#and then its the shortest series ever

[kurozu501]

anyone else sad we aren't currently in the middle of gwitch season 3.

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅸ▬ ⁽ 𝑔𝑜𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓃𝓈 ⁾

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₂˖₇ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : unedited, short, gangbang (??), NSFW,  explicit content, teratophilia, goblin/human, unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation, dubcon, rape/noncon elements, sloppy writing, rushed.

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : this is literally the shortest one-shot in the entire monster fucker series of mine, and that's because it's rushed. i didn't feel like adding plot at all either. but hey, if it got my coochie wet, it should get your coochie wet. ( feeding ya'll so you guys don't starve waiting on the dragon one-shot )

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎: after the death of your brother, it's now your sole duty to provide for you and your mom--- but the woods can be a very scary place.

꒰male!goblins₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

"𝑀other! I'm leaving! "

Silence draped itself over the house, as if time itself had come to a halt. Your mother's voice remained absent, and the absence of anyone bidding you farewell left you with a heavy heart. A gentle sigh escaped your lips and with a tender touch, you closed the weathered wooden door, shouldering the weight of the knapsack upon your back. As your eyes met the foreboding darkness that veiled the forest, a disconcerting feeling settled within the depths of your chest.

In the absence of your brother, who had always been the pillar of support for both of you, you found yourself embracing the role of a caretaker. Your mother, overwhelmed with grief, was unable to fulfill the basic necessities of sustenance and safety. She remained motionless on the bed, her tears flowing ceaselessly, as the days and nights blended together. It was now your turn to rise above the despair and take charge, to bring solace and stability.

With a firm grip on the handle of your short dagger, you fortified your nerves and ventured into the gloomy forest, your knife clenched tightly in a state of restless eagerness. Although the weight of your backpack was as light as a feather, it bore down upon you like an immense burden. Swiftly pivoting, you remained on high alert, ensuring your guard was steadfastly upheld.

Into the heart of the sprawling forest you ventured, your footsteps dancing upon the moss-covered ground, carrying you further away from the gentle glow that had guided your way. The once comforting sense of security dissipated like morning mist, leaving you engulfed in an eerie darkness. The comforting sense of security that had embraced you earlier now vanished into thin air. 

  The path you had treaded upon vanished, leaving no trace of retreat, yet your determination remained unwavering. You pressed on, driven by the desire to reach the berries nestled amidst the dense foliage, and then eventually find your way back home.

As you ventured deeper into the woods, your brother's words echoed in your mind like a haunting melody. He warned you about the goblins, elusive creatures that supposedly roamed the shadows, waiting for unsuspecting intruders to cross into their domain. Despite the ominous tales, he assured you that they were harmless. The image of a goblin, with its peculiar shade of green and diminutive stature, danced in your imagination. How strange it was to think that such creatures existed in the same world as you, yet remained hidden from your sight.

Ever watchful, your gaze remained fixated upon the intricate engravings adorning the tree trunks. A circular insignia defiantly marked with a decisive strike, served as your guiding beacon. Hopeful, you pressed on, faithfully tracing the trail laid before you. 

As the gentle breeze whispered through the foliage, a symphony of rustling leaves enveloped the air. Time seemed to slow down as you cautiously pivoted toward the bush, your trembling hands betraying your anxious state. A surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins, igniting your nerves like a blazing inferno. 

 Suddenly, a deep growl pierced the tranquility, resonating through the very core of your being. Despite the weapon clutched tightly in your grasp, an inexplicable terror seized your heart, threatening to consume your every thought. In an instant, instinct took over, propelling you to turn swiftly and flee, your nimble form weaving through the dense forest, effortlessly evading the entangling vines and treacherous rocks that dared to impede your escape.

You're unsure of how long you've been running but the searing pain in your lungs prompted you to slow your pace, seeking refuge by leaning against a sturdy tree. Your hand brushed against a peculiar marking, distinct from the familiar circle with a slash. You look up quickly, this time, an imposing 'X' catches your eye, accompanied by a haunting message etched jaggedly below: 'go back'. A shiver runs down your spine as the unsettling awareness of being observed, hunted even, envelopes you.

In a moment of desperation, you tightly shut your eyes, as if trying to shield yourself from the malevolent forces that surrounded you and pray. Whispers of wicked laughter dance through the air, reverberating within the depths of the expansive forest. With a quick swivel, you scan your surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of any flicker of life amidst the shadows.

   Suddenly, a jolt of pain shot through your body, causing you to gasp. Your eyes widened as you felt a sharp object pierce your ankle, momentarily stealing your breath away. In a reflexive response, you released your grip on the dagger, allowing it to fall to the forest floor. Bending down, you gingerly extracted the needle-like object.

 Yet, as if a veil of mist had descended upon your eyes, your once clear vision became hazy and indistinct. With a determined shake of your head, you attempted to dispel the fog that had insidiously infiltrated your thoughts. Grasping the dagger once more, you struggled to regain your balance, stumbling clumsily as you rose to your full stature.

Alas, the forest floor seemed to twist and twirl in a dizzying dance before your eyes, causing you to succumb to its disorienting spell. In a sudden and unexpected motion, you found yourself sprawled on the ground, the knife slipping from your grasp and soaring away from your reach.

As the atmosphere grew thick with sinister chuckles, it became evident that you had unwittingly stumbled into the realm of the mischievous Goblins. Overwhelmed by frustration, tears of despair trickled down your cheeks, while your determination urged you to inch closer to the gleaming blade.

Suddenly, a force seized your trembling leg, causing you to cry out in fear. Frantically, you thrashed about, employing erratic kicks in a desperate bid to dislodge the mysterious grip.

 It seemed that whatever the Goblins had put on that needle was finally kicking in. Gradually, your valiant resistance waned, your feeble attempts to resist their hold proving futile. A haunting laughter reverberated near your ear, causing you to cautiously shift your gaze towards the sound, tears streaming down your face as you found yourself ensnared by the gaze of large black eyes.

Abruptly, the creature's mouth parted, emitting a series of chitters that harmonized with the surrounding Goblins, creating an otherworldly symphony of communication. You plead with them, your tears cascading down your face and finding solace in the crevices of your hairline. The Goblin closest to you inches forward, its head tilting inquisitively, while its its gaze fixated on the shimmering trails of tears.

The soft murmur of their conversation is the sole sound that penetrates the deafening thump of your heartbeat. You have no clue what they're saying but the delicate caress of a hand on your cheek offers solace as it brushes away the tears that stream down your face.

In total, it appears that there are four figures surrounding you, two positioned near your feet and one on either side. Despite the fact that they are armed, they exhibit a sense of nonchalance, keeping their weapons idle by their sides.

As you begin to relax a bit, a glimmer of hope flickers within you, and you that they perceive you as harmless and decide to leave you here. A gentle warmth caresses your cheek, prompting you to slowly turn towards its source, only to recoil in fear at the looming presence of the monstrous being.

Its mouth, without warning, descends upon yours, planting a sloppy kiss that catches you off guard. Your eyes widen in shock, and you instinctively attempt to pull away, tears welling up in your eyes.

As if in a surreal reverie, a slimy appendage gently prods against your quivering lips, the creature displaying an unsettling indifference toward your futile resistance. Abruptly, a hand gropes your breast, its jagged nails tearing through the delicate fabric.

A gasp escapes your lips, mingling with the invasive kiss, and the intruder's long and thick tongue slides down your throat effortlessly. Paradoxically, this unwelcome intrusion only serves to ignite a fierce determination within you, intensifying your struggle against its grip.

  Like a peculiar elixir, the mingling of the goblins' sweet saliva and your own descends upon your flushed cheeks. In that fleeting moment, you relinquish your futile attempts to escape their clutches. Your limbs refuse to obey your commands, and you find yourself overwhelmed by their sheer numbers. After all, if their intention was to end your life, they could easily do so, just like they had done to your brother.

 Amidst the haze that clouds your sight, you find solace in the notion that this situation could have been far more dreadful. This kiss, though not your first, stands out among the many others you've experienced from the boys in the village who seem to always disregard your lack of consent. Hell, it might be the drug affecting your thoughts, or perhaps it's the overwhelmingly sweet taste of its saliva, but you don't particularly object to your current state.

 Your eyes pop open at the sound of your bindings being ripped, exposing your breasts to the crisp breeze. Your nipples perk up and harden, as if beckoning one of the mischievous creatures to come and taste. Your thighs clench, clit pulsing as a hot mouth descends around your areola, suckling strongly, teeth delicately grazing your tender skin.

A wave of pleasure crashes over you, your moans escape into the Goblin's mouth. Your eyes remain shut, lost in a world where only the sensations matter. The impish creature, with clumsy hands, explores your other breast, teasing and coaxing your nipple. 

  You realize briefly how aroused you are, how slippery your cunt is ( so much so that it’s almost uncomfortable) and your cheeks flush in embarrassment. It's a secret that you'll hold dear forever, how these monstrous beings awaken a desire within you that far surpasses anything that men from your village could ever offer.

Riiiip

You quickly break away from the kiss, gasping for air, only to find yourself staring at the two Goblins by your feet. Your pants are torn, the hasty stitching coming undone effortlessly. Your knickers, worn and slightly tattered, had not been replaced in some time, but you always made sure to keep them thoroughly clean. 

  Your head is turned back, and before you can react, those lips are on yours once more. Your heart races as you feel your knickers being tugged down your thighs, your legs pushed up, exposing your dripping cunt.

Your pussy quivers as a rough tongue swipes across the expanse of your slit. It has you grinding wantonly against its eager mouth shamefully. The Goblin seems to like the way you taste because it grabs your thighs and heaves them over its small shoulders, burying its face deeper into your cunt, lapping excessively and for a moment you're seeing stars.

You arch your back, offering yourself up to its insistent mouth, lost in a haze of bliss. It devours you with a fervor that leaves you breathless, each lick sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. At that moment, nothing else exists but the overwhelming sensation of being consumed by pure, unadulterated lust.

Your eyes flutter closed, and the relentless flick of its coarse tongue against your throbbing clit makes you pulse needly. The kiss stops momentarily and you take that time to breathe deeply, chest heaving as the other Goblins take their time suckling on your breast and eating you out. 

A wet sensation brushes against your lips, prompting you to extend your tongue and savor the warm, bittersweet taste. With a soft moan escaping your lips, you gaze upwards, feeling your cheeks flush at the sight of the Goblin's cock hovering above your mouth.

The girth is thick but it's not long, a good 4 inches at best. Slowly, it guides itself into your hot mouth, and you savor the intoxicating sweetness of its precum on your eager tastebuds. You obediently bob your head, your cheeks growing even hotter as the Goblin's hands entwine in your hair, dictating the rhythm at its own whims.

  A surge of electricity courses through your hips as your clit is slurped on harshly, your eagerness taking over as you gyrate your hips with increasing fervor against the skilled tongue, craving more of its enthralling touch. The sudden, forceful thrust of the other Goblin’s cock down your throat elicits a mixture of sensations, from a deep gag to an overwhelming sense of pleasure and your legs tremble uncontrollably, wrapping around the Goblin's head, as you cum with a soft, high-pitched moan.

With a hint of jealousy, the other one shoves the Goblin away and eagerly plunges his tongue into your throbbing core, chittering at the taste of you. You find yourself utterly vulnerable, incapable of reaching down to push his head away, cunt sensitive and pulsing.

  You suddenly heave as its cock hits the back of your throat, bittersweet thick, sticky cum shooting into your mouth. You gulp it down, the viscosity coating your tongue as you eagerly suck on the bulbous tip to get every last drop of it. The Goblin lets out a guttural moan before pulling away, collapsing onto the lush greenery.

 A gentle breeze caresses your sensitive nipples as the other mischievous Goblin frees them from its warm mouth, straddling your stomach and pressing your breasts together, sliding its cock in between the valley and thrusting. Your lips part, eagerly enveloping the swollen tip as it reaches your mouth.

The Goblin that had decided to eat you out first had maneuvered itself to your head. With a perverted gaze, it pleasures itself, mesmerized by the sight of its tribe member's pulsating cock disappearing into the velvety embrace of your breasts and then past your fleshy lips.

 You let out a squeal of surprise as a painful thickness pushes into you, tears immediately wetting your cheeks at the discomfort. You attempt to move your hips back, trying to get away from the intruding cock. The goblin grabbed the fat of your hips, anchoring itself. Its clumsy fingers dance over your clit, soothing the ache with each teasing stroke. Pushing in until its small balls rest against your plump ass.

  And as soon as it noticed your body relaxing, it began to thrust, its head thrown back in wicked laughter, before glancing downwards, captivated by the sight of its green cock disappearing inside you, marveling at how tight your pussy was gripping him. Oblivious to its actions, the Goblin intensified its circular caresses on your clit, overstimulating your bundle of nerves. You cried out, cunt spasming and quivering around its cock, you came once more– leaving a pearlescent ring of cream around the base of him.

The mischievous creature nestled between your breasts finally cums, tiny hips faltering as its seed trickles down your chin and breasts. Succumbing to temptation, you welcome the tip into your mouth, savoring every last drop of. Its taste was nothing short of addictive.

A thick warmth fills your cunt, coating your gummy walls in a sticky fluid. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, you feel so full and sated. The weight of the two Goblins pressed against your skin, sends a shiver down your spine. Darkness creeps in, but you welcome it, too lost in the moment to care, and whatever they gave you hadn't worn off yet.

The moment your eyes fluttered open, a blanket of darkness surrounded you, the gentle chirping of crickets filling your ears and the icy touch of the night air jolting you awake. Sitting upright, you realized you were situated at the forest's edge, your cozy dwelling just a short distance away. 

Gradually adjusting to the lack of light, you discovered an array of food spread out before you, your hunger pangs intensifying as your stomach rumbled. Without hesitation, you indulged in the succulent berries, pondering whether it was all a mere dream. However, the lingering sensation of the cold breeze caressing your exposed nipples and the stickiness clinging to your thighs contradicted that notion. 

Gathering as much food as you could carry, you stood up and made a swift exit, calling out for your mother. You looked behind you, the feeling of being watched overwhelming. Tomorrow, you vowed to return and express your gratitude to those unseen eyes.

[awearywritersworld]

i was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend

sukuna x reader summary: you persuade sukuna to play go fish. the two of you have a small disagreement (he really can't stay mad at you). he confides in you about his past as a sorcerer. w/c: 3.4k tags/warnings: the teeniest bit of angst. mostly fluff. banter. cursing. aged up!yuuji. slight yuuji x reader. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: the first section could be read as a brief(ish) stand alone. and for context, the world's shortest frankenstein synopsis: victor frankenstein brings a creature to life using dead body parts and thrusts him into a world he doesn't understand, then promptly abandons him and wishes him dead. alone and regarded as repulsive by every human he comes across, the creature begs frankenstein to create a wife for him too. when frankenstein refuses, the creature is further driven to hatred and violence. series masterlist // masterlist

"we should play a card game!" you exclaim as if you've just had the world's greatest idea.

"i'll pass."

sukuna sounds listless, like it's quite possibly the worst proposition he's ever heard.

"why's that? scared i'll beat you?"

"i'm opposed to mind numbing boredom, more like."

"you really need to expand your horizons," you suggest, making your way over to where you keep your playing cards. "all you do is read and brood."

"it's gotten me this far."

you don't respond, too busy rifling through your bookshelf. just as you spot your cards, a book catches your eye and you pull it from its place.

making your way back over to him, you drop it in his lap. "since you found jane eyre so insufferable, here's one you might actually like."

he surveys the cover, which reads: frankenstein or the modern prometheus

you take a seat across from him at the kotatsu table and shuffle the deck, while sukuna flips through the pages with new found intrigue.

"what's it about?"

"the dangers of playing god. should be right up your alley."

"your subtly never ceases to amaze."

"i'm just kidding." you laugh. "there's a lot more to it than that— revenge, loneliness, personal responsibility..."

he turns the book over. "it's written by a woman?"

you raise your eyebrows at him. "what, you don't think women have enough depth to write about those kinds of topics?"

"no, it was just an observation," he says off handedly. "you are evidence enough to the contrary."

he doesn't say it as a compliment, more so as a statement of fact. you hope your astonishment isn't written all over your face.

clearing your throat, you begin dealing while explaining the rules to him.

he takes up his cards and seems to understand the game after only a turn or two, but you're narrowing your eyes at him soon thereafter.

"go fish," he says for the fourth time in a row.

your gaze shifts down to his hands. there's just no way. "show me your cards."

"wouldn't that defeat the purpose of this stupid game?"

"not if you're cheating, now let me see."

"no."

you reach across the table, hoping to snatch them from his grasp, but he just holds them out of your reach.

swiftly rising to your feet, you launch yourself at him in a sad attempt to catch him off guard.

with only one arm extended, he easily fends off your attack. "do you actually think you have a chance here?"

you sink to your knees in defeat and sit with your legs folded beneath you. "not really, but i have to know if you'd stoop this low."

"that so? had you believed me to be above cheating?"

you gasp. "so you admit it?"

"i told you i didn't want to play," he deadpans.

"that doesn't mean you had to cheat! now we have to start over!"

he carelessly tosses the cards onto the table. "i don't think so."

"please?" you lean forward, jutting out your bottom lip.

he just stares at you with an air of disinterest.

sukuna can be so haughty sometimes, and frankly, it drives you a little crazy. you'd give anything to wipe that look from his face— to prove that he doesn't find this as miserable as he lets on.

leaning forward even further, your hands meet with the carpet to support your shifting weight. now he's watching intently as your face approaches his, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

unbeknownst to you, sukuna's breath catches in his throat once he sees your gaze shift, though his mind struggles to catch up. it happens so fast that he hardly registers the quick peck you place on his lips (though maybe it's not the speed of the occurrence, so much as his shock).

"please?" you repeat.

he looks off to the side and stays silent, though his demeanor is indicative of some heated internal debate.

sukuna can't let you win, not that easily. you'd be under the impression that you actually have power over him! and for what? some measly kiss?

no, he simply will not allow that. "i already told you—"

grabbing him by the chin, you cut off his words with another kiss, but this time it lasts a few beats longer. your lips don't move against his, they just linger there in a way that that makes him question whether all of the oxygen has vanished from the room.

when you pull away, you're looking at him expectantly with the same pout still playing on your lips.

"fine!" he barks, grumbling something afterwards that sounds a lot like "evil little minx."

"human earthworm two is definitely still the best."

you're walking home with yuuji after a late night showing of the newest movie in the series.

"no way," you contend. "this one was even better."

he gawks at you. "in no world is the seventh film in an anthology the best! you're crazy—"

sukuna's mouth appears, always eager for a chance to undermine his vessel. "she's right, brat."

yuuji can't believe his ears. "what?! you haven't even seen it!"

"i don't know," you interject slyly. "i'm willing to look past that. it really seems like he knows what he's talking about."

"you mean the guy who's existence predates cinema?" yuuji asks, his eyebrows furrowing as a thought occurs to him. "what'd you do all day anyway? watch plays?"

"..among other things, yes." sukuna answers.

"if you look at it logically," you reason, "we probably wouldn't have movies without theater, so we should definitely consider him an expert in this case."

"oh please, baby. when the topic is ancient civilization or being a homicidal maniac, i'll be sure to solicit his opinion then."

"i resent that," sukuna declares, his conviction forcing a giggle from your lips.

"why?" you question. "was it the part where he called you old as shit, or the part where he called you a murderous lunatic?"

yuuji brings a hand to his mouth to stifle a snort, but you're freely laughing now.

sukuna scoffs indignantly and bites back a comment about how partial you seem to be toward said lunatic. "and to think i defended your opinion."

his response has you clutching at your sides and struggling to see through teary eyes.

but perhaps karma is real, because not a moment later, you step off the curb in a way that sends a sharp sensation through your leg.

you gasp in pain and brace yourself for the impact of falling to the concrete, but it never comes. instead, you're left with fingers clamped tightly around your wrist and a strange sense of deja vu.

you turn your head just before the dark lines fade from yuuji's arm completely.

"tch, watch where you're going idiot," sukuna scolds, his mouth disappearing as soon as he finishes speaking.

"are you okay?" yuuji asks worriedly.

"absolutely," you claim, but when you try to put weight on your left foot, you let out a hiss.

yuuji's hands find your waist, hoping to keep you steady. before you know it, he's crouching in front of you with his back turned and beckoning you to wrap your arms around his neck.

once you do, he hooks his arms under your thighs and easily stands up. "this okay? you comfy?"

"yeah. i can't believe i just did that." you hide your face in the space where his neck meets his shoulder. "thanks, yu."

when you get home, yuuji sets you up on the couch with icepacks, heating pads, three different drinks, two different books, and the tv remote.

he still asks if you have everything you need several times, then kisses you sweetly before heading to bed.

around thirty minutes later, sukuna's leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed.

"hey," you greet. your eyes never leave the tv, as you're privy to the slight tension between the both of you.

he skips the evening's pleasantries. "i could heal it, you know."

you finally turn to face him. "really?"

"of course." he rolls his eyes. "some of us can actually use reverse cursed technique."

"and you've just let me hobble around the past hour anyway?"

he shrugs. "you pissed me off."

you blink at him a few times, rubbing at your temples. "well what about now?"

"i don't know," he begins, making his way over to you. he towers over where you're seated on the couch, so you have to crane your neck to look up at him. "just doesn't really seem like something a homicidal maniac would do, but maybe if he were to receive an apology..."

you cover your face with your hands and groan. "i didn't say that. this is really something you should take up with yuuji—"

"i don't make a habit of conversing with the brat, so if that's the way you're going to be..." he turns on his heel and starts for the bedroom, but you grab onto his sleeve just before he's out of reach.

"wait. please don't go."

just like that, your words have his resolve crumbling and any of his lingering irritation ebbs away. he urges himself to stay strong though, especially after the go fish debacle.

when he doesn't speak, you let out a breath.

"i'm sorry, sukuna." he can tell right away that you're being entirely sincere. "i would never purposefully hurt your feelings. i only meant to tease you, but i can see how i was being mean."

are those... are those tears swimming in your eyes? are you in that much pain, or did he just make you feel that badly? in any case, he endeavors to remedy it immediately.

moving around the couch until he's in front of you, sukuna kneels between your legs. he grabs your left foot gingerly, situating it on his thigh before hovering his hand over top of it.

he sighs. "i don't care if you tease me and you weren't being.. mean." the words sounds so juvenile to him.

you weren't necessarily wrong either, goes unsaid.

well, he'd like to consider himself a little more sophisticated than 'maniac' would imply, but that's beside the point.

"then why are you upset with me?"

his jaw flexes as he tries to find the right words. "i would prefer you do that when it's just.. us."

"oh." realization dawns on you, as does another heap of guilt. you know he despises being trapped in yuuji's body, and you completely failed to consider how ganging up on him might make him feel. "i'm... fuck. i'm really sorry, sukuna—"

"stop apologizing," he urges you in a low voice. it's partly because what he just said makes him feel pathetic, but more than that, it's because the look of self reproach you're wearing is akin to a thousand needles in his chest. "it's fine."

he can't believe you're sitting there with so much remorse over a man like him because you... what? wounded his pride?

he probably deserves it anyway.

why should you give a shit when he's done things a thousand times worse, a million different times?

oh, right. because you care about him.

you can't see the cursed energy at play, but you can tell it's working as your pain begins to dissipate.

once he's finished, he carefully moves your foot to the floor and looks up at you. it's not unlike the way a person might gaze at one of the wonders of the world, like they're lucky to be there in the first place.

with the intensity of his gaze, it feels like he can see right into your head— read your every thought and pick apart every emotion. has anyone ever looked at you like that before? you're having a hard time remembering. you're having a hard time thinking of anything at all, really.

so it goes without saying that you don't think about it when you lean forward and kiss him.

it's not at all like when you were trying to convince him to play cards. no, this isn't light hearted or frivolous.

and it's not like the other two kisses you've shared either. it isn't heated or desperate, nor does it leave you gasping for air.

it's tender. it's so fucking tender, in fact, that sukuna wonders whether he's going to crumble beneath your touch.

he grips the area just above your knees, as if needing something to tether himself to before he withers away completely.

his lips move with yours in a way that's slow and careful.

your hands are on either side of his face, ghosting over his skin as a testament to your hesitance— like you're not certain if this is something he would want.

he wonders how in the world you could ever second guess yourself.

when you pull back, you examine his face for a moment before a small, shy smile tugs at your lips and you murmur, "thanks 'kuna."

he just peers at you wordlessly and it makes you nervous, so you attempt to fill the silence. "it feels so much better. a-and i'm sorry again abo—"

his hand finds the back of your neck, pulling your lips against his for a moment longer. "don't mention it, angel."

ever since you gave sukuna your copy of frankenstein, he's spent a decent portion of your nights together reading, his brows drawn together in concentration.

upon finishing, he stares at the page after taking in the final line: "he was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance."

he's deathly quiet and wearing some unreadable expression. his eyes seem far off.

you leave him be for a little while, as it's clear he's lost in thought, but eventually you grow a bit concerned. it's been nearly half an hour since he last moved.

"sukuna?"

he turns to you. "why did you think i would enjoy this particular book?"

you consider his question carefully, his mood evoking your own seriousness. "it's... elegant and tragic. i suppose i appreciate the moral grayness of it. why do you ask?"

"no reason."

"did you enjoy it?"

"yes."

"why?"

he ignores your question. "frankenstein— do you like his character?"

you can't help but feel like you're answering some sort of riddle. "i think he's foolish and arrogant, but i guess i pity him to some degree."

"and the creature?"

"i'm much more sympathetic toward him. he's very... complex and certainly less culpable for the events of the novel than his creator."

you're surprised when he laughs. "of course you would think that way."

and with that, he's flipping through the pages of the novel. you move to sit beside him and once he finds what he's looking for near the middle, he begins reading:

"remember, thou hast made me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine, my joints more supple. but i will not be tempted to set myself in opposition to thee. i am thy creature, and i will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king if thou wilt also perform thy part, the which thou owest me. oh, frankenstein, be not equitable to every other and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency and affection, is most due. remember that i am thy creature; i ought to be thy adam, but i am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. everywhere i see bliss, from which i alone am irrevocably excluded. i was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. make me happy, and i shall again be virtuous.”

his voice is strangely even, almost bordering on robotic. you're struck with the notion that he's attempting (with rare difficulty) to mask his emotions.

you regard him quizzically and wait for him to speak. the last thing you expect to hear tumbles from his lips.

"you know they called me the disgraced one?" you nod. "do you know why?"

"i know the story that sorcerers have passed down."

he hums. leaning back into the couch, he looks fixedly at the ceiling before continuing. "i was just a boy when i was orphaned and no one knew anything about my heritage, including me. jujutsu society took me in and raised me as a sorcerer."

"and you didn't care for it?"

"oh, quite the opposite. i reveled in it. my strength was unprecedented, that much was clear from the start. i surpassed my teachers with ease, and eventually, i took to training alone— reading primitive texts and honing skills that they couldn't teach me."

your hand finds his thigh, hoping to offer him some consolation before beckoning him to continue. "then what happened?"

"the men who had been my teachers, who had been the only.. family i'd ever known.. they scorned me. deemed me reckless and dangerous to jujutsu society. plotted my demise."

your voice is small when you ask, "were they right?"

he wants to hate the question— wants to hate you for asking it— but he knows that it's warranted.

"no. i admit i was forward thinking and a bit.. unorthodox, but i wasn't..."

"what they thought you were?" you offer gently.

he nods. "not until they made me that way— not until they abandoned me and backed me into a corner like some animal."

you struggle to find the right thing to say, if any such thing even exists. you're amazed that he's confiding in you, and while it makes your heart swell, you really don't want to fuck it up.

he looks back down at the book, his eyes scanning the paragraph before repeating, "i was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend."

he says it as if he's coming to terms with the circumstances of his life for the very first time.

"the creature was remorseful at the end of the novel," you recall somewhat bravely. "are you?"

sukuna thinks for a great deal of time before replying. you wait patiently for him.

"no," he answers decidedly.

looking over at you for the first time since he began his story, he's relieved to find your face is free of rebuke. instead, there's a warm willingness to understand him. a sadness because of the way he was alienated.

he's curious whether anyone would be able to read the sentiment on your face, or if he just knows you better than most.

is that a privilege he's worthy of? he doubts it.

"you didn't deserve what they did to you," you whisper, reaching up to rake your fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp before your palm rests against his temple.

his head leans almost imperceptibly into your hand, and any regret or unease he may have felt at relaying his past to you disappears. watching a single tear slip down your cheek, he wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

he means to say "don't cry. not for me," but the words die in his throat.

for once, your tears are for him rather than because of him and it's utterly riveting. the fact that someone like you would cry on his behalf seems to contradict every horrible thing he's ever been told about himself.

he could sit here and bask in the feeling forever— he's always known himself to be selfish after all. and you know it too, don't you?

his eyes flicker between each of yours, studying your face. "do you want to know why i don't regret the things i've done?"

you tilt your head to the side. "why?"

"because even if it's made me into a monster..."

for a moment, he contemplates not saying anything more. he considers forcing himself to pull away from your touch, even if it's the only comfort he's been given his entire life. he might still be able to salvage whatever tiny, laughable pieces remain of his pride—

"all of my actions have led me to you."

your eyes soften before you're wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your body to his. he returns the gesture after a few seconds pass.

you know he's awful. you know he's cruel. you know that what he's been through doesn't excuse his actions. but still— you want so desperately to take away his pain. to make up for all the things in his past. to wipe the blood from his hands.

as you embrace such an incredibly complicated man (one who is infamous for unrivaled wickedness, yet has his face buried in your hair), you ponder the creature's plea: "make me happy, and i shall again be virtuous."

a/n 2: if you're still w me, thanks for reading!! i'm not sure how i feel abt this part, so feedback is both welcome and appreciated!! also, how do we like sukuna using angel?? in my head he picked it up from the "my good angel" line in jane eyre, so i hope it doesn't seem too unnatural. alsoooo, highly recommend frankenstein. it's one of my favorite books!! mary shelley popped off and literally created the entire genre of science fiction at 21! anyway, thanks for all the love yall, it means the world<3

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @risuola @lirasmoon @disaster-rose @archivist-ghoul606 @creative1writings @sloppyzengarden @omismicrowave @cecesharktales @tanyeonn @hiqhkey @ruixrei @yellowsubiesdance @thefallofruins @anything-and-everything-here69 @emzalot @thepup356 @browneyedgirl22 @lantsovheiress // users in bold could not be tagged. if i forgot to tag anyone, my apologies!! just give me a heads up.

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Happy 28th! Here is my May 2024 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

We Were Such Fools by kiddle / @bluejeanlouis (98k)

Rule #1: The Rewind Machine cannot be used to change the past, only to experience it. History will reset itself to the original timeline every 24 hours.

On his fiftieth birthday, two things are consuming Harry’s mind: what he’s going to make the kids for dinner tonight, and the fact that his marriage is crumbling at his feet.

So, when his best friend gifts him the trip of a lifetime, Harry chooses to venture off to the summer that set his life on its course—all the way back in 1987, California.

It only took him one summer to fall in love with his husband the first time around. How hard could starting all over really be?

Once Bitten and Twice Shy Series by pinkcords / @pinkcords (60k)

once bitten and twice shy (19k) This time as his stomach rolls, there’s no doubt about it. He’s going to vomit. And if he does, it’ll be on Louis’ shoes, a nice little parting gift to go with the embarrassment he’s caused the both of them. “I’m gonna throw up,” he says just as Louis turns to look at him, blue eyes swimming with shock and confusion, and asks, “Is that true?” Or, in a rush of bravery only senior year can bring, Harry confesses his feelings in a letter to his neighbor and best friend, Louis, only for the entire school to hear it and laugh him out of their small town in Wisconsin. Ten years later, Harry's a successful lawyer at Columbia Records, coming home for Christmas for the first time since he departed for college. He plans to work his way through the trip, eat his mom's cooking, and avoid everyone from his past for as long as possible. The only problem is best laid plans hardly ever go as intended. These Stars Will Guide Us Home (41k) And then he’s gonre. Harry watches him take off his shoes, sort his belongings into bins, and keeps watching until he vanishes entirely, around the corner to his gate. Louis doesn’t look back and Harry can’t blame him, certain his expression, body language, entire being would implore him to stay. It would just make it more difficult on both of them. Louis’ always been intuitive like that, strong enough to make the hard decisions that protect both of them. Or Harry lives in New York and Louis lives in Wisconsin.

Cabin Fever by germericangirl / @germericangirl (46k)

“What the fuck is he doing here?“ He asked still looking at him, before he turned back to look at Niall for an answer.

Niall’s mouth fell open and he looked at him with wide eyes "He um changed his mind?“

Harry stared at Niall for a few seconds in silence, before grabbing a bag and walking towards a bedroom without looking at anyone else, slamming the door shut behind himself.

Liam flinched in front of Louis.

“Well I’m happy to see you too.“ Louis mumbled, some of the tension leaving his body. This wasn’t exactly how he thought their first meeting would go. It was quiet for a moment before Louis finally spoke up “Did you seriously not tell him I was coming?“

Or:

One cabin, one bed, two ex-boyfriends. What could possibly go wrong?

You, In Every Color by blueskiesrry / @blueskiesrry (38k)

But then he thinks of the soft curves and sharp angles he had imagined when he first drew up the sketches for the collection, the specific green of fabric he had picked with the thought of how they’d saturate green eyes, the glossy silks and soft velvets he had once pictured sitting delicately against milky skin.

“We’re drunk,” Louis decides on a sigh. “We shouldn’t make any drastic decisions now.”

or: fashion designer louis and his model bf harry have vowed to never work together again, but with the show for louis’ first solo line on the horizon, they decide to give it another shot

We'll Be Alright by ShatteredGlassHouse / @larryislove (36k)

"Lou, I know this-"

"Not plan? Of course, this wasn't planned. Harry, this can't be happening. We can't have a kid. We are not even supposed to be sleeping together."

Harry flinched at Louis' words. He was right, but Louis didn't need to be blunt about it.

"I'm not ready to have kids. I said that when we started this… Relationship," Louis stuttered the last word, trying to find the proper wording.

"Do you think I am? I'm not even twenty-four. You are almost twenty-nine! You're at the age where most people start a family."

"Doesn't mean I want to have one!" Louis snapped.

"Well, it's happening," Harry said, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Be serious, Harry. We can't have a baby. If people find out, you'll be fired."

Harry subconsciously wrapped his arms around his middle. He suddenly felt small. He didn't expect Louis to be excited. This wasn't the best news for their situation, but he thought he'd be happy.

"I know, Louis."

Or Louis is the Captian of Liverpool FC and Harry is one of the team's physiotherapists. They have a secret relationship going but things become complicated when Harry finds out he's pregnant.

Host of a Name by Signofcomfort / @signofcomfort (35k)

Louis leaves the band in the middle of the tour and drops off the face of the earth. Five years later, they might have a chance to meet him. Harry can finally have some answers and tell the truth for the first time.

Cabin on the Bluff Series by juliusschmidt / @juliusschmidt (6k)

Beech Tree in Autumn (1k) Louis walks forward. Harry walks back. And back. And back. Off the two track, through the brush, until his heel bangs against the trunk of a tree. Louis presses further still. Without so much as a, 'hello,' he's kissing Harry, hard and hungry. Mosquito Bites and Cheap Beer (2k) Harry’s careful not to look at Louis as he plays. At least, he starts out that way. But then the sky behind Louis begins to shift, clouds morphing from piles of gold-tinged wool to scoops of pink and orange sherbet. And at some point, Harry forgets-- forgets not to watch. And when he catches himself, it’s fine. Louis’ watching him right back. Sandwiches on the Shady Shore (2k) “You don’t have to do this,” Louis says. It’s hot in the little kitchen, even with the windows open and a breeze blowing in. Harry feels a flush enfold him from the inside out. “I know,” he says. And then, because he’s already showed up embarrassingly early in the day and made Louis a cheese sandwich, he adds, “I wanted to.”

Trust Me to Take You Home by hattalove / @hattalove (4k)

“I made breakfast,” says Harry, and Louis can feel him smile where his face is smushed against Louis’s shoulder blade. “Full English. All for you.” Louis finally opens his eyes, and blinks. “What about the others?” “Asleep,” Harry whispers, “it’s five in the morning.”

or, a clichéd tale of two boys in love and their first valentine's day together.

[theofficialpresidentofmars]

did I ever tell you guys about how I would adapt (the tragedy of) Hamlet (prince of Denmark) if ever given the chance. because I have so many thoughts and I’m adding onto them all the time so here’s a post with all my ideas compiled.

- firstly, it would be an animated mini-series of five episodes, each one corresponding to an Act. I think Animation is a highly under-utilised and underappreciated medium that would suit this particular story well in terms of what it could achieve visually and also these are just a bunch of words to say I’m heavily biased towards animation and just love it so much.

- there are so many fun little character design tidbits i would implement. including but not limited to: Horatio being the shortest, Claudius/Hamlet Sr identical twins (and Claudius having a Scar reminiscent scar on his face for the drama… and also the eventual Act 5 Scene 2 parallels when Laertes wounds Hamlet with the rapier in an incidentally similar way), Laertes having a silly curly moustache, Horatio and Ophelia resembling the other, Hamlet looking tired, pale and ghostly at all times, character’s hair being used as a way to show passing of time (Hamlet having hair on the long side of short in Act 1, growing but in a little ponytail over Act 2, medium-length and unkempt in Acts 3 & 4, and cut shortly and neatly in Act 5. also Ophelia’s hair growing noticeably as well and being often neatly braided with little flowers in Acts 1-2, loosely braided without flowers in Act 3, but being down and wild in Act 4 etc), and so on so forth.

- I would shamelessly be including flashbacks to pre-tragedy memories of the castle/inhabitants. Baby R&G&H running through the castle halls and playing hide and seek. Hamlet actually, god forbid, practicing fencing. The Players entertaining at the castle in Hamlet’s youth. Ophelia and Hamlet sneaking out into the garden beneath the willows by the pond, Hamlet braiding flowers into her hair while they sit together. Yorick entertaining baby Hamlet. All coloured with the softest, goldenest glows that nostalgia can manage to contrast the desaturated depressive hues of the current day. I think a lot of the tragedy of *Hamlet* specifically lies in comparing what was to what ended up being, and since the play starts after Hamlet’s entered his mourning period, it’s hard to fully comprehend the true nature of such a fall.

- Each Act having a lovely stylised title card in its introduction with themes and motifs that are specifically prevalent throughout. Act 3 would have curtains, for example, given the play staging and Polonius’ later poor choice of hiding place. Act 5 introduces the classic skull we all know and love.

- Very purposeful dramatic lighting and colour throughout. Daylight lighting and then the switch to a lot of Hamlet’s soliloquies seeming to appear under more ‘spotlight’ lighting. Early evening during the play, sunset during the scene where Claudius prays (golden light tricking through beautiful stained-glass windows), nightfall when Hamlet yells at Gertrude. Lighting also being used to dramatise entrances perhaps, such as Claudius’s prayer being interrupted by the shift to ‘spotlight’ lighting before we even see Hamlet at the door.

- Same goes with music and motifs, interwoven character leitmotifs and themes that shift keys and qualities and work together to make larger pieces and show up to herald the arrival of a character, or turn sour to match their emotions.

- the visual humour of the play being upped, as well as the wordy humour being emphasised, in order to really contrast the shift in tone throughout the halves of the play. I’ve always been a tragicomedy truther when it comes to Hamlet, I think if done well it could be a really neat way to get the audience to invest more in the characters while also really highlighting how quickly everything goes south.

Probably add more on as I go

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Because i can't get enough with Javi and Osita, for your 500 follower celebration, could I request #19 with themmmm?

and btw congratsssss for your 500 followers! you have so much talented, i love your writing so muchhhhh you deserved more and more followers ❤❤❤❤❤

Nonnie!!!! Thank you so much, you are so sweet 😭💖 I literally cannot get enough of them either and this one put me in the feels bc UGH I would say this is spoilers but its not because y'all already know how feral I am to give these two a baby mwahahahha

Peanut Butter and Pickles

Summary: When Javi can't find you at the house, he begins to panic. Little does he know, you were just out at the store picking up your new, weird pregnancy craving.

Word Count: 1.2K (GOLD STAR FOR ME THIS IS THE SHORTEST THING I'VE EVER DONE)

Warnings: FLUFFFFFF, pregnancy, anxiety, mentions of food/eating, Javi just being a protective dad to be and literally just the cutest UGH

A/N: I need dad Javi deep in my bones. I NEED IT.

This can be read alone or as part of the It's Never Too Late Series!

Prompt from the 500 Followers Celebration Request!

From the moment he found out you were pregnant, Javier Peña had become an absolute nervous wreck. Not because he didn’t want to be a dad, not because he wasn’t over the moon excited to finally have the family he had always wanted, not even because he was worried about all of the ups and downs that parenthood could throw at him. Javier Peña was a nervous wreck, because there was nothing he wanted more than to give you and that baby everything in life that you’d ever deserved, and then some. Ever since he saw those two pink lines across the 6 pregnancy tests you had shown him almost 8 months ago (because you honestly couldn’t believe it either), Javi was willing to drop anything and everything to make sure you had everything you needed to keep you and that baby happy and healthy.

You generally prided yourself on being incredibly independent, not needing to ask for help on many things because you could figure it out on your own. That all came to a crashing halt the moment Javi found out you were expecting. As much as you insisted that you were more than capable of doing normal things around the house, this man couldn’t even let you get up to get a glass of water without offering to do it for you. You tried to fight it for a while, but now that you were 8 months pregnant in the middle of the sweltering July heat, you had found yourself more than happy to take up Javi on anything he was willing to help with. 

On this particular day, you had found yourself absolutely miserable- your back was killing you, you were absolutely exhausted, and you could not stop eating because you knew you were craving something, but you just couldn’t figure out what it was. You wandered over to the kitchen, for what must have been the 14th time today, opening and closing the fridge and pantry until it finally hit you. You needed pickles and peanut butter. Like, now. Looking over at the clock, you knew Javi would be close to being home soon, and would be more than happy to pick you up anything that you needed. He honestly probably would have been less shocked by this request than your one for tuna and ice cream a few weeks ago. But you couldn’t wait for Javi to get home, and with how close the grocery store was, you figured you’d probably be there and back before he even got to the house and there wasn’t any use in telling him that you’d be gone. Pulling your tank top down over your bulging belly, you slipped on your shoes and grabbed your keys, heading out to your car to head out to the grocery store. 

There hadn’t been a day that had gone by since Javi found out that you were pregnant that he hadn’t come home from work with the goofiest grin on his face. It didn’t matter how shitty his day had been, the fact that he knew he got to come home to you and the beautiful baby growing in your belly was the only thing in the world he needed to make him happy. That smile, however, quickly began to fade as he pulled into the driveway and realized that your car was gone. Trying his best to be rational, Javi jumped out of the car, not even bothering to grab his things as he ran into through the front door of the house. That rational quickly turned to panic as he went to grab the doorknob and realized that it had been left unlocked. “Hey Hermosa, it’s me!” Javi called out into the family room, greeted by the unsettling silence of no response. Making his way down the halls, opening up every door as he passed, his heart began to race, as you were nowhere to be found. Taking one last deep breath before going into full blown terror, Javi took out his cell phone to call you, hoping that your sweet voice would answer and calm his nerves. His call had the complete opposite effect, hearing the ringtone of your phone from the kitchen repeat over and over again. “Fuck…” He muttered to himself, now racing back to the front of the house, his brain flooded with the terrible what-if’s of why he couldn’t find you. His hand shook as he reached out to grab the doorknob to go back out to his car, but froze the moment he heard the sound of the garage door closing. It had been years since he had to carry a gun, but there was something so instinctive about the way he reached for the back of his waistband, praying with every bone in his body that whatever the reason was for the garage opening wasn’t the same reason he couldn’t find you. He waited a few more moments, slowly making his way towards the noise. 

“Oh hey! You’re home!” You grinned as you waddled down the hallway, pickle already dipped into the jar of peanut butter you had opened on the drive back from the store, about to shove another bite into your mouth before noticing the expression on Javi’s face. “Baby, what’s wrong?��� Your heart sank to his chest as you rushed over to Javi, standing at the front door with a panic stricken look spread across his face. 

“Never scare me like that again.” He whispered, his voice trembling as he wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tightly before pressing a soft kiss into the hair twisted into a messy bun on your head. “The car was gone and the door was unlocked- I- I tried to call your phone but you left it here. I thought something happened to you, Osita. Fuck, you scared me.” You could feel his heart rate finally starting to slow as you snaked your arms around his waist, peanut butter and pickle still in your hand. 

“Javi, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” You looked up at him as he cupped your cheek, rubbing his thumb along your jaw. “Your child is an incredibly hungry monster, just like her daddy, and I was convinced that if I didn’t go get this from the store this second I was literally going to explode. Although I was hoping that peanut butter and pickles was a less scary combination than the tuna and chocolate ice cream she wanted the other week.” You giggled as Javi dropped to his knees, rubbing his palms against your belly, peppering the bump with gentle kisses. 

“You still think it’s a girl?” He asked, beaming up at you, his mind now at ease as he had the both of you in front of him. 

“If there’s anything I know, it’s that whatever it ends up being, it’s got your appetite.” The both of you laughed as Javi stood back up, planting a tender kiss on your lips before pulling away. 

“Whatever it ends up being, I just know you’re gonna be the best momma in the whole world, and I love the both of you more than anything.” You felt your eyes begin to water, wondering how in the world you had ended up so damn lucky. 

“We love you too, Jav. Now let me eat my peanut butter and pickles before they get all full of tears and I have to go back out and buy a new jar.”

Taglist: @cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed

[v1olentdelights]

The Grieving Girl

James Potter x Pettigrew!fem!reader - Sirius Black x Pettigrew!fem!reader - Remus Lupin x Pettigrew!fem!reader Trigger Warnings: HEAVY depression descriptions, mentions of dying, moving on from grief Summary: What is a grieving girl to do as the world moves on and she is stuck in a moment of time? Word count: 2.5k a/n: 4th piece to this 5 part series. This one is a bit long! Hopefully it is good, let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy it! <3 send an ask to be tagged!

*No ones grief or depression is felt or looks the same, this mixed depiction is some of what I go through and how media portrays depression and grief!

series masterlist

Isolation. One thing you were sure you were good at. Something you had done for years, when others hurt you, when you knew expressing your feelings would hurt others, when you didn’t know who to turn to. It was almost second nature. And that is what you were defaulting to now. 

You would dream of him, his face haunting you. The never fading expression of pain etched on his face, and you stuck right where you were not being able to stop it. You could scream and cry but those who passed by seemed to think nothing of the screams, nothing of the body that was lying limp only a few feet away. 

The tears stained your face inside the dream and out. You would wake up and feel the smallest bit of tightness in the trail of the tears that only poured at night. But what killed you the most wasn’t the pain in the dream that seeped out into the real world, not the way your heart ached for a moment when you awoke. No, it was the numbness you were left with, the second your heartbreak appeared, it was gone and you were left with nothing. Nothing to solidify that he meant something to you. 

— — — — 

It wasn’t hard to catch the way you would stare off into the distance, as if you weren’t even really there, as if you were searching for something you could never find. There was an unspoken rule to not shake you out of that state, and it was usually respected, leaving you with a chilled beverage that was meant to soothe you with its warmth. 

Then the isolation began, days were blending together and you began to stick to the corner table in the room, away from the others. Only greeting them with a nod in the morning and bidding the goodnight quietly, barely a whisper. It wasn’t something to worry about, it had happened before and you would eventually come back to them. But the person you used to be was dead, that depression was trivial compared to this. The feeling was different this time, something you weren’t sure you would come back from. 

Rather than sitting by the fire that kept the living room warm with the others, with the family, you hid in your room curled up in the corner holding the blanket against you tightly. It was as if your pain was reawakening, but instead of taking over your feelings, it was taking over your body.

You heard a knock at the door, and then another, waiting for your response before giving up and just entering. 

“Do you want some dinner?” James asked, hoping to hear your voice, a rare sound nowadays. He was greeted with silence. 

“What about some tea? I can make the chamomile with some of that honey that you like.” Another invitation to talk, another met with silence. Now you were granted a huff of hurt and dismissal. 

“I’ll leave you be then.” Making his way out, he stopped and looked back at you from the doorway, and you just stared back. The light in your eyes was gone. 

— — — — 

Losing someone changes you. Losing your best friend, who was also your brother, changes you even more. Isn’t it funny that the person you are supposed to have the longest relationship with was actually the shortest? Now you questioned if you would ever find someone who understood and could hold steadfast through your times like these. How funny would it be for you to be left with no one. 

It was about 2 hours later and now you were laying in your bed, curled up with your back to the door. You had been watching the rain trickle down the window. It seemed that the universe was feeling what you could not and in a way, you were grateful that at least someone seemed to be feeling. There was another knock at the door, and this time you softly called them in, you were unsure of what made you welcome them. 

“Hey, I just wanted to check on you.” It was Sirius now. “The same as James left me, just in bed now.” Your voice was somewhat hoarse from not speaking for hours. 

“I see,” there was a quiet laugh before he laid his hand on your arm. But you were quick to shrug it off. “Well I am hoping you decided to eat. I haven’t seen you in the kitchen lately, and I know you don’t have any snacks left up here. And you certainly don’t have any water.” You knew this and had contemplated just stopping eating so you wouldn’t have to face everyone. But you knew that even though you wished to simply perish, your brother would be disappointed in you for thinking such a thing.

There was a movement, Sirius went back to the door now not turning until he heard the noise of your rustling in bed. He turned slowly to see you rising, and though you looked rather ragged and probably had a faint smell of body odor from not showering since that fateful night,  his face held a faint smile. 

“Do we have jam?” You asked quietly. 

“We do, your favorite.” his favorite, you wanted to correct, it was your brother’s favorite that you simply tolerated it. You nodded and followed Sirius down the stairs and into the kitchen. The others lingered there having a small conversation about a book they had both read, but stopped upon seeing you. It was uncomfortable for a moment, but they continued their conversation, and for that you were grateful. 

As you sat at the table, on the opposite end of everyone else, there was this hope bouncing throughout the group, maybe you would talk. Maybe you would cry and they could comfort you. And though they got their wish, it wasn’t at all like they wanted. 

“‘Tomorrow will be better’ I keep telling myself.” Keeping your gaze on your hands. “Yet every tomorrow just brings more pain. I’ll be honest, I understand the importance of the pain. But to ruin who I am? There is no more of me left. There is just a person.” There is a hand on your shoulder now, giving a comforting squeeze. But there is no one to comfort. You are simple there. Simply a victim trying to understand the pieces and the pain, trying to put together who you are. 

“One day, tomorrow will be better,” Pandora assured. But that's all anyone ever says. But they’ve never been through what you have. They try to say they understand, that they feel your pain. But do they? Have they lost everything? Have they been so cruelly broken apart that they can’t even find all the pieces of themselves? Have they been through it like you have? No. 

“Unless it’s not.”  you rasp out.

“You need to hold on to hope. Just believe it an-”

“I have held on and tried to believe for years.” look where that has gotten me you think to yourself “alone again.” Quickly getting up, wipe the tears that are slowly beginning to fall and gather your things, you head up to your room. Pandora rises to catch up with you but Regulus holds her back. 

— — — — 

The loneliness seemed to seep into every crevice of your life, but maybe that was only because you let it. Though you felt like you pushed it out. Maybe you weren’t trying enough and were simply so used to the disappointment, the anger, the rejection and abandonment that you let the loneliness and every other feeling fester. Maybe you needed to accept that hurt and use it as a stepping stool onto the next part of your life. 

So you decided to get your act together. No matter how exhausting it was to live life as if you weren’t dreading each day spent with your thoughts, as if you weren’t searching for your brother in everyone you met, as if you weren’t struggling every moment to stay strong in your mission to make a difference. There you were, sitting in the kitchen only a day later, cradling your cup of warm tea - this time you had already had about half the cup before it began to cool down. You heard the footsteps of your lover, though he made them quieter than usual, hoping not to set you off. James took the seat next to you.

“I wanted to talk to you about something important.” this was it. This was the moment he told you that he couldn’t do it anymore, between the flinching at loud noises and the constant check-ins, he finally broke. You turned to face him, showing that you were in fact listening and paying full attention. “I want you to know that when I say this, I am not forcing it, but it is an option.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as if he didn’t even want to say it. “If you aren’t feeling up to coming home with me this winter, then I am okay with that, I will stay here with you too, if you want. I know this year has been incredibly hard and I understand that being around people is still hard for you, probably even more so if it is a family. So please don’t feel like you have to put yourself through that just to please me.” His voice came out soft. 

Tears well in your eyes at the gentleness in his voice, at the mere thought that he truly understands that you may need something that he cannot provide in such a setting. So for the first time in a long time you pull him in for a hug. It takes him a moment to reciprocate, the foreign feeling of your body against his restarts him and his response, but before you can pull away, he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight. 

It’s always one step forward, three steps back. But the regression isn’t what hurts the most, it is the reaction to the regression. It is the hurt you see in your friends eyes as she watches you fall back into the old habits, It is the disappointment in your dead brothers eyes that you can’t seem to persevere, it is the watchful gaze of your friends younger brother that makes you feel even worse for not being a better example, it is the absence of your parents that makes you think that maybe they are suffering just like you. It was the pain in your boyfriend's eyes as he watched you close in on yourself.

You found yourself realizing that you couldn’t continue this way. You couldn’t hide in your room and put off the healing that needed to happen. Inhaling a deep breath, you catch the scent of James and find yourself letting go of the tears you had been holding in. It was a slow steady stream at first, but then it was wretched sobs that sounded like a wounded animal. Though you suppose that was what you were, a wounded animal finding itself back to a place of healing. Your boyfriend sat there, never letting up on how tight he was holding you, but was now rubbing your back in comforting circles. He did not shush your cries, did not wipe your tears, and did not try to calm you because he knew that this was needed. That without this break, there would be no way to heal. It took you a while to calm down, you had cried yourself into hiccups, something you had never done before, but now you were left shaking slightly as well. 

“I want to come with you. I want to come home.” Though the last sentence wasn’t referring to a physical place, but to here. To your boyfriend, to your friends, and back into your body. 

“I don’t want you to feel forced into it.” you shake your head in understanding. 

“I know, but I need to stop hiding.” He simply presses a kiss to the crown of your head. 

— — — — 

As you boarded the train he made sure you got the window seat so you could watch the scenery change. He pulled out your walkman and headphone and passed them to you before finally taking your hand in his and pulled it up to his lips giving you some kind of reassurance. 

It didn’t take you long to fall asleep with your head against his shoulder and music blaring in your ears. All he could do was admire you and how far you had come, not even a week ago were you not getting out of bed and now here you were on your way to visit his family. 

— — — — 

When you had arrived, it didn’t take long for his mother, Euphemia, to come bustling out the door and pulling you into a hug that cut off your breathing for a moment. 

“My best girl, how are you darling?” She gave you the sweetest smile, the kind that made you want to tell her all your insecurities and everything wrong, the kind that made you understand that things would be okay. “Would you be a dear and grab the bags” she motioned to her son, he just laughed as you were quickly swept up into the house. 

While your boyfriend was putting both your bags in his childhood room you were greeted by the rest of his family, his and your dearest friends. Remus gave you the sweetest smile, one you couldn’t help but return. And Sirius, he pulled you in for a hug and ruffled your hair eliciting a laugh, something none of you had heard in a long while. His parents were next, both looking at you as if you had it up their world. 

“Come here, honey.” Euphemia pulled you in for a tight hug as if she hadn’t just held you and released a breath of relief, you suppose. Maybe your boyfriend had been conveying your struggles with her, even though everyone knew. Now that you were thinking about it, he was probably struggling to hold onto all your pain and his own. Your eyes began to water at the thought of burdening him, but also from all the love that you were feeling. 

“Mom, you gotta let her breathe.” You heard James say from behind you. She let go reluctantly and moved onto her son. 

His father had always shared a special connection with you, having a boy, he wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with you when you came along. But when you started talking, he couldn’t stop. Now he stood before you with a face full of worry but also a certain shade of proudness. 

“You’re doing good, kid.” 

Such trivial things, and yet they meant the world to you. Stepping back, you felt James’ arms wrap around your waist from behind. 

“I have missed you guys so much!” you could feel the tears begin to fall

“Enough tears, I put on some hot chocolate and there are some cookies in the kitchen that could use some eating.

"Cookies?! When did you get those, there have been no cookies in this house.” Sirius freaked out. “Well, I kept them out of sight, I didn’t need you eating her cookies.” Their mother rolled her eyes before walking off, the two boys trailing along after her.

tags: @sheraayasher @jamieolivia27

[dailyreverie]

are we friends or more?prompt 12 for Poe please!!! 😚

Running to you

Part of the Your Wish is my Command universe

Are we friends or are we more prompt: #12. Running to you when they see you

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader

Word Count: 1k words

SERIES MASTERLIST

It was unexpected, the way you and Poe clicked so easily and so quickly was a complete surprise to you both. One late-night conversation turned into dinner together every night, which then turned into having every meal you could together. 

Sometimes by yourself, or other times joined by friends, dinners together were your thing, so even if the table was crowded, the only thing he cared about was being able to be with you for as much as he could. Poe had been pulled to you since the moment he saw you, but he couldn’t admit it, how could he? How could he ever say such a thing to the General’s daughter?

Even so, for Poe, it had come to the point of missing you even in the shortest missions, in the ones where he is gone for not more than two days, so imagine his despair when he learned he would be gone for at least a week. As soon as he entered orbit he was already giddy at the thought of you, even in his exhausted state, all to the point of him humming a little tune to himself - and to a reluctant BB.

The mission had its series of complications, of frustrations and scares and sleepless nights, and the second his feet were on the tarmac he felt his whole body finally relaxing; if only he could end the mission without debriefing with the squad, Poe would already be rushing to look for you.

Much to Poe’s luck you were just passing by, going through the next mission needs with Kaydel making sure you both had everything your teams needed. You had missed him just as much as he missed you, it would be pointless to lie and say you didn’t, so the second your eyes landed on him you felt a bolt of energy rushing through your veins demanding you go to him. The last two minutes of your conversation with Kaydel go by without you being able to register what she's saying since all you see is Poe and all you think about too.

You excuse yourself the second you see Poe’s team scattering, leaving Kaydel standing alone and confused at your sudden change of plans. You manage to say a quick “I’ll go look for you later!” as you walk away, your feet quickening by the second.

"Commander Dameron!" You greet him once he’s finally close enough, a smile lighting up your face and his as he sees you approaching him with a quick pace, doing the same thing he was planning to do: run to you. "Welcome back.” Your fingers tingle by your sides and your arms are aching to hug him, to give him the proper welcome he deserves, but you are not sure of what to do now that you are getting closer, the thought of the many eyes that could be nearby pulling you back and stopping you from throwing yourself at him.

Poe doesn’t think about that at all. He missed you, for crying out loud, snoopy eyes are the last thing on his mind. So when he’s close enough, his hands reach for you once he has you within reach, grabbing your arms and pulling you to capture you around his as he mumbles a speedy greeting, and you are damn glad he did. You can breathe again when you find yourself trapped in Poe’s arms, your nose pressed against his shoulder letting you take his scent in… Maker, how you missed that scent. It takes a second for you to hug him back, being taken aback by his swift hug, but the moment you do you can feel Poe’s back relaxing against your fingertips.

“I missed you,” Poe says, his voice longing for you as if the words had been stuck in his chest for days and days.

“I can see that.” Your voice is muffled by the fabric of his pilot suit, but even like that he can hear the small chuckle that your words carry. It was nerves and happiness and the excitement to see him again after all those days, but he couldn’t care less, your little giggle sounded like music to his ears. He breaks the hug eventually but not without letting you go, keeping his grab on your arms to keep you close and be able to look at you. “I missed you too, flyboy.” Poe sighs again, not being able to stop smiling at the sight of you. “Long mission?”

“The longest, and they just keep getting worse.” There’s a grunt in his voice and tiredness in every single one of his muscles, all you want to do is take it all away, but the only thing you can do is give him an apologetic smile and rub his arm; he gets what you mean anyway, and in his eyes, you can see that he appreciates it. “Do you want to go find something to eat? Can I just debrief the mission with you?”

“I wish you could.” You can’t help but laugh at his idea, sharing a quick laughter before you both remember he has to go. “You really should go talk to-”

“I know, I know…” He interrupts as if the sole mention of where he has to be could drain him even more. A couple of seconds go by, seconds which Poe takes advantage of to look at you in silence and smile. “I just really wanted to see you first.”

A smile is exchanged in silence between you, shy and with heat on your cheeks. You don’t want to let him go, even if you know you are going to see him later. Why can’t you just see him now?

With a squeeze to his arm and a nudge of your head to set him off, murmuring a quick “Go,” to which he replies with a wider grin. As you turn around to see him walk across the tarmac you are met with Kaydel walking towards you, she stands beside you silently keeping you company.

“You are crushing hard on him, aren’t you?” She states. 

“Of course not.” It is impossible to lie to her when you’ve grown up together, yet still, you do.

🚀🌟🚀🌟🚀🌟🚀🌟🚀🌟🚀🌟🚀🌟

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

[euphoricfilter]

like crazy ~ part two

☆ﾟpart two of five

pairing(s): namjoon x reader, seokjin x reader, yoongi x reader, hoseok x reader, jimin x reader, taehyung x reader, jungkook x reader

genre: fluff || smut || angst || non-idol au || reincarnation au || friends to lovers || strangers to lovers || established relationships || regency era au || gang au || college au || slight yandere au? ||

summary: the story of how the universe sent you Namjoon.

word count: 9.3k

tags/ warnings: gang leader! namjoon, fluff, a lot more love, angst, namjoon is tatted up, death/ murder, mentions of blood, mentioned sex trafficking, mentioned drugs, obsessive relationship, smut in the forms of: dom/ sub themes— kinda mean-ish dom! namjoon, lots of hickies, spitting in a mouth :), biting, strangely feral sex, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (this is fiction, don’t be stupid), pull out method (again, don’t be stupid), doggy style, squirting, the briefest ass play, implied/planned aftercare!! because namjoon isn’t heartless

notes: not a promise but i'm going to try and get yoongi's part uploaded next week!! it's basically all written i just have to edit it all but this section of the story was getting way too long so i decided to just split it. again, feedback is always encouraged!! i really like this series and would love to know others' thoughts too <3

‘like crazy’ mini series masterlist || my main masterlist

🪐 🌠 ∘₊✧─── *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ───✧₊∘ ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 💫

Your third life was perhaps the strangest.

It had also been the shortest of all your lives, and perhaps the shortest of your loves. 

You hadn’t loved Namjoon any less than you had Taehyung or Jimin. 

Stupid, undying love had wormed its way into your heart; maybe without you even realizing this time. And then once again, you found yourself sinking with no escape and more heartbreak than you knew what to deal with. 

When you truly think about it, the universe had been a little crueller in this life. 

And in hindsight, she probably had taken pity on your poor soul for all the stories that follow this one.

From the day you could produce a coherent thought, you’d known everything. 

There was no life-changing realisation that you’d had with Jimin, no obliviousness to what your life had once been or everything you’ve ever lost. 

You’re pretty sure your whole world would have been different had you not been aware of your previous life, the butterfly effect is a real bitch when the knowledge you never asked for is thrust into your hands and you aren’t exactly sure what to do with it. 

At eighteen you’d moved out. Because as much as you’d tried, you’d never truly felt anything for your parents in this life.

It wasn’t hard to play the role of a doting daughter, not when your parents never paid much attention to you anyway. Or how you knew attaching yourself to people that would eventually pass was a whole new wave of pain you weren’t ready to put yourself up for. 

There was no guarantee that once you died in this life you’d come back for a fourth time, there was no guarantee that if you did ever make your way back into this world that you’d ever gain the knowledge of what once was. But it was a risk you had never been willing to take. If you’d lived another life, come back again and again, then what was there to say it weren’t to happen once more? 

You often wondered how your old mother must have felt, finding out the only family she had left was murdered. How horrified she must have been after hearing the news. Or if she’d been the one to stumble across yours and Jimin’s cold corpses. 

You doubted she was still alive either way, time hadn’t exactly been on your side, the world so much different than when you were last alive. 

So much more advanced than it had been. You had so many more rights as a women than you had in your previous life. Everything seemed so new, the smallest glimpses of the past peeking through the new age that you found yourself living in. 

The story of you and Namjoon starts where you and Jimin had ended. 

You look up at the set of apartment buildings. The land that used to be the foundation of your home no longer what it used to be. The garden was buried under cement, and all your secrets that had seeped into the walls were probably rotting somewhere in the landfill.

What was once a small house for two had been reconstructed, and built so much bigger and better. Better than anything you could have imagined your home to be. 

It felt a little patronizing, the land you’d died on morphed into something so much more spectacular. 

You remember how hard it had been to simply own a house of your own. How hard it must have been for Jimin to save enough to buy it. How you felt as though you’d finally achieved something in your pitiful life the day the two of you had moved in.

How when you look at the building stood before you, it didn’t seem like such a wonderful place anymore.

It wasn’t special. It wasn’t yours.

Once again, it was so far out of reach, so different, the familiarity, the warmth, all of it had died along with you and Jimin. 

Yours and Jimin’s lives had been so insignificant that no one had thought to keep the land your sacred burial ground. 

You don’t resent the world for stripping away such a large piece of your life away. (even less so when the change had been the sole reason you’d found Namjoon. Or rather how he’d found you).  

Meeting Namjoon had become somewhat of a blur. Words slipping off your tongue as the wind dug its nails into your cheeks, and your fingers and toes felt numb from the cold. Grey cottony clouds had been stuffed in your ears and your mind had been so far from your body. Perhaps seeping into the gravel, slipping between the frost and the soil as your mind reels with every little moment you’d ever spent on this very piece of land. 

Jimin had been the spring, but Namjoon had been the winter. 

You see, Taehyung and Jimin had been the gentle things that wandered in the sunlight, flowers and warm afternoons, sweet kisses and heart-swelling love. Namjoon is what lurks in the shadows, and ugly thunder storms or gnarly bite marks imbedded into tender skin. He was every rough edge and anxiety filled heartbeat, his touch gentle as poison seeps into every pore he traces over. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Your head snaps in the direction of Jimin’s voice. Words catching in your throat, your mouth opening and then closing and then falling open once more.

Your eyes widen only for prickly disappointment to drown your heart when you’re met with the face of a stranger.  Jimin's saccharine voice echoing through one ear and out the other.

You lips fall shut, heat creeping up your neck to your cheeks as your eyes meet those of the stranger. 

“I used to live here” you point to the block of flats. And although that may not exactly be true, you don’t bother elaborating. 

(And Namjoon doesn’t bother to tell you that no one had lived in that building since it had been built. It was his land before it had been constructed and he had no plans of ever renting out any of the rooms.) 

He takes a step closer to you, maybe only an arms length away, “It’s not safe in this area” 

You turn back to look at the building, “That’s a shame” you hum, “Maybe I should get going then” 

A weird sense of guilt runs through your veins. Guilt because you weren’t at all scared. And maybe it’s because after being killed twice, the idea of death doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. Not when you were tired of life, not when you could come back and have the chance to live all over again as a whole new person. 

“I never caught your name” he says, mild curiosty dancing in his eyes.

The air is frigid as it fills your lungs, “Y/n” 

“Namjoon” he holds a hand out for you to shake.

You look at his hand, debating whether to risk it, wondering if he had plans to grab you, erase you from existence. You’d tell him it were useless if that were the case, that you’re estranged from your family and you barely had any friends that would risk themselves for your own safety. That he’d be wasting his time more than he would be yours. 

His lips curl up at the corners as you shake his hand, “Want me to walk you home?” 

You meet his gaze, pulling your scarf tighter around your neck, “No. I’m quite capable” 

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“I think there’s someone staring at you” your friend nudges you, hand cupping your ear. 

As much as you wanted to live a life of solitude, unprepared to face another life that ended in heartbreak, it was hard not to befriend someone along the way. 

The both of you would have probably quit this deadbeat job if it weren’t for each other. And luckily the place was run by an old woman that didn’t mind your shifts being practically identical. The income helped with rent and you got most meals free with the job, so really you had no plans to move anywhere else. 

Somehow, platonic love was a little easier to let go of, a little easier to mend, soothe until it doesn’t hurt as much and the memories fade like a painting left in sunlight for too long. You’d never wanted to come off as cold either, and what was one friend when you had a whole life ahead of you? 

Because as much as you liked to slip into your own world, replay the stories of Taehyung and Jimin until tears slip down your cheeks and you had half a mind to pull your aching heart out of youe chest, the strange sort of catharsis that hurts as much as it heals— having a friend wasn’t all that bad. 

And maybe you’d be upset if one day the two of you were to wander down separate paths, only to never meet at the crossroad and continue on with life like you hadn’t trekked for miles together; but maybe that hurt was worth the risk if it were easy to heal later on. A selfish thought, but you’d learnt that humans were simply built that way. That being selfish wasn’t all that terrible.

You look up at her, dropping the mug and cloth behind you in favor of leaning on the counter, arm to arm. 

“Who?” your head falls on her shoulder. 

“The guy over there” she nods her head in his direction. You follow her line of sight, eyes meeting the strangers’ very briefly before your gaze flitters out the storefront window. 

“Do you know him?” she asks, your head falling off her shoulder as someone stalks up to the counter. 

You squint as she takes the order, watching as the curious stranger flicks open a newpaper. 

You weren’t sure if he was simply confident or overly arrogant. His posture that of a man who gets his way, the kind of man you try to avoid when the sun sets. The kind of man you try to avoid when you go out for drinks and they offer you a night you’d never forget. 

His shoulders were lax, open. One leg crossed over the other. Chest broad and arms bulging under his thin dress shirt. He was handsome. Very handsome. And you knew he was aware of this fact, especially with the way all eyes were on him as people left the cafe. Their unrelenting stares doing nothing to deter his relaxed demeanour. 

“I don’t think so, no” you shake your head, turning back to grab a to-go cup, “Maybe he’s one of those creeps that have a thing for baristas” 

She frowns, hip knocking against yours with more force than intended, almost sending the cup you were holding flying. “Don’t say that, what if he’s a rich CEO and wants to take you on a date?” 

You can’t help the laugh that spills from your lips, “Doubt it. I don’t think rich CEOs drink cheap coffee on this side of town” 

She hums, “His suit does looks pretty expensive” 

“It does” you agree, meeting her eyes. 

“French make?” 

You tilt your head, taking another glance in his direction, “Italian” 

“Freshly pressed?” 

“Definitely” 

You slide the hot coffee across the counter, bitter annoyance creasing your eyebrows when you don’t even get a thank you. 

“I mean, there’s more ways to get money than just being a rich CEO” she tilts her head, eyes squinting ever so slightly.

“Maybe he’s a doctor” you run a finger over your bottom lip, and she throws her head back in laughter. 

“Maybe he does shady gang related stuff” 

Your nose scrunches up at that, “Like sex trafficking? What if he sells drugs?” 

She bites her lip. 

“You fiend” you laugh, “There’s bad boy, and then there’s just straight up criminal” 

She gives you an exasperated sigh, “What if he’s a nice? What if he wants true love, and cares about his family?” 

Your mouth falls open in disbelief, “I don’t–” you swallow, “You have strange preferences” is what you settle with. 

“Okay?” she laughs, “And what about you?” 

“A gentleman. The sappy ones that believe in true love” 

“Doesn’t seem to be many of those around anymore, not in this area at least” she nods, “Maybe we both have unattainable types” 

Your lips quirk up into a smile, “Maybe. I’m not really looking for love” 

“Why not? Add something fun to your life” 

Both of your attention is snatched by the door swinging shut, the stranger that had been keeping as eye on you slinking down the street, newspaper tucked underneath his arm. 

“I’m happy where I am” 

“You don’t go out” she deadpans. 

Your eyes narrow, “I do. For work, groceries, you know all that kinda stuff” 

It’s barely a laugh that puffs out of her, more an exasperated sigh, “How are you ever going to meet the love of your life?” 

Something bitter coats over your tongue, and you will yourself not to frown. You think your heart slowly starts to sink inside your chest, an ugly weight that has your eyes stinging a little. 

“I don’t think everyone has soulmates” you turn away from her, picking up the mug you’d put down earlier. 

“You’re so cynical sometimes, you know that? Besides, it’s not like you have to find a soulmate per say, just— a fling or something” 

“Yeah” you look at her over your shoulder, “Wanna go change? I’ll lock up today” 

She hums, “Are you sure? I don’t mind helping” 

You shake your head, pushing yourself onto your toes to place a mug back on the shelf, ‘I’ll be fine, you have somewhere you gotta be right?” 

“Yeah. My dad’s in the hospital again, I don’t know how I’m gonna pay the bill this time” 

You tuck your hair behind your ear, “Sorry to hear that” and truly you were. But as much as you wanted to offer to help her pay off the bills, you had your own utilities to pay for, a life to live.

And maybe you were a prime example of a selfish human.

She shrugs, “Life is shitty sometimes, not much I can do about it” 

She waves before she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. You watch as she walks, only blinking when she’s out of sight. 

You stand there for a moment, time inside the cafe stopping as the world continues to move outside.

You can barely hear the chatter, muffled through the glass, though you see people’s smiles, watching groups of them laugh. Or two people holding hands. You see lovestruck looks in people’s eyes. Eyes that don’t seem to hold much emotion at all. Distress from someone on the phone. The smallest hint of happiness from someone listening to music. 

You fall back into reality when one of the boilers in the backroom rumbles, your attention quickly snatched as you duck under the counter to wash the tables. Your world now quiet enough for your thoughts to amplify. They fill up the room like thick smog, skipping around you with quick steps you almost stumble over your own feet. 

Some days you found yourself wondering what Taehyung would think of you now, how the both of you might have danced around the cafe, a piano piece playing in the background from a jukebox as you closed up for the night. Or what would happen when you’d finally go home to your one bedroom apartment and Jimin would be sprawled across the sheets, hair damp, and skin still damp, wet from just taking a shower. 

You startle when someone approaches you just as you lock up the door, “Willing to take my offer to walk you home this time?” 

With widened eyes you turn to meet the stranger, acute terror tickling your mind as you think he must have been hanging around the shop since he left earlier, just waiting for you to lock up, “Excuse me?” Your voice breathless. 

“It’s pretty late, and girls like you don’t fare well when the sun goes down” 

You slip the key to the cafe into your pocket, “I think I’ll pass” your shoulder barely brushes his as you slip past him, though you don’t miss the thump of footsteps behind you. Too close, yet not close enough for you to do anything about it. 

You stop, “What do you want?” 

“Come on, Y/n, We’re past that, I’m just making sure you get home safe” you watch as a dimpled smile tugs onto his face and you pull your coat tighter around your body, unsure if the shiver was from the cold or from him.  

Your eyes narrow, skeptical, “How’d you know my name?” 

Something akin to a scoff vibrates from his chest, “You’re fucking serious? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?” 

You bite your bottom lip, eyes glazing over his face, memories playing like a strip of film in your mind, click click clicking until you pause when you catch sight of his face, a little blurred but his eyes are hard to forget. “Ah–” you sigh, “Namjoon” 

You will yourself no to smack the shit-eating grin off his face, rather turning back around, starting your walk home. 

“So i’m not that forgettable?” his steps fall in time with yours. No longer walking behind you, all caution thrown out of the window. 

“It took me all day to remember. Why were you just hanging out at the cafe? Don’t you have better things to do?” 

“No” he shakes his head. 

You don’t open your mouth the rest of the way home, and neither does Namjoon. Not until you’re stood on the step of your apartment building, slightly looking down at him. 

“Thanks for walking me home” you rock back and forth on your heels, “You don’t need to do it again though” 

Namjoon wets his bottom lip, pulling his scarf a little tighter around his neck. Condensed air whispering into nothing as he open his mouth to speak. 

“I want to see you again” Plain. Simple. Straight to the point. But not what you wanted to hear. 

You sigh, back of your throat drying as you inhale frost riddled air, “That’s a bit too forward, don’t you think?” 

He runs a hand over his chin, “I wouldn’t say so” 

“Whatever it is you want, Namjoon, I don’t want it” you tell him, hoping that by some miracle, your little hint penetrates his thick skull. 

“And how do you know what I want?” His arms fold across his chest. 

It doesn’t apparently, and you are so close to losing your tether. 

“Dating. Marriage. Sex. Simply a fling. I don’t want any of it” 

It irks you how he laughs, “Marriage is a bit too soon, I barely know you. But I’m not opposed to the rest” 

“But I am” 

“We’ll see about that” he waves you off, “i’ll see you around, yeah?” 

You choose not to reply, willing yourself not to look back as you push open the door to your building. 

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Do you fuck on the first date?” 

And for a moment you think your mind short circuits, neurones working overtime to piece together a coherent thought. Sparking against one another as his question replays in your mind. 

Everything with Namjoon was always so quick. What had been him walking you home had somehow melted into him taking you out to dinner on the nice side of town for a date that truly you hadn’t had any interest in. That was until he’d shown up at your door out of the blue barely a week after the two of you had met. 

You’d never told him your apartment number, and it had left you mildly curious as to who you’d gotten yourself involved in. You could only hope that if you came off dull enough he’d choose to go and flirt with another human that was willing to spread their legs for him on the first date. 

“I haven’t before. So, no” 

Namjoon hums, hand running over his jaw in thought. 

“How charming” he muses, and you’re unsure if it’s a laugh that rumbles from his chest or a scoff, perhaps a mixture of both. “They must have been true gentlemen. Let me know what I’m working with” 

You raise an eyebrow, and he nods for you to continue. 

“The first guy.. I suppose we never exactly had a first date. The second…we ate by a lake and talked about dreams and the universe, and then he made me a flower crown so I made one for him” 

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, “Men like that exist?” 

The corners of your lips quirk up, wistful memories of still-there emotions seeping back into your heart. “No. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here” 

“They’re dead?” 

You swallow, breath catching in the back of your throat. Namjoon’s head tilts, expectant. 

“Something like that” is all you can find yourself to manage. 

“You kill them yourself?” his eyebrow raises, though you think the both of you know the answer. And maybe that had been the moment you’d gotten an inkling of what Namjoon did for a living, and how utterly fascinating it was to talk about death so freely with another human being. 

It had always been so taboo. But it was simply the end of life, the end of a story. Everyone were to experience it one day, so why would no one ever talk about it? 

“No” you shake your head, “And this isn’t about them” 

“It’s not” he agrees, “I’ll leave the sex for next time as well” 

You cover a laugh with a cough, “How thoughtful of you” 

“You don’t seem upset” he points out, piercing eyes making it a point to hold eye contact. 

“About you wondering what happened to my dead lovers?” And he nods, “You’re understandably curious. I’m not going to hold that against you” you shrug. 

Your finger runs over the seam line of your dress, some small part of you on edge, always wondering what Namjoon’s next words would be. He was always so calculated. And a small part of you was scared he’d ask things you had no intention of mentioning. 

“And you’re not curious about my past relationships?” he asks, somewhat surprising you. 

You shake your head, “I think I’ve made it clear that I’m not interested in a relationship. So I really couldn’t care what your past endeavours were like” 

You sit up a little straighter when his lips quirk up into a smile, “I wonder why you’re here then. If you truly wanted nothing to do with me” 

Your tongue wets your bottom lip, “You’re awfully similar to a parasite, you know?” 

He raises an eyebrow, “Elaborate” 

“Do you believe in destiny?” 

“That doesn’t answer me” he shakes his head, “What does destiny have to do with parasites?” 

“You’re like a parasite because no matter where I go, you cling on to me like it’s all you know” you say, “For the last week since we’d met that one evening all you do is sit in the cafe all day while I work, walk me home and show up at my door on my days off even though I told you I’m not interested” 

“And destiny?”

“I said yes to today, because destiny is a bitch. And maybe it had been her that had sent us to one another” 

Namjoon leans back in his chair, “I do believe. To answer your earlier question” 

You sigh, “That doesn’t mean I want to dive head first into a relationship with you” 

“But you’re not opposed to the idea of us getting to know one another?” 

You bite your lip, maybe trying to hide a smile, “I didn’t say that” 

“It was implied though” Namjoon’s own lips curl upwards. 

“Was it?” 

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, “Don’t start acting like a brat now” 

“Or what?” 

He leans over the table, lithe fingers taking a hold of your jaw before he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, “Are you willing to play that game, love?” 

“Maybe one day, but I have a shift soon so I better get going. Thanks for dinner, I’ll make sure to add a complimentary cake with your coffee tomorrow” 

Namjoon’s fingers fall loose around your jaw, “You want me to visit tomorrow?” 

You push yourself to stand, chair squeaking against the tiled flooring, “Something like that” 

“When does your shift start?” 

“I open up tomorrow” 

He nods, “And you’re closing up tonight?” 

“Mmhmm” you hum. 

“I’ll come pick you up after I get some work done” he calls out to you, and you simply wave over your shoulder as you weave through tables towards the exit. 

Everything about life with Namjoon was fast paced. So quick you often found yourself stumbling after him as the both of you wander in the dark, no clear destination in mind. But as you stray away from him, he always seems to find where you are. 

Arguable coincidences turning a little more purposeful. You never thought much of it when you’d run into him while shopping, or out drinking with your friend. Never thinking it was weird how no matter where you seemed to be, Namjoon would be there too. Always there to find you, always there to bring you home. 

He loomed behind you like a shadow, an obedient guard dog that lurked in your shadows. 

When you truly think back to your time with Namjoon, every moment together was clouded by rose tinted glasses that you seemed to have refused to take off. 

It wasn’t long after that first encounter with one another that you started dating. And merely weeks after that, somehow Namjoon had convinced you to move in with him. He always told you how he didn’t like the side of town you lived on, how worried he got dropping you off at your door. 

Because he knew what happened when people slept, and the world was a little quieter. When the light of the moon didn’t spill into the dark corners of alleyways and brutish men think they run the streets that belong to him. 

“I have a lot of people’s blood on my hands, you understand that right?” he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. 

You blink up at him from where you’re sat on his bed, “Yes” you nod. 

“That if you accept me like this– wholly me– there is no going back for either of us?” 

Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “I understand” 

The corner of his lip curls upwards, “Good. Because I had no plan of letting you go” 

And maybe that’s when you should have turned your back on him. That through the misted veil of sickly belief that fate had played a game with you again, you’d stayed– evidently leading to another tragedy. 

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Namjoon was the epitome of obsession, it coursed through his veins just as much as blood did. 

He was comparable to a magpie, though his form of treasure was delicate little beings like you that he liked to lock up. And watch as you dance for him behind the bars of a cage, eyes piercing into your very soul until it melts and he mends you back together again. 

“What’s wrong, my darling?” Namjoon frowns, slouching back into his chair. 

You lay the book over your chest, heart-wrenching deja vu tickling your insides. “It’s just work. The old lady that owns the place is lowering our pay” 

Namjoon hums, “Why don’t you quit?” he takes off his glasses, hand running over his face. 

“Quit?” you sit up, eyebrows furrowing, “I probably have enough saved for a couple of weeks but after that I’m done for. It’s not like I’m paying rent anymore” 

Namjoon pushes himself to stand, slinking around his desk to stand before you, “That’s why I’m here. You don’t have to work anymore, I’ve got the both of us” 

You shake your head, “Namjoon I can’t do that” you tell him, leaning into his touch as his thumb caresses your jaw. 

“And why not?” He crouches down, head tilting in a way that is so very much Namjoon. 

“It’s unfair on you. Plus, I’m capable of taking care of myself” 

He runs his thumb over his bottom lip, “I know you are, but why have all the added stress when I’m more than happy to do this for us”

Some days Namjoon seemed awfully normal. Integrated perfectly into society, just like the rest of human kind. And some days you found it scary how ordinary he seemed when you knew of the things he did. He always seemed so in control of his own mind, thoughts easily articulated into convincing words, dressed proper, a kind smile. 

It was unnerving how someone so perfect was so very much the evil that you fear as a child. The grim reaper who melts into the darkess, takes a life and thinks no more of that pitiful being’s existence as he stalks through the night ready to chew on another soul. 

Maybe it was blissful ignorance that had chained you to him. If he were the being that men feared then it was only smart to latch onto him, to pretend he didn’t do all these bad things and let him squeeze his way into your heart. For you to be docile and quiet and everything he wanted from you. Even if his love hurt, thick shards of glass piercing their way into your heart and your mind and your body and your soul. 

It was suffocating. Emotions too hard to decipher when he treated you as if you were the only thing that mattered in this cruel world. His love having a tiny semblance of your previous lovers. Foolish in the way you clung on to the smallest parts of them that you could, even though you knew it was never going to be the same. Namjoon was so far from being Taehyung. He was never going to be Jimin. His love a new type of raw, skinned alive and thrusted into your hands without much thought. 

Namjoon’s finger’s slip between your own, grass prickling the bare skin of your arms as you shift,  “Sirius” 

“Pardon?” you tilt your head to look at him, the softest smile on his face as he looks up at the sky. 

“You’re my Sirius” he closes his eyes, smile still lingering. 

“I don’t–” you start, mouth falling shut when he turns to look at you, eyes an endless abyss that you find yourself falling into. Every bad thing he’s ever done, suddenly no longer that evil when he looks at you like this. 

“If Sirius is the brightest star in the sky. Then you must be my Sirius” 

You blink, utterly baffled as to where this had come from. 

“Are you ill?” you dare ask, breath catching in the back of your throat. Warm, gentle, love heating your cheeks the lightest pink, though you doubt Namjoon would be able to see it in the light of the moon. 

A laugh bubbles from his chest, “No” he shakes his head, “Love turns us into fools sometimes” 

You push yourself up onto your elbows, fingers slipping from between his own. 

“That wasn’t foolish” you tell him, “Surprisingly profound. And incredibly sweet” 

“Is that the way to your heart? Sweet words and a pretty face?” he teases, sitting up. And you fall onto your back. 

“It seems so” you say, “Though you’ve already found a home in mine” 

“Is that so?” his hands run over your thighs, fingers teasing the hem of your shorts. 

“Mmhmm” you hum, eyes flickering back towards the sky. 

“Then it is lucky you’ve also found a home in mine” He leans down, arms caging your head as he presses a plush kiss to your cheeks, following the slope up to the tip of your nose before he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“Not here” you murmur just as he pulls away, curious hands wandering over whatever bare skin he can grab onto. 

“But how is the world to know you belong to me?” he asks, warm breath fanning over your lips. 

You swallow, “I’m sure they’re all aware by now. More than a few men have lost their lives because of me” 

Namjoon pushes himself to sit up, frown morphing on his face, “I told you their blood is not on your hands, but mine” 

And he had told you that. Many times. Between kisses of reassurance, where his hands wander down for back as you cling to his suit jacket, guilt chewing away at your mind until you couldn’t take it anymore and begged him to stop his merciless ways when it came to you. Because in truth, no matter how many times he’d told you, their deaths are your fault. And will latch onto your weary soul. 

And maybe one day when death knocks at your door, he will open his book and list out every man that had ever died because of you, and then he will tell you the devil is waiting downstairs with the door open and a spare room just for you. 

Never once had you asked him to slip out of the bedroom as you slept, slaughtering every man that dared lock eyes with you for longer than Namjoon deemed necessary. Or utter your name from mouths made of filth, or gawk at the small sliver of skin you would show at dinner. Skin that was wholly his to touch and defile and bite at until he’d become the artist, painting you red only for flowers of purple to bloom across unblemished skin. 

“That doesn’t change the fact their premature demise wasn’t linked to me” 

“None of that” he hums, helping you sit up, fingers raking through your hair. “Angels don’t have human blood on their hands, it is above them”

The day you’d kneeled before him, begged for him to stop killing on your behalf, that he didn’t need to do more than he already was, that those men didn’t mean anything at all to you– he’d never mentioned another instance where he erased the existence of another human. 

That didn’t mean you were naive enough to believe he’d stopped killing. You weren’t stupid. It wasn’t hard to piece together the little things that happened when you’d wake up during the nights, sheets cold beside you and Namjoon nowhere to be seen until the sun had risen. 

Familiar faces printed on the front pages of newspapers, gruely deaths typed out without a lick of sympathy, just another face, just another story. 

And maybe it had been all your fault, bringing up such trivial things like destiny. Uttered how you thought fate had brought the two of you together, solidifying whatever little budding obsession Namjoon had for you. And it was ironic, how even after the tragedy of this life, the little flicker of hatred you held for fate herself was blown out, because as fucked up as it was; you had no regrets when it came to Namjoon. 

He’d built you up into an entirely new person. So different than you had been. Shown you a life that was so different from what you’d had before. So fresh. And new. And exciting. 

Impossible to hate. 

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

A choked moan catches in the back of your throat when Namjoon’s teeth clamp around your nipple, his chin spit-soaked as he lathers his tongue over your flushed skin. 

“Fuc– Namjoon” you huff, hips rutting upwards, desperate to chase after every lick of searing pleasure as your clit rubs against the soft fabric of your panties. 

Your pelvis knocks against his stomach, head tipping backwards as he kisses over your tender skin, tongue soothing over every divot that his teeth had left over your body. 

His hand slips down between your bodies, awfully mean as he hooks his fingers in the waist of your panties, tugging them upwards until the crotch is tucked snug between your folds, soaked fabric rubbing deliciously against your throbbing clit. 

“Yeah?” he laughs when you moan out his name, tears gathering along your waterline as you rut upwards. A feral sort of pleasure consuming your entire being, emotions rubbed red-raw, heart thrusted for Namjoon to chew on, to consume like it were his only life force. 

You whine when he lets go of your underwear, pleasure fizzling out, orgasm ebbing away. Your poor clit sending barely-there pleasure up your spine— utter frustration wracking throughout your body. 

You tug his face parallel to your own, fingers digging into his jaw, “No, no– Namjoon please” you whisper against his lips, fingers slipping to tangle into the hair on the back of his head. 

“What do you want?” he asks, fingers dancing across your thigh. 

Your mouth drops open in another shaky moan as his fingers dig into a hickey on your thigh, perfectly crafted; almost a hollowed heart shape. Proof of the rawest lust that’s mixed between your sweat slicked bodies, and his salvia that drips into your open mouth, tongue already out to catch his spit. You swallow, prickly heat dusting your cheeks as he smiles down at you, so proud as your tongue laps up the remanence of his saliva from your bottom lip. 

“You– want you so bad” your hands wander, anywhere they can grab on to him. 

Nails that dig into covered biceps— muscles flexing, over his pecks, sinking into the plush skin; perhaps some small part of yourself hoping that you could carve a chunk out of him to keep for your self, a part of Namjoon that will always be with you for when he’s gone. 

A strange desperate sort of need that has bloomed into your body and mind. Slithering through each valve of your heart, sinking its claws into the muscle, just Namjoon

Namjoon 

Namjoon. 

He’d consumed your life, your every thought. Your skin alight as he touches you, your mind constantly buzzing with thought of him him him when he’s gone and just more more more of him when he’s with you. 

“Yeah?” he kisses your jaw, teeth nipping over the skin, sucking hard enough that you know you’ll be littered in marks of his lust for days to come. 

“Yeah” you nod, thighs clamping shut as you try and relieve some of the ache, beyond desperate for some form of release. The sort of release that you know only he would ever be able to give you, the feral sort of release that you never knew were possible if not for him. 

“My poor baby” he croons, sitting back on his heels. Goosebumps prickle the skin of your arms, the heat of Namjoon’s body leaving you cold when he pulls away. 

Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth as he shucks his shirt off, you eye the ink that slithers up his chest, spreading across his arms. Deep black that stains his skin, bare hints of color peaking through. 

“It’s rude to stare” he reminds you, unbuttoning his pants, underwear soon following the rest of his clothes on the floor. 

“You’re just very pretty” you say, sitting up, chest heaving as you gasp for breath. Namjoon leans down, lips pressing against yours in a kiss that holds so many unsaid words, both from you and from him. 

“Not as pretty as you” he whispers, one hand taking a hold of his cock. He lathers pearly beads of precum down his length, his other hand slipping between your legs, thumb running over the length of your still-covered slit. 

“Take these off for me?” he asks, catching your attention that had been on his thick cock, “How precious” he whispers as you fall onto your back again, bare and wholly his to take. 

Your hair fanned out beneath you, teeth marks littering your skin and hickies that he doubts you’ll be able to fully cover; the whole world knowing that you’ve been claimed by him. 

You wriggle under his sharp gaze, eyes raking down the length of your body as though it were the first time. (He had every little dip of your body ingrained into his mind, though nothing would ever been the tangibility of you spread bare like before him) 

You thighs fall open, silent temptation— a silent invitation for him to fuck you senseless. 

“Turn around for me, darling. On your hands and knees, I plan to absolutely ruin you tonight” he runs a hand down the length of your thigh. 

You roll over, lifting your hips for him, cheek pressed against the duvet. Your outstretched hands grasp onto the pillows, though you doubt they’ll be much help if Namjoon does exactly what he had promised. 

You wiggle your hips, breath hitching in the back of your throat when a warm hand ghosts over your asscheeks. 

“Precious” he kisses the back of your thigh, sharp inhale from him causing your cheeks to flush the darkest shade of red. 

This thumb parts your folds, barely dipping into your hole before he’s trailing wet fingers upwards; free hand pulling your cheeks apart. 

He teases over your puckered asshole, nail raking over the delicate skin. “You’re a slut sometimes you know that?” he laughs, choosing to dip his index finger, nail deep into your ass. 

Your breath hitches, something similar to a moan spilling out and onto the sheets as you rock backwards. 

“Not a slut” you tell him, slick dribbling over your clit. 

“No?” he croons, pushing his finger further into you, empty cunt clenching around nothing as he teases a second finger around your ass hole. 

“No” you breath, fingers digging into his pillow. 

“Not a slut, but you like you like me toying around with your ass?” he laughs, finger slipping out as he finishes. 

A watery moan follows, asshole clenching around nothing as he toys with your pussy. Pulling your folds apart, and you hear it before you feel it, wet slap reverberating off the walls, sting following soon after. 

Your mouth falls open, fresh wave of arousal slipping from the entrance, dripping onto the sheets. 

“More” you beg, thighs quivering as you try to hold yourself up, “Please, more” you try to get a look at Namjoon from over your shoulder. 

You hear a mocking laugh rumble from his chest, squeak of surprise punched from your throat as he lands another harsh slap over your cunt, string of slick snapping as he pulls his hand back towards his body. 

His next slap lands on your clit, pain morphing into a strange sort of pleasure as you feel it wrack up your body, mind muddling into a mushy mess that has you rocking your hips backwards; desperate for at least one more measured slap to your flushed pussy.

Namjoon groans, wetting his bottom lip as he gets a glimpse of your puffy folds, so wet and messy he’s awfully tempted to lean down and lick you clean until you’re pleading for him to let you cum, only for him to push you over the edge so many time that you have to beg him to stop, and maybe if you start crying, delicate little tears cascading down your pink cheeks, then he’d take a little mercy on you. 

Another wave of arousal dribbles onto Namjoon’s cockhead as he runs it through your folds, blunt head pressing against your hole, walls stretching to accommodate his girth. 

“Oh” you whine, back arching a little deeper as he feeds an inch into you. 

His hands fall onto your hips, fingers sinking into the meat of your hips, ragged crescents far from majestic digging into your skin “Feels good” his hips stutter, your body jolting forwards. 

“Fuck– Namjoon” you cry when he loses all resolve, pelvis smacking against your ass, impatient to have your walls fully wrapped around his cock, the closest he’ll ever be to sinking under your skin and becoming one with you. The closest the two of you would ever physically be. 

“Fuck” he groans as your walls clench around him, your hand slipping between your chest and the bed, down to your stomach. 

It felt as though Namjoon had weaved his way into your body, so far inside of you, you wonder if he’d sunk into your stomach. His cock touches places you never knew felt this good, pleasure buzzing up your body with every unintentional sway of your hips. 

He barely pulls out, cockhead dragging deliciously through your walls before he eases himself back into you fully. 

“Faster, please, Namjoon” you swallow, throat awfully dry– and Namjoon hums.A hand leaves your hip, tangling into the hair on the back of your head. 

His cock drags through your walls, tip still wedged inside of you. You’re unsure if it’s a moan or a garbled scream that leaves your lips when he tugs you back by your hair; back arching uncomfortably as his hips snap into you. 

Arousal seeps onto the sheets past his cock and down his ball that barely brush past your swollen clit. 

“Ah–” you cry, fingers gripping onto the pillow as he punches back into you. 

“Like that? Yeah?” he grunts, the hand that was on your hip slipping underneath you, keeping you propped up as his finger leave your hair to press down on your shoulder. 

Tears dance across your waterline, raw pleasure consuming your entire being until all you feel is Namjoon’s thick cock dragging rapidly against your cunt, mind so wholly consumed by him you’d forgotten where you were. Who you were. What you were. 

His hands burn where they hold you, your ass red from each wet slap of his pelvis against your ass and the backs of your thighs. 

Your moans somewhat harmonise, pleasure coursing through both your bodies, rush of dopamine clouding any sort of sanity you thought you had left.

“Play with you clit for me” he groans, tugging you back onto his cock, position causing his cockhead to hit your g-spot perfectly from this angle. 

Your hand shakes as you bring it to your clit, swollen and pink, the barest touch enough to sent you lurching forwards; though you don’t get very far, Namjoon pulling you back with the grip he still has on your waist. Making sure he’s buried deep inside of you, making sure to hit that little sweet spot that has white dancing behind your eyes. 

“Oh” you cry, staccato of noises spilling from your lips as you toy with your clit, messy as your nails drag over the bundle of nerves. 

Namjoon feels you clench around him, ready to tip over the edge with him. 

“That’s a good girl” 

You hiccup a sob, “Gonne cum. Joonie I–” 

“I know, darling” he huffs out a laugh, “Cum for me, all pretty” 

Your thighs quiver, and you’re sure you would have collapsed by now if it weren’t for your boyfriend holding you up. 

You peel the pressure build in your stomach, fingers messy as you try to keep the stimulation up on your clit. Climbing higher and higher towards your peak. 

“Oh– Fuck” your free hand clamps over your mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you tip over the edge, squirting onto the sheets, soaking the fabric, little squeezes of watery cum tumbling past your fingers as you ride out your high— hips stuttering forward with each soft drag of your palm over your clit. 

The insides of your thighs shine, wet with your release, Namjoon’s balls seemingly just as wet when they smack against your clit. 

“Shit” his head tips backwards, and you cry as he slips out of you, sudden emptiness causing your cunt to clench, another spurt of cum dripping onto the sheets below you. 

Namjoon’s hand is rapid around his cock, pulling your ass cheeks apart he groans one last time before he shoots his seed over your red ass. 

It drips over your hole, dribbling down to your messy pussy; mixing with the mix of your cum and arousal. 

He smears his cum across your puckered hole, rubbing it across your folds and down to your clit. A low groan rumbles from Namjoon’s chest at the sight, your labia creamy white and shiny. 

“No” your thighs give out under you, his finger still smearing his cum over your sodden clit, throwing you into a less intense orgasm that has you trembling, sob catching in the back of your throat. 

“You’re so good, my darling” he whispers, wet fingers sliding over the expanse of your back, rubbing his release into your sweat slicked skin, “How about a bath?” he smiles when he catches sight of your closed eyes, “Hmm?” 

You nod, “Drink too” you whisper, voice hoarse and Namjoon traces over each hickey, feeling the dips in your skin that his teeth had left and over the swell of your ass. 

“And a drink too” he nods, “can I go to the kitchen to get a drink? Or would you want to come with me?” he asks. 

Your tongue slips past your lips, wetting your bottom lip as your muscles relax, “Come with you” 

“Yeah?” he laughs, “I’m gonna pick you up, okay?” 

You hum, rolling yourself onto your back. Your eyebrows furrow when your ass is met with wet sheets. “Clean sheets too” 

“Of course” he brushes the wet hair from your forehead. 

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The day Namjoon had acted on impulse, your story had reached its climax– and it had been downhill after that. That is how most stories go after-all. 

And for the first time your ignorance to what Namjoon did behind your back had come to bite you in the ass. A sick little reminder that you should have listened to yourself all those months ago. That you should have never gotten involved with Namjoon. Should have just lived this life through with no hiccups and hopefully finally lay to rest at the end of your cycle. 

And somehow you found yourself here. 

It should have been nothing more than a night out together, nothing more than drinks and hands that wandered in intimate places under the table, no one any the wiser. Clothes imbedded with cigarette smoke and cheap liquor, Namjoon’s lips on your neck and yours on his cheek before he wandered to the bar for refills. 

All it had taken was one man to bring you both to downfall. One lingering, sweaty hand, five chubby fingers and two beady eyes that had no respect; one unruly man for your life to once again fall to shit. 

You’d never seen Namjoon anything but level-headed. He always had such control over his own life, knew how to control a room, his people, part of the city. He was always on top. It’s always been Namjoon’s world and you were simply living in it. 

A small whisper in the back of your mind had told you that surely— surely a man with that much power would one day snap. Perhaps not at you, but you’d placed yourself in his line of fire. Dominoes stacked up one after the other and no matter how fast you ran, they would always catch up to you, knocking you over with them. 

And you knew. You knew that a story with you and Namjoon was sure to be another tragedy. And maybe you wanted to believe that he was invincible, that death wouldn’t rattle at behind him like it had the last two of your lovers, and you suppose he didn’t. 

Death was after you. 

Death was scared of Namjoon, but not you. 

“I told you” you whisper, eyes flitting back to your lover when you catch the attention of an officer, “I fucking told you not to do it, that we could sort something out later but you just had to–” 

He had to kill him. Well, he didn’t have to. But he did. 

“I’ll sort it out” he takes your hands, “Don’t stress too much” 

You exhale, chest deflating, utterly defeated, “And how do you plan to fix this?” 

“I’ve got a good lawyer” he tells you, leaning into the table a little more. 

And you want to tell him his lawyer was shit, that there was no way for him to plead innocent when so many people had seen him slaughter someone out of pure rage, no matter if it were in the back of a club, in a drunk daze, you doubt many would forget the shrill cry of a man slowly losing his life. You doubt many would defend a man that was known for chewing up the lives of any man or woman that he deemed unworthy. 

“You trust me? Don’t you?” He interlaces your fingers, squeezing. 

You nod, swallowing hard as an officer slinks past your table. Unnerving as you eye the weapons strapped to their belts and the haunting jangle of keys. 

“Yes. Yes I do” 

“Good.” he nods, “I need you to do a few things for me while I’m held up” 

“Okay” you whisper, foot tapping anxiously against the floor. Palms flushing in a cold sweat.

“Pack your bags, there’s money under the bed, go away for a while” 

Your eyebrows furrow, “What?” 

“I need you to leave the city for a while until I’m out of here” 

“Namjoon I don’t–” 

He tucks your hair behind your ear, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Ever so gentle, a lame attempt at reassurance. Though you only find your heart rate picking up, hands trembling ever so slightly. And you wonder if he can feel it; your fear. You wonder if he can taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

“A lot of people are going to be after you now that I’m not around” 

You shake your head, mouth opening to say something though you’re unsure what. 

“I have a lot of enemies” he says carefully, slowly, “And they all know about the delicate little flower I hold, and they’ll want to pluck her and tear her petals off one by one” 

You swallow, “Namjoon” tears threaten to fall to which he brushes a thumb over your cheeks. 

Shaking his head, “None of that” he smiles, “Soon we’ll be together again, and everything will go back to normal, and we’ll be happy” 

You flinch as a bell rings, hands trembling when chairs scrape against the laminated flooring. You swallow down the lump in your throat, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you simply stare at Namjoon. Curious to see how long it would take for you to get lost in his eyes, to be able to wander his mind and simply live there., Safe, happy. 

He told you that you’d be happy. ,

“Go” he nods behind him, “I’ll see you soon, yeah? I think I can have one more visit before trial” 

The both of you stand, Namjoon pulling you into his chest. He kisses your forehead, displeased scoff tumbling off his lips when one of the officers towers over you. Eyebrow raised and expectant. 

He lets go, and you clench your jaw. Your chest expands, lungs stinging with the rush of oxygen— and you will yourself to look up at Namjoon, painting every little crevice of his face into your mind before you’re slipping past him towards the door. Unable to say anything. 

Because you know if you did you’d break down. And you wouldn’t do that to him right now. Not when he’s told you how much it physically pains him to watch you suffer, how your tears should never fall, how your heart should never hurt. 

“Sirius” Namjoon calls out and you look over your shoulder, “Remember that. My brightest star” 

You wave, swallowing down the sob that claws up your throat. 

And you’d barely made it halfway home before your life had slipped from beneath your feet for a third time. 

Stem snapped, and petals picked; a rotting rose left to decompose on blood-soaked concrete, with the regrets of not even leaving Namjoon behind with a final ‘I love you’. And a faint wish that life after you would fare him a little better. 

thank you for reading!! <3 🌌

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

[66sharkteeth]

Heads up another depressed rant lol

I just wish I had known how much webtoon was going to abandon most of its creators when I signed a few years ago. If I had, I would have pushed my SM so much more back when they still valued my series so maybe I could let more than 30% of my audience know it’s back.

I’m not exaggerating at all when I say the fallout of that terrible return last month had devastated my finances. My fast pass revenue is literally cut in half from before the break. I love my new little apartment so much but I don’t know how much longer I can afford it. I didn’t account for my income to be cut literally in half.

Because every break before this my revenue actually increased. Thanks to proper promotion to past returns WT used to give series, I always regained my audience, and actually saw increasing FP profits the past 2 seasons.

I expected a decline for this return to be clear- the series has been in a slow arc and the episode count is getting up there. But my FP revenue is insanely consistent. It’s one of the few things I’m proud of. X% has always fast passes at minimum (sorry can’t share actual number ofc). Even during past slow periods, that X% has always been consistent. But ever since this last return that received 0 promo, that X% that has basically remained consistent for 4 seasons across 4 years has been cut by almost exactly 50% despite this being my shortest break ever. This decrease has nothing to do with a slow spot in the story or the episode count getting too high. It is because half my readers still don’t know it’s back from lack of promotion. And I’m probably not gonna be able to afford my new home much longer because of it. I can’t share numbers but my series use to be profitable. Idk if it is anymore. But literally all past experiences and records show it would be if readers were just aware that it was back.

I wish I got my social media to blow up when my comic was still kind of popular. Because it’s the only way to promote your webtoon original series now. Webtoon doesn’t do it for you, they expect you to. And if you don’t have the social media to advertise it yourself… then just say good bye to any success your series had.

[s10127470]

My Wolverine and the X-Men Rewrite (Part 1)

I'm sure many of you are familiar of Wolverine and the X-Men, as it was the last major animated series based on Marvel's merry band of mutants before X-Men '97 came out....

And before Marvel entered their infamous "anti-mutant" phase of the 2010s.

(If you don't count the X-Men Anime, which was a mini-series.)

Premiering back in 2009 on the somehow still-existing Nicktoons Network, the series is about the X-Men disbanding after a mysterious explosion results in the destruction of the Institute and the disappearance of Charles Xavier and Jean Grey.

About a year later, the team ended up reuniting for two major reasons.

The MRD (short for the Mutant Response Division), a government-supported organization created for the detainment and subsequent registration of existing mutants, begin capturing mutants from all over the country. Not only that, but they’ve even taken humans as prisoners as well just for helping mutants.

Charles Xavier, who the team find out is actually alive but in a coma resting on Magneto’s island nation of Genosha. Xavier is able telepathically communicate with the team from, in the words of Squidward….

Essentially, the explosion resulted in Xavier’s psyche being flung 20 years into the future. And Xavier himself won’t be awakened from his coma until those 20 years pass. Meanwhile, in the future, Xavier is awake, but finds himself constantly trying to survive as the future he’s in is absolute shit.

Being a loose adaption of Days of Future Past, the future Xavier’s in is one where the Sentinels have conquered the world after a war that broke out between the Master Mold program and Genosha.

In the end, nobody won.

As in this future, humanity has essentially been wiped out and mutants are on the verge of extinction, being placed in concentration camps.

But there is some hope....

Xavier in the future has formed a new X-Men team as it’s revealed that all of the original team are now dead. This new team consists of the likes of Bishop (who’s was one of the many mutants unfortunate enough to be born into this life instead of being a police officer from the distant future), an older Domino (whose present self is an enemy of the X-Men as she’s a member of the Brotherhood), and Marrow (who isn’t a member of the Morlocks).

Since Xavier is able to communicate with his past X-Men, he wants them to ensure that this future never happens.

So now, the reunited X-Men must face on the MRD, stop whatever plans Magneto has up his sleeves this time, and prevent the dark future from happening.

And all with Wolverine being the leader.

Yep! Wolverine is the leader of the X-Men as of right now as Cyclops is not doing so well….at all.

But in addition to those two, the rest of the X-Men consists of Storm, Beast, Nightcrawler, Iceman, Shadowcat, Angel, Forge, and newcomer Emma Frost.

WAXTM is notable things for two things.

It was also shortest-lived of the shows, only lasting 1 season of 26 episodes, which ran through the year of 2009, from January 23rd to November 29th.

This would be the sort-of beginning of an all-new shared animated universe known as the Yostverse, which consisted of the Hulk vs. Films, Thor: Tales of Asgard, and most notably, The Avengers: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. The reason I say sort-of beginning because one of the shows that’s supposedly a part of this universe is The Spectacular Spider-Man, which came out almost a year before this show did. But that’s a discussion in itself.

Ever since its cancellation, WAXTM has gained a following and has become one of the many animated shows that got cancelled too soon and has led thousands of fans clamoring for a revival.

And to this day, people consider the show an underrated gem.

But I'm gonna have to come out and say it.....

Wolverine and the X-Men is not exactly a good show....

It's not bad by any means, but does have a lot of flaws.

And while it did do some things right, it wasn't quite to the extent of X-Men Evolution and especially X-Men: The Animated Series.

So today I want to discuss how I would rewrite the show. Keeping what worked about the show and either strengthen or removing what didn't.

And for this rewrite, be prepared to expect changes in characterizations, looks and even voices!

For the first part of this rewrite, we'll be covering the first three episodes of the show, Hindsight: Parts 1, 2 and 3.

And for this version of the show, all 3 of episodes would premiering on the exact same night: January 23rd, 2009.

Essentially, Wolverine and the X-Men's premiere in this AU would be a full-on TV movie!

This would be similar to what Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends did as when they first premiered, they had the first three episodes packed into a TV movie.

And one last thing, I would like to credit synergysilhouette as my main inspiration for this post, as he also shared his own idea on rewrite Wolverine and the X-Men as well.

So with that being said, let's get this party started!

First thing we need to get out of way that this show would not be called "Wolverine and the X-Men".

As that title is undoubtedly emblematic of the show's greatest flaw: the focus on Wolverine.

It's pretty obvious that the original series was riding on the coattails of the X-Men films, which Wolverine was not only the most popular character of, but the essentially the main character (and the only one that really mattered, much to the detriment of basically everyone else.).

Made more obvious with the fact that it premiered just four months before his long anticipated solo film.

Yeah, we all know how well that turned out....

Apparently, when WAXTM was first convinced, it was initially meant to be solo cartoon for Wolverine.

At least in the eyes of the executives...

But to the directors and producers, this was meant to be another X-Men cartoon.

In the end, the two sides essentially came to a compromise: the show would have the X-Men as its main cast, but Wolverine would be the focal character of the show.

Everyone has already said it before, but it does bare repeating.

The X-Men are suppose to be an ensemble. It shouldn't focus on just one character and essentially make everyone else irrelevant.

For this rewrite, the show's name would be changed to "X-Men Destiny", which I feel like fits perfectly with the premise of the series.

Next we come to the tone and style. This was another area where the influence from the films is quite obvious.

Just like the FOX films, Wolverine and the X-Men is notably more serious and gloomy than most other X-Men media, even the comics at some points.

It's somewhat melodramatic and there's rarely ever a sense of levity or humor to lighten things up

I'm admittedly not a fan of this style. I understand the X-Men are a little more serious when compared to other characters of the Marvel universe, but I don't think they need to be this overly serious.

I feel like the core of the X-Men, in spite of the all bullshit they deal with, they still persevere and keep their heads up no matter what.

So for this version of the show, the tone will be a little more light-hearted.

There will actually be humor present and some characters will be the resident comic reliefs.

But don't worry, the show will still take itself seriously when it needs to.

But another area the show would see change in is the art-style.

For this version of the show, the character designs would be done by ZyalahDoodles.

She’s an artist here on Tumblr who has done some redraws and redesigns for WAXTM.

I really like her style. It strikes that balance between being similar to the original art style while still being somewhat different. And if anything, it’s actually an improvement over the original style, especially when look at characters like Quicksilver. 

Like Jesus Christ, he was hideous in the original!

I know he’s suppose to be Magneto’s son, but you didn’t need to make him look as old as him too! 

Like Zyalah’s Quicksilver can actually get it.

If you want to check out more of her art, here’s the link to her page below.

Next we come to the roster.

Overall, it's largely the same as in the original except we would see the addition of one more character.

And that's none other than the steel-skinned gentle giant himself, Colossus!

Not only because he's one of my favorite X-Men, it's also because he's honestly kind of deserves it.

For those who don't know, despite only appearing in the prologue of the first episode, Colossus was weirdly in a lot of promotional material and merchandising for the show.

Apparently he was suppose to return to the X-Men following the explosion, but the producers decided not to do that and just save him for the planned season 2.

I'm guessing that the promotional material and merchandising started production during the early development of the show and before everything got finalized.

And thus, it's why a lot of this stuff still shows Colossus as a main character.

It's similar to what happened with The Simpsons, as during its early years, a lot of merchandising featured Bart famously wearing a blue shirt instead of his trademark red shirt.

But now that we got our roster out of the way, let's talk about the characters.

Specifically, their voices, appearances and ages.

In terms of voices, just about everyone still have their respective VAs in this version....except for two of the X-Men.

Those two being Iceman and Rogue.

Iceman would be voiced by Jason Marsden, replacing Yuri Lowenthal.

But don't worry, Yuri would be still in this version of the show, but as a different character (who we'll get to shortly).

And Rogue would be voiced by Melissa Disney, replacing Kieren van den Blink.

As for appearances, synergysilhouette brought up how a little wonky the builds of the characters were.

Like some of the males had buff upper bodies but surprisingly thin torsos and legs, and the females were pretty paper thin.

Like, we're talking almost VivziePop thin, specifically in the leg area.

The only part of them that wasn't thin were their chests....

Who designed these girls? Greg Land?

So yeah, in this version of the show would fix some of those designs.

Particularly putting a little more meat on the females.

I guess you could say I made them....

But for the builds of the X-Men.

Wolverine has a stocky and muscular build.

Cyclops is lean but athletic.

Emma Frost has an hourglass figure with a more top-heavy build.

Storm also has an hourglass figure, with an all-around build.

Beast...basically looks the same as he does in the original show.

So does Nightcrawler, Angel, Colossus, Iceman, Shadowcat and Forge (expect he'll actually have tanned skin)

And Rogue has a similar build to Storm.

Apart from the builds, the X-Men look largely the same as in the original show.

Though Cyclops and Rogue would definitely be getting a serious hairdo.

Since let's be real, their haircuts were pretty awful in the original show, especially Rogue's.

Cyclops' new hair would look just how it does in Zyalah's piece I showed earlier, and Rogue would have much longer hair.

As for heights, the X-Men are pretty accurate to those from the comics.

Yes, and that does include Wolverine.

However, there is one exception to this and that's with Beast.

I've always felt that Beast definitely should be a much taller character than he actually is.

(He's canonically 5'11)

But despite that, in the more recent comics, he's always shown as being bigger than most of the other X-Men.

So here, Beast is like 6'5.

As for their outfits...

Wolverine, Storm, Emma, Nightcrawler, Colossus, Angel, Rogue and Forge would be wearing the exact same outfits they did in the original show.

Beast as well, but he would also be sporting goggles this time.

(He just looks so right with them).

Iceman would wearing a modified version of his outfit from the show.

It would have a light blue and dark blue color scheme, short pant-legs and no shoes.

Shadowcat would be wearing her outfit from the Astonishing X-Men run.

And Cyclops, well....

This what he'll be wearing.

If you collected any Marvel merchandising during the 2000s, you've most definitely seen this look before.

It's kind of like an combination between his 90s outfit and his Astonishing outfit.

And in all honesty, it's really cool looking.

But weirdly enough, he's never wore this any iteration outside of the merchandising.

So I figured.....

Finally, we come to the ages of the X-Men.

I'm reason I'm bringing is because of the episode, Breakdown.

In that episode, we take a look into Cyclops' past, and just like in the comics, the X-Men originally started off with the original five.

And we can clearly see that they're teenagers.

But this becomes an issue when take Iceman into account.

In the second episode when Wolverine and Beast come to recruit him, the latter mentions to his parents that Iceman is now 18.

Which would mean that three years have pasted since the X-Men formed.

And since the estimated age difference between the original five is that Beast is older than Cyclops, Jean and Angel by 2 years and Iceman is younger than them by 2 years, that would mean that Cyclops, Jean Angel are around 19-20 and Beast is around 21-22.

And yeah, there's is no way in hell that's the case.

I could definitely see them being in their 20s, but like mid-to-late 20s.

Definitely not early 20s!

Here, it would be established that the X-Men have been around for about 8 years, including after the explosion.

As for the ages of the team.

We all know Wolverine is old as hell!

Cyclops, Jean and Angel are 24.

Emma is 29.

Storm is 26.

Beast is 27.

Nightcrawler is 22.

Colossus, Rogue and Forge are 20.

And Iceman and Shadowcat are 18.

Now that we got that out of the way, let's go ahead and talk about the episodes themselves!

Hindsight: Part 1

This episode is largely the same, but there would be a few changes.

-All of the X-Men would be present in the prologue. Iceman would training in The Danger Room with Shadowcat, Colossus and Nightcrawler, Forge would be working on a new device while ignoring the cries for help from the four after getting trapped, and Angel would be seen spending them with Storm.

-We would get the establishment of where everyone else is once Wolverine and Beast reunite. Cyclops has living in a rundown apartment by himself, Storm moved back to her village in Kenya, Angel has been working at his father's company, Iceman and Shadowcat moved back in with their parents, Colossus moved back to his family's farm in Russia, and nobody's heard from Nightcrawler or Rogue. As for Beast, he's been hanging at what's left of the mansion with Forge, working together to see what caused the explosion in the first place.

-Speaking of Forge, he would be helping out Wolverine and Beast with their break-in. And also, and more importantly, Forge's characterization is much different. Here, he's basically like Sokka and Velma, being the team's resident tech-genius and total smartass.

-Pyro wouldn't be one of the mutants freed when Wolverine, Beast and Forge free the prisoners. Instead, his place would be taken by Jubilee (voiced by Janice Kawaye). She would end up staying with the X-Men, kick-starting one of the storylines for this series. As for her characterization, it's pretty accurate to how she is in the comics. In terms of overall physical appearance and age: she's about 15, has a slightly petite build, black hair in a bob-cut style, pink lips, brown eyes, stands at 5'1, and wears a modified version of her classic 90s outfit. It's largely the same, except with a navel-bearing shirt, fingerless gloves and sneakers.

Hindsight: Part 2

Once again, largely the same with a few changes.

-The Brotherhood has two new additions from the original version in the form of Pyro and Gambit. Yep! Gambit is a member of Brotherhood in this version of the show, as it would set up his eventual turnover to the X-Men and his romance with Rogue. And in typical Gambit fashion, he'll definitely be laying his Cajun charm on Rogue immediately. As their voices, all of them remain the same except for Quicksilver, Toad and Pyro. Quicksilver would be voiced by Yuri Lowenthal (I told you we would be coming back to him!), Toad would be voiced by Danny Cooksey, and Pyro would be voiced by John Kassir. Also, Toad will be British. Yeah, remember when he used to have a British accent?

-Cyclops' characterization. One of the biggest flaws of the original show was how Cyclops was characterized. In the original, he was intolerant, depressed grub. I get that he's grieving over the loss of Jean, but man. It's hard for us to feel sorry for the guy when he's constantly being angry and angsty. He may've not been done as dirty when compared to the Fox films, but this version of the character isn't too far behind. But here, Cyclops is will actually remain as the leader of the team, and his big story of the season (apart from the obvious) is him grappling with whether or not he still has what it takes to be leader again. And along with that, he isn't gonna nearly as angry and angsty as he was in the original. However, he will still be grieving and his depression will be shown in a way where we actually sympathize with him. This would be first shown when Wolverine tries to recruit him and after blasting him out of his room. And although he starts off looking down at Wolverine angry at first, but once he leaves, his expression eventually turns into one of regret.

Hindsight: Part 3

Just like with the last two, it's mostly the same with one notable exception.

-When the X-Men meet Emma for the first time, their reactions are a little different. Angel isn't smitten by her at all, as he already has a special somebody (i.e. Storm). But Iceman still is. But he's not the only one. The other would be Shadowcat. Yep! In this show, Shadowcat and Iceman are both, in the words of NSYNC....

Well that's all I have for now.

Let me know what you guys think about this rewrite. And if you could, give me some ideas on how the rest of the series should play out!

But anyway, I'm gonna go play some X-Men Legends II: Rise of Apocalypse....

Peace out, yo.

[kirvia]

i like your taste in series (judging by the stuff you make fanart of) but ive never heard of ORV before. what is it and why are you diggin it?

OMG hi thanks!! not to infodump but

ORV AKA omniscient reader's viewpoint is a korean metafictional webnovel about this guy named Kim Dokja who's been the solo reader of a webnovel, Three Ways to Survive an Apocalypse, for over a decade. TWSA becomes reality one day and subjects everyone on earth to life or death 'scenarios' (games); he is the only one who knows that the world is fictional and moreover knows how it ends. he recruits preexisting characters, including main character of TWSA Yoo Joonghyuk, and works towards alter the original storyline and reach the best ending in the shortest amount of time possible.

it starts off as a pretty generic isekai but evolves into something um. indescribably insane over 550 chapters ^_^ I'm not done with it yet but everything about it is so incredibly well written, from the characters to the high stakes pacing and complex plot. every chapter raises the stakes and somehow the writers manage to juggle all of the plot points to near perfection if not perfectly

w/o spoiling too much i personally categorize it in my head as a similar genre to Madoka Magica and Revolutionary Girl Utena to give u a slight idea of how the story eventually unfolds. The real heart of it is in the character dynamics and the love the book has for its reader imo. lots of religious motifs + trope subversions + parental issues + dynamic female characters... I'm also a horrible sucker for dokja and joonghyuk's relationship if you're interested in the homoeroticism of ORV lol

if you want to read the novel, here's the EPUB and PDF! i use the epub. if you don't want to read something that's longer than the bible then there's an ongoing manhwa which I hear adapts the original text pretty directly but haven't gotten to reading myself <3 i can safely say it's genuinely one of the best works of modern fiction I've ever read in my miserable wretched life

[alastors-morningstar]

prediction of Dream's April Fools Day upload from least to most cursed:

no video upload at all

a picture of Foolish_Gamers face, get it, cause April FOOLs

DTeam daily vlog (the start to a series?)

Dream's shortest video ever and it's a ripoff of some Mr. Beast video word for word, scene by scene

MCC Buildmart IRL but it's just them at IKEA

5 minutes of Patches content

minecraft manhunt IRL but its super scuffed (shaky cam, poor audio, 480p, etc) basically the rough draft of the actual IRL manhunt that they filmed last week

Dream Boobs reveal

Tommyinnit takes over his Live Stream and drops the DNF is real bomb but no one knows if he's joking or serious

Minecraft Sex Mod IRL

DNF relationship reveal by George /fake but everyone thinks its real

DNF amv made in Windows Movie Maker to the Song Everytime we Touch by Cascada

DNF relationship reveal by Dream /real but everyone thinks its fake

Dream Dick reveal

I Got Married to my Best Friend IRL but it's SNF

[white-collar-cannibal]

i get so jealous of euthanized dogs

(do you ever think too much about the implications of a plastic skeleton. i do.) genloss fic about the death — and it's subsequent consequences — of frank, last name unknown. gl!sneeg/gl!frank, title from the poem of the same name by june gehringer, heavily inspired by the locked tomb series, word count: 4,004, contains: suicidal ideation, canon-typical violence, descriptions of decomposition

Frank was not in his room. This was — mostly — expected, given his sorry state the last time Sneeg had seen him. Each morning, when Sneeg rose and he snuck out of the Cabin and down to that cramped corridor to unhook Niki from a great mess of wires and shake her gingerly awake, he also picked the lock of the room two doors down, and they would look to see that empty cot and those dark monitors which did not show any vital sign or brain activity. As they stared into that unfilled space, Sneeg thought, meanly, that this was probably what they got for being so used to walking the back rooms and the far corridors of the mall that they had forgotten the dangers of the Heart.

If it was any consolation, Frank was dead before he could realize the whole plan was going to shit. Niki had bolted in the first available direction, and Sneeg had not followed her, too busy holding the disparate bits of Frank’s skull together. He did not know where Niki had gone, only that she had not made it out. She was, after three days time, in her little room, sleeping so deeply as to be three-quarters dead, powered-down and completely unharmed. The two of them had not been very productive in the following days, and by the fifth day that Niki had been returned and Frank had not, they had begun to absolutely lose it, and they had split up to walk the parasitized mall and worry where the other could not sense it. 

On the seventh day, Sneeg encountered a strange sight: an open door that had not been open the day before. Sneeg did not recognize the door, but he recognized the hallway, and he recalled the third door from this end downward having been marked on their map with an inverted dagger: locked, keycard access. The door was clearly not supposed to be open. A sheet of laminated paper found itself caught between the body of the door and the mechanism of the lock, the little black keycard reader gleaming a welcoming LED green. A thin, pale fog rolled in half-formed locks out of the room, and it was making the hallway a little cold to stand in. The room beyond the door was cramped as any recycled Showfall room, stuffed to the gills with a series of large steel drawers, like lockers turned over onto their side so the shortest edge faced forward. All but one were closed, the source of that milky, breathy fog, and a metal slab had been shunted or rolled out of the drawer, which a single figure lay on top of. Approaching the thing was a miserable endeavor: laid as still as stillness over the slab was Frank — or at least, his body.

The body appeared very similar at first glance to its living counterpart, but at the moment’s close examination, the whole thing fell apart. It carried the same heavy-set brow, the same hawkish nose, the same worried marks at the corners of the mouth and eyes, but the whole lovely face had no blood in it at all, rendering it the tone of some anemic cornflower. It lay more still than Frank ever had, even in sleep, and it was a cold to the touch that made his fingers numb. Only the soft give of the skin and the flesh underneath convinced him that it was not a well done marble replacement by some singlely Pygmalion-minded sculptor. It was all very confusing. Sneeg held a deep, uncomfortable familiarity with death, but it all seemed off now. He could assume the purpose of the cold room with the inset drawers, but someone had, with precision if not care, dressed the body well and laid its hair flat and its hands in a kindly manner over its chest — they had put his face back together, for God’s sake — but the body was still dead. It was like dressing up a piece of plywood. What was the point?

Sneeg stared for a moment longer, at the remnant shell of the first person who had known him to the core of his misery and loved him anyway, and his eyes watered. Something was wrong. Something was awfully wrong. A body like this had been dead a longer time than Showfall had ever let them have between shows. He was in cold storage and not laid on the threadbare cot of his talent cubicle, waiting in pristine unaltered condition for whatever next taping Showfall had in mind. There was nothing good that would come from them leaving a cast member like this for so long, long enough for the body to pass into and out from rigor mortis. It betrayed a nearly unthinkable idea, something Sneeg could barely string together the words to comprehend: Frank was dead, and Showfall never intended to bring him back. This was it. The thought was like a bullet through his own brain, and he stood there, white-knuckling the edge of the mortuary drawer and breathing quite heavily.

Reaching into the pocket of that wrinkle-less jacket, he retrieved the silver Showfall-branded lighter, marked over in pen and marker and paint. It was a familiar weight, and found a familiar home in his own pocket. There was nothing else to do. He did not know how a real person was supposed to face a loss like this. He did not know how to say goodbye, and to mean it forever. 

It was with a childish, fairytale desperation mingled with his shock and his tragedy, that, in almost a dreaming haze, he pressed his lips to the pretty, bloodless mouth of the body. It did nothing so pedestrian as wake or speak. It did not flutter long, frosted eyelashes, open pearly clouded-over eyes and smile at him. It merely lay there, cold and still. Sneeg did not know what he had expected. He watched the body for a moment longer, to ensure it drew no hidden breath, nor twitched any surreptitious muscle — and then he ran from it.

In the cage of the Cabin — the safest place he had, given its having four walls and a door he could close and lock — Sneeg had tried very hard to tar over the raw wound of the loss with the thick denial that only a child of Showfall could feel. Frank was coming back. He was coming back because everyone came back. That was how it worked. That was how it always worked. It was nigh unthinkable that it wouldn’t now, for him, but oh God, would Showfall decide to pull their fingers from their own hand only to spite him, only to plant their dagger between his third and fourth rib. They would because they hated him. They had always hated him, ever since they first took him, for all the terrible things at the heart of his being, for his inability to work to standard, or live to standard, or look to standard. He tried very hard not to think about the possibility. He tried very hard not to think of anything at all. He tried very hard to focus on the shapes the path of his breath took through his body, the stucco texture hastily plastered over the walls and the floor, the hum of the tungsten day lights. He pulled his knees tight to his chest, and tried not to cry, because it would be real if he cried.

Sneeg spent three such nights in the cage, only moving on the fourth to the too-short couch in the living room when the bones of his back protested too much to ignore. He did not want to go back to the softer, better fitting mattress of his own room in the attic, to sit in the cold dark where Frank had laid his head on his chest in secret. Sneeg had done nearly everything in secret then, and now he was doing nothing, and he was doing it quite openly. He waited around, doing a great deal of nothing in the living room, or sometimes the kitchen, or the basement, and tried to be nothing in his wait for the next taping. This was the model of the perfect Showfall student, someone who wanted nothing and did nothing, and only lived to work their fingers to the bone, and then work the bones off their hand. It was almost strange to think that Management had tried for nearly twenty years, through varying cruel and unusual means, to turn Sneeg into this, when all it had taken was the maybe-death of one cosmically disposable cast member, and the maybe-shredding of that piece of Sneeg that was convinced he knew what the warmth of the Sun felt like.

The next taping arrived, as it would even if Hell froze over. Sneeg fell into the ephemeral grasp of the Showfall filter, and he forgot his grief wholly and entirely as Sneegsnag, first son of Showfall Media, first Taken, and despair of the Founder, disappeared. He melted away like so much candle wax, and someone picked him up and turned him over and over until he was the shape of whichever character they demanded of him.

The show did not matter, only that Sneeg’s part in it ended with a bullet stuck in his second lumbar vertebra. The moment Sneeg hit the ground, he began to remember again, and when each of the actors had peeled out of the room and the cameras were turned away from him, the loss had snuck its way back into his body in lung-shaking fingers of cold. It was there, bleeding onto that tiled faux-floor, that Sneeg realized that he recognized the prop corpse in the corner, the one that the prop department would have carefully set down and fiddled with before the actors were even on set. He propped himself up on his elbows, raising himself out of that scarlet puddle which had already ruined the nice shirt he had been dressed in, and he looked at it again, just to be sure.

He hated to look at it. He hated that they had not given him the mercy of smashing that pretty face into unrecognizable mush. He hated that the body was dead, and it was not moving, and Showfall had conscripted it for such purpose. The body was dead, and this was its job now, and Showfall had gotten sick of it and was not bringing him back. Sneeg wanted to scream, and he wanted to vomit, and he wanted to go home, even though he didn’t know at all what that meant anymore. He laid back down, getting his hair wet and black with fresh blood, and he had repeated, “No, no, no, no, no,” very quietly, nothing more than a breath, until two of the well-dressed employees grabbed each of his arms and sides of his thorax, bodily hauled him with their unthinking, programmed movement onto a stretcher, and caught him in the neck with the syringe.

Later that night was the first time the ghost of Frank revealed itself to him, sat beside him in the dark, and laid its hand which carried no weight over his own hand. There was no honest sensation that came from it, as was the want of a ghost or a trick of the mind, but it had left behind the pins-and-needles feeling of a limb left too long without blood. Sneeg had finally wept then, for his lost, far away family, for his dead lover, for his damned escape plan, and for his own sorry state. He hated to weep. He hated how incapable it made him feel, how it crushed his lungs and his throat. He felt like a small child again, or more accurately, like a worm. He did not know what to do, and now there was no one around to tell him. Easily, without spoken prompt, the ghost tried its stupid, spectral best to hold Sneeg. It did not succeed a great amount in this, but Sneeg’s starving want made the paresthetic touch a good enough comfort for him to lay still and try to sleep, rather than walking out of the Cabin and throwing himself over the third-story railing.

Sometimes, each night that followed, the ghost appeared to him alive, and at other times, as freshly dead as he had been the first time Sneeg saw him. Only once had he appeared in unrestrained decomposition, and Sneeg prayed it never happen again. He had been waxen, swell with rot, a deep, lush violet where the blood had been allowed to pool, leaking a dark fluid from his nose he wiped at in intermittent intervals. Sneeg had looked upon him in desperation and hunger, and the remains of his own putrefying affection, and he had still reached out to touch the apparition — but Frank smiled, and his mouth was full of maggots, and the palm that Sneeg had reached to touch him was seized with the conviction of ten thousand worms beneath its own skin, roiling and squirming. He had screamed for only one moment, but the ghost still vanished, and his brother still appeared with a quickness and a pitying concern, both of which Sneeg disdained.

Sometimes the ghost did not speak, only lay beside him in a familiar stillness, side against side, as Sneeg tried his damnedest to make himself hear Frank breathe into the dark. Most days it did speak, and often it was to needle him about how long it had been since Sneeg had eaten, or showered, or drank water. It was difficult to remember to do so those days. Sneeg spent much of his time asleep, finding it favorable in nearly every way to waking. There was very little want in his body to do much of anything, except to lie there on his mattress on the floor until God felt it right to snatch him away. 

His brother had not bothered him for one week, and then had been struck with what Sneeg could only assume was a crushing fear that God would indeed take Sneeg away, and Sneeg would be in no hurry and of no power to stop Him. He had begun placing bowls of cold porridge and glasses of room temperature water just beyond the doorway to the attic, and checking whenever he thought Sneeg was asleep to see if they had been disturbed, as if attempting to care for a stray cat. One night, in some kind of fit, Charlie had burst into the room, taken one of Sneeg’s hands between his own, between the hands that had drowned and bled and choked and killed and killed him so many times, and prayed intercessions to every saint he thought fit, and then some extra for surety: Anastasia, Raphael, Rita and Juliana and Teresa, Camillus and Christina Mirabilis, and on and on until his throat was hoarse. Sneeg watched him, and felt much like a compass that had broken somehow, no longer able to spin to point in the direction of God.

The ghost had taken this plea as sign and signal to redouble its efforts, and where God had not delivered Sneeg from his sorrows, the ghost delivered him from the IV drip and the padded room of the hunger strike. Showfall had never cared if he lived or died, but for him to waste away spoke unfortunately about how well they were paying him. They weren’t paying him, mind you, but it was about the optics of it. To this effect, Sneeg developed an unerring routine which got three nutrient rations and two and a half glasses of water into his body a day, and for his success the ghost would lay beside him at night, and leave that pins-and-needles feeling against his hands, and his neck, and his mouth. When the ghost did not appear, Sneeg comforted himself by imagining what it would be like to walk far beyond where Showfall’s patrol lines would ever find him, to break boarded windows and curl up on the floor of the condemned wing of the mall, and die like a bird which had flown in accidentally and could not get out. It was not a great comfort, and he knew dimly it was not a healthy one either, but it was enough to dull his heart and brain enough for him to sleep. In his dreams, each time he saw Frank, he felt very sick, and he would turn to Niki or Charlie or anyone that was there and ask, sorrily, “Is he there? Can you see him?” and they would look at him like a particularly sad piece of roadkill.

His brother kept praying, and sometimes he screamed into a pillow or an old shirt. Charlie knew that if Sneeg died, he would too, and Charlie did not want to die. He did not know what to do either, and vacillated between an overbearing care, as if Sneeg was a piece of glass or old china, — which Sneeg hated — and a snapping fury at Sneeg’s inability to do much of anything — which Sneeg also hated, but hated in an acute way that made him feel half a percent more alive. At those, Sneeg snapped back, and the two would fight with the familiar contempt that only grew from living together against your will for the better part of two decades. Sometimes it devolved, and ended with teeth in flesh and hands around neck and blood on the floor. Sometimes Sneeg cried — this was an arresting notion for even the most boiling over Charlie, and it made everything very strange and sad and awkward. He would place his hand on Sneeg’s shoulder, then take it away, and flap his mouth open and closed a couple times, but no noise would come out. Only once did he manage a blank “I’m sorry,” and Sneeg had just cried worse for it.

When it was clear that Sneeg was set on the rituals of self-maintenance, the ghost shunted its efforts towards convincing Sneeg to wake up Niki, and to get back on the wagon of planning their escape. He tried to convince Sneeg of this first by saying that Niki would be upset if Sneeg left her there alone much longer, which was not very effective, since he was sure she would be upset already, and then by saying that it would be good for Sneeg to get out of the house, which was not very effective, since Sneeg had nearly given up on doing things that were good for him. Then, he tried to tell Sneeg that the plan was not off yet, that there was still a chance for them to make it out, if they got together and threw themselves into it. 

The problem with this was that Sneeg and Niki had no fucking clue what they would do if they got out, on account of Niki having nearly no recollection of the details of her life before Showfall had kidnapped her, and of Sneeg's having been seven at the time. As integral to the plan as Niki’s steadfast internal map and Sneeg’s memory of the timetables and the pathing of the wandering guards had been Frank’s insistence that he could hunt down the names and the contacts of those who were close to him, who he remembered with a greater clarity. But that was all gone now. Sneeg had not known it, so the ghost would not whisper it to him. Niki did not know it, despite her constant bothering Frank to tell her all he knew, so they would have one less point of failure. He had never told her, not because he did not want to, but because he only knew it in a subconscious, animal way, and not in a way that he could tell her, and now none of them knew. Each new detail, each elaboration on the loss, made the whole thing interminably worse. They were alone, and they were damned, and there was no way out.

At this thought, the ghost jabbed at him and set off the strange nerve at the point of his elbow. “Fuck off,” it had said. “You’re better than this. You need instructions? You need an order? Survive me. Finish the job.” It had looked so close to living, breathing, pressure-bomb Frank then, sharp eyes like so much burnt-up copper, teeth at fascinating and contradicting angles, that he would have done anything it asked.

Sneeg slept, and he woke, and he ate, and he told his brother, “I’m going to go talk to Niki,” and then, at Charlie’s expression, “Give me three hours before you start to worry.” Charlie turned his face up at this, but he nodded, and Sneeg retraced, in dismally slow footsteps, that familiar back alley path from the Cabin’s panel door to the dingy hallway of the cast cubicles. Niki was lying in the abyssal, dreamless sleep of the power-down as Sneeg clacked the well-worn key combination into the console, and pulled away a lot of electrodes and finger-traps. The first thing Niki did was scream, and then she thought better of it, and just sat at the edge of the cot and hyperventilated. When Sneeg had tried to speak, she got up and pushed past him, brusquely, and left the room. Half an hour later, he started looking for her, and when he did find her in one of the many uncared for corners of the mall, she was sat, knees to chest, beneath a whole herd of quite miserable chalk-drawing horses across the wall. Her hands were bunched in her hair, and she was looking somewhere far away. Her eyes were rotten, needle ice over dark water. She had a very small voice when she spoke. 

“What are we going to do?” In the dark, it was clear to them both that Niki was still a teenager, and Sneeg was still as stunted as he had ever been. They sat there, two kicked, abandoned dogs, which had been cut free of leash and of collar for the first time, and were liable to start running into traffic. There was a length between them that felt like a missing molar. 

“Okay. Okay.” Niki rose with a fervor that nearly toppled her over, and she grabbed each of his shoulders with vile intensity. “Sneeg. I am not dying in this hole. Get up.”

Sneeg got up. He never could ignore a direct order. Sneeg got up and got up and got up, and his heart kept beating, and his lungs kept drawing in breath. Hours fell into days fell into weeks, sets fell into sets fell into moldy corridors where Niki tried to transcribe the paths of guards with too many dashed lines and corresponding sigils. They chipped at the work in short, fervid bursts, then couldn't touch it for days. Niki never prayed, but she would hold Sneeg's hands when he did, and sometimes, thinking she was alone, she would pace in languid, looping circles and speak as if Frank could still hear her.

They spent so much time working at this dreadfully slow pace that it became very hard to tell just how long it had been. Sneeg lost count of the days since he had last asked God to just kill him and get it over with, and he thought it a success, and stopped keeping track — only to end up awake in the kitchen in the middle of the night, staring longingly at the wood-paneled knife block. Time fell through his hands like it wasn't even there, and he only realized that it had been a very long while when he went to wake Niki up, and spotted, at the edge of the hall, a new temporary label on one of the previously empty rooms. It was the same mechanized handwriting as every other label, and Niki read it out, clear and crisp: T-8: HERO.

[sangre]

OCS + Associations

tagged by my beloved @raphaelsboudoir thank you!

tagging: @the-lovely-lady-luck @reides @fluffy-snow-fox @interstices @kirkewrites @gerrykecy @killdragons @critrolesketch @cass1x1 @paleolithik @devilatelier @shapeknight @jabbakiller

going to complete this for my 3 active dnd characters, serisínthe, miré, and varin. to iron things out/illustrate their differences in my head in a fun way. these looked fun so please enjoy & i look forward to seeing any you guys do! :flushed:

Animal

Serisínthe: white tailed deer. antlers and eyes caught in headlights. frail/delicate/in death, a dressed up carcass Miré: portland sheep. huge curling horns, fluffy in every sense. social, curious, exploratory Varin: cottonmouth river snake! uhh you know serpents. coiled up and all. odd eyes. not typically aggressive unless provoked

Colors

Serisínthe: valentine's day palette... off-white, deep red pink Miré: foresty pale green, soft brown and lavender Varin: light charcoal, luminous blues and indigo purples

Month

Serisínthe: february! the shortest and least predictable month. it's got holiday chocolates in there. everything ends too soon but it's so cherished you know Miré: may! just after the showers of april, the grounds and grasses are wet against your boots and you're just kind of looking forward with the brisk air Varin: november. something weird and dreamlike about the crest before the end of the year, it's cold and kind of scary because something's almost over, but it's starting again.

Songs

Serisínthe: dying star – ashnikko, ethel cain I need somethin' soft, down feathers over rocks Miré: renee – sales All day long we looked to fall, looking into the sun and found a way to get along Varin: destroyer – ruby haunt Sweetheart, come undone, I'm handing you the dagger

Number

Serisínthe: 3 i think. Miré: 12 <- months in a year/cylical Varin: 8 <- haha ouroboros shape. 7 8 9 joke

Plants

Serisínthe: to say something other than a rose, pinkish red snapdragons. Miré: false deathcap mushroom! Varin: candle larkspur / guardian blue delphinium :)

Smells

Serisínthe: rosewater, white peach, coffee Miré: nutmeg, PETRICHOR, eucalyptus Varin: lychee, being near fresh rushing water, sandalwood

Gemstones

Serisínthe: moonstone... rose quartz, bixbite Miré: moss agate, rainbow fluorite Varin: chrysocolla!!! boulder opal

Time of Day

Serisínthe: the night sky, illuminated perfectly by stars. maybe like midnight Miré: early morning, like 7am, when you can't really see the sun but the sky is like white-blue, you can still smell the dew on the earth. Varin: like the very end of sunset, at like 6pm? right when the sky is like HEAVILY gradient with different colors dipping into each other.

Season

Serisínthe: autumn :3 the leaves are changing baby Miré: SPRINGGGGGGGGGG ITS SPRINGGGGG Varin: i feel like fall is a different answer than autumn so take that as you will.

Places

Serisínthe: behind the red curtains of a stage, in a dressing room doing his hair and putting paint on his lips, somewhere in a pile of his dearest friends, embraced. Miré: the floor of the detyrwood, in its deepest corners of lush green and whispering wingbeats. in the canopy of the trees or under the open sky, camping in an open field of wildflowers. Varin: in an abandoned apartment behind dilapidated wooden planks covered in ash, by the river's edge, hands washing off in the water. with his back to a wall covered and i do mean COVERED in bones, by stone pillars, eerie sterility and marble.

Foods

Serisínthe: i can't tell if this is asking what she would eat or what i associate her with. i think both? i'll try both. SO, STRONG flavors! like very spicy meats or coffee flavored deserts. seri can't taste very well so it's got to be intense. Miré: anything and everything but a forager at heart. nuts, berries, mushies, herbs, the best broth you've ever had in your life. like short ribs or something Varin: odds and ends, sort of scavenging. tough foods, dry things, cured meats. plain pastas, probably a huge noodle guy. might actually be obsessed with different shapes of noodles

Drinks

Serisínthe: peach daiquiri or a dessert wine with like notes of peach or berry Miré: ginger beer and lime, woodsy beers like a light/dry malt OR a sweet mead Varin: this weird cocktail called aviation, with gin, maraschino liqueur, creme de violette and lemon juice

Element

Serisínthe: air Miré: earth Varin: water

Seasoning

Serisínthe: garlic powder… cinnamon! CAYENNE Miré: basil. bay leaves.. cumin! Varin: ground ginger… nutmeg? smoked paprika?

Sky

Serisínthe: moonlit Miré: dawn Varin: sunset

Weather

Serisínthe: clear :3 maybe snowy Miré: rainnyyy!!! rainy rainy Varin: FOGGY!!!! SILENT HILL FOG

Magical Powers

Serisínthe: yeah she got those (cleric of song) Miré: it's a yes from he (spores druid, can reanimate) Varin: you bet at least 1 (don't look at me but he's out there)

Weapons

Serisínthe: a rose crystal casting focus scythe Miré: her big vine-covered staff Varin: a fucked up willowy axe like this where the hilt already lends itself to swinging with its curve

Candy

Serisínthe: rich dark chocolates, caramels, cherry chocolates, java sweets Miré: anything gummy. Gummies. The gummyies. sweet gummy bear Varin: peanut brittles, toffees, crunchy sweets or sours

Methods of Long-Distance Travel

Serisínthe: i just feel like if flight were feasible... an airship would be so cool for him Miré: HOOF IT!!!!! that said they're also capable of moving through trees within a certain distance of each other. Varin: (charon voice) get in the gondola. UM but yeah i don't know. train rides where you don't know where you're headed? (inception voice) how can it not matter where the train will take you!?!??!

Fear

Serisínthe: to be unable to help abate the suffering of his loved ones. Miré: to lose her home or endanger it inadvertently somehow. Varin: to die a tool and nothing more.

Mythological Creature

Serisínthe: maybe a fawn? a satyr? lol Miré: the golden fleece!!!! some kind of marsh forest fey sprite Varin: a sea serpent like you know just don't mind me and my yugioh card that i just dropped here okay

Piece of Stationary

Serisínthe: VERY thin delicate paper. sheet music paper with writing in the margins Miré: cute post it notes for reminders ;v; with little flower and mushroom decorations Varin: something that looks like watercolors were spilled on it. maybe a clean plain envelope with a wax seal

Three Emojis

Serisínthe: 🥀🌙🎭 Miré: 🍄🐏☘️ Varin: 🐍🧪🪓 i would use the pawn emoji but it doesn't show up right so axe i suppose

Celestial Body

Serisínthe: la luna. she did marry a bloodmoon once Miré: a constellation or a comet? something telling a story Varin: neptune! or maybe a black hole LMFAO

[lazulian-devil]

The Villains of Skulduggery Pleasant 2

Now before I start, I want to point out that Book 2 has an absolute myriad of Bad Guys™.

The book introduces not only Dusk (who is great at making everyones day just a whole lot worse. Just fun to be around. Only bit Valkyrie, killed the Lord Vampire of Dublin™ Moloch and is generally just... So much fun!), but also the whole Diablerie Subplot (oh look, China is getting a backstory upgrade), Billy-Ray motherfucking Sanguine (who is in one way or another responsible for a third of my favourite quotes from the books), the Torment and Roarhaven (and all that bullshit), the reflection quite literally cracking (this could never possibly become important later on), the whole Faceless One dimension and whatever was going on with Thurid Guild.

So uh, yeah. Book 2, for being actually quite short in comparison to the absolute Grimoires Derek would later be known to write, is a dense friggin book. You might ask yourself "Wow, this sure is a whole lot more dense than the first one" and thats because Landy had at this point already won and be nominated for enough awards that his writing adventures would be a solid thing for him.

The first book was a leap of faith, the second was the beginning of a saga.

(Tangent: I personally think Landy plans and writes books in pairs of threes, as even Phase 2 was originally supposed to be nine but then turned into six books by force of publisher. Because I read them on a Kindle, I am very much aware of how much longer they have gotten with each installment and I think that he, like many an author, would absolutely benefit from cutting down some of the sizes of his books. But book 2 is still very much on the shorter end, if not the second shortest book of the series).

So, after all these absolute bangers of villains, who will I focus on? The one that dies (which is honestly how I think I should do these. Just slowly talk about everyone who actually dies and leave the "I will appear in a trillion books" villains for last, in favor of my sanity).

Baron Vengous.

In a world filled with sarcastic, silly villains, Vengous is the stern military guy that doesnt talk a lot.

And I mean that literally. Besides like... One or two speeches the guy just doesnt talk much.

Ive managed to complete Book 7 in my reading insanity and have read up to 13 before that (reading them as they come out) and I can say with a solid 78% conviction that he is the most "normal" villain and antagonist the series has ever had.

Hes straightforward. Hes methodical. His status as a General of Mevolent is based not only in honestly insane levels of power, but in his pure military might brain and body.

Baron Vengous is the absolute most opposite anyone could have written to Serpine. He almost seems specifically written to oppose him in as many ways as possible. If Serpine was the Vibe, Vengous is the Antivibe.

You get my point.

We actually get an in depth look into him later (where? Leibniz. In terms of trouble, always assume Leibniz) and even among those people, he is somewhat normal. Apart from his wife.

Oh and the other character trait he has. What was that again? I can barely remember.

Ah. Right. Faceless One fanaticism to the point of self destruction.

It makes you wonder what he did after the Amnesty, as he is broken out of prison by Sanguine at the beginning of the book and its never quite explained why. Serpine was just vibin' in his castle. Maybe he did some human sacrifices to his beloved gods and got caught for it. Who knows. (Afaik, its never explained what he did after the Amnesty to end up in prison in the first place and at this point, Im convinced it doesnt really matter and was just a neat way to introduce Sanguine).

But Vengous just isnt a very... Interesting character. He only works so well because Sanguine is a delight anywhere he shows up and Dusk is just utterly terrifying. The Baron is almost too normal among them.

You need proof? Fine. Let me grab my Kindle real quick.

Insert transition music.

Alright, so. Vengous first appearance (Chapter 3: Vengous) paints him as the man in control, the guy who has been in prison for eighty years (Im sure cellphones blew his mind) is out and looking for revenge. He doesnt say a lot. His first actual words are "You're late." to Dusk (who he later points out in his internal dialogue isnt even a man to him). This gives us two insights into his character: First, his stoic mentality. He just murdered someone. Hes entirely calm. Lifes are a casualty to him. And second, he holds enough power or reputation that a very skilled vampire is not only working for him, but accepts being talked down to by this man.

Later in Chapter Ten: The Armour, Sanguines inner dialogue says "The Baron was not a man to be trifled with, especially at a time like this". Once again, we have a whole chapter that shows of several things (passively) about the Baron. He is a planner (shown by his knowledge of the armor and its requirements, the supposed knowledge of where Vile died and his general tactical demeanour being described), he is someone who seems to be in control at all times (shown by him casually watching a bunch of infected under Dusks command dig away) and he is incredibly patient (shown in previous chapters by him being able to wait 80 years and then just "get on with it. Sure, hes mad at Sanguine, but his plans are more important).

And then we add something a little spicy in the mixture: Hes not only a fanatic, hes also an asshole. Ooooohoho.

Its Chapter 18 in which our Protagonists finally meet him and he simply despises Skulduggery. But thats not whats actually interesting. The Chapter reveals him to be self important. Sure, hes a leader, stoic, goal oriented. But hes also cocksure of himself. (A trait he shares with about 84% of all characters in the SP universe).

Skulduggerys taunts go right over him.

"Skulduggery nodded. "So, you married or something? Do I hear the pitter patter of tiny evil feet?"

"I will destroy you."

Normal reaction, ey? The scene goes on quite a while longer than that, but only hammers home this point even more.

The Baron believes himself superior. Righteous. Blessed, probably.

What kills him in the end? His self importance. And how does he react to his death?

"But... But this isnt how Im supposed to die", He said weakly. "Not... Not like this. Not by your hand. You're... You're an abomination."

And then he crawls towards the actual abomination he summoned, pleads it to tell them (the Faceless Ones) that hes sorry for failing them.

The Grotesquery moved its hand so that it touches Vengous' face. It looked almost tender, until the hand gripped and wrenched and the Barons head snapped to one side.

Vengous is a fascinating villain, because he stands calmly among the flashy and vibrant. In a long line of batshit insane people, his insanity is the one that hits closest to home. Many, many villains in the future would be obsessed with religion (the Necromaner Temple, the whole Diablerie plot, later on Darquesse). But all of them are so overpainted, so saturated, that many are just that: A mockery of real life fanaticism.

And the Baron still feels like someone who is rootes in reality. He truly believes that he and the Faceless Ones are superior. His last act is - and I cannot stress this enough - apologising to his gods.

This man. This stoic, straightforward man. This absolute unit. Former General of Mevolent. Words like a scalpel, tactician, wit and gumption combined.

Hes just as insane as all of them. But his insanity is so much quieter. So much more refined.

And that makes him scary.

While I would like to end here, lets summarise real quick:

Vengous has mostly two traits that make him stand out: Straightforwardness and Fanaticism.

Hes a pretty boring villain in comparison to his counterparts.

He is - at least in my opinion - one of the most realistic villains in the series. His insanity is believable and while its not as flashy as those of others, its a kind of insane that makes your skin crawl as soon as you think about it.

He stole Skulduggerys Armor. If you know that Skulduggery is Vile, there are some really interesting scenes that allude to it.

His Leibniz counterpart, for once, seems to actually improve on the OG one. He talks more and he even shows a certain twisted kindness to Valkyrie in explaining her everything. I would almost argue that the Baron of Leibniz is more interesting than the OG Baron. Also, silly wife Eliza. Such a stupid joke.

If he had been succesful, he would have actually ruined the world. Legitimately. The stakes were so high and the man remained so calm. Imagine trying to resurrect your gods. Imagine resurrecting Jesus, all the while having the vibes of a Military Dad with PTSD.

Im afraid that I never found Vengous that compelling. The writing in Book 2 is immaculate though and Dusk and Sanguine are amazing.

I give him a... 7? 8 out of 10?

Also: remember to stay hydrated. Eat a snack. Stretch. You deserve it.

Wanna read more of my mad ramblings? Heres Part 1 with Nefarian Serpine and Part 3 with Batu!