIME, to stand in his place. One or two at most would have been enough, but TEN? He’s rather sure its Pantalone simply FLASHING his wealth again. What he won’t do is admit to how long he gave them a puzzled stare after each one was unwrapped.

The pension fund confirms the wealth. The seconds scowls with a flash of jagged teeth at the ninth with a growl. “ Pantalone. “ He shoves the wrapping paper aside now, scowl deepening as the tape sticks to straps and feathers that require him to yank them all off. “ RETIREMENT is not in the plans, nor SHALL it be. The older segments more or less are. “ He huffs, arms folding across his chest before gesturing at all of this. “ The MORA of all of this would have been fallen completely and easily into the category of satisfactory if you wished to be oh so generous. “ he drawls, sarcasm dripping from the last few words. Pantalone isn’t GENEROUS without a purpose. Like annoying Dottore. “

“ Are you doing this to EVERYONE, or am I just SPECIAL? “ He abruptly TURNS the tables of the act, or at least makes a valiant vie for it as his masked visage swings from the pile to Pantalone himself.

#bitbrumal #listen it is so funny to me #imagining each thing is individually wrapped #the younger segments like theta definitely helped #could the segments have opened? yes #but they wanted to annoy prime and make him do it all #gathered them all up and then watched #the PETTY levels here with the gloves has me laughig #listen pantalone #if you wanted to send mixed signals then you succeeded #and also to annoy the hell out of him #just give him the mora >:(#he does not care for frilly gifts #♢ — ❛ he whom ushers in your darkest hour ❜ ( ic )#♢ — ❛ science is the only thing worth my time ❜ ( main verse )

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likemesomesalads · 1 year ago

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All impairs for a character of your choice, all pairs for Zheag :3

OH, tungl fixed itself, I can answer for you. U get In-Shu for my choice cuz I'm thinking about him :3

In-Shu:

1: On a scale of “is occasionally forced to bathe” to “Instagram model with sponsors to hoe for” how involved is your OC’s Skincare routine?

He's the scion of the water dragon so...he does be preferring to be in the water. In his human form, he does take care of his appearance as well, after Auntie Navan teaches him how... So he would end up being an "Instagram model with sponsors to hoe for" on the scale.

3: What’s something pointless/petty/unimportant that IRRATIONALLY ANNOYS THE HELL out of your OC?

Jadebots. They are everywhere and they are annoying and noisy. To be honest he can't stand the buzzing of any other jade tech either. It makes him feel like he has an annoying mosquito around his head that he just can't quite kill.

5: Does your OC get lost easily? What do they do when they do get lost?

He does on land. In the water he knows all the currents and finds everything easily...but on land? He needs help. Thus he always has a map at hand. A physical one, no jade tech required.

7: Realistically, could your OC (in their normal circumstances- i.e. at their own house/battle camp/spaceship etc.) keep a small child alive for a week if they had to? A Dog? A Houseplant? A rock with a smiley face painted on?

Technically, he's stuck being a teenager for ages, so yes to all... He does not like children too much though so he wouldn't choose to take care of one unless he has no other choice. A dog or plant? Sure. He loves those.

9: What would cause your OC to choose to do something petty/pointlessly cruel?

He'd get really petty if someone were to brag that dragons aren't a big deal and are just "overgrown lizards", or the like. He wouldn't be cruel about it but boy he would creatively punish the person.

11: What song is 100% guaranteed to get your OC beyond turns and will be sung loudly and embarrassingly, either in public or the shower?

He's not familiar with any songs actually...so probably anything that has a catchy rhythm and is stuck in his head would get him to sing it. (aka. I have not thought of his music taste yet, sorry.)

13: Under what circumstances would your OC appear naked in public?

Does dragon form count as naked? Because otherwise not a chance... Unless someone maybe knocks him out and strips him... That's the only way.

15: How often does your OC “zone out” or do things on autopilot and how severe have the problems that have arisen from that be?

He's usually very concentrated on whatever he's doing. So he doesn't often zone out. If he does it's while he's sitting somewhere peaceful and gets lost in thoughts. So no troubles arise from it.

17: How does your OC sabotage themselves?

By not trusting people one bit. He doesn't know them and even if Navan and Aurene say they're chill and cool In-Shu doesn't see them as such and keeps his contact with the people at a minimum.

19: How dehydrated is your OC right now? Are they going to fix this?

He's a water dragon. He's never dehydrated. He makes sure to stay hydrated all the time.

Zheag:

2: What are your OC’s food preferences (flavours/textures/spiciness/calories/ when and how they eat) and how did they get that way?

He likes spicy food and meats. He often eats in Amnoon restaurants or at the Temple, but when on the road he just roasts himself some meat over an open fire that's good enough. he isn't a picky eater.

4: What’s your OC’s response to being asked for money by a homeless person?

He'd of course give them. He would also direct them towards his temple where they can stay for free so they don't sleep on the floor and in the cold night.

6: What would STOP your OC from Doing The Right Thing in a tense situation?

Being dead... or one of his loved ones being hurt. He'd get angry at that... He melted Drakkar's lake over Caim (@caim-the-godstomper) being shot by Bangar and he would do it again just to roast Bangar's fur off his skin... Anyway... Anger.

8: If your OC had to take the S.A.T. tomorrow with one night to prep, how would they do? both emotionally and academically.

...I have no idea what an S.A.T. is but he'd just wing it. no prep just wing it.

10: On a scale of “Complete and Justified nervous breakdown” to “Conquer The Entire Galaxy and become an Immortal God-Emperor”, how well would your OC handle being abducted by Aliens?

I mean... He's already a god... So I guess he'd be pissed because he got a family and a whole ass religion to take care of, no time for fucking around, please kindly put him back where he belongs or you'll be burned to death, thank you.

12: What perfectly-normal-to-them-thing does your OC do that confuses/pisses off/terrifies their neighbours?

Uses only their hand to heat up the metals he forges... not many can do that right?

14: What thing did your OC’s parents do that your OC wishes they had a better explanation for?

I mean he's originally a sylvari so his only parent is the Pale Tree...But perhaps explain why he was the only one with no fucking goal in his life. he felt so left out.

16: How strong or weak is your OC’s Impulse control? What’s the worst thing that happened because of their Impulsivity or inability to be so?

He's pretty impulsive. He left Trahearne after an argument and never went back to check on him because he fell into the magic toilet and ended up so far away. He regrets that a lot. He went to Bjora with Ulfric, his then-partner, to help Caim in the north with Bangar on a whim and had to kill Ul because he got corrupted by Jormag. He melted Drakkar's lake because he got so angry his god powers got out of control... Yeah, impulsive guy.

18: What’s the trashiest item in your OC’s wardrobe, when was the last time they wore it and why do they still have it?

He has a bellydancer outfit... He only wears it for his partners though.

20: What’s your OC smell like? no, not that “Vanilla and Anxiety” evocative stuff, realistically. Body odour? what have they been touching all day? When was their last shower? Did they put on any kind of artificial scent?

He smells like charcoal and cherry blossoms. Which is a weird combination but that's what you get if you put fire god magic into a plant man. On busy days he also smells a bit like a dog because of his not-jackal jackal buddy, Cliff, who he uses to move around the desert. He does take baths daily if they can but aside from some soap doesn't use anything scented.

#thanks for asking #In-Shu #Zheag

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kitten-bride · 9 months ago

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respect and consequences

around 2k words of character study(?) masquerading as porn. dont read this if you dont wanna read violentish fauxcest. this fic is in witness protection if you recognize any characters or concepts named in this, no you fucking don't

End liked to think themself better than petty arguments, better than childish anger directed anywhere but inward. if that were the case, they wouldn't be trying to strangle their older brother - little hands barely clasped around his neck. they want to hurt him. they think they want to hurt him, but can't bring themself to put any real pressure onto his windpipe. they can't kill him, he's their brother! who's never around. who they're supposed to emulate in some ways. they're nothing like him. he's not their brother. they don't share any blood… except for that one time.

warm black on Astro's hands, End was far too much of a coward to let him prick their skin so this is the next best thing. his tongue swipes out like he's going to clean it, letting the blood rest in his mouth and leaning in. End's first kiss tasted like iron, Astro's teeth nicking the skin of their lip to properly swap saliva and blood. having pulled back, Astro looked at End like they were chum in the water - some sort of emotion he was trying to keep dormant.

he doesn't look up at them like that now, more like they're something pitiful as he's refusing to fight back. its almost unnerving to see him even remotely submissive, arms kept away from his little sibling as they try to kill him. keyword being try, maybe thats why he hasn't fought back. and it frustrates them that they're too young and too small to hurt him, that maybe he doesn't respect them enough to fight them.

and maybe they don't respect him enough to kill him.

their grip is too loose to do anything besides make it slightly more difficult for Astro to breathe, his cheeks flushed with a soft red from what End figures must be from lack of air. yes, they're hurting him properly. they notice how his throat jumps, and his chest twitches, a little hitch in his pathways. not so tough now, are you? laid out like a fucking offering, something ripe for the taking, they have half a mind to dig their nails into his skin and bleed him out like fruit juice.

he winces when End briefly looses themself in the thought of it, sure enough, nails digging into his neck. both look like they want to say something. i hate you, i'm sorry, i love you, lots of things that stay in their heads. they know he has some sort of twin-telepathy with L, wondering if they'd get some of it by proxy. its accidental at best, getting little glimpses of what goes through someone elses head.

they don't "respect" him enough to kill him - the idea of killing anyone already makes them a little seasick, and maybe thats why they'll never be able to break into the little twin-to-triplet group. despite everything, they've never been able to desensitize themself to the horrible things they come face to face with. it makes them sick to think about. how what runs under Astro's skin and in his veins would stain their nails if they just pressed a little harder, the panic in those red eyes, how if they squeezed tight enough they could watch the light fade from them.

a little feeling tugs in End's stomach, and they decide to ignore that their cheeks feel warm now. its from adrenaline, and how.. warm their sweater is. the sweater they "stole" from Astro and rarely even take off. it doesn't smell like him anymore, and the fabric is worn in, holes beginning to appear from where they've tugged and rolled their fingers in the fabric. pity they have such long nails, they quite like this sweater.

Astro's pretty, handsome even. especially like this - hair a mess around his head, cheeks flush, eyes wide. attractive enough for End to hate themselves for feeling this. he's their brother! who isn't related to them. who they're also convinced doesn't want to see them, or gets annoyed by them and their fucking nagging anytime he comes over. he pities them, and thats why he puts up with them. obviously. he looks nothing like L, so its.. probably alright to think him attractive - they're sure its a popular opinion anyways, and they have functioning eyes. its okay to think, from a technical standpoint, that he's attractive. maybe they do want to kill him now, if only to save them from the embarrassment of thinking their brother-not-really-brother is hot.

oh, god. no wonder they're jealous of him. strong, lithely built, good hair, terrifying eyes, confident to a fault. is that why they're so fucking angry? they're supposed to be L's backup, but he's already got all the backup he needs; this is just salt in the wound. how many fucking backups does one guy need?

they realize, belatedly, that they've been staring Astro dead in the eye for the past minute, which, is very odd for them to do. they usually hate even looking at other people, so to look someone in the eye like this is an anomaly. but, hey, its Wammy's. the entire place is a damn anomaly, so whats a few more hidden in the floorboards? its not like Astro wasn't meeting their gaze; they're so used to him being confident, unshakeable. another anomaly. they're shocked he hasn't thrown them off like a limp ragdoll yet. at this point, they wouldn't blame him for doing so.

and yet, they can't find it in them to take their hands off his throat. his skin isn't exactly baby smooth, but its not rough either. like the fabric of their bed sheets, familiar at best. they want to wrap their arms around his neck, and feel his around their midsection. they want to see his inky blood spill onto the floor. they want to squeeze all the air out of him. they want to feel his pulse racing under his skin. theres a heavy feeling in the air, they note absently since their adrenaline died down.

theres knives in the kitchen. they think about getting one and driving it into his chest. over and over and over. make a new body for Roger to have to bury. they'd visit his grave daily and lay there like a dog who hasn't grasped that its owner isn't coming back. they feel like that sometimes, watching him walk out the door, flaunting his fucking freedom like a new pair of boots. they want to take those metaphorical boots and curb stomp him with them.

but killing him means admitting they're jealous, and that in some ways, he's gotten one over on them. admitting they think about him too much to be normal, that they like following him (and L, they add in their mental monologue to seem more normal) around like a lost mutt he's too kindhearted to just kick already, to tell to fuck off. this house must make people crazy, End decides.

crazy enough to notice the slight pressure of Astro's stomach under their hips. him and his stupid toned body. and his stupid perfect features. they're just old enough to really grasp sexual interactions, and feel inwardly horrified with themself that this is their first, at least perceived, intimate situation.

that this is their second kiss, with him no less. why has he gotten so many of their kisses, and they haven't gotten anything from him? maybe this counts as taking a second kiss from him, nicking his lips this time. clumsy saliva dilutes the taste somewhat. they wish they were better at kissing, but they've also heard people find virgins somewhat endearing.

is it still endearing when they pull back, staring at their brother like a terrified animal with a string of stained spit connecting them? and when they feel their stomach flip when they see Astro staring at them with the same look, if more.. feral?

they stay like that for an uncomfortable moment, and they watch Astro's hand move to their lip in what feels like slow motion, wiping it off with the easy carelessness of a mother. oh, god, they hope that won't open up a new can of worms for them to unravel next.

his hand moving up their cheek, and then to behind their head, spidery fingers wrapping in their hair scrambles their thoughts enough to not have to worry about what other weird feelings End may or may not be developing towards other adults in their life. his lips are against theirs now, again. rough as him, desperate like they're two animals in heat (and maybe they are, End still doesn't know how their biology works), it might be revenge for getting choked earlier. this makes three.

they're like dumb teens making out in a closet, they half expect him to be giggling about not wanting to get caught when they pull back. but then again, everyone here knows better than to fuck with Astro of all people. theres something relieving about feeling his tongue swipe the underside of their own fangs, practiced because of course he knows how to kiss. why wouldn't he, making End a stupid, gushy shell on top of him when he licks into their mouth, making them forget why they were trying to kill him minutes earlier. jerk. are all siblings like this, this.. easily angered with each other?

regardless, they almost gag at his tongue in their mouth - sensitive gag reflex, surprisingly not from the horror of making out with your brother. their heart pounds in their ears, and they can almost hear Astro's, steadily thrumming in his veins. it'd be comforting if their entire body felt.. off; skin prickling from their clothes, too hot in area's that aren't supposed to be hot with their brother. but, his tongues in their mouth, and a needy teen's body, regardless of how messed up it is, will respond to stimuli. thats their current excuse.

their limbs feel.. like TV static, not exactly asleep, but buzzing. they hate how they push down against his torso, hating how relief feels and how much needier giving in makes them feel. they're such a disgusting person, basically humping against their brother's stomach like a dog with its favorite pillow. maybe he's worse for putting up with it, even encouraging it.

he's definitely as bad as they are, carding through their hair with a loose, gentle hand, before tugging on it and making them whine lowly. his teeth, surprisingly, dig into their lower lip with the most force he's applied during this entire… whatever this is, easily piercing the flesh and letting their own blood drip into his mouth. "sick freak" is the first thing they've said since they started trying to kill him, and he must find how out of breath they are amusing, if how he grins at them is anything to go off of.

he does pull away first, though, not after lapping at their new wound. and their moment away lasts exactly one moment, before he's leaning back in. god damnit, they were supposed to be in charge of this! and yet here they are, letting their brother basically tongue-fuck their mouth with little protest. they're such a pushover.

at least Astro lets them keep the illusion of being in charge, letting them stay on top, free hand kept on their hip, trying to tug them down to his, getting them to properly straddle him. at least they can take some comfort in not being the most fucked up person in the room. it almost.. angers them. what are they, one of his boy/girltoys? he shouldn't be tolerating, much less encouraging such behavior.

End is willing to accept how moody they are, how easy it is from them to go from blaming themself to blaming him, hating themself to hating him. the cycle continues on and on and on, and they suspect the only way to break it might be death. they curse immortality with a soft moan as his tongue brushes against theirs, and his hips grind into theirs. they're frustrated again, and choose to relieve this by returning a single hand to his throat and squeezing with as much force as their smaller body and provide.

they don't miss the slight way his breath hitches, a quiet groan being their reward for choking him, or how he squeezes their waist tighter, pushing himself against them with more fervor. what a pervert! and yet, they do nothing to discourage this either, whining back to him when he nicks their lip, yet again, allowing himself another taste of their blood. unsurprising, sharks tend to go feral at the scent of blood, so do demons. lucky them…

and lucky Astro.

they wonder if he's been.. wanting something like this - they'd say maybe minus what had led up to it, but they know their brother: filthy masochist. filthy sadist. maybe they really are brothers. did he ever think about them in a position like this? they're so starved for validation, that the idea of their older brother palming himself to the thought of them makes their hips twitch, grounding against him. they're sick in the head, and they've been like this sense day one.

but, their brother is still kissing them, and still pressing himself more insistently into them. maybe he's close. an ex of theirs had constantly sexted them, telling End every stupid, sexual thought he had. and it had made them sick to their stomach, feeling both the violated and violator as they tolerated it. after it, they had resigned themself to the idea of staying celibate, feeling sick when people told them sexual fantasies regarding them. maybe this is them making progress, only feeling a twinge of disgust from dry humping their brother. blood being thicker than water, and all that.

they remember they share no blood with Astro, but shove the thought away. bigger fish to fuck right now. they snort, cringe at the weird sound it makes against his mouth, as they think about how he does sort of taste like fish. maybe he had sushi before coming over. of course, the remnants of copper distract from it a bit. they wonder if it'll scar.

they're such a fucking virgin, feeling a familiar warmth sneak up on them while Astro's still.. maybe a little past halfway there as well? they don't know how to tell, not having done this with anyone else. two of their firsts! what a jerk! this insult isn't tainted with a salty hatred, twinged a bright pink in their head as they feel the familiar jelloing of their muscles, everything relaxing unwillingly and their nails pressing into whatever they can - they fine solace in the fabric of his shirt, against the front of his shirt and the flesh of his neck. maybe it'll bruise.

they really hope it does. they really hope he has to fumble and scramble for some excuse for why he has their little indents in his neck, and hope he can't look them in the eye for at least a month. maybe they should get one of the kitchen knives, carve their name into his skin somewhere; a much better branding than a simple purple that'll fade in a week or so.

they're limp, face in his chest as they pant and decide on a whim, to claw him. not because they're mad at him, for the first time in this whole little mess. but because they're jealous. they're jealous and possessive of someone they switch between hating and loving, smiling at the bright red marks they leave in their wake. they really love having such long, and sharp nails sometimes.

and they get to see what he looks like when he cums, the stinging pain being just enough to shove him right over the edge. what a masochist! lucky them, though, watching him go equally limp and patting their hip, petting them like you would a cat.

maybe this is their version of twin-telepathy, being able to get off at around the same time. suck on that one, L.

#its been too long since i've properly written something :]this was fun even if it did vex me #fauxcest #brocon #shipcest

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electricbluebutterflies · 2 years ago

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❛ don’t be a stranger, okay? ❜

A vaguely plausibly canon-adjacent-maybe Joel/Tess first encounter. PG13-ish (it's in the vague aftermath of Activities but all very very implied) and also on ao3.

The thing is, Tess wasn’t a people person before this end-of-the-world shit.

Which is not to say that she would describe herself as a jerk, exactly, just… not outgoing, by nature, and the expected bouquet of trust issues courtesy of spending her twenties consistently sleeping with if not exactly dating the expected bouquet of male wildlife, and… fine, this whole plausible apocalypse thing didn’t help anyone’s social skills, but hers were already close to the right level. Getting perma-stuck in a city she’d only meant to spend a weekend in was also not a plus, and-

She’s done okay, somehow. Four years later, still alive, still more or less the person she was before, still some kind of functional, still… if she’s honest with herself, in what passes for the quietest part of the night, desperately alone.

That’s the miracle her life hinges on, her ability to blend in and be just uninteresting enough to do okay on her own, adapt and survive and try to have as much of a normal life as possible. Normal, as in she’s on the other side of thirty now and her taste in men hasn’t improved, as in she can hear the voice of her long-dead mother telling her to find someone Nice and there are days Tess wants to scream, there are days she-

Admittedly, her latest fabulous bad idea at least has the potential to be a recurrent one. That could be a bigger problem.

She’s such a cliché, she knows, another morning waking up in a bed that isn’t hers, another evening of questionable decisions quickly recapped in her mind as she tries to decide at what point she’s going to regret this. At least this one happened for relatively innocent reasons; she’d heard an accent less common up here, she’s got eyes, and apparently desperation went both ways. It had been a couple of weeks for her, usually the point where she gets bored, and she would’ve said yes to about anything, and-

At least these choices look alright the morning after. At least she can explain herself. At least this one – just enough older than her to be hot, beautiful eyes, more obvious sadness than she’s gotten used to – understood her boundaries clear enough. At least…

She’s half-tempted to leave now, let this be the petty mistake it should stay, but there’s something unusually compelling about this one – she really should’ve caught a name but she was a little distracted last night – something that makes her curious like she hasn’t been in so damn long. Like that part of her that called bullshit on princess movies twenty-five years ago had a point, but at the same time-

“You stayed.”

Somehow his voice is even lower half-awake and it makes Tess feel some type of warm, and that useless part of her mind that realizes she hasn’t had a boyfriend in about fifteen years may be a little vocal right now, like-

“A girl can only collect so many curfew violations in a month before it looks bad,” she replies, shifting her body for better eye contact. “Besides, you apparently have quieter neighbors than I do. Just because I can sleep through domestic disagreements on either side…”

She’s starting to see options here, starting to see an element of a future that looks so damn normal despite the external circumstances, some part of her that could be the desperate annoying woman, that could be-

No. That ain’t her. There’s some midpoint here, maybe, but she’s made it this far without latching onto the nearest thing with a pulse and a dick and she’s not about to start now.

She should leave, at this point, but this isn’t looking like regret yet. Besides, there’s not even anything here worth taking on her way out, and-

“Not quite sardine accommodations up here, huh?”

“Not quite. Almost boring, really. Good for you, though… first new face I’ve seen in months that didn’t have a uniform attached…”

He gives her a blank look like where is he even supposed to start with that, and she decides in that moment that she likes him. Fuck her.

The thing is, she has her life, her predictable routines, and her survival plans these past four years have hinged on doing it alone as much as possible and dealing with her physical needs as separately from the rest of her life as possible. And it worked, that’s the beautiful part, it’s worked fine, she is still here and every morning she gets to deal with the dark euphoria of seeing what exactly one more day will throw at her, and she’s gotten fearless and she’s gotten complacent, and-

She should leave. Finally, finally that thought is enough to make her do something.

She slips out of the bed that should not have been able to hold two bodies and slowly re-dresses, re-tracing movements from the night before. She feels eyes on her, appreciative but not leering, and… dammit, this’ll be the end of her, that occasionally self-destructive little corner of her brain is going this one at full volume and who the hell is she to say no to that and-

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Tess turns to take one last look, and the rational part of her brain is saying that she should say something noncommittal if not unnecessarily mean, and the rational part of her brain is pointing out that even now Boston is a large enough city that it would be easy to lose someone who didn’t care to be found, and-

“I won’t,” she says instead of any of those better ideas. Not pathetic, no promises, but-

She’s not that girl, she thinks as she leaves, as a closed door gives her peace, as she realizes she still didn’t catch a name and nor did she give hers. If there’s anything worth tethering herself to, it’ll find her, not the other way around.

(She’s thirty-one. She doesn’t know herself at all. This’ll be fine.)

#ebf writes fic #joel x tess #queue

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mingiswow · 3 years ago

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Boyfriend!Lee Know

⚠ English is not my native language, so pardon me if there’s any mistake. And you can always tell me what’s wrong.

ah… our mischievous cat boy

ok, it’s hard for me to read him ngl

he comes off as very cold sometimes but then he’ll become the softest

anywho

I feel like baby boy lee know is hard to conquer

so it took a lot for you to win his heart

but when you do,,,, oof prepare yourself

I feel like you’d catch his eye while working

You were one of the staff at the tv station where he mc’s

and he saw how hard you’d work, making sure everything was right

running from side to side checking on everyone without losing your smile and your sympathy

don’t tell him but he fell for your smile

so seeing you every week and slowly interacting with each other made him grow fond of you

and after discussing to himself if he should or not he asked you out

you were quite shocked but said yes nonetheless

after all, you ain’t dumb and he is a gorgeous human being

let’s be honest here: he LOVES to show you off to the boys

you are his precious girl and he is the lucky man to be with you

“you’re so annoying after you started going out with y/n”

“annoying because you’re single and lonely”

proud proud proud boyfriend

he is your biggest supporter

will always be there for you

I think he’ll make it big when asking you to be his girlfriend

not like flash mob and public stuff hell no

I’m talking more like fancy dinner on a rooftop just for the two of you

soft music on the bg and shit

Minho is not much fond of pda

He prefers to show his affection just to you

But he’ll eventually hold his hand or put his hand on your thigh if he’s feeling jealous

talking about that… I feel like he gets jealous easily

not bc he doesn’t trust you

he doesn’t trust the others around you

and he gets self-conscious a lot because of his idol life and he feels like he can’t give you what you deserve

Which tends to make you two fight really petty fights

like… for the most stupid things

but you can’t stay much longer without talking to each other because you are really close to each other

and you value your friendship

so you usually just pretend the fight never happened and go on with your lives

however… if it’s a more serious fight I feel like Minho will want to sit and talk like two grown-ups

He hates making you upset

so he’ll calm his nerves and wait for you to calm your before speaking again

And he is a very mature guy so you guys always talk it out the fight

Ok… so bear with me

I think minho is an ass guy

I think he’ll like to have you in his lap while kissing and making out just so he can grab your butt

just so he can hear your little moans and whines

smug smirk on his lips when you react to his touches

you know which smug I’m talking about

Little mf

So yeah, I feel like his kisses are very urgent

he just wants to taste, to feel, to touch your lips as much as possible

Nsfw from here on

Minho is hard to decipher

Because I want to tell he’s a dom

But I honestly feel like he’s on the more vanilla side

Sorry minho Stans

But hey! Vanilla doesn’t mean boring

He likes to make love to you

That’s the real thing

He loves to appreciate and enjoy and touch and feel and praise your body

He loves to tell you that you are the most beautiful thing in the world

And he is lucky to have you all for him naked

He’s a sweet talker

He can make you cum just by saying sweet little nothings in your ear

no jokes

but we all agree he is a T E A S E

so prepare yourself to get teased to the point you beg for him to give you what you want

bc he loves the way you looked all desperate and messy from lovemaking him and him only

like I said, he likes love making but don’t expect him to not have his rough nights

when he’s feeling extra stressed or overwhelmed by his work or things in general he likes to take you rough

Won’t say anything will just pound into your hole or your mouth with deep breaths and grunts

Will 100% grunt your name when he cums

apologizes after and make you guys dinner

like I mentioned before, he’s an ass man

so he loves when you reverse ride him

ass all perked up in front of him so he can ones the soft skin

high key loves 69

Will eat/take you like a champ

even tho he likes to receive more than give

aftercare for him is pretty simple

just likes to hug you close to his body and keep whispering sweet nothings for you to sleep

That if he doesn’t fall asleep first

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

Text

closer | gojo satoru x reader

a/n: aaah my first ask and it’s a request! thanks so much this is so kind and sweet of you 🥺 and here it is! I’m not sure if it’s exactly what you wanted but I hope you like it anyway!

summary: in which Gojo has the need to be closer to you after a long day of hard work

pairings: jealous! Gojo x reader

warnings: none, other than this isn’t proofread! (This is just a fluffy domestic short fic!)

masterlist !

The best part about being the strongest jujutsu sorcerer isn’t the power (although Gojo basks in that too) but rather the fact that he allows himself to completely tear his walls down and be putty in your hands once he comes home from work.

Gojo would never say it out loud that the best part of his days is waking up next to you, pressing kisses in your still sleepy face and you whining for five more minutes, then watching as you wobble like a penguin to the shower so you can start your day. Although he doesn’t really ask much from you, his heart still swells every time you make him a sandwich, kiss it and claim that it’s “made with love” before he proudly shows off his ‘breakfast’ of the day to his students.

Even in work, he still thinks of you. It’s quite impossible for this man to stop thinking of you; you and him never left that honeymoon phase even after two years of marriage and a much longer time of dating.

He could be exorcising a curse then get distracted afterwards after seeing an Italian restaurant that he just knows you’ll love. Next thing you know, Gojo flicks his wrist and exorcises the curse in a flash before hopping into that restaurant to look at the menu. Loving is knowing; Gojo takes the time to see if the restaurant would be respectful of your allergies every time before booking reservations.

It’s no secret that this man is completely enamoured with you, if his sappy good morning kisses accompanied with light, teasing touches down your legs is not an indication already. Gojo is confident and feels safe in your relationship and he’s never the type to get jealous because Gojo is Gojo – who else would be better than him for you?

Or at least that’s what he used to believe, until he comes home with a bag of pumpkin spice bread for you, arms wide open and a “Darling~” about to leave his lips when he sees your current predicament.

Nanami is leaning against one of the chairs in your cafe downstairs from your home, the usual stoic man’s lips and cheekbones slightly raised in laughter as you tell him something about your day. Gojo can’t exactly understand the worse falling from your lips because he’s too focused on the way you’re leaning forward, eyes absolutely crinkled into half-moons while you share a strawberry tart with him. Gojo sees the cups of tea have already been emptied, meaning Nanami has been here for a much longer time than he is welcomed.

Gojo clenches his jaw. He’s told you many times you should get a bell so you’d know when a customer comes in, but now he’s thankful you’re stubborn and refused to have one because he can hide in one of the propped up tables and chairs hidden in the darkness.

He can’t help the sigh he releases. He’s late – like he always is.

You’re a regular human who isn’t able to see curses. You’ve only ever known about their existence ever since you started dating Gojo, but other than that, you’re completely unaware of how these things work. It doesn’t bother Gojo. In fact, he quite likes that he can be just a regular man around you, and he basks in the comfort of not having to worry about your safety if ever you were also like him.

He met you when you were just still a barista who helped your boss bake from time to time. Gojo was only a student then who hopped from one cafe to another in search of the best delicacy, but he got more than what he bargained from when he met the fresh-faced and bubbly young woman standing behind the counter whose smile was sweeter than the most sugary dessert you’ve ever made.

As the two of you grew older, Gojo supported you in building your own cafe since you’re so passionate about it and it’s been your dream since childhood.

He still remembers how you’d spend hours in the kitchen trying out new ingredients, so much so that you forget to eat on most days. Gojo is left with the task of literally hauling your ass up upstairs and force you to shower with him. You lie that you’re not really tired, but the moment his skilled hands roll the tension out of your shoulders, a contented and grateful sigh paints those lips he loves to kiss.

One of the things Gojo loves doing with you is taste-testing. He’s not around the house most of the time when you work since he’s a busy man himself, but on the days he actively chooses to annoy Principal Yaga and go AWOL, he’d sit obediently on the counter and let you use him as your own taste experimenting dummy.

When night falls and you’re just about ready to head to bed; satisfied and proud of another day of hard work, Gojo comes home early to help you clean up the cafe and prop the furniture so you don’t overstrain your muscles.

Or at least, he wants to come home early to help you. It’s just that he often gets carried away on his missions and stays behind a lot longer than he’d like because the world of curses is extremely demanding. After seeing that you probably already lifted all these heavy chairs and cleaned up everything by yourself even when you’re tired, and you still have the ability to smile and laugh like that in Nanami’s presence when he should be the one on the receiving end, Gojo is unable to fight back the twisting feeling that pools in his stomach.

Forcing a huge grin on his face, Gojo loudly smacks the paper bag in the table between you and Nanami, his hands resting on the blond’s shoulder who only groans at his presence. “Yo!” He greets, winking when your eyes gleam brighter now that your husband is home.

There’s no trace or hint of anything that could indicate you’re upset with him because he didn’t come home early. Instead, you bow and excuse yourself while picking up your cups and the small plate where remnants of your signature tart had been, and Gojo watches with longing eyes as you disappear in the back room.

Now that you’re gone, Gojo drops in your seat, takes off his blindfold, and glares at Nanami. “Nanamin,” he drawls out. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here – getting chummy with my wife, no less.”

Gojo knows he’s being petty and childish. Of course he is. This is Nanamin we’re talking about; the man is as frigid and stone and he’s as interested in romantic relationships as much as he respects Gojo Satoru. Plus, it’s you, and you have eyes for Gojo and Gojo only, but it’s also Gojo Satoru who’s mixed in the formula, and he’s not the least bit ashamed that he’s being immature right now.

Of course he’s jealous. Of course he’s possessive.

You’re his sweet, little wife – of course he doesn’t like it.

As if reading his mind but couldn’t be bothered to deal with him, Nanami slides an envelope across the table. “Ijichi took a sick leave so he couldn’t give this to you. I was tasked to hand it over to you instead so I came around. It’s not my fault you come home late and your wife insisted I have a short meal before I came home,” Gojo opens his to retort something stupid when you emerge from the back, pretty face tired yet still patient as ever.

“Leaving already, Nanami?” You smile up at him, hand slipping through Gojo’s bigger and rough ones. He doesn’t know why the gesture leaves him stunned, especially when you step close enough that he feels your heat on this sudden cold night. He’s so entranced by everything about you he doesn’t even notice the blond bidding his farewell.

Gojo watches as you turn to face him, smaller hands reaching up to caress his face. Now that his blindfold is gone, his hair falls down to forehead, your dainty fingers brushing them away from his eyes so you could marvel in its beauty.

Like a little kid, he melts into a puddle when you do that exact eye-smile he’s seen you do with Nanami, only this time, it’s reserved, private, and intimate.

Gojo shuts his eyes in the process, nearly stumbling forward, which he doesn’t really let happen with anyone because he’s the Gojo Satoru; strongest jujutsu sorcerer. But you don’t mind, you never do, and if anything it only makes you laugh when he pretends to be deadweight by collapsing into the crook of your neck.

“What a big baby,” you tease with your hand rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion, all the tiredness and exhaustion from his day disappearing into thin air.

“Yes,” he concedes as he follows you up the stairs where you both change into your pyjamas and settle in for the night. “But I’m your big baby.”

The nickname makes you laugh, head thrown back as giggles erupted in your chest. You’ve already removed your makeup, hair down from your work hairnet and flowing in loose waves. Gojo stifles a gasp then, because you’re in his arms, in his bed, smelling like him, and you’re so soft, so free, so vulnerable and the way you lean into his shoulders while he rubs his cheek on the crown of your head makes him feel like he’s falling in love all over again.

He’ll never get tired of this – of you.

The mere thought of seeing you with someone else that isn’t him doesn’t sit well with Gojo. Now he understands why he’s so jealous and immature – it’s because he hasn’t wanted anyone or anything as much as he loves you.

He can’t imagine a life where he’ll wake up to his mornings without your limbs sprawled across his longer ones, or how he may never hear your sleep talks about birds and butterflies; which is utterly ridiculous, but because it’s you, he finds it adorable. Sometimes Gojo wonders how he ever even lived before meeting, but of course, those were days filled with nothing but him doing weird stupid shit.

Not that he’s stopped doing that, but now at least he’s doing those weird stupid with you.

And he only ever wants to share those with you, so he doesn’t and will never allow anyone else to take what’s rightfully his. You’re his wife, the love of his life, the sunshine in his mornings and the sunset of his beautiful dusk.

He doesn’t care if he’s petty – he’s got every right to be jealous because Gojo Satoru never shares what’s his.

When his mind races back to the way you smile for Nanami again, his hold on you grows tighter. You don’t complain when Gojo suddenly presses his lips into yours, a breathy moan blessing his ears once he finally moves on top of you. Gojo runs his hand under your – his – shirt, letting those talented hands of his roam upon the expanse of his skin like an artwork he’ll never get tired of looking at.

“Missed you,” he mumbles in between the lip-locking, leaning closer when your nails start to scratch his scalp as a way to soothe him from the night. Nothing about the kiss is hurried or fervent; rather, it’s calm and steady, slow and passionate, much like how everything he feels for you is similar to a calm, rainy day where he’ll stay in with a hot cup of chocolate.

You’re home – warmth and comfort – and you know you’re his just as he knows he’s yours, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing you like he wants you to never forget that.

You shiver when Gojo’s fingers tickle your ribcage, that spot always having been sensitive. Your husband swipes his tongue over your lips that still tastes like strawberries from your lipbalm, and he groans, falling forward when you allow him access into your sweet, sweet mouth. Meanwhile, you travel down from his hair into those broad, strong shoulders that always seemed like a fortress to you.

Gojo was so big and strong compared to you. There’s no denying he could easily break you if he wanted to, but he’s nothing but gentle – perhaps a little eager – when he holds you like this.

There’s no memory of how you end up on top of his lap that night with the covers barely strewn across your bodies, Gojo’s back pressing into the bed frame that’s witnessed endless nights of passion. His hands then run over your hips, squeezing it a little too hard until you rut against his hips.

“Hmm,” you moan into his mouth at the friction, while Gojo only smirks at your reaction. Even after years, you’re still so sweet, sensitive, and responsive – he just can’t get enough of it. “Satoru,” the way you say his name is so breathy, almost as if it’s a secret only the two of you should know, so he listens intently at your next words. “You’re a little needy tonight. Did something happen?”

“No,” he lies, smiling to himself once he sees your lips are red and bruised. He’s sure he looks the same, but your eyes are glossed over with love that he can’t resist you pulling you to him as if the space offends him. He trails his lips down to your neck to leave red patches of marks that claims you as his – not that the gold wedding band on your fingers wasn’t doing the job already.

Like the good girl you are, you tilt your head and allow him to do as he pleases. He sucks, licks, kisses and nips at the skin, all the while careful to not hurt you or push you over to the edge since both of you are too tired for the day to ever do anything.

Your head drops to the crook of his neck then, arms wrapped around his shoulders loosely as if you trusted him to catch you whenever you fall – and you know he will. He always will.

Later on, you grow sleepy at the way he starts to pepper kisses into your skin that addictingly smells like cinnamon and vanilla all at the same time. Gojo chuckles to himself at how peaceful you look in that moment, draped over him like a tiny puppy who lives in a world too big for themselves, but that’s not true.

You’re bigger than the universe itself, larger than the vast galaxies he held beneath those eyes, and Gojo finally stops being jealous.

There’s no need to be, after all, not when he’s the one you trust wholeheartedly to tuck you in bed while your soft breathing lulls him into slumber as well. Gojo flicks the lamp off with his finger, not wasting another second before he scoots closer, closer, closer until there’s no more recollection of where you begin and where he ends.

He stands corrected in his statement.

He’ll never get tired of this, of you, for you’re bigger than the universe itself and there’s still a lot of space between the two of you that he can’t wait to cross until your worlds crash and burn.

“Next time,” he promises before kissing your eyelids, “I’ll come home earlier.”

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deunking · 2 years ago

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In A Long Time

You x The MoonKnight System

Rating: T

Warnings: Eating disorder not specified

A/N: You are a part of the Mk system ! Have fun!

Summary: You’re starving.

Word Count: 2,992

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You can’t remember when it was the last time you ate.

The body is never really up for grabs; the other alters seemingly switch in and out on a specific system, which leaves you little or no time at all to front. It hasn't been that big of a deal in the past- the few times you've taken the body being because of silly things, like grocery shopping or going to the bank- but it's become rather annoying recently.

Ever since your strike with death, the outcome of it all has made the others grow. . . Quite close. Even the mysterious third one that the other two and yourself haven't seen since childhood. They talk daily, they work together, and have arguments over petty things.

They act like a family, which is excellent! What little memories you have of your family generally. . . Uh, lack sentimental value. So to experience your alters live with one another instead of amongst themselves is. . . Is cool. Really.

You wish you could be a part of it.

Which brings you back to now; you’re hungry.

It’s the middle of the night, and, from what you can tell, the rest of your party is asleep. All tucked inside their metaphorical beds— ‘metaphorical’ because the last time you dived into the headspace, you found one of them sleeping on the floor— and gone with the sun. The body is still tethered to the last alter that fronted, but with a simple nudge, you can slip in unnoticed.

The feeling of being something, someone, makes your heart twist. It’s been too long since you’ve fronted, and the body knows this. All those days, sitting back and watching through hidden reflections hits you like a truck. Loneliness sweeps through you, cold and unforgiving.

You panic, thinking the release might stir one of the others awake, and hold your breath. Ten painful seconds tick by, yet nothing happens. Not another soul shoves you out of the driver's seat. You’re left unbothered, free.

And that might hurt more than you know, but the abyss crumbling in your stomach swallows that thought up and leaves nothing else.

You’re hungry. So terribly— stupidly— hungry. Whatever foods the body last consumed fade off your tongue in seconds, trying to remind your brain that the bodies already eaten a failure as the absence of taste makes you feel sick. Though not ill with a cold but a morning sickness that comes with a reminder of the day's future events. Anxiety- you guessed- that made you repulsed by the idea of food.

Yet you were so hungry.

Throwing off the thin sheets, you stand up from the bed. A pile of sand greets your feet, yet the grains do nothing but shift beneath you.

“ What the fuck,” You say out loud to yourself.” Do these guys not clean? I could’ve sworn. . . Hm.” You weren’t exactly there for the conversation. Still, a faint argument about who was responsible for cleaning up another alter’s mess— the very ‘clever’ ring of sand around the bed- does feel very familiar. Those arguments, who’s in charge of what, sometimes make you feel grateful for the lack of inclusiveness. The body may be an athletic mess; you’re not much of a go-getter. Yes, you enjoy a morning run every once in a while, but besides that and a few push-ups, you mostly like to relax. Do your own thing.

Whether planting random things in your headspace or eavesdropping on others- your routine has never included chores of any kind. And it most likely never will.

You smile to yourself thinking about it. There’s been a handful of times- maybe once or twice- that a mess you’ve made was blamed on another innocent alter.

Precisely one time- before you or either of them were consciously aware of one another- you tracked a nasty mess of mud into the apartment. An unfortunate result of taking a shortcut through the park on a rainy day after dropping off some bills at the bank.

You didn’t even notice you’d done it before doing your second lap around the kitchen. Already munching on a pickle and your body sore from walking around the city, you casually shrugged and finished your snack. The mess was something that made you feel guilty for the poor alter that fronted a moment later, but the real kicker had to be watching them wash the pickle taste out of their mouth.

Then, the memory made you shrink in shame. Your time with the body dwindled to practically nothing. It was a type of punishment for yourself that you subconsciously never confronted. The last time you were fronting was almost a month ago— just enough time to water the wilting plant in the window- you knew there was a problem.

But you never took much time out of your day to think about it. Whenever the topic of your self-isolation reared itself in your head— you let it go. The thoughts would come and then leave just as fast.

You thought of it as a type of amnesia, the kind that sucked any thought of anxiety out of you until you couldn’t remember what it was that made you feel upset in the first place. It’s a pretty cool feature to have- thinking so much that you forget— but some side effects that you’ve come to discover haven’t been as savory.

For one, your childhood was full of those types of thoughts. A few years ago, you might’ve been able to recite every horrible thing that you could remember, but now. . . You can’t remember much of anything. Maybe a few flashes of rain followed by the thundering strike of a belt. . . and darkness.

But nothing else.

Nothing particularly happy or unique to yourself.

“ Fuck.” You shake your head. The lingering thoughts turn into fuzzy memories you’ll probably forget the next day. You massage your temple and take a deep breath, the sand an unknown calming agent as the grains sink between your toes.

Once you think you’ve sat around long enough, you’re hoisting yourself off the mattress. A slight itch tickles at your ankle, but you ignore it trying to focus on not making any more footprints in the sand—a careless mistake.

Just as you’re stepping over the sand, something pulls tight around your ankle, and you end up face first on the ground.

You grunt on your way down. The lack of time to brace for impact forces a strained breath out of your chest, making you cough and sink into the vibrating pain.

Before you can process what happened— a burst of muffled laughter forces you to freeze.

“ Qué idiota.” The Spanish accent is one you’ve heard multiple times outside of the headspace. The alter it belongs to being an annoying, sings in the shower, type that also loves to yell at the other two.

“ Eso fue muy estúpido. No puedo creerlo.” You roll your eyes at the clear amusement in his voice.

“ Jake! Shush! We’re supposed to be quiet!” Your face flushes red at the second voice, the British accent making you turn your head away from the mirror beside the bed. A pitiful attempt at trying to hide from the alters.

This wasn’t how you wanted them to find out about you.

“ ¡Qué! ¡Fue divertido! ¡Admítelo!”

“ I— Well, yeah, I guess it was. . . But still! Quiet!”

Ignoring their continuous argument— the one you weren’t supposed to be aware of- you harshly rip the ankle restraint off and throw it on the bed.

You hiss through your teeth, standing up. A sharp pain spreads around your knee before retreating into a dull throb. It’s not enough to stop you from trotting to the kitchen, but there is an evident limp to your walk. An embarrassing thing that makes you feel old as the joints in your hips pop when sitting down.

“ Fue tu idea, ¿por qué estás tan enojado?”

“ Of course, it wasn’t my idea to bloody hurt them, you dolt. And I’m not angry!”

“ Parece Que estás enfadado.”

“ But I’m not mad. Do I sound mad? Cause I’m not.”

“ sólo Alguien Que está loco diría eso.”

“ I’m not mad! You’re just pissing me off-“

“ ¿Así Que estás enfadado?”

“ No! Would you stop saying that? I’m not-“

The more the two argue, the more a sharp pain increase behind your eyes. It stings with every little shout and burns an irritation through you.

You don’t know if they could feel it— could tell that you were feeling this way- but even the most oblivious person would be able to see that you were upset. Hungry, hurt, and bitter.

“ ¡Estás muy loco! ¡Es gracioso!”

“ Stop it! This isn’t helping, and you’re just being childish!”

“ Dice el niño enojado.”

“ Don’t call me that!”

Yet, you had to guess that neither of them had the same awareness.

“Lanet olsun.” You curse.” I just wanted a quick sandwich— is that too much to ask!”

You don’t realize you’re shouting until the silence of the apartment rings in your ears. The two alters arguing was replaced by the wind rattling the windows. You’re quick to try and find traces of them hiding in the sink's reflection. Not too keen on being watched, you’re relieved to see your reflection the only thing looking back at you.

A simple thing that makes your shoulders relax and the knee pain bearable.

You huff. The hunger in your stomach pushes you to ignore a faint tug behind your eyes. “Want something to eat. . .Just a small snack.” The cabinets great you with little to nothing— a few packets of crackers, some peanut butter- but the sight makes you all the more hungry.

“ Hm. . . Ah, here we are.” You lick your lips and reach for the empty bread bag at the very back. “ Perfect.”

You throw down two slices of bread on the counter before pausing. The bag has two pieces of bread left- the two butt ends that no one wants and someone will surely throw away later- but their sight stirs your stomach. You shrug and throw the last two pieces out on the counter with the rest.

The empty bag lays forgotten in the sink while you reach for the peanut butter. You generously cover each slice of bread until the ratio is outrageously ridiculous—the white bread is now nothing but a thin slice that breaks when you squish the pieces together. You lick your fingers clean of the peanut butter— same with the knife- and put away the jar.

You don’t care to get a plate out and put both sandwiches on a paper towel on the table. You hum and lick the knife clean before putting it in the sink on your way to the fridge.

“ Please, please,” You mumble, searching the fridge.” I know they’re here; I just saw them- aha! Yes!” You pluck the jar of pickles out from behind a bottle of milk and shut the fridge. A huge grin spreads across your face after cracking open the pot on the first try, and you stumble into your seat.

“ Damn,” You lick your lips; the salty pickle smell makes your mouth water. Before you could savor the taste, one pickle disappears down your throat in a flurry of quick chomps. You bang the table and throw your head back dramatically.” Damn!” Your pink tongue licks leftover juices dripping from the corner of your mouth. The taste is enough for you to bite into another pickle- this one juicer than the last.

“ Mm. Jesus Christ. Lezzetli.” You kiss the last bite of your second pickle. Not worried about anyone seeing you this way, the food haze clouding your shame- you throw it into the air. It bonks your teeth a bit but successfully makes it into your mouth. A satisfying crunch follows its way down into your stomach.

You recline in the chair and take a deep breath. You’ve only had two pickles, but an annoying fullness is already pushing against your stomach.

Which, is reasonable. . . To some degree.

Once an acceptable amount of your hunger has been dealt with, you find out through the vanishing of your food haze- it has been many months since your last proper meal. Almost a year or so...

You tilt your head at the thought. The idea of you not eating anything for almost a year is already concerning- for many reasons- but how you were able to ignore it is one thing entirely.

Maybe you’re not as ‘educated’ as you thought about your own body. As the other alters eat enough for two human beings altogether- you thought your hunger wouldn’t be a problem. In the headspace, you don’t even have to breathe, let alone eat. And with you being in there for so long primary human nature shouldn’t be as. . . hurtful. It shouldn’t make you cry because you’re finally able to taste something.

But it does just that.

You let a few tears openly slide down your face. The cold chill a sizzle against your skin. You sniff, hesitating, before sticking your tongue out to lick up one of the drops.

“ oh no,” The taste of salt brings more tears, and you lean forwards to hide your shame in your hand.” No. No…Neden tadı böyle? Neden.. . tuzlu?” You let a sob jerk your chest while reaching for one of the forgotten sandwiches. The disgusting ratio of bread and peanut butter helps shock your taste buds into forgetting about the tears. You push the food around in your mouth until it’s soft enough to swallow, but even then, a sob keeps it from going down.

You let the sand which falls from your hands. The creamy peanut butter taste feels like gooey slime, coating your mouth and throat in a thickness that hurts. Your tongue pushes against bits of bread to try and soak all the peanut butter up, but all that does is make a giant mouthful of muck.

A sticky, peanut and bread crumby mess.

Your shoulders shake— the sobs growing more and more as unwanted thoughts try and force the bite down.

Yet, you won’t swallow. An unwillingness feeds you to savor the taste for as long as possible. The thought of betrayal- being shoved back into the headspace- raging a storm in you that makes your stomach hurt.

They know you’re here. They know you’re here— they know.

They’re going to throw you away. They’re going to starve you; you will never eat again. You will never be free. You will never be one of them.

You will-

“ Hey.”

Startled, You choke down the mess in your mouth. It goes down without much fight, but the aftertaste leaves you craving a nice sip of water.

“ The sink.” You’re not one to take orders from others- especially people from Chicago- but the soft command nudges you towards the sink without argument. As if someone was guiding you by the shoulders, rubbing slow circles into your arms.

You don’t realize it is- in fact- your arms until they move on their own to make you a cup of water.

Your hands- no- your alter hands bring the cup to your face. Through tears, you stare at the rippling reflection on the surface of the water, visibly not your own, as the eyebrows twist in a way you know yours aren’t.

Angry. . . But you have a feeling it’s not directed at you.

“ Drink. Small sips.” The Chicago accent comes alive to cup your jaw. You lean back and let your hands tip a bit of water in your mouth. They hesitate as you swallow before allowing you two more generous sips.

“ Ok. Feel better?”

Still, it is spaced out, your throat recovering from the sticky peanut butter, and you nod.

“ Good. That’s good. Can I. . .?”

A gentle prod phases you out of the front for just a second. But it’s enough for you to sober up and shove back into place. Your heart is racing twice as fast now, trying to keep the alter put.

“ Don’t-“ You shrink back at your shout.” Don’t, do that. . . Please.”

You feel a pair of eyes on you and turn. The same eyes you saw in the cup stare up at you in the faucet reflection. It’s a bit hard to tell- your poor eyesight making you squint- but when the reflection moves up into the mirror a few inches away from the sink, everything becomes clear.

“ Marc,” You breathe, the familiar eyebrow slit a sign as to which alter you were dealing with.” How. . . How are you?”

Marc- clearly uncomfortable- folds his arms.

“ Could be better,” He looks down at the floor and then backs up to you.” Who are you? How long have you been here?”

You couldn’t answer that question. Technically, you’ve been here as long as the other two- Jake and Steven- but the lack of good memories skews that.

You decide to bullshit it.” Don’t know. A— a while. As long as Jake or Steven, probably”.

Marc raises a brow.” Probably? Why’s that?”

“ Um,” You look away.” I don’t— I can’t remember. My, my memories are. . . I can’t remember a lot.”

You lick your lips with a sigh. Looking back at Marc, your shoulders hunch over your chest.” I’m sorry for all this… I was just-“

“ Are you ok?” Your lips tremble. The soft look in Marc’s eyes is like a punch to the chest, the pity making you feel all the more shitty. “ Do you, do you need something?” Marc eyes the forgotten food on the table. A pit of shame opens in your stomach.

“ No, no. . . I’m good,” You give a quick smile, your head bowed.” I’m just going to— need to sleep. I’ll; I won’t bother you again. I’m sorry. Sorry.”

You catch Marc’s eyes widen.” Wait, no-“

But it’s too late. You fade back into the headspace, a lingering taste of peanut butter replaced by the tasteless wetness of your tears.

#moon knight fanfic #moonknight #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight x you #marc spector #mcu fanfiction #marc spector x reader #kinda sad #yeah </3

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musclesandhammering · 3 years ago

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Supernatural Opinions That’ll Have Me Burned At The Stake Pt 1.

• John Winchester is more sympathetic than Dean.

• Literally every single angel in the series (except maybe Ishim) had 100% justifiable and understandable motives, and none of them were genuinely evil.

• The demons deserved 97% more sympathy than they got (yes, all of them) because they were literally tortured into being the way they are.

• The hunters on the show are the real villains. The supernatural creatures were just existing as they instinctually should have.

• There was absolutely no reason to bring Mary back at all, and they 100% only did it to provide Dean specifically with more personal Angst. Because everything’s about Dean.

• They did Bela so so dirty and there was no reason at all that 432 other boring ass characters got storyline after storyline and resurrection after resurrection when she didn’t even get mentioned post-death #1.

• Anything to do with Ben/Lisa/Dean was legit just the most boring thing I’ve ever seen, like I literally skipped past those parts cause I cared 0% about any of that.

• Claire was cool at first but they put everything into making her a mini-Dean and she ended up being a whiny annoying rude trying-too-hard-to-look-badass mess (surprise surprise).

• Alex was way more likeable and interesting than Claire, she should’ve gotten the lead storyline in that arc.

• The whole Claire/Kaia thing was nice from a representation standpoint I guess but there was zero chemistry and only like 2 scenes of lead-up and the entire time I was just thinking “what in the hell are they supposedly falling in love for, this feels so forced” lmao.

• Metatron was my fav even before his big redemptive scene, I stanned one petty weirdo full-stop all the way through his dicking around with Cas and everything, y’all simply do not have Taste.

• Same with Amara. Loved her even when she wanted to destroy the known universe. Stanned her. Supported her, even. And also she had an incredibly heartbreaking and sympathetic and dynamic storyline, but some of y’all couldn’t see the substance in her cause you were too busy being pissed that she flirted with your trash monster (Dean).

• I’m very sorry, but Charlie was annoying as all shit.

• Not only did Dean abuse Cas, but Dean abused Sam literally throughout the entire show, from the very first scene.

• Speaking of Sam, he’s probably the most caring, kind, empathetic, genuinely good person on the entire show. He’s an actual cinnamon roll, and every single person that holds him even 1% accountable for the leaving for college thing, or the demon blood thing, or the not looking for Dean in purgatory thing… y’all can eat my shorts.

• Cas was better friends with Sam than he ever was with Dean. They have more of a profound bond too. He was ordered to rescue Dean from Hell and had an army of other angels with him, but he chose to rescue Sam and went in completely alone. If that’s not more profound idk what is.

• I like Balthazar better than Gabriel, fight me on it.

• Hannah and Cas were actually hella cute together. And so were Cas and Meg.

• The Winchesters did not deserve Crowley. They also didn’t deserve Rowena.

• Sam and Dean aren’t actually heroes at all tbh because 75% of all the major apocalyptic problems that have happened on the show was literally their fault. And they almost never solved said problems themselves. They coerced supernatural beings into doing it for them.

• I liked the angels way better in season 4, when they were terrifying mythical beings of eldritch proportions that even the demons were scared of. Held more gravity, I think.

• After Bobby was killed off, the whole vibe of the show kinda fell apart. Like the team/family feeling was just never quite there after that, and it sorta killed it for me tbh.

• Chuck being a mega douche wasn’t the mind blowing plot twist they thought it was. Like that was predictable. It would’ve been more meta and more unsettling and more profound if, instead of being a raging narcissist, he had been portrayed as they described him in season 4/5- an actual father/creator that was jaded with his creation. He still could’ve been absent and all, just not a total heartless jerk.

• I didn’t even watch half of seasons 7-8 like wow that was not interesting in the slightest.

• Season 2 was also dull as hell, but it gets bonus points for the gritty midwestern horror aesthetic. 10/10 immaculate vibes.

• Anything past season 10 I just picked out the Cas episodes to watch and I didn’t even really love those :/.

• I don’t like how the storylines started getting too big for their britches around season 11 or so. Like purgatory and heaven and hell and the apocalypse, ok sure. But alternate dimensions? Heavenly extinction? God’s literal sister? Babe you’re just a cute lil country show from the CW go back to drunks killing vampires.

• This whole series actually started being trash less than halfway through, and the only reason it stayed on so long was because die-hard fans were invested enough to subject themselves to mental and emotional torture week after week just to stay loyal to their old favourite show.

#spn wank #anti supernatural #anti spn #anti dean winchester #cas #unpopular opinion #spn unpopular opinions #unpopular spn Opinions #spn meta #kinda not rly

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weirdos-am-i-right · 3 years ago

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Fuck Traveling// Pete Davidson x reader

Request from @annalayton19

Hi! I’m a new follower and I really like your stuff! Could I request a Pete Davidson x reader (angst to fluff) where Pete is on tour or filming away from home and the reader is left behind. After like 6 months of being apart Pete starts to get tired of the long distance and basically like done with it. And then he realizes his mistake and comes home to make it up to her! I’m sorry if that’s super long! Also if this imagine doesn’t interest you, then no sweat! Thank you so much in advance 💕

A/n: This took so much less time then I thought it would. Anyway, here you go, I really hope you like it!

Warning: angst, swearing, like one cigarettes

€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€

Six months. Six months was an extremely long time to be away from someone you loved.

Y/n sat on the couch, a small pout on her lips. She looked at Pete—her boyfriend of a year—and frowned. “I wish I could go with you.” Pete frowns too, and sits down next to her.

“I know. I wish you were coming with me too. But hey, it’s only a couple of months, all right? I’ll be back before you know it.” He kissed her cheek.

“I just wish my contract would let me. You have no idea how annoying it is to not be able to do things because of freaking Marvel.” She groans, falling on her back with a slight ‘plop’.

“Well, because of freaking Marvel, you are one of the best actresses out there. And I know you’re going to kill it with filming. My tour isn’t even that cool. It’ll broke you to death.” He jokes, leaning back on the arm of the couch.

“Babe, you’re a comedian.”

“Oh right, I forgot.” He grabs her arm, and pulls her up into his chest. “I love you, okay?” He lifts her chin up, and kisses her. “So fucking much. We’ll face time everyday, I’ll call you every evening and wish you goodnight.”

“Okay.” She looked over a the clock, and sighed. “We have to go. Your flight is leaving soon.” He brushes hair behind her ear, bringing her eyes back to him.

“I love you. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“I love you, too.”

********

The car ride to the airport was long, and quiet. Pete was driving, he had one hand on the steering wheel, and one hand on Y/n’s leg, rubbing small circles into the center of her thigh.

She knew she was going to miss him so much, but she also knew she was going to be extremely busy with filming, so it wouldn’t be as bad.

Once they were at the gate, they tearfully hugged, and she kissed him. “All right, now get out of here. We’re not doing that rom-com turn back at the last second goodbye.” She laughed at him, tears steaming down her face a bit. He wiped one with his thumb, and kissed her again. “Love you. Now go, so I get to watch you walk away.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She turns around, and starts walking back to her car. She knew he hated leaving her too, but he was a lot better at hiding emotions then she was, that was one of the only things she learned while dating him.

She got in her car, and put her head on her steering wheel.

She groans, and leans back. Starting her car, she pulled out of the airport, and drove home.

**********

The first few months were the worst. Y/n hated going to bed alone, the left side of the bed always cold.

She was filming almost every day, and seeing her co-workers and friends always cheered her up, after all she had been working with the same people for quite some time now, so she felt comfortable around them.

The fourth month was slowly becoming easier. She got use to coming home to no one there, and making dinner for herself. She still talked to Pete every day, texting him good morning, and Goodnight, and FaceTiming him a lot during the day.

Though she knew he loved her, she felt as though he was slightly pulling away. The FaceTime calls were short, and he never texted her back right away like he use to.

“And so, we we’re almost done with the shoot, so close I could practically taste the coffee in my trailer waiting for me, and then Kevin calls cut, and he makes us do the whole scene over again! I swear, I was about to strange that man. Ugh, I can’t wait til you come home. Only two more weeks, I can’t believe we made it.” Y/n rants, talking to Pete on the phone.

“Uh huh. Cool.” He wasn’t looking at her, instead his attention was somewhere else. Y/n frowns, tilting her head a bit.

“Pete…are, are you okay?” That seemed to catch his attention, and he finally looked at the screen.

“What? I’m fine.”

“Okay…you just seem so…different lately. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but you seem like you don’t have time for me anymore. Or if you do, you don’t like talking to me.” Pete scoffs.

“Of course I don’t have time for you right now. I’m in between shows, I’m driving to one as we speak. I mean, god forbid I get a minute to myself without my agents or you calling me.” Pete snapped.

“Wha-I’m just talking to you. If you didn’t want to, you could have said something.”

“That’s bullshit you would have thrown a fucking hissy fit or something.” He rolls his eyes.

“That’s not true. I understand when people are tired, believe me I would know.”

“Would you?”

“Yes!” She had tears stinging her eyes. “Of course I do, you’re forgetting what I do for a living. I work from 6 am to whenever we finish which most of the time is in the middle of the night. I have to re-do the same scene about ten times because RDJ won’t stop making jokes in the middle of the scene!”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot about your super-star actress life.”

“Why are you being so mean to me? I was only concerned about you.”

“Mean? What are you, five? I can’t-I can’t do this anymore.” She huffs, crossing her arms.

“What do you talking about? Are you breaking up with me?”

“Wh-”

“Because then fine. If you don’t want to be with me, I don’t have to take this shit. I’ll be with someone who, oh, I don’t know is actually here.”

“Oh that’s fucking rich, you know I can’t be there, don’t even do that.” She scoffs.

“I don’t care. You want to act like a petty bitch, I have no problem doing it right back.”

“No, I think you’re just a petty bitch.” She wipes her eye, and he laughs dryly. “Oh of course you’re crying.”

“Shut up. If you don’t want to be with me, fine. Go enjoy your show, Pete.” She hung up the phone, and turned off the ringer. She plugged it into her charger, and went into the bathroom, turning the shower on.

********

Pete rubbed his eyes, and took a drag of his cigarette. He knew he shouldn’t have snapped at her, it wasn’t her fault he was cranky, and needed to take it out on someone.

“I’m a dick.” He mumbles to himself, and bangs his steering wheel.

His phone rang again, and for a good second his heart leaping out of his chest, thinking it was his girlfriend, calling him back. He checked the phone, seeing it was Colson. He answered the call.

“What’s up, man?” Pete asks.

“The shows starting soon. You almost here?” Colson questioned. Pete looked at his google maps, seeing he was supposed to be there in ten minutes.

“I’m a good ten minutes away. I’ll be there.”

“You sound weird. What the fuck did you take without me?” Colson asks, trying to lighten the mood.

“Uh…Y/n and I just broke up. I think.” The line was silent for a few seconds.

“Why the fuck would you do that, you idiot? Are you kidding me?” Colson scoffs. “Man, what the fuck?”

“Shut up, man. I can’t stand talking on the phone with her. I’m busy, she’s busy, she plays a superhero for fuck’s sake. I didn’t even expect it to last this long to be honest.”

“Man, you fucking dumbass. That girl was probably the only good thing you had going for you. Get her the fuck back.I thought you loved her.”

“I did-I do. I do love her. I’m just so stressed right now, and excuse me for not wanting to hear about fucking Kevin Feige being a shitty director.”

“Hey, fuck-shit, you ever think that maybe this is more hard on her? Acting is fucking hard, you should know that, especially for a company like Marvel.

“Man, who’s side are you on?” Pete turns into the parking lot, and grabs his phone.

“You think I’m on your side here? You’re forgetting that we were friends before I met you. I can not believe you just fucked up the best thing in your life. Fix it, man. You’re going home in a week, fucking fix it.” And with that, Colson hung up, and put his phone away.

He kicked a rock across the pavement, and cursed under his breathe.

********

The worst thing about breaking up with someone you live with, who so happens to be long-distance is that their stuff fills the apartment with an existential amount of regret.

Y/n laid on her couch, flipping through the channels of the TV. She had called off work for the next few days, not feeling up to put on a performance for anyone. She knew she would get shit for it later, but she didn’t care.

Her head perked up when there was a knock on the door. She sighed, and got up, going over to the door. She really didn’t feel like company at the moment, and was sure she was going to send away whoever it was.

When she opened the door, her breathe caught in her throat. Pete stood in the doorway, looming over her. He looked like shit. She could tell he hadn’t slept, and probably didn’t eat anything, but she knew he didn’t look much better.

“Why-why didn’t you use your key?” Y/n asks, opening the door a bit for him.

“I uh, didn’t want to barge in on you. You also probably weren’t expecting me.”

“I wasn’t. I thought you didn’t get back until next week.” She says. It took every ounce of her not to jump into his arms, and kiss his face until she was sure she kissed every part of it.

“I took off early. Can we talk? Please. I was a dick. I was such a dick. I’m sorry, I know we grew apart in the last few months, and I promised we wouldn’t but we did, and I’m so sorry for that, baby.” He grabs her hand, and she slightly pulls it back, but let’s him grab it. “Please, forgive me. I love you, so much, okay? So fucking much, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

She felt tears welling up in her eyes, and she looked away from him. “What you said really hurt.”

“I know. And I’ll spend every day trying to make it up to you.” She quickly wrapped her arms around him, pushing her face into his chest. He didn’t hesitate to hug her back, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Fuck traveling.”

“Fuck traveling.”

#pete davidson #pete davidson x reader #pete davidson fanfiction #machine gun kelly #mgk imagine #angst

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itsallyscorner · 4 years ago

Text

Teaming Up with Sam and Bucky ft Zemo

Pairing: FEM!Reader; Bucky Barnes x reader, Sam Wilson x reader; platonic(?), let’s throw in some Zemo x reader

Summary: What it would be like to team up with our favorite duo. Takes place during TFATWS.

Warnings: none, TFATWS SPOILERS. Lowkey a mess :D

A/n: Ever since TFATWS came out I’ve been reminded of how much I love Bucky and Sam. Also I have a new found love for Zemo. I’ve just been so obsessed with this series and I’ve been reading so many fics about it, so I decided to finally write my own :) Enjoy my loves❤️

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

✧───── ･｡ﾟ★: *. ☽.* :★. ─────✧

You’re basically working with a bunch of children.

The children mostly being Sam and Bucky, though Zemo does have his moments once he joins you three.

You’ve known dumb and dumber for a few years now, being part of the Avengers, you’ve worked with Sam on multiple missions. The friendship blooming somewhere in between.

You were also close friends with Steve; when he first came out the ice, you were assigned to help him adjust to the modern world by Fury. He would tell you a bunch of stories of him and Bucky running into trouble or Bucky always saving his ass whenever he was getting beaten up.

Eventually, you finally got to meet Bucky, though he wasn’t Bucky, he was the Winter Soldier. Your introduction to each other was quite memorable to say the least.

He choked you with that metal arm of his and for a split second you swore you might’ve found it attractive—till he threw your body against a car.

You sided with Cap during the accords and helped him protect Bucky. When that whole mess was over, Steve asked you to stay with Bucky in Wakanda to make sure he would be safe.

You were the first person to have some kind of bond with Bucky. Before and after he was freed from Hydra’s hold on him, you were always someone he knew he could trust.

When Steve told you what he was going to do while retuning the stones he told you to watch over them.

“Promise me you’ll keep an eye on Buck and Sam?” He asked you, sitting on the edge of your bed. He had snuck into your room late at night, knowing you were wide awake.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, a lazy smile on your lips, “They don’t need me, I’m sure they’re capable of surviving on their own.” Steve breathes out a laugh and shakes his head, “You’d be surprised.”

“But seriously, (y/n), they need you. You know how they get when they’re together. You’re the only person in the world who knows how to deal with the both of them at the same time.” Steve reasons, his baby blues sparkling in the darkness of the guest room of Tony’s lake house.

“Make sure they’re not on the verge of killing each other or running into too much trouble?” You tiredly nod, sleep slowly consuming your body. “I promise, they’re gonna be alright, Steve.”

Sometimes you found yourself looking up at the sky, cursing at it—or Steve—for leaving you with two of the most childish and stubborn men you’ve ever known in your life.

You were like the mother of the group; breaking up fights, making sure they skipped no meals, patching up their boo-boos, etc.

“Will you stop staring at me?” Sam snapped, tossing his goggles onto the seat beside him to glare at Bucky.

“I’m not staring at you.” Bucky remarked from across Sam. His flesh and metal arm crossing with each other as he stared at Sam challengingly.

“Yes, you are. Your eyes are connecting with mine. You’re literally staring at me right now!” Sam pointed out, to which Bucky rolled his eyes at.

“Because I’m talking to you, genius. I wasn’t staring at you.” Bucky quipped.

“Yes you were!”

“No I wasn’t!”

This continued till they were sick of bickering with each other, finally yelling out your name for help.

The arguments were straight up petty. Bucky wouldn’t admit it, but he was the pettiest.

Exhibit 1: “LoOKiNG StrONg jOHn!”

Like seriously? Bucky’s the pettiest bitch, nobody can tell me otherwise.

You and Sam would definitely find it amusing how Bucky doesn’t trust Redwing.

Obviously, you all despise John Walker. Just the thought of him left a bad taste in your mouth.

He was like a fly that you all couldn’t get rid of. But because you were all painfully patient people—mostly you and Sam—you had to deal with his bullshit despite the way he annoyed you all.

Totally loosing your shit when Bucky helps Zemo break himself out of prison.

“Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.” You groaned, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose together.

Bucky looks at you with feign innocence; his mouth agape and puppy eyes. “I—didn’t do...anything(?).”

“You helped Zemo break out of prison didn’t you?” You crossed your arms at him, hip jutting out. As if on cue, Sokovian sugar daddy walks into the abandoned garage you were all in.

Before you can explode on him, Bucky tried to calm you down, “Wait, I technically didn’t do anything though! It was his plan!”

Zemo definitely lives up to being the ✨Sokovian Sugar Daddy✨ of your dysfunctional group.

I think you’d all be surprised at how rich he was. The amount of connections he had wasn’t that big of a shocker.

No like seriously, homie was pulling all sorts of shit out his ass; cars, private planes, houses in different countries, etc.

You all had a love hate relationship with Zemo. On days when he was actually helpful, you all got a long. On the days when things got horribly messy, Zemo couldn’t even let a word out since Sam would tell him to “shut up”.

Though that still doesn’t excuse the fact that he got the Avengers to spilt up and go against each other.

When you guys are all hiding out in one of Zemo’s apartments or homes, you would probably cook breakfast, lunch, or dinner for everyone.

They actually loved it when you cooked because it made the atmosphere feel a bit homey and calm compared to the current situation you were all in.

You were the person they can all go to. You were easy to talk to, making it easier for them to open up to you.

You always checked in on them mentally and physically. For example, you knew Sam felt guilty about giving up the shield, but Bucky never made him forget about his choice. You were there to reassure him that he thought he was doing the right thing and didn’t know the hidden agenda of the government.

You were like their on the go therapist, babysitter, and partner.

Sometimes Bucky and Sam would even argue for your attention.

“Can you stop hogging (y/n) please? Her ears might fall off from hearing you yap all day.” Bucky said as he gently took your arm and dragged you away from Sam.

“You literally spent the whole day with her yesterday, you’re the one who needs to stop hogging (y/n).” Sam argued, grabbing onto your other arm.

“I didn’t get to spend time with (y/n).” Zemo mentioned from his seat in the kitchen, a glass of whisky in his hand. Bucky simply turned to him and pointed, “NO!”

Honestly what’s a friendship with Bucky and Sam without some harmless flirting. They weren’t gonna lie, you were gorgeous, the most attractive one out of the group.

When you guys had to go undercover at Madripoor, both times with Zemo and Sharon, you had to wear dresses that were a bit revealing. Maybe your chest was a bit shown, but the dress definitely showed off your legs.

“So what do you guys think?” You stopped at the bottom of the stairs of Sharon’s apartment, doing a little spin to show off your outfit.

Both Bucky and Sam’s jaws drop, Zemo probably nodding in approval in the corner.

You can’t forget about the nicknames: maybe doll, sweetheart, or darlin’ from Bucky and the typical Louisiana Cher from Sammy.

While fighting against the Flag Smashers or anyone in general, you guys always had each other’s back.

You could directly be fighting someone, but you’ll naturally have an eye on Sam and Bucky to make sure nobody was sneaking up on them.

It’s a given that you all patch each other up after some fight.

You were all very protective of each other. If there’s one thing Sam and Bucky can agree on, it’s their instinct to protect you.

Like how you kept an eye on them, they also kept their eyes on you. Even though they knew you could hold your own.

“Could you walk?” Sam asked you as you laid on the concrete floor. You were double teamed by a couple of Flag Smashers. Two super soldiers against a normal person, you totally got your ass handed to you.

You pushed yourself up to rest on your elbows, “I’m fine, just got dropped kicked twice, but I’ll be fine.”

Sam smiled at you, “That’s my girl.”

Though the two can be a handful and argue almost every minute, you loved the both of them tremendously. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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