Text
☆ pizza pasta / pete zapasta headcanons ☆
i want to watch him sob. Im running out of normal things to say about the men im violently woobifying and its not fun
- after his boxing days were over, he started to work as a real estate agent and part time model
- did a fuck ton of jobs before his real estate shithole, including: chef, model, actor, lawyer and most importantly, podcast haver
- Really sensitive but likes to call it "being in touch with his emotions" When hes just a really big crybaby
- Really emotional, way more than the normal person, hes willing to cry over sad movies, romance movies and anything dramatic in general
- kept in touch with no one, and i mean NO ONE. No one knows where he went, no one knows where he is now, everyone just assumes him to be dead, theres a joke going on that he had memory loss and is now living in belgium
- gathers with his sad cringe fail uncool not swag non cash money babygirl sad noodle friends and have soup together while talking about being sad little men who are babygirl
- has insomnia (stop with the projecting moe im begging you) that ends with him eating cold spaghetti in the dark, on the kitchen floor at 2 AM before passing out
- Really animated, you could tell him the most tragic, depressing, heart shattering news and he would go "OH NO OH MAMA!!" Before crying hysterically on the floor, he literally emotes
#pizza pasta#punch out headcanons#punch out#Punch out arcade#headcanon#punch out wii#goes out to that one moot who considers him their babygirl (i know what you are)#this was 50% for them 50% for me#hes so sad and miserable like a wet cat#<- not the moot im talking about pizza pasta
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
THE TEASERSJEJDJFHR
#fanart#kitos art#alnst till#alien stage#alnst#PLEASE LET THEM LIVE#PLEASE LET THEM BE HAPPY#DONT LET EITHER DIE PLEASE#*sobs*#I legitimately drew this like half an hour after seeing their twitter post and teaser#also in case you guys haven’t figured it iut#yes these were in drafts bc I wanted my grand return to be on april fools#writing this in march rn 🌝🙃✌️✌️#first time rendering this way and holy cruds it turned out great; should do this more it felt so freeing#also I’m sorry but like Till looks like a wet cat#he looks miserable#BABY PLEASE CHEER UP#CHEER UP PLEASE#PLEASE DONT LOOK SO SAD YOU’RE GOING TO RIP MY HEART TO SHREDS#vivinos is cruel#(guess what I’m referencing)#reading Ivan’s interview and then seeing the interviewer ask abt Till n the next round like#hurhg
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
I know we all love "Alastor saw a sad wet pathetic cat of a television man in a dumpster and brought him home" for how Vox and Alastor met. I do too.
But! Funnier way would be Vox thinking he's some hotshot in hell. Finding out that there's a Radio Demon, who got power by toppling Overlords. And he's like. Radio is old news! Television (me) is in!
And then he just. Decides to try to fight and kill Alastor, because surely someone so obsolete as radio would be weak, yeah? (No).
Vox gets his ass handed to him by a deer eldritch monster. (This may or may not awaken something in this 1950s repressed man. He tries to not think about it...too often).
But Alastor loves entertainment above all else, and finds it funny that some sinner who barely understands his own power is challenging him for the title of top media demon. He loves it. Nothing this fun has happened since he landed in hell.
So he takes Vox home with him anyway.
You decide if they have a fucking looney tunes-esque relationship where Vox spends all his time home alone-ing Alastor’s house to try to kill him, only to fail miserably every time. Alastor is having the time of his afterlife.
765 notes
·
View notes
Text
oh my god, they were roommates
part 2 to and they were roommates. no cws, just silliness.
you're not talking to tooru.
he's not sure how you manage it so effectively. you eat all your meals in your room while he's home, except for when you manage to sneak from there to the door while he's in the bathroom. his only clue that you've gone out is that you leave your bedroom door open when you do, really hammering home how empty his life suddenly is.
"even when we're in the same room," he sighs, resting his cheek on his fist. "it's like trying to grab a fish out of the water. i turn around or blink and poof! gone!"
"your sleeve is dipping into your drink," says his date. "and i really think you need to discuss this with your roommate. at home. alone."
tooru waves goodbye forlornly as they stand up and walks out of the restaurant, leaving behind a half-eaten ball of rice and a broken man.
"you are like a sad, sad," akaashi says, pausing to really linger on the word sad, "wet cat. please stop bringing your dates here to mope about—to them. you are forming bad associations between our business and your terrible romantic etiquette."
akaashi keiji is a mangaka now, or an editor for one, anyway; he works at onigiri miya (tokyo location) on the side because it's the only way he routinely leaves the house; tooru brings his dating drama here to brighten up what must surely be a terribly boring life.
"what would you do without me, akaashi-kun," tooru stretches his arms high with a languid sigh that makes akaashi worry that he has comprehended none of his words. "wouldn't you be so miserable if you didn't have me to bring romance and excitement to your life?"
"i have a boyfriend of several years," akaashi says, which is rude to remind tooru of while he's in such a vulnerable state. "i have plenty of excitement with him in my life."
"inconsiderate!" tooru snorts. "please break up with him to show me solidarity."
"i will not be doing that." akaashi picks up the nameless and now-vanished date's plate and takes a bite out of the leftover food.
"understandable," tooru nods, "that's very reasonable. i just don't know what to do, or how to fix it, or what i did wrong."
"you come in here every other night to whine about what you did wrong."
"do not."
"do too," akaashi sticks out his tongue at him. there's a grain of rice stuck to his lip. "you spent several months going out on dates trying to make your friend-turned roommate jealous—during which, I'll note, you basically exclusively talked about the person you were and continue to be obsessed with—then initiated... romantic physical contact, then ran away. because you have the attachment style of a stray cat."
"ah, akaashi-kun," tooru says. "are you saying i get around?"
"i am saying you are lurking outside the window and begging for attention and then biting the hand that feeds you when you get it.”
“oh.” tooru is quiet for a moment. “can i get the check?”
“it’s on the house if you’ll just go home and talk to your roommate and never come back here with another date.” akaashi says, finishing off the onigiri.
“deal.”
your room is empty, your bedroom door ajar when he comes home. mournfully, tooru sits on the bed, reminiscing over the hours he'd spent gossiping with you here.
he'll just wait for you to get back. when he used to take you dancing—with your other friends, but you'd wind your arms around his neck and he'd run light hands over your waist, your hips, and you would look at him like no one else even existed—you always wanted to leave before midnight. it's ten-forty-nine now, according to his watch, so he's sure you'll be back before long.
you get home at two-oh-four. you had never seen the point in staying out longer when going home and chatting over a bowl of cheesy noodles with tooru was so much more appealing—you didn't want to dance with anyone else anyway. now, though, you don't want to be home, and you have something to prove. to who, you're not sure, but you find yourself staying out later and later.
even though you always return home alone. you'd thought about really upping the ante, about moving on as abruptly as possible, but you couldn't. it felt like going too far in this petty revenge game. after all, you still—
you stop short, dropping your shoes on the floor. the devil is in your bed, lying on his side, knees tucked to his chest to fit his absurdly long frame. his breaths are even and deep, his face peaceful.
"oh, tooru," you sigh, and climb over him to tuck yourself against his warm side.
you blink your eyes open slowly, sleep still gleaming in the corners of your vision. there's a weight on your hip and something that smells really, really good surrounding you, nearly lulling you back to sleep.
"oh, please don't," says a voice you haven't heard in days. "my arm's circulation has been completely cut off. i may never serve again."
you jolt away from the soft source of warmth, which you realize belatedly is oikawa's chest.
"what happened?" you say, swiping at your face with the back of your hand.
he looks frustratingly perfect as always, brown hair rumpled, eyes soft like you aren't in the biggest spat of your friendship.
"i was waiting for you," he admits, leaning on his side and casting his eyes down, his lashes shadowing his high cheekbones. "because i wanted to apologize, to be clear. i must have fallen asleep, and then i woke up, and it was like—"
"yes," you cough. "i see. um."
"i'm sorry," he says. "hey, look at me. i'm really sorry."
"for what, oikawa?" you laugh nervously.
"for being stupid," he rolls one shoulder in a shrugging motion. "for trying to make you jealous and instead just being, like, a complete fucking clown during all of it."
"make me jealous?" you say, blinking at him.
"please don't look at me like that," he says, scrubbing over his face with the hand that's not propping up his head. "it-you make me nervous."
"we've been friends for years," you say, still apparently lost. "how can i make you nervous?"
"you always will," he laughs, but it's strained. "look—i like you. probably more, but i'm trying not to scare you—any more than i already have, i mean. i'm not sorry for kissing you, is what i mean. i should just—i should probably go."
"wait," you say firmly before he can untangle himself from your sheets. putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing yourself up to meet his lips, which are soft and dry and parted slightly with surprise.
the kiss is warm and lingers, even after you pull away. tooru stares at you with dazed eyes that make you shy, dropping your own. his voice is quiet but hopeful, contrasting his words in tone when he speaks.
"what the fuck?"
#haikyuu!! x reader#haikyuu x reader#hq x reader#hq!! x reader#oikawa x reader angst#oikawa angst#oikawa fluff#oikawa tooru x reader#oikawa toru x reader#oikawa x reader#oikawa x reader fluff#oikawa tōru x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Hohenheim is a shit dad but GOD i love him he’s like a pathetic miserable wet cat i just want to hug him like look at the man he cried in a family photo. He was scared of touching his own kids because he thought he’d ruin them. I love that man so much. HE DISAPPEARED FOR TEN YEARS AND WHEN HE GOT HOME AND HIS HOUSE WAS GONE HE SAID “pinako i seem to have lost my house??” He actually makes me so sad i want to cry i wish he didn’t have to leave so that he could just have been happy with his family LIKE LOOK AT HIM CRYING IN THE FAMILY PHOTO HE’S SO HAPPY TO HAVE A FAMILY I’M GENUINELY TEARING UP OVER THIS
#van hohenheim#fma#fullmetal alchemist#fullmetal alchemist brotherhood#fmab#fullmetal alchemist manga
351 notes
·
View notes
Text
Seen some people talking about Lovejoy and Wilbur Soot’s music and feeling very upset about letting go of those songs since they brought a lot of comfort and joy.
I’m not gonna tell you what you should and shouldn’t do. I think it’s ultimately up to you to decide if you want to continue listening to Wilbur’s music or not. What I am gonna do is list some alternative artists that I either think have similar vibes or I know Wilbur / Lovejoy had cited as inspirations so you guys can find some new tunes without stepping too far out of you comfort zone.
(Also feel free to tag on and add your own suggestions as well, the more the merrier)
Lovejoy
Arctic Monkeys — when Wilbur started the band he claimed he wanted to be like the Arctic Monkeys one day. I’ve also described a lot of their later music as being very similar to Arctic Monkeys, so if you like Wake Up and It’s over and Normal People Things then you’d love them
Los Campansino’s — Wilbur has stated before that this is his favourite band so.. very likely big inspiration for his music. Lovejoy did a cover of Knee Deep at ATP, their version is a bit more chill than the original. I’m a big Los Campansino’s fan honestly, but for stuff Lovejoy related I’ve say the albums “Sick Scenes” and “Romance Is Boring” would have the most appeal.
Wet Leg — just a good band that I think has a similar vibe, especially with themes and funky tunes. Also I’ve seen Wilbur list them in his personal playlists before so he enjoys them as well
Good Kid — not a personal favourite of mine, but their songs have similar vibes and they toured with Lovejoy as well so Lovejoy enjoy their music.
James Marriot — (editing Kaz here.. not gonna change the phrasing of this part but I’ve been told James Marriott has unfollowed Wilbur on Twitter) friend of Wilbur’s (do with that information as you will) excellent musician and would heartily recommend his music if you haven’t listened already. Also worked very closely with the band before, especially in the early days so I wouldn’t doubt they’ve influenced each others music quite a bit
MSR and YCGMA
100gecs and other hyperpop artists — admittedly not a genre I listen to a lot, but if you liked Dropshipped Cat Shirt, especially the ending, then you’ll vibe with this genre a lot.
Jack Stauber — Wilbur’s been a longtime fan of his music, it’s a bit weird and silly on a surface level but nice and miserable as well. If you like MSR I’d recommend.
Crywank — helped Wilbur with producing MSR, plus I think Wilbur took some heavy inspiration from them as well. If you like miserable music you’ll love Crywank. (Also Lovejoy did a cover of privately owned, so if you liked that go check out the original)
More Los Campansino’s — ok.. I’m repeating bands now, but I’m recommending different albums this time! “We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed” “Hello Sadness” and “No Blues”
Peach Pit — again, not a favourite of mine but they have nice chill vibes and the songs I’ve listened to are just as miserable as these albums.
Beabadoobee — once again, not someone I listen to a lot, but definitely got the same chill acoustic music as YCGMA especially, Lovejoy had done a cover of The Perfect Pair so if you liked that, and you like these albums you’d like beabadoobee.
E-girl Trilogy / comedy music
Bo Burnham — another favourite artist of Wilbur’s, someone else he’s cited as an inspiration and top tier comedy tunes! If you like Wilbur’s sadder music as well you’d definitely enjoy Inside. Otherwise his older music is great and very fun!
Lemon Demon — probably not an inspiration for Wilbur’s comedy music, but he’s definitely listened to it, it’s very fun and silly, also Ranboo highly recommends (as do I)
Other recommendations
Modern Baseball — found this band through Wilbur’s recommendations, they’re very fun and cool. Very Midwest emo, a genre that I think inspired MSR.
The Front Bottoms.. but with a warning — so I’m not super familiar with the story, but from memory a former member abused a fan, they aren’t apart of the band anymore but the current members handled the situation very poorly. This was another favourite band of Wilbur’s and I get why, very emotional and angsty. I find their lyrics hit a bit harder than Modern Baseball’s but they make very similar music.
AJJ — kinda similar to Crywank, another band I found through Wilbur’s recommendation.
Radiohead / the smiths / the cure / the strokes / just 70’s and 80’s alt rock bands — Wilbur definitely enjoys this music and took inspiration here and they’re all very cool and fun. I’m not super familiar with these bands but I know a lot from this time have good old controversies so be mindful of that, but yeahhh good music!
I don’t know how but the found me — alt/indie rock band with very fun tunes! Sits alongside Wilbur’s comedy music and Lovejoy in my playlists a lot of the times so.. if you like those two you’d probably like this band :) also Dallon Weekes deserves all the love in the world, all his former bandmates (Brendon Urie and Ryan Seaman) keep fucking him over.
Cavetown — not sadboy acoustic like YCGMA but very chill and good acoustic tunes nonetheless. Also a bit similar to Beabadoobee so if you like that you’ll like this :) oh also, i know a lot of people liked Lovejoy cos they gave off a lot of aromantic vibes, Cavetown is openly Aro / Ace so.. lots of aro vibes in his music :D
Yotam Perel — Wilbur used his music in the background of his streams, typically the album "Nice Snakes" but he used "A Long List of Short Songs" as well. It's great background music honestly, some songs have entered my top 100 playlists on spotify, but yeah, if you liked the funky tunes in the back of the geoguessr streams, this is what he played
262 notes
·
View notes
Note
YAY I can bother you again! \:D/ /jk
Anyways I consider asking my favorite writers stuff as my therapy, so here I go. (Sorry if this is sudden or traumatizing)
--------------
I feel so bad for saying this but I'm most attracted to any batfam member (adult obvi) when they are at their worst, Bruce and his pathetic angsty ass literally all the time? Let's make a Robin.
Angry Dick with a cheerful facade trying to just be Bruce's equal? Bra is unclipped.
Post pit Jason so angry and mercilless feeling betrayed (any iteration but mostly Arkahm knight) and vengful? Baby I'm yours.
Fanon Tim who is sleep deprived and stalkerish? I'll strip in front of any security camara in Gotham.
Stephanie feeling she needs to prove herself? Please let me top you.
Insecure about his powers Duke? Sudenly I'm a physical meta expert, please show me those abs.
Cassandra thinking she is only capable of damaging? Honey put your hands on me, I assure you it will be anything but unpleasant.
Damian after "accidentally" killing Dick? Hello my name is beloved!
Don't feel bad about it!! I'm just the same and there's nothing wrong with us!!!!!!!!!!
I mean, pathetic wet cats who would just curl in my lap and rant or cry while I indulge them and they become dependent on me and only me??
Battinson is my favorite Batman from the movies bc hello???? I mean I get it why people liked Bale but like???? A guy who's been traumatized for 20 years and got to the point of making an armour to fight against criminals unrelated to the ones that took his parents bc he got so sad that he reflected enough that he came to the conclusion that no one should ever feel like he did, and he would use his entire life to stop crime because people deserved better, even the worst criminals shouldn't die bc they can change or other people might be miserable if they miss him?? And he's ready to die for that!! He doesn't care!! And then he becomes a parent but he sucks at parenting bc he loves them but he never learned how to love?? BABY I CAN TEACH YOU
Jason at under the red hood or as Arkham Knight??? YOU CAN KEEP KILLING PEOPLE IF THAT'LL MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER BABE, especially if you keep me around bc we dated before you died/got tortured for months/years, kidnap me, love me, make me yours, I don't think killing your pops is gonna help you feel better, but no nagging will come from me I SWEAR
Fanom Tim being so neglected by his parents that he doesn't think his physical and psychological suffering is important, the fact that he obsessed over his childhood heroes, putting himself in danger, practically deciding that he was going to help them, not bc "I wanna be a hero and I can so I should be" but bc "I don't have much to lose, we all need you, and I want to help you, bc you're all I have!!!" and caring so much that he tries to clone his bff when he dies, and almost dies just to bring his dad and hero back, bc he cares about others more than he cares about himself??? Baby I'm right here!!!!
ANY Damian angst, Damian sad over Dick, over Bruce, over Talia, all while pretending he's just angry, I love him!! Damian that just wants to make them proud!! Damian that wants to be good!! To be on their level!! To be powerful!! To be good enough!! I love love love him!!! I'm with you no matter if you're a hero, a villain, or an antihero!! Damian Wayne, you will always be famous.
Dick swallowing his traumas, his emotions, breaking down at any opportunity, feeling responsible for everyone and destroying himself bc of it!! His relationship with Bruce never being quite the same after he became Nightwing, but they still know, deep inside, that they would come running if the other asked for help, but they never do. And Dick sometimes doesn't even know if Bruce sees him as his son!! And he's sad bc of it, but he can't show it bc how do you tell someone that?!?!?!
Steph thinking she's never gonna be enough, that she needs to prove herself, when this feeling never goes away, bc it's more about you than others? YES YES YES
Cassie!! Don't feel guilty about your past babygirl!!! It wasn't your fault!! You're just a victim!! They even took your voice from you!! Come spoon me and you'll feel better!!!
You're perfect Duke!! You're amazing and cool and handsome and there's nothing wrong with you!! You have the most awsesome powers ever!! Now come here let me look into those brown eyes and lets make out.
Seeing characters that are just so unreal but we can relato to, watch them suffer, feel joy in it!! I'm just like you and you're just like me! Be mine!!
This is about DC, but I'm an invincible, the boys and Marvel fan too. I'm drooling seeing Invincible and Rex Splode at their most toxic or weak moments! I love seeing homelander, soldier boy and the deep being so pathetic that they HAVE TO make it everyone's problem!! On my Winter Soldier brain rot I was constantly going over and over again on the same scenes watching this man be sad and miserable and covered in blood and not having autonomy of his own body and being alone!! Of course I got sad, but we can be sad together!!
Anyway, I love receiving fun and easy asks like that (I'm unreasonably happy that you called me one of your favs), I closed the asks bc I was just feeling I little overwhelmed with anxiety, college, future and the amount of requests I was receiving even if I knew I didn't have to write every fanfic idea people sent me and can just write what inspires me in the moment, be it something people asked, or some inspiration that came for me from another place
#dc comics#batfamily#batman#batfam#robin#bruce wayne x reader#damian wayne x reader#dick grayson x reader#jason todd x reader#cassandra cain#cassandra cain x reader#dick grayson#jason todd#damian wayne#tim drake#red robin#bruce wayne#stephanie brown#stephanie brown x reader#duke thomas#duke thomas x reader#spoiler dc#orphan dc#the signal dc#batfamily x reader#batfam x reader
47 notes
·
View notes
Text
Batman really is just the Justice League's poor sad little blorbo, isn't he? Superman and Wonder Woman really just took one look at Bruce with his little pointy ears and big ol' cape, all sad and wet in the rain with all of his mentally unwell buddies in the dark, miserable alley that is Gotham City and immediately thought, 'This man is so sad, wet, and pathetic... I absolutely MUST adopt him NOW!' He's just Clark and Diana's sad little blorbo and they love him so much and really REALLY want to include him in their activities and make him feel like the specalist little guy on Earth! Because he's THEIR specalist little guy on Earth!
Too bad Bruce is much more of an indoor cat and while he can enjoy himself outdoors, inside in Gotham offers all of the enrichment he needs and he doesn't like getting taken out of it. :p
#batman#superman#wonder woman#bruce wayne#clark kent#diana prince#blorbo#justice league#justice leage of america
96 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rayan is from @sowhumpshaped's story Stray. I can't resist a sad wet cat man who thinks he knows best. This is set in the timeline where Rayan gets caught and tested to be a pet.
tw: dehumanization, conditioning, drugging, memory loss, facility/institution
"Did you -- did you actually say --"
"That your results show that you're a pet, yes," the nurse affirmed with a big, cheerful smile. "You're very lucky we caught you for this silly little mistake before things ended up worse."
Rayan's heart dropped into his shoes. "Are you sure?" he blurted out before thinking. "I know the test is accurate, but -- there's never any mistakes? There have to be mistakes sometimes, right?"
The expression on her face was friendly but firm. "No, there are no mistakes. You know that."
"I know that..." He stared numbly at his hands. The test was accurate, of course. Everyone knew that. If it weren't, they'd have to worry about accidentally treating people as pets, which would be horrible.
The test was accurate. Everyone knew that.
He felt sick.
"It's all right, poor dear. I know this must be a shock," she said. "You must have been struggling so much, weren't you?"
He didn't answer, still trying to process it all. A pet...
"Haven't you ever wondered if you might be a pet? When you see happy pets in the park, didn't you feel a longing inside?"
"I -- I did, but I thought that was because I wanted a pet for myself -- "
"That feeling was because a part of you deep down knew where you belonged," she said. "And now we've found you, and everything will be okay, you'll see. You won't have to struggle like that any more. You won't need to worry about big, scary people concerns like jobs and money and education. You'll be so much happier."
Rayan swallowed the lump in his throat. He had, secretly, sometimes felt that life would be easier as a pet, with no worries beyond pleasing his owner. He'd never vocalized these thoughts, worried that someone would think he was a strange deviant, like those people who pretended to be pets --
But if he was a pet all along, those thoughts would be normal, wouldn't they?
"What's going to happen to me now?"
"Well, dear, you've been trying so hard to be a person for so many years that you've picked up a lot of bad habits," she said. "That's not your fault, of course, you can't be blamed for trying your best. But now we have to train you out of all those nasty bad habits, do you see? It's not healthy for a pet to think it's a person."
That was exactly what he'd told 13, wasn't it? And he was just the same. No wonder he'd been so sympathetic.
He was bunching the hospital gown with both hands. "Will the training be hard?"
"For a sweet pet like you? No, I don't think it will be. I think you'll find the training to be very easy, much easier than pretending to be a person. It's going to be a big weight lifted from you. You'll see."
"And -- my memories --"
The nurse sighed. "That's an important part of the process, as I'm sure you know. Happy pets can't have those awful, distressing memories of trying to be a person. This is what's best for you."
It was what was best for pets, he knew that. So it must be what's best for him. But still, he didn't want to...
"It will be painless," she said reassuringly. "We're just going to give you some nice medicine for pets with bad habits and scary memories. It'll make you feel a little funny and sleepy, and in just a few days, you'll start to feel so much better."
He nodded, still feeling miserable inside. It felt like this should be happening to someone else, that it was a dream. That he'd wake up in his own apartment any minute now.
"Come with me, now. We have a treatment room all ready just for you. You won't have to worry about a single thing."
Rayan didn't argue or struggle as she gently ushered him forward and out of the room. His hands felt cold and his legs felt shaky.
It was for the best, he reassured himself. If the test said he was a pet, he must be a pet. And if he was a pet, the treatment would make him feel better. The only reason he felt so bad was because he hadn't gotten the proper treatments for a pet. He'd always worried something had been wrong with him, and now he knew what the problem was, and was going to get it fixed.
He was going to be trained. He wouldn't have to worry about holding down a job or disappointing his parents any more than he already had by turning out to be a pet. He'd make some owner very happy.
...He was going to forget his family, his friends, the shelter, everything that made him happy...
It was for the best. It had to be. If it wasn't, if the test could be wrong, if the treatments weren't appropriate, then the whole pet system was monstrous. All of his friends at the shelter and all of the pet owners he knew weren't monsters. They were kind people, and they loved their pets and knew what was best for them.
What was best for him.
He'd feel a lot better about it all when he was treated.
The nurse guided him into an elevator, and they went down to a basement level, exiting out into a brightly lit corridor filled with doctors and nurses bustling about, but no pets that he could see. They walked down a hall and turned left, Rayan fighting his anxiety every step of the way, until the nurse pushed open a door and beckoned him inside.
It was a bit like a hospital room, with three walls in stark white and the fourth painted with a childish mural of a blue sky. The medical bed was lower to the ground than normal, and there was a low counter with a sink in it. There was a metal pet bowl and metal water bottle on the counter, a leash tacked onto the wall, and a crate of brightly colored toys in the corner.
"Here we are!" the nurse chirped. "Now you can just get comfortable and your new handler will be in shortly."
"...Okay." Rayan awkwardly situated himself on the bed and watched the nurse leave, and he was left alone with his own conflicted thoughts.
He couldn't help but wonder what they'd tell his parents. Would they be disappointed? Angry? Would they miss him? He hoped they would understand. Would his friends at the shelter find out? Did they ever suspect? Would they notice when he didn't turn up to --
The door opened, and a young person with hair cropped short and a white coat walked in. They were carrying a small paper cup in one hand and a basket containing a blanket and a few other things. "Hello there. I'm Kay, and I'll be your handler for your treatment," they said with a smile, setting down her things on the table. "Oh, you poor thing. You just found out that you're a pet, I've been told. You must be so scared and confused."
Rayan could only nod, embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. A handler for new pets, the sort of job he had been hoping for.
"You have nothing to worry about. I can already tell that you're going to be such a good boy." They reached out their hand to pet Rayan's hair, and he didn't shy away from it. The gentle touch as they ruffled his hair felt... nice. Comforting. He was leaning into it before he could stop himself.
"Oh, do you like that?" Kay cooed. "Aww, such a good boy, yes you are."
The embarrassment in his face grew more intense as he accepted the petting. He did like it, and that meant... that meant he really must be a pet, didn't it? A person wouldn't enjoy being patted and soothed like this. Anyone would consider that deviant behavior for a person, but it was expected behavior for a pet. Desired, even.
So it was true, wasn't it? His struggle to hold down a job, to live independently, to accomplish the things everyone else seemed to do with so little effort, it was all because he was a pet. This was really happening. His eyes grew watery and a tear slid down his cheek.
"Oh dear, oh dear. It's okay," said Kay, producing a tissue from their pocket and wiping at Rayan's eyes. "It's okay to be sad. We'll get you all fixed up."
"May I ask a question, please?"
"Yes, dear."
"What are they going to tell my family?"
"Our staff is already preparing to deliver the message. They're trained in supporting families during this difficult time. They'll be in good hands, I promise. You won't need to worry about them."
"...All right." That was the best he could hope for, wasn't it?
"Here, let's get you your medication." Kay handed him the paper cup, which was three-quarters full of a thick red liquid that smelled like artificial cherries. "You'll need medication three times a day at the beginning of your treatment, and then we'll taper it off to a lower dose."
Rayan couldn't help but hesitate before drinking it. This must be the medicine that all pets took, the one that would erase his memories, his ability to read and write, all the things he learned as an adult. As a person.
But if he wasn't a person, then he shouldn't have those memories in the first place. The medicine would fix him, wouldn't it?
"Go on, drink it up. You need your medicine, dear."
He closed his eyes and drank. It was cloyingly sweet with a sickly aftertaste.
"Very good!" Kay reached into the basket and pulled out a flimsy plastic collar with a printed label on it. "This is your temporary collar until you get a real one. You're number 25."
"Twenty-five..." he repeated in a daze. That's right. He wouldn't be "Rayan" any more, not ever again.
"You'll get a much better name when you're adopted," they said, clipping the collar around his neck. It felt cold as he ran his fingers along it. They pulled out a metallic cuff that locked around his wrist. "And this is so we don't lose you, dear."
"...Okay."
"There are only a few rules in the facility. You must not leave this room without permission. You must follow all of the instructions the handlers give you. You must not harm any handlers or any of the other pets. There will be punishments if you fail to follow the rules -- they're for your own good, and the good of the staff and the pets, of course."
"Right."
They showed Rayan -- no, he was 25 now, wasn't he? -- a remote with one big round button on it. "If you need help, just press this button! But don't abuse it, or we'll have to take it away, do you understand?"
He nodded. "Uh -- uh-huh." It was getting hard to focus on what Kay was saying, even though he knew it was important.
"Tomorrow we'll be giving you a medical evaluation and start the first steps of your treatment. You'll be -- and then we'll --"
25 rubbed at his eyes. His head felt foggy, and everything seemed so far away.
"Oh, dear." Kay's voice echoed through his mind. "That must be the medicine kicking in. Why don't you settle in for a nice nap, then? We can talk about these things in the morning."
He nodded. That sounded perfect.
"Just lay down on the bed and we'll get you all tucked in."
As 25 curled up onto the bed, Kay spread the warm and weighty blanket over him. patting his head again. "Good night, dear. Sleep well, and have pleasant dreams." They turned off the light and shut the door behind them with a click.
25 stared out into the darkness. So much had happened since he'd found 13. While he'd sometimes imagined what it would be like to be a pet, thoughts he never shared with anyone, he never seriously thought he'd be here in a facility. And now he'd never see his parents or his own apartment ever again. Despite how drowsy he was, there was no way he was getting to sleep, not with the anxious knot in his stomach.
But after a few minutes, he felt the anxiety start to dissolve away, leaving a sensation of dull calm. It must be the medicine, he figured, as his eyelids began to droop and his thoughts scatter.
He was feeling better already, just like they'd said. They really did know what was best for him.
101 notes
·
View notes
Note
52 :3
And can I also kiss you?? 😭
52: “Can I kiss you?”
prompt game :^)
⟡ cw: mentions of withdrawals, struggles with alcoholism, depression, specifically soggy wet cat vendetta leon but can be read with damnation leon in mind :3
⟡ a/n: YES we are smooching, i am kissin u on the mouf rn 🤍
“Can I kiss you?”
What the hell was he saying.
One minute, he’s trembling over a plate of eggs and pancakes back at the hotel, and now he’s barely holding himself back from slumping against your shoulder like an old dog. You had insisted on dragging his miserable ass out of there, told him to get his shit together. That you were going for a ride, and he should hang on.
(Of course he was too stubborn to let you drive, no matter the fact that he had already put down half a bottle this morning.)
So despite his better judgement, he allowed you pull him away from those four walls that were his hotel room, all under the promise that it’d still be there when he got back.
Sure, he didn’t want to leave. If his hangover had anything to say about it, he’d be tucked back under the covers of that shitty, scratchy duvet in the fetal position. His head was pounding. But sat here on this stoop tucked away into the mountains, overlooking the small town he had sought out to lick his wounds within, the cool breeze sweeps away some of the tension in his facial features. The fresh air has coaxed that stress out of his shoulders, loosened him up in a way alcohol hadn’t managed to in years.
But maybe it was you.
You, tucked against his side, thumbing slow circles into the back of his palm. The scent of your shampoo drifting through the breeze that passes his nose that has his heart rate slowing. Honestly, he didn’t want to pull this apart. Whether it was the fresh air or you by his side that had him relaxing for the first time in months (years?), it didn’t matter. Because he asked a stupid question, and he doesn’t really feel like taking it back.
“Leon, you’re drunk,” you scoff, shaking your head. As if kissing your superior was such a far fetched idea. Or maybe you just didn’t want to kiss him. He couldn’t blame you, he’s not sure he even bothered to pack a toothbrush when he sought out a direct flight to Colorado.
“I’m the most sober I’ve been in weeks, right now.”
In his defense, he was telling the truth. After arriving at that run down mug, he had made it his mission to slug back as much as he could before he had to leave. Because he knew this was coming — whether in the form of a text message detailing his next deployment, or with the arrival of military personnel — and he had stuck it to himself to ignore it for as long as possible. Started digging that hole of sweet silence into his subconscious the second he got his room key.
And yet…. Here he was. Sobered up and wanting. Forced to face the sad reality that he was lonely, damn it.
Alright, universe, you win. He’ll admit it. Why else would you be playing with his head like this? Those eyes, deep as the ocean, bright as the stars. Pretty lips that fill out so delicately, cheeks that look softer than anything he’s felt in months. You were the embodiment of something a man like him didn’t deserve, and no withdrawal could create the guttural rawness of the wound this reality inflicted on him.
You weren’t a daydream, and you weren’t an illusion. You were tangible, distantly so. And after having been dragged back down to earth, he needed something stronger than what was in his flask.
Chancing a glance over at him, it’s clear you’re debating with yourself. Your teeth tucking that sweet bottom lip under them, plush in how it swells ever so slightly under the pressure. Lashes fluttering when you search his features. He was definitely in better shape than you had found him this morning, silverware clinking and wobbling in his unsteady grip.
The sight almost made you want to slip them from his hands, cut his food up for him like a doting mother. Maybe guide a few bites past his lips like some guilt ridden caregiver, anything to bring some color back to his cheeks.
But you’d never say that out loud.
“… I believe you,” you hum, gaze shifting back up from the dip of his cupids bow. A shitty cover to ignore how you had just wondered how that scruff over it would feel against your mouth. “Just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Yeah?” He dryly laughs, short and null of any real humor. “Just like how joining this god forsaken organization wasn’t either, right?”
Silence. Thick, drawn out.
Few people knew just how Leon ended up in the DSO, landed himself in such a comfortable place with the higher ups. And fewer knew why he stayed. It’s hard to really respond to that when you’re not part of that statistic.
“I’m sorry,” you find yourself muttering softly, turning away again. Shifting your focus back out to gaze over the town below, the traffic flow of patrons returning home, shops turning off lights.
“Don’t be. I’m being a dick right now.”
Leon forgot how snippy he could be during withdrawals nowadays. Made him feel like an overgrown baby, still stuck in his oral phase. That flask in his pocket might as well have become a pacifier, anything to keep him from spinning off the handle.
“You’re acting like one, yeah. Doesn’t make you one.”
Pausing, Leon glances at you, follows the line of your side profile for a moment. Studies the line of your nose, the slope of your top lip. Down and over the jut of your chin, the retreat of your jaw. He wanted to follow that track with the bridge of his nose, maybe press his lips to the hollow of your throat.
Fuck. Maybe he wasn’t nearly as sober as he thought.
Clearing his throat, he shakes his head, glances out in the general direction you’re looking in. Can’t help how he finds similarities between the slopes of the mountains and your face.
“I’m glad you think so.”
#HIIIII um sowwy I used this prompt as a punching bag :3#me when pathetic depressed men: YIIPPEEEEE !!!!!!#blaming my moms poor choices of boyfriends in my formative years fr 💪#yaps. ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚#fairies. 𐦍#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#vendetta leon x reader#resident evil x reader#resident evil imagines
114 notes
·
View notes
Text
s. todoroki - fantasy + hybrid au (pt. 1)
inspired slightly by @willowser ‘s dragon king bakugo story
Bred specifically for both supernatural beauty and terminal murder, Shouto Todoroki grew to realize that he is no longer human, but a beast. Hybrid breeders intricately crafted him to be the perfect specimen; a high-end snow leopard with the killing instincts of a true carnivore, but the aesthetics of a misunderstood prince.
Which is exactly what he was.
Shouto was property, his existence only being for entertainment of the King, and to kill. Every day of his life was spent either within the cold bars of a cage, or the bloodstained colosseum where he fought for his life. All will only see the surface of Shouto; a well-bred, lethal animal. Not a human in the slightest, not a person in the slightest.
Yet, he can speak, he can observe, and he can change his appearance to resemble man.
. . .
Caught for stealing fruit from a man, the royal guards of the King took you by arms to be mercilessly thrown into the colosseum. Despite your foul screams and curses for freedom, you were forced through the massive gates of the area, left with nothing but your pride, and a pocket knife.
You were tossed in, and immediately, you scrambled back towards the now closed gates, two guards grinning at you with malicious smirks. Through your claws and pries to open the gates, the two men took their leave, leaving you for dead.
You could hear the cheers and cries of numerous townspeople echoing as you turn around, gazing towards the distant other end of the arena. A dark shadow casts over the opposing end of you, and you can only see two feline eyes.
A deep, ferocious growl omits across from you, coursing a violent chill down your spice. You hear the soft paws of an animal, and all you can do is clutch your pocket knife for comfort.
The beast slowly, steadily steps forward into the light of the sun, finally illuminating himself to your gaze.
The way the leopard pierces you with his gaze, the way he slowly paces around you in a circle makes you feel as though you’re being hunted, that you’re the prey destined to die.
The sheer size of the leopard scares you, and you’re almost certain that you would lose if you tried to defend yourself against him. The claws, the glare, and the teeth say it all for you.
The crowd all suddenly goes silent as the giant leopard pauses in front of you, as if they all know what’s about to happen next. Anticipation rises, and all the audience seems to want to leap out of their seats.
You can feel the leopards’ gaze as you clutch your knife with shaky hands, and he looks directly into your own eyes.
You freeze, and you see all the untended wounds and scratches on the animal. Though his fur coat shines silver, there’s a bleak sag to it that you can only see if you squint. Despite the lingering feeling of death nearby, you cannot help but have sympathy for the creature.
He just looks so sad, and so very miserable.
You drop your knife to the ground with a ‘clank’, taking a deep breath to yourself.
Despite all the fear that you feel, you let out your hand in front of the beast, urging him to sniff at your hand like you would a stray cat. Because that’s what he is; a cat.
The leopard surprisingly flinches, sensing no threat to your hand, yet still ogling at your tiny hand like he doesn’t know what to do with it.
The crowd’s so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.
“You sniff it, y’know?“ You mutter, so kindly, so softly.
Shouto understands, and he hears you. There’s no knife on you, no harm to you. Should he listen?
He does.
Ever-so-slowly, the leopard takes a step forward, looking hesitant to smell your hand. Eventually though, he does, pressing his wet nose to your hand to sniff at the soft skin of your knuckles.
His previously ferocious eyes dilate at your scent, and Shouto starts getting deeper into it, discreetly, shyly rubbing his face all over your hand, and even your wrists. He’s never smelled something so sweet, and so wonderful. You’re too kind to be real, too lovely to even possibly be human, a species that Shouto believes to be cruel, foul, and malicious.
Murmurs start to file through the crowd, and there’s a confused, unsatisfied energy in the air. Where is the fight, the bloodshed?
You peer upwards at the King’s viewing balcony, noticing the royal discreetly speak to a few guards. Shouto continues to rub himself onto you, and you take that as gentle permission to scratch his head.
From there, he just melts, provided with the affection and love he’s been craving so long for- a starved man in front of a platter of food.
“Alright, missy, we’re gonna have to take it over from here.“
You hear the voices of the guards from earlier, and instantly, you scowl in pure disgust. Both guards host spears in their hands, and the giant metal gates slowly swing open.
“Step away from the beast!“
One of the guards barks at you, and you’re frozen, unsure of what to do.
“I said, step away!“
One guard takes initiative, charging towards you with a metal spear in clutch. You surge back to save yourself from the guard, and you regretfully tear your hand from Shouto.
Just as a guard manages to meet his spear with your heart, Shouto snarls unlike you’ve ever heard before, shattering the wooden bar of the spear with his jaws. The guard cowers away, and Shouto pounces for him, scratching the guard’s face enough to draw blood. You gasp in horror, and Shouto spots the very obviously open gate behind the remaining guard.
You almost think that Shouto goes to bite your arm off when he mouths the sleeve of your dress, growling and tugging at you towards the open gates. Frantically, Shouto tugs you, then looks at his own back, seemingly ushering you to quickly!!! get onto his back.
It takes you a moment to realize, but you quickly scramble onto Shouto’s back, desperately gripping his fur coat to keep yourself from tumbling off.
Instantly, Shouto takes the queue to run, as fast as he ever has before; for freedom, for the chance to escape this hellhole. The leopard charges for the gates at full speed, and you curl yourself into Shouto’s back, pressing your cheek against his fur.
Both you and leopard burst through the gates, escaping the shouts of all the audience, and the curses of the guards. Shouto runs off, dashing through the townsmarket and crashing through numerous carts and tents filled with goods.
At last, you see the distant flutter of trees, and you hesitantly turn around, ensuring yourself that no guards have managed to follow the two of you. There isn’t, and you huff a sigh of relief as Shouto slows his run into the forest.
#shouto todoroki#todoroki#shouto#todoroki shouto#todoroki x reader#shouto x reader#shouto todoroki x reader#reader insert#fluff#fantasy au#hybrid au#bnha#mha#cosmosis-writes ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎
334 notes
·
View notes
Text
[FIC] London Fog
Rated: M Word Count: 3504 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, sort of failed at being fluff though, human AU, post-vacation blues, Dream of the Endless is a stubborn miserable bastard, Dream of the Endless is a sad wet cat, divorced Dream, hopeful ending don't worry, background Hob & Johanna, Hob and Johanna are besties, Jessamy for MVP, Jessamy and Dream are besties, no actual smut herein, but there IS one spicy recollection midway through
Sequel to Caribbean Sunset. This was supposed to be a quick fluffy scene of parting ways at the end of the cruise, of Hob communicating respect for Dream's boundaries along with the desire to see him again. But then 'what are Dream's reasons for hesitating' suddenly turned into backstory full of angst and depression and steered us into post-vacation blues and this is not the fluff I set out to write but I am happy enough with it all the same.
If anyone is sensitive to topics of marital fidelity and full disclosure, please click the read-more and scroll to the bottom for quick spoilers before proceeding.
Fluffbruary 2024 Prompts Day 13 choice snuggling furry Day 14 phone bubble bath doll Day 15 cord bakery honey
Summary: Dream does his best to ignore Possibilities while he copes with returning from holiday
On AO3
The ship's main atrium is crowded with passengers queuing up for debarkation, loud with the murmur of many voices, but there is only one voice that hold's Dream's attention at the moment.
"I mean. We both live in London; it's not unthinkable we might get together again? Have a drink, grab a bite, get to know each other better?"
Hob's tone is bright, hopeful; the light in his eyes is so very alluring, and Dream is almost tempted.
But circumstances do not permit him to indulge in such fantasies, not now that his cruise has come to an end—the divorce continues to drag on, courtesy of Alex's father, and Dream is uncertain beyond that whether he even wants any relationship ever again; each attempt has gone worse than the last and Hob…Hob is sweet, and kind, and an excellent lay, and Dream. Would not wish to drag him into the festering detritus of his own life.
He has not even left the ship, yet, and already the weight and gloom of reality are pressing heavy at his shoulders.
How he longs to stretch this holiday into infinity, to never have to go back.
He steels himself, forcibly pushes the gathering melancholy away, meets Hob's lovely gaze with a sad smile.
"Hob. I adore you; I hope that much is clear. But my life is. Convoluted, at present, and I am. Messy, at relationships, in general. I do not want to taint—" He blows out a breath, tries again. "This has been wonderful, amazing, so very easy; we fuck and we frolic and we have no cares, no responsibilities, and I would book both of us onto the turnaround cruise immediately if it were feasible, so that we might continue. I am not looking forward to returning to all that waits for me at home."
"All the more reason for a breath of something new, something you could carry over from holiday?" Hob's face is so open, so reasonable and guileless and hopeful.
Dream shakes his head, adamant. "As I said, I am messy. In the ordinary day-to-day, in the mundanity of work and circumstance I. I grow neglectful—cruel, I have been told, many times—and…you will grow weary, of my demands, my eccentricities, of my capricious moods and sullen temper."
"I won't, though," Hob says, smiling, as if it is truly that simple. They have been acquainted for a week, much of which was spent in vigorous activities other than deep conversation, and yet Hob speaks with firm conviction as if they have known one another for months. "But I get it. A fling on holiday is not a real relationship." He tugs on his ear, offers his sweet, warm smile. "All the same, I really like you, and I would love the chance to see if we could be something more. So." He holds out a hand. "Phone, love?"
Dream is responding to the easy endearment before he even realizes, unlocking his phone and handing it to Hob.
"Here's what we'll do," Hob says, fingers flying over the screen. "I'll give you my number. Just that. And if you ever want to call, you can. I don't have your info so I can't violate that boundary. It's entirely up to you." He hands the phone back to Dream and there he is, 'Hob' in his contacts, just a number, with a cartoon lemur from the default gallery as his pic. "If you delete it, if you never call, so be it. I'll always remember you fondly. But if you decide you'd like to see me again, please know I'd love to hear from you. Even if you don't want to date, if you just need to let off some steam no strings attached, I would be happy to be there for you." He smiles, soft and just a little self-depracating. "I'm shooting my shot, as they say, so you know where I stand. But the power's in your hands, dove; the choice is yours. And I'll respect it, whatever you decide."
Dream blinks, clutches his phone tightly, a little bit breathless at how astute Hob is. He's barely mentioned his life in any depth when they did talk; Hob was a holiday tryst in the midst of his interminable ongoing divorce and he hadn't intended on any deeper connection or true getting-to-know-one-another conversations. At most he may have mentioned a 'controlling ex' in passing and he genuinely cannot say for sure; Hob has kept him suitably occupied with other thoughts.
But here is Hob, either extrapolating from that comment or running entirely off intuition, handing him full autonomy over whether or not he wants to pursue any further acquaintance.
"Thank you," he says, eyes pricking with the threat of tears. Perhaps—perhaps—
But no. Best not to even think about 'perhaps'. There is too much to sort out at home still; he does not need to indulge in what-ifs and flights of fancy.
"Can I kiss you? One last time?" Hob asks, and Dream throws his arms about Hob's neck and kisses him first, heedless of the crowded atrium.
It is heaven, the soft slide of Hob's mouth fitting to his, the gentle teasing curl of his tongue, and Dream realizes with a sudden fierce ache that he is going to miss it terribly.
It is more difficult than he would like to end it.
"Goodbye, Hob Gadling," he murmurs, close to Hob's lips, and reluctantly steps back. "Thank you for making this cruise so wonderfully memorable." His hands find both of Hob's, squeeze them.
Hob smiles, soft and bright and the slightest bit sad. He leans in, presses a lingering kiss to the corner of Dream's mouth. "Bye, Dream," he says, gentle and quiet, and then he's sliding from Dream's grasp, turning, walking away.
Dream watches him go, watches as Johanna emerges from the crowd to corral him; he is still watching when Hob glances back over his shoulder with that same beatific melancholy in his smile. Dream gives him a small wave, tries his best to smile in return.
And then Hob is gone, swallowed up in the throng of passengers streaming into the gangway, and Dream deflates.
"This dream is over," he mutters to himself, and makes his way off the ship.
~ Hob and Johanna had boarded a bus for Disney World; there is no chance of encountering them at the airport. The thought gives Dream bitter resolve as he checks his luggage at the kiosk and makes his way through security, finds the first class lounge, settles in to wait for his 6pm departure time.
Two hours in to the transatlantic flight, long limbs comfortably folded into his first class aisle seat and beginning to protest the stillness, he sets his mind to wandering. How wonderful it might have been, to change his plans, to accompany Hob to 'the happiest place on earth'. Hob has been delightful company in and out of the bedroom and Johanna was agreeable enough; he had immensely enjoyed the time they spent together on St. Thomas. He has never been to any Disney park, on any continent, and while it has never seemed like something he would enjoy he now finds himself imagining such a visit in Hob's company, laughing at Hob's childlike delight as they queue for rides and attractions, shopping for souvenirs, sampling street foods and specialty offerings of every kind.
But no. It would be rude to invite himself on the next leg of Hob's holiday with Hob's friend; Dream had already monopolized Hob's time on the cruise and while Johanna had been very adaptable in that regard, Dream would not wish to impose further.
Besides which. There are meetings with solicitors to be attended, in hopes of finally moving the onerous divorce proceedings to a close; his company and accounts need his attention and it would be unfair of him to expect Jessamy to shoulder that load for longer simply because he is weary of his responsibilities and far too attached to his holiday fling.
With a sigh, he pushes all thoughts aside and closes his eyes, attempting sleep.
~ Jessamy meets him at Heathrow after he's cleared customs in the morning; he is tired, and grateful for her brisk efficiency in getting him to the waiting car and home to his sleek modern flat. Today is for dealing with jet lag; tomorrow he will return to the office and his responsibilities full time. All the same, there are things he can go over with Jessamy in the name of catching up and being prepared, once he's had a nap. Airline travel is not conducive to meaningful sleep.
"Good to have you home, Dream," Jessamy says, as she rolls the suitcase she brought in over to where he's dropped the rest of his luggage.
"Thank you, Jessamy." He hopes she understands that he means for everything, not just that single sentiment; she makes his life run smoothly in a way he can hardly imagine being without.
"Of course." She flashes a cheeky grin. "You must tell me about all the exciting and unmentionable shenanigans you got up to, after you've slept. I'll be back this afternoon so we can touch base properly."
Dream collapses in his bed after she's left, the sheets crisp and clean and the pillowcase cool against his face, and dreams of Hob's hands on his skin.
~ He settles back into his mundane routines easily, as if he's never left, the same way it always happens when he returns from holiday. He meets with investors, he addresses the shareholders, he facilitates talks between Finance and Marketing to adjust the budget for next fiscal year and allocate additional funding for the long-term studies requested by the latter. He meets with his solicitors, who assure him that each of the latest demands and stipulations brought by the Burgess camp have been refused and countered and the directive given once more to sign the final document that Dream had thought far too generous six months ago. They are optimistic that there will be no further objections.
Dream will not allow himself that hope until it actually comes to pass.
He thinks of Hob frequently.
It is mid-March, a full month since returning, when he finds himself gazing yet again at the innocuous entry in his contacts, the cartoon lemur staring back at him brightly.
He ought to delete it. He ought to cut the thread that holds him to the glimmer of impossibility and impracticality, of unrealistic expectations. It has been a month; surely Hob has realized by now that he will not call and has put the entire notion behind him. Dream is foolish, to keep the number in his phone, to entertain the occasional daydream of actually calling. He has not; he will not. There is no point in letting the contact remain.
He recalls, with aching clarity, their last night aboard ship when they had finally put the bed to carnal use, having exhausted all other options within the suite and private deck. Hob had put him facedown on his knees and lovingly opened him up on tongue and fingers until he spilled, helpless, then put him on his back and fucked him tenderly to another climax before finishing himself. Dream remembers the way Hob kissed him throughout, slow and thorough; he remembers with a shiver of longing Hob's fingers carding through his hair, cradling his thighs, stroking down his neck, his shoulders. He recalls Hob's voice, soft and fervent, murmuring endearments and appreciation against his mouth, his skin; he remembers how he fought to keep from crying, overwhelmed by the adoration that Hob poured into him.
He had felt…cherished. It was only a holiday indulgence, a fantasy of possibilities, but oh, how he had wanted. It was delightful to curl in sleep with Hob, to be held, to imagine that this kind and beautiful near-stranger truly cared for him beyond the pleasure they found in one another.
It was so easy to pretend that he was loved.
He closes his contacts without deleting Hob's entry.
~ "So this gentleman you met on your cruise," Jessamy starts one day in April, over breakfast. She has brought him a decadent blueberry danish from the bakery near her flat and is picking delicately at her own lemon poppyseed muffin. "He left you his number, you said?"
"Yes." Dream takes an enormous bite of the pastry, delighting in the sweet tang of the blueberry filling on his tongue, the sugary melt of the glaze and the flake of the crust. He does not like where this conversation seems to be headed, but it is Jessamy, and her offering is delicious, so he will endure it.
"Are you ever going to call him?" She plucks another small chunk of her muffin between two elegant glittery-black nails and pops it into her mouth, watching him with sharp, knowing eyes.
Dream chews slowly, allowing himself time to ponder the question until his mouth is empty. "I do not know," he says at last, honestly. "I should not; there is little point. Yet I cannot quite let go of the fantasy."
"There's little harm in a spot of fantasy, though, is there," she returns. "It's human nature to spin ourselves what-ifs and wouldn't-it-be-nices."
"Perhaps," Dream allows, and returns to his Danish.
It has been two months now since the cruise; the longer he goes without calling Hob, the more foolish he feels when he imagines how it might play out if he did. It is fanciful nonsense, all of it; Hob has certainly put Dream far from his mind by now.
Hob's number remains in his phone, the bright-eyed lemur inciting a small pang of fondness and regret any time he scrolls past it.
~ It is the last week in May that the divorce is at long last finalized, legitimized, and filed as complete.
Dream feels a celebration would be appropriate. He considers dressing down and dolling up, visiting the clubs that he had taken to frequenting after he and Alex officially separated more than two years ago. Sex would be a lovely way to celebrate, especially when it's been months since the last time he'd gotten laid—
The notion passes silently on before it can truly take hold. Sex would be nice, yes, but now he is thinking of that last time, and all he wants is Hob.
Jessamy brings champagne to his office as evening sets in. "I heard the good news," she says, waggling the pair of stemmed glasses in her hand. "Congratulations on finally being legally and officially rid of the twat."
"Thank you." Dream rises and takes the glassware; Jessamy pops the cork and pours for them both, then lifts her glass. "To freedom?"
Dream matches her. "To correcting mistakes which ought never have been made," he amends, and they drink.
~ Two glasses later, the conversation has turned to Dream's Future Prospects, a topic far more easily navigated when mellowed by the champagne in his bloodstream.
"I am better off alone, Jessamy."
Jessamy tilts her head at him, frowning.
"No, I don't think you are," she offers at last.
"Nonsense." Dream feels very strongly that his point is valid. "Every relationship I have had has been. Catastrophic."
"Well, yes. You did make magnificently bad choices in your last two marriages."
"And the others?"
"You and Nada were both far too young when you eloped." She shakes her head slightly. "And everyone in between were decent enough people, just…not right for you, ultimately. There were plenty of reasons for things not working out, but that doesn't mean you stop trying."
"The fact that I have seven failed marriages behind me when I am barely forty years old leads me to think otherwise." Dream tips another small measure of champagne into his glass. "I would be wise to seek out my casual dalliances when I wish for them and swear off the idea of romance. I would be far happier."
Jessamy is giving him that look, the one that says he's full of shit but she'll find a kinder way to point it out. "Would you, though?"
"Of course. You are happy, are you not?"
"Yes, but I'm aromantic. You very much are not, Dream. You thrive on the thrill of falling in love, of wooing and being wooed and grand gestures of devotion."
He swirls his glass, once, pouting. She is correct, of course; she knows him better than anyone, has been his friend for most of his life and his assistant for most of his career. He is very much in love with being in love, which makes the parade of failed marriages in his wake all the more painful.
"You are right, of course," he reiterates aloud, melancholy stealing over him. "The idea of finding someone for one night does not even hold the appeal it did before I went on holiday. I just keep thinking of Hob."
Jessamy cocks her head at him again, raises an eyebrow, gaze bright and astute. "The fantasy in your phone whom you've never called?"
"Yes."
"That good, was he?"
"He was not—he was, rather, but it was not just that." He can feel the emotion swelling in his chest and makes no effort to hide it; Jessamy will not judge him ill for it. "Hob is kind, and sweet, and so full of life; he is a brilliant soul, warm and chivalrous and—and—" He has run out of words.
"And hot?" Jessamy's grin is sly.
"And hot," Dream admits, mournfully, "and such a good kisser, and Jessamy, I miss him. He went to Disney World, after the cruise." He looks at her, everything laid bare in his eyes, tongue comfortably loose with champagne. "I wanted very much to go with him."
"Wow."
"Yes." Dream looks away, breathing past the ache in his chest; he cannot deny that the space Hob has occupied in his thoughts since February is far more than warranted by a simple holiday tryst.
Jessamy sighs gently. "Then. Perhaps—and hear me out here—perhaps you should call him."
Dream shakes his head, miserable. "I will ruin him, I will ruin whatever feeling lies between us. As I did with Calliope, and Will, and Nuala—"
"Every relationship is different, Dream. Every set of variables, every chance—maybe it won't work, but maybe it will. You don't know without trying."
"…Perhaps."
Jessamy sets her glass aside and rises to leave. She lays a hand on his shoulder and squeezes lightly in passing. "Life is too short, Dream. Reach for happiness, every now and again. You deserve it as much as anyone."
~ Dream stares at the little cartoon lemur on his phone screen long after Jessamy has left, stares at Hob's name beneath it.
Is he truly thinking of calling, after all this time?
It is pointless, hopeless; surely Hob has long since moved on. Besides which, it is late. He does not even know what Hob does for a living, whether he is likely to still be awake at 9pm on a Tuesday but even so, it does not matter. It is far too late in the evening for unsolicited non-emergency phone calls, particularly when he is morbidly tipsy from finishing off the bottle of champagne; he swipes out of his contacts, heart thudding in his chest as though he's just narrowly missed out on calamity.
Or opportunity.
~ He stares at the lemur again the next day, and the next, and the next, debating with himself, thumb hovering over the number while his pulse pounds sickly with nerves. He wants to call, more than he might have wanted anything in recent memory; he is terrified to try, to take the risk, to burn the gauze of fantasy to the ground in hopes that a beautiful reality will rise from the ashes.
The lemur's cartoon eyes stare brightly back, unhelpful.
~ At last, on the seventh of June, half past noon on a bright sunny day, Dream can dither no more over insecurities and cautionary woes.
He wants, and he is tired of pretending that he does not.
He steels himself, closes his eyes and lets his thumb touch down.
Trembling, breath held, he brings the phone to his ear.
There is ringing on the other end, three times, a fourth, and then the sound of the line connecting.
A voice, a voice wonderfully familiar despite how long it has been since last he heard it, speaks up. "Hello, Robert Gadling here…"
Dream opens his eyes and exhales, heart in his throat. "Hob?"
There is a sudden stillness over the line. "…Dream?" Dream can hear the bright smile breaking over Hob's face. "Is that you?!"
The tension bleeds out of him in a rush and he is smiling as well, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as he cradles the phone in both hands, curling toward the warm glow of possibility it offers.
Perhaps, perhaps this time, if he only believes.
"Hello, Hob."
= Started: 2/13/24 Drafted: 2/15/24 Posted: 2/15/24
The Extra Warning note: We find out here that Dream is still in the middle of a years-long messy divorce from Alex Burgess while on the cruise; he has technically committed adultery with Hob. Hob does not know and will not find out at this juncture. If this makes you uncomfortable, I completely understand if you need to give this a pass.
#TJs Fics#Fluffbruary 2024#TJs Fluffbruary#sadly deficient on the fluff this time around#Sandman#Dreamling
67 notes
·
View notes
Text
this is how I think Morpheus and Hob felt about each other (and themselves a bit) throughout the centuries
Morpheus:
1389 - Wants a plaything and goes to get it. Excited to see a human begging for Death. (Sadistic motherfucker)
1489 - Finds him interesting, likes the love Hob has for human inventions and wants to see how he lives further.
1589 - Disappointed and bored, he expected more from him so he went to find someone more interesting and with more passion than current Hob.
1689 - Scared of losing him but then seeing how Hob still has love and hope for life has him falling in love fast.
1789 - Fully in love and wants to share more of himself with Hob, but they get interrupted. Flirty af. But also was disappointed in what Hob did with the slave trade.
1889 - Is happy and content to see Hob again, wants to hear him talk all day long. Proud of Hob for being a better person, but also understanding of his mistakes. Gets called out being fond of Hob and gets overwhelmed and storms out like a drama queen. He could've evaporated into sand but preferred to go out in the rain because he's so fucking dramatic.
1989 - Wet sad cat imprisoned. Release him. Sad that he was forced to miss meeting Hob especially after their fight.
2021 - He finally gets to meet Hob again after too many years. He's so fucking happy and also so relieved to see that Hob is right there, just waiting for him even after all this time. He smiles easily at him now, happy and completely in love with this foolish human who waited for him and even marked around the old inn to show him where he was. Morpheus is a fucking simp at this point but honestly after all of his romantic life being fucking terrible, he just settles for friendship for now.
—
Hob:
1389 - Definitely finds Dream super strange but also hot. Believes him even if not fully.
1489 - You can count him on being scared and horny. The man doesn't know what he got himself into but is very enthusiastic to tell Dream all about his life and what he finds interesting and cool.
1589 - Wants to make Dream proud. He's living like this thanks to Dream so he must do something amazing of his life so that he continues living, right? So why is his stranger looking the other way and leaving him alone even after all the cool things he spoke about himself? He feels angry with himself but there's also some jealousy there that he doesn't understand very well.
1689 - He's fucking miserable at this point. Though is fucking nice to finally see someone who actually talks to him like he's a real person and not a pile of shit on the road. He also missed Dream very much and wondered why he hadn't saved him, but after stopping the want to die he understood that that life was Hob's to live alone and not Dream to interfere. He misses Dream even more when they part ways this time.
1789 - Finally got his life back around and is presentable to see his stranger. I'm 100% sure he finds Dream super hot right now I don't care. Definitely figured out his feelings after the last meeting in 1689 and was super excited to meet Dream again and show his worth. Is annoyed at Dream for trying to interfere in his life because he has never done that before, even when he was at hos worst. He understands after the explanation and feels shame. The fight ensues and he knows, he knows that Dream most probably doesn't need his help but he's going on 50% instinct to protect who he loves and 50% on showing off to Dream lol. Flirty motherfucker. They should've fucked this year istg.
1889 - Hob has reflected on his terrible mistakes and got better, helping instead of harming. His mistakes still haunt him, though, so he still feels shame for the horrible things he did. He's happy that Dream interfered at the time. A bit depressed. Reflected even more about his feelings for Dream and wanted to suggest for them to meet more, to make this more intimate and not like it's a business transaction. He's not stupid either, he knows that Dream at least sees him as a friend at least, he wouldn't care so much about him if he didn't. He tried to explain about it but it went terribly wrong. Hates himself for opening his big mouth but at the same time doesn't regret a thing. He trusts and loves Dream, even if the guy is a total drama queen.
1989 - He knows he said he trusted Dream and all that but he's actually so fucking nervous. What the fuck will he do if Dream doesn't show up? And then Dream actually doesn't show up. He waits all day for him, hoping to see the tall man clad in all black. But to no avail. He gets super stressed after knowing that the inn is going to shut down, so he obviously does the most rational decision... buys a new fucking inn and names it The New Inn so he can hopefully see his stranger again next century! Fucking simp.
2021 - He's a teacher now and every afternoon after his morning classes he goes to The New Inn to wait. Hob's hope never faded, so he couldn't do anything more than just wait for his stranger every day for all these years. He even continued in the same city without leaving, afraid of being discovered again after the witch trials... But he needed to stay there for his stranger. And then he finally came to him. Hob is simply and completely in love with this man, even after being made to wait so many years for him.
#i have more thoughts i guess but im sleepy#also i love them very much#dream learned to love and cherish humanity more because of hob for sure#dreamling#the sandman#dreamling headcanon#dream of the endless#hob gadling#hob x dream#morpheus x hob#queer
298 notes
·
View notes
Text
Scream for us - Teaser
Summary : You are an entirely normal girl by day, but once night falls in Gotham City, you become the greatest thief of all time. Fortunately, the Batboys are there to set you back on the right path; they have a few lessons to teach you to behave like their good girl.
PAIRING : non-idols of ENHYPEN’s hyung line x female reader GENRE : 18+ (MDNI), adulthood, reverse harem, polyamory
Warning : anxiety, blood, filth, injuries, cigarette, thief, superhero, sexual assault, toxicity, violence, fight, theft, child violence, past infidelity, stalker, scars, crude and vulgar language, manipulation, reverse harem, multiple sex scenes, extensive discussion of sex, sadness, hatred, swearing, degradation.
PS : It will be released on October 28 or 31, and if there are any typos, it's because English is not my native language. Please be kind.
“You'll be our slut tonight, and for the rest of your miserable life, do you understand?” Jay demands in a husky voice, each word sounding like a delicious threat as he tugs roughly at your hair. The sharp pain at the root of your skull makes a shiver of arousal ignite through you. His gaze is like a burning fire, a mixture of desire and dominance, drowning in a darkness that captivates you.
“You want to play, don’t you?” he adds, a sinister smile on his lips, like a predator delighting in its prey. The atmosphere becomes electric, every word he speaks, charged with a sweet poison. A palpable tension settles between you, a dangerous dance between pleasure and pain.
“Look how wet she gets at the thought of being degraded, don’t you, kitten?” Jake sneers, his deep voice echoing like a sinister echo. He steps closer, his hands brushing your skin with a perverse gentleness, before turning into a possessive gesture that sets you aflame. A cocky smile spreads across his face, while his eyes shine with insatiable desire.
A sharp swat to your ass makes you jump, a mixture of pain and pleasure taking over you. “I know you’re fantasizing about being filled with us. I’d like to see you filled with us too. You’d look so pretty painted white, kitten,” he whispers, his voice tinged with desire and cruelty. Your cheeks flush, but deep inside, a part of you stirs, hungry for more.
“You finally gave your tongue to the cat, you naughty girl,” Sunghoon, his gaze burning, leans down to you. “Open your mouth for me,” he orders, his tone soft but commanding. You obey, your tongue twitching against your lips, a shiver of submission washing over you. A satisfied smirk forms on his lips as he dominates you with his gaze, a mix of excitement and defiance setting in.
He watches you with a devouring intensity, and in this charged atmosphere, every second becomes a sick game, a silent exchange of unconfessed desires and disgust. The world around you fades away, leaving only this electric tension between you, a promise of a macabre and degrading adventure.
Sunghoon leans down to your wide-open mouth, his gaze never leaving you, his eyes burning with a pernicious desire. He lets a few drops of saliva escape, a deliberate and humiliating gesture that underlines the importance of this moment. Holding you firmly by the cheek, he involves you in this tableau of domination, reminding you to what extent he is the master of your pleasure and your pain.
“Look how beautiful you are,” he whispers, his voice thick with cold arrogance, “so vulnerable, like a submissive doll.” A possessive glint shines in his eyes, a delectable mix of desire and cruelty enveloping you. As he brushes his thumb over your cheek, you shiver, wondering if he realizes how much sordid passion there is in this gesture.
“You’re mine,” he says, the promise of his voice ringing through the air, wrapping you in a net of anguish and arousal. Every look, every movement becomes a delicious humiliation, a reminder that you’re here for his pleasure, to be broken and rebuilt as he pleases. You’re an object of desire, a puppet in his hands, and yet, despite the degradation, something inside you stirs, hungry for this delectable submission.
He grabs you firmly by the chin this time, but his hold is both gentle and terrifying, as if he knows you are his. “Swallow it,” he says, his voice thick with desire, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes you swoon. A rush of heat rises inside you as you obey, your gaze locked with his, trying to capture every nuance of his expression.
“You’re so perfect for us, aren’t you, my love?” Heeseung whispers to you, his voice soft but laced with menace, leaning down to your level with an intensity that makes your heart beat faster. His gaze sinks into yours, as if he’s trying to penetrate your soul.
He strokes your hand with calculated gentleness, his fingers sliding over your skin, sending unpleasant and delicious shivers down your arm. This tenderness hides an underlying threat, charged with an almost terrifying energy, a promise of pain and devotion that makes an unhealthy curiosity rise within you. The warmth of his close body and his light breath on your skin envelop you, leaving you both exhilarated and terrified.
“You will take whatever we give you without complaint, because you are our perfect good girl,” he continues, his tone filled with possessive affection, but also with crushing authority. His words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, filling you with a degrading sense of belonging and desire, as if your worth is only measured by your ability to endure.
You know what he says is an order disguised as a caress, and despite the revolt that simmers inside you, a part of you can't help but shudder at the thought, aware that you are both the plaything and the prey of their dark desire. But you can't bring yourself to submit. "I'm not yours, nor your fucking good girl," you retort, your voice trembling with audacity. The defiance in your words resonates in the air, creating an explosive tension. Their expressions change, a mixture of anger and desire. They realize that your audacity is as intoxicating as it is disturbing.
“We’re gonna destroy you so bad, baby, you’ll be begging to be our plaything,” Jay promises darkly, his words hanging in the tension-heavy air, laden with palpable excitement and ravenous anticipation.
He steps forward, his eyes twinkling with a wicked glint, as if they could tear through the veil of your resistance. The tension between you is electric, each syllable wrapping the space in a sinister promise, a forbidden adventure on the edge of danger. His hypnotic gaze captivates you, plunging you into a whirlwind of unspoken desires, daring you to cross that uncharted line between submission and rebellion.
The atmosphere becomes suffocating, every beat of your heart resounding like an invitation to give in, to dive into the abyss of this cruel game. You know that every word he speaks is a chain, drawing you closer to this dark maze where you could lose all control.
“Fuck you, you sexually deranged bastards,” you spit with a glare, your brow furrowed in contempt. “You can always dream before I’m yours, you fucking assholes.”
“You shouldn’t have said that, kitten,” Jake snarls, his eyes laced with anger and desire. Every syllable he utters is a promise of pain and pleasure, an invitation to dive into the darkest depths of your own desire.
“Oh, but I did very well, on the contrary.” A sneer stretches on your lips, defying their expectation. “Now go fuck yourself.” A mocking purr escapes your throat as you crack your whip on the ground in provocation, before hooking it to the window railing. With a quick movement, you hoist yourself up, leaving them frustrated below, trying in vain to catch you. “What, is that all you have?” you say with a soft laugh, taunting them from your perch.
“Catwoman 1, Batboys 0,” you blurt out with a defiant smile, your voice dripping with contempt. Your gaze slides over their faces, capturing every expression: the disbelief, the burning desire, and that palpable anger. You straighten up, defying the universe around you, before launching yourself backwards with disconcerting agility. Your body flies into the air, and you savor the moment, your hair blowing in the wind, while their gazes remain fixed on you, powerless to stop you.
Your mocking laughter echoes through the air, an evil echo that seems to follow them. They don’t even need to speak to feel the surge of desire that invades them. Their fists clench, their bodies tense like bows ready to let go. The adrenaline of the hunt boils within them, and they swear inwardly that this humiliation only exacerbates their need to possess you. Your every move, your every word, ignites their rage and their desire.
Mais vous savez que vous avez le contrôle de la situation et, à mesure que vous disparaissez dans l'ombre, leur frustration ne fait que croître. Le jeu ne fait que commencer.
#explict#history#enhypen x reader#enha x reader#enha hyung line#heeseung x reader#jake sim x reader#jay x reader#sunghoon x reader#fic smut#preview#teaser#dark romance#dark#sim jake#heeseung#lee heesung smut#x reader#reader insert#jay enhypen#park jongseong x reader#park jongseong#sunghoon smut#sunghoon#fluff#angst#smut#Enha hyung line x reader
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
I like when people portray killer like a pathetic sopping wet cat when he’s in stage 1.
He tries to be scary and force people to go away when he’s shifting from Stage 2 into Stage 1, but it’s just sad because he has tears in the corners of his eyes and hes shaking and trembling from both the pain and the force of his sobbing. Choking and coughing on his DT.
Hes the type of sensitive person who cries in physical fights, even when he’s winning. (See the Stage 4 comic & the end of the Swap vs Killer comic.)
Gets concerning when he’s slowly shifting from Stage 2 into Stage 1, clearly crying and shaking, yet he’s still insisting that he’s fine, repeatedly saying he “doesn’t feel anything” even as he trembles and his face looks somehow both simultaneously miserable and confused.
He’s in so much pain but he’s also experiencing extreme cognitive dissonance because he’s not supposed to be and he can’t figure out where the pain is coming from.
What a pathetic little man I love him.
#killer sans#utmv#sans au#sans aus#bad sanses#killertale#killer!sans#bad sans gang#something new#something new sans#undertale something new#undertalesomethingnew#nightmare’s gang#nightmares gang#undertale au#undertale aus#utmv au#utmv aus#utmv headcanons#kinda#he’s so pathetic#cognitive dissonance
48 notes
·
View notes
Text
KFC breakup drafts...
So I stumbled upon someone (user @3vLu8b6YVR8PEIU) on X who was able to get a source who attended the JJK exhibition/event… they’ve made some really insightful posts, one of which has revealed that in the drafts that Gege drew of the KFC breakup scene, he wrote the dialogue for Geto to say something along the lines of:
(If you want to kill me, kill me. There would be meaning in killing me. - this was the final version)
You can kill me if you want. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to be killed by you.
But just be careful you don’t kill any one other than me.
He really was trying to point Gojo in the other way.
I always had this feeling that Geto was telling Gojo that he gave him his blessing to take his life. It was like an unsaid agreement that Gojo could pull the trigger at any time, and that Geto allowed it / would not blame him at all, understanding there would be meaning for Gojo to do so, since they were on opposite paths now.
But telling him not to kill anyone else / humans??
And Gojo complied? Kind of made it his duty to do so on behalf of them both?
I wrote before than Gojo pretty much obeyed whatever Geto asked of him. It was a form of love and undying devotion. This bloody takes it to a whole other level...
It was as if Geto was saying, “Don’t follow me. Don’t let yourself be used. Think for yourself.”
I don’t know why Gege revised it, but it would explain chapter 261 more about being left behind.
Also, when Geto asked about his family in jjk 0 and Gojo asking about the humans affected by UV before his fight with Sukuna seemed to demonstrate who they ended up living to protect.
But back to the KFC breakup...
Before this it was all my HC thinking that Geto wandered around the city testing his luck to see if Gojo was the weapon and would just execute him according to the natural law and consequence of his actions. And then they met and he could then deliver whatever he did to Gojo. But I think it’s more evident now that he kind of wanted to have the opportunity to show Gojo a different path. He looked like a drenched cat with his sad/miserable expression - not like a villain who had found his purpose at all. Plus, he didn’t recruit Gojo did he?
Gojo knew he was being spared / pointed the other way. Geto turned before he could react. Gojo looked like an abandoned wet puppy 😭
It’s madness, this crazy love they shared. Geto gave his whole life away for Gojo to take. And Gojo listened. The level of understanding between them transcends... everything.
Pure love. Ahhhh satosugu makes me sick! 😭😭😭 🥺🥺🥺💔
#satosugu brainrot#satosugu#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru#geto suguru#stsg#jjk spoilers#jjk analysis#jjk meta#jujutsu kaisen 2024 exhibition#jujutsu kaisen Hikarie Hall#satosugu angst#satosugu kfc breakup
38 notes
·
View notes