#not classifying them as a threat

[ppulverse]

i know mhj sucks and i hope she gets kicked out and rots in hell but why are twt armies saying she's a threat to bts...... the only tweets i could find about it were the ones talking about how she allegedly asked a shaman to make bts join the military but that's literally the law and pretty much every korean male has to go through that.......

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

developing the biggest soft spot for wkx from the novel as i slowly unravel his show equivalent

[winged-self-indulgence]

Why Do People Like Yanderes?

Hi everyone, my name is Diya, and this was going to be a YT video-essay-type-thing but I'm too poor to afford a mic and too busy with college to learn how to edit videos, so here's my vague exploration of the psychology behind why people like yanderes so much through the lens of my favourite Visual Novels.

TW for uh. yandere content. Mentions of sex, gore, and non-con, particularly in the last topic. This is more like the first draft of an academic paper so while it's not explicit, I do go into some detail.

Introduction

If you’re a fan of anime or visual novels, then you’re probably already aware of what a yandere is, or at the very least you’ve seen that one picture of Yuno Gasai. Still, for the sake of thoroughness, let’s take it from the tippy top. The term ‘yandere’ is a Japanese portmanteau of ‘yanderu’ – the progressive form of ‘yami’ – meaning ‘sick’, and ‘deredere’ which roughly translates to ‘loving’. Together, the word refers to someone who is – in short – extremely lovesick. Obsessive to the extreme, and with little morality to spare, the standard yandere is characterized by a dangerous fixation on a chosen target, often appearing shy and caring at first only to flip the script and become violently aggressive towards perceived threats (Kroon, 2010).

It should be noted that yanderes are not a strictly romantic or sexual trope. The Ancient Greeks classified at least six forms of love, from familial (storge) to guests (xenia). Modern psychologists may distinguish love as either Companionate or Passionate (Kim & Hatfield, 2004) or consisting of three dimensions of Intimacy, Passion, and Commitment (Sternberg & Sternberg, 2018). Realistically, possessiveness shows up in a variety of relationships. However, people are generally primed to view certain dynamics as inherently amorous. Societal norms tend to encourage the idea that romantic bonds ought to rank above all others, and therefore if Person A is bizarrely fixated on Person B, then clearly there must be an element of sexual interest involved regardless of the actual relationship between the individuals in question.

Regardless, yanderes remain quite popular in fiction. Many dismiss it as a fetish, which it can be, but that isn’t the case for everyone. While there is nothing wrong with indulging in kinky fiction, not all of us get horny at the thought of being chained up in someone’s basement, no matter how hot our captor may be. So why is it so pervasive? Why is this trope so appealing that most writers cannot help but include at least a single line of dialogue implying that – if circumstances had been ever so slightly different – my wholesome shoujo romcom might have turned into a psychological horror?

Hybristophilia

‘Hybristophilia’, also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome after the titular criminal couple, is a word is derived from the Greek word ‘hybridzein’ meaning ‘to commit an outrage against someone’ and ‘philo’ which means ‘a strong preference for’. Sexologist John Money reportedly defined it as a paraphilia in which an individual is sexually aroused by a partner who has a predatory history of hurting other people (Money, 1986, as cited in Matuszak, 2017). In his book, Serial Killer Groupies, true crime and crime fiction author RJ Parker distinguished two forms of hybristophilia: passive and aggressive. The former is when an individual contacts a criminal with the intention of striking up a relationship with them, allowing themselves to be seduced and manipulated but having no interest in committing a crime themselves. The latter are far more dangerous, as the individual not only derives sexual pleasure from their partner’s atrocities but are active participants in carrying out or covering up the crime. To quote Griffiths (2013, as cited in Pettigrew, 2019):

“[They] help out their lovers with their criminal agenda by luring victims, hiding bodies, covering crimes, or even committing crimes. They are attracted to their lovers because of their violent actions and want to receive love yet are unable to understand that their lovers are psychopaths who are manipulating them.”

In some ways, hybristophilia is the nearest thing we have to a realistic understanding of why people love yanderes. I mean, much of the fantasy surrounding such characters and their media tend to be filled with posts begging to be spat on or calling the rightfully terrified main character ungrateful for being a teeny bit upset about finding surveillance cameras in their ceiling. However, enjoying fictitious immoral activity does not predict real perpetration, so what does? There exists little consensus amongst psychologists as to what sparks this particular predilection, and that was strange to me. You would think there would be more studies into this topic, in spite of or perhaps because of its controversial nature. Heck, that one dude wouldn’t shut up about white women’s obsession with Bundy and Dahmer, and I assumed he had gotten that information from somewhere, but it turns out that was just him using modifiers to justify sexism.

However, I believe that we can hedge a few guesses, and over the course of my research, I’ve organized the main rationalizations under four umbrellas which I will explore through the lens of my favourite yandere-themed Visual Novels. Please keep in mind that most of these games are rated as mature due to sexual scenes and/or gore. Additionally, in the spirit of transparency, this ramble will be focused exclusively on male or masculine yanderes. So, without further ado:

Call Me Bob the Builder Because I Can Fix Them

If you’re familiar with DC Comic’s Batman, or just happen to have attended any costume event held over the span of the last 20+ years, you may be familiar with the character of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, better known as Harley Quinn. Initially created as the Joker’s one-off sidekick in Batman The Animated Series, she was so well-received by audiences that she became a recurring character in the cartoon and was eventually given a proper origin story in the form of a one-shot titled Mad Love.

Harley’s origin story has seen some alterations over the past decades, but the core aspects remain largely untouched. In the beginning, Harleen Quinzel was a promising young woman who wanted was a degree from the university’s prestigious psychology department, which she gained through…less than scrupulous means.

(Listen, I’m not sure if the authors were leaning on the Dumb Blonde stereotype, or if they simply thought that casting her as a genuinely bad student would make her later actions more believable. Either way, the idea of Harley as someone with a legitimate PhD came later)

After landing an internship at Arkham Asylum – a half-hospital and half-prison straight out of the 1870s that might as well be built out of one-ply tissue-paper soaked with gasoline and left next to a crate of fireworks – Harleen set her sights on the then incarcerated Joker. At the start, her fixation on the criminal wasn’t remotely sympathetic. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to use him. Harleen Quinzel wanted piggyback off his infamy and write a tell-all tale detailing what sort of messed up childhood resulted in Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime. Yet the more she interacted with him, the more the Joker took advantage of her empathy. By the end of their sessions, Harley no longer saw him as a violent serial killer with a clown schtick, but as a “lost, injured child looking to make the world laugh at his antics.”

But Diya, you may be asking, what does this have to do with the video? The Joker never loved Harley, and it could even be argued – as Shehadeh did in a 2017 essay – that her obsession with the pasty-faced clown is more akin to Histrionic Personality Disorder. While that may be the case, I believe that Harley’s story provides one of the reasons yanderes are so popular: their backstory.

Whether they were abandoned by their family, bullied by their peers, experimented on by evil scientists, starved on the streets, died under mysterious circumstances and then trapped in a haunted VCR tape for decades, or are simply so impossibly inhuman that they frankly do not understand why it isn’t socially acceptable to imprison their crush in a pocket dimension made of meat and non-Euclidean geometry, yanderes often have fairly sympathetic or at least understandable explanations for why they are Like That. Your mileage may vary significantly depending on how much you sympathize with these motives, but the point is that yanderes always make sense to some degree. Their morality and priorities may be twisted or even completely incomprehensible, but the audience almost always knows the reason, and that can be comforting. In the real world, other people aren’t always straightforward, and we never really know what they’re thinking, but narrative coherence demands a semblance of internal consistency lest the audience end up frustrated and confused. So yanderes are not only easy to sympathize with, but also fairly predictable. In-universe they may be unhinged freaks with a blood fetish, but to you watching from behind the safety of the screen they’re just acting out the script written for them based on a prototype. And if you understand the why behind their loose gears, then you might just be able to put them back together again.

The concept of rescue romances or “I Can Fix Them” has been around in our stories for thousands of years. The Epic of Gilgamesh detailed how Shamhat essentially ‘civilized’ wild man Enkidu through ritual lovemaking, and a concerning number of religions push the idea that women are dutybound to save men from the follies of sin. Yet men are not exempt either, with one notable example being the German fairytale, King Thrushbeard. Call it what you will regardless: Knights in Shining Armour, the Florence Nightingale Effect, or a plain old case of Because You Were Nice to Me, studies have shown that human beings generally like helping [DA2] others, even when the reason doesn’t necessarily stem from pure altruism. I will delve deeper into this later, but care and compassion are deeply ingrained in human nature, and arising from those roots is the appeal of this mentality: You can save them. You can change them. You can make them better. You are special, and the way you treat this person carries a weight that has not and will never be matched by anyone else for the rest of their mortal or immortal existence.

The illusion is a delicious one, especially if the person you’ve helped turns out to be a billionaire CEO with cash to burn, a super powerful ghost king willing to raze continents to dust for you, a demon having fun on a Friday night, or just your average hot creep with a knife. Moreover, different people have different ideas of what ‘fixing’ even means. Maybe you want to single-handedly rehabilitate your yandere into a functional member of society. Maybe you’re cool with the incessant stalking but would like them to stop slaughtering your friends, family, and local service workers. Maybe you want to make them much, much worse.

Not only do yanderes provide immediate proof that your actions have a tangible impact on the lives of others, but the fantasy also includes the desire of being seen as special. Of being admired and adored by someone whose life you inexplicably made better by virtue of simply being yourself, or an idealized version of yourself. In this fictional world, in this imaginary setting, the person you are is so uniquely, impossibly irreplaceable to someone. And if that’s the case then they can’t risk losing you, can they?

The Allure of Obsession, or ‘Til Death Do Us Part (Literally)

It shouldn’t be necessary, but here is my obligatory disclaimer anyway. Ahem: obsession is not a good thing in real life. Fixating on another human to the detriment of your own wellbeing and that of those around you is dangerous, as is encouraging someone else to obsess over you. You might think you are being worshiped, but real life is not a visual novel. The outside world doesn’t come with an age rating, the author’s guiding pen, and a convenient fade to credits sequence once you’ve reached an ending. The consequences will still be there in the morning, so don’t do it. Just don’t.

PSA out of the way, it’s natural to want to be wanted. Maslow’s Hierarchy places it just above physical safety, but I’d argue that it could easily be compared to baser drives. According to many psychological and anthropological studies, much of humanity’s continued survival and environmental dominance is largely attributed to our ability to form groups, cooperate with one another, and maintain complex interpersonal networks. Social support, intimacy, and a sense of belonging are linked to emotional and physical benefits, such as more optimistic health perceptions, higher subjective well-being, increased creativity and innovation, and greater self-efficacy (DeWall & Bushman, 2011; Harandi et al., 2017; Wang & Sha, 2018). Therefore, it’s perfectly understandable that rejection of any sort would be construed as a threat.

But if someone is obsessed with you, then you have no reason to worry about that, right? No more nights spent agonizing over how they feel about you, asking yourself whether your last text made you sound too desperate, or if you’re boring them because you spent the past hour info-dumping about Stardew Valley farm layouts. With a yandere, there will never be any doubt that they care about you. Sure, they might go about it in weird, manipulative, and insidious ways that violate your physical and mental autonomy, but you can’t deny their loyalty. They do love you in their own bizarre way. You are the sun around which they orbit. When you’re in the room, no one else exists. Every single messy flaw is just another bullet point on the mile-long list of why they adore you.

In essence, yanderes are not only attentive, but their love can be virtually unconditional. A yandere might know everything about you, and still revere you. It’s unhealthy as hell and you might genuinely question their taste, but it can be tempting to pretend that all of you, right down to the ugliest parts of yourself – the traits and choices that you would never share with another living soul even at gunpoint – are worthy of understanding, if not open praise and affection.   

Attractiveness, or Okay but Have You Considered That They’re Hot Though?

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I mean what am I supposed to say here? They’re hot, what do you want from me?

No, but in all seriousness, fictional media paints an idealized version of the world, and most yanderes are hot because they have the freedom of existing purely behind that screen; artfully arranged and edited to forever appear compelling to anyone who happens to enjoy their particular style. And there are a lot of styles to choose from. Whether you want them pretty faced and disarmingly cute, or scarred up and big enough to pin you like a butterfly, yanderes come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes that are meant to pique your interest and draw you in like a naïve little fish being lured towards the mouth of an angler fish, unwilling to believe that anything bad might happen to us when the bait is this pretty.

This is often referred to as the Halo Effect, a form of cognitive bias referring to the tendency for people to assume that a single obvious positive trait must be associated with other positive traits. The go-to characteristic is typically physical attractiveness, but a nice voice, good humour, and cooking skills are also factors which serve to influence our perceptions.

So, conventional physical attractiveness is one thing, but that’s only skin deep. What about beyond that? After all, the yandere still has to talk to you before they enact their master plan of tying you up in their basement until Stockholm Syndrome kicks in.

When I showed my friend a picture of John Doe from the game John Doe, she told me that he looked like a creepy slob, and she’s far from the only person who’s ever thought so. Look at them. I feel like if I tried to comb that hair it would simply eat me, and some of the CGs really put the scopophobia in Scopophobia Studios. I love Doe, but he is not hot, and he doesn’t behave in a normally appealing way either. If the player chooses not to take a bath, Doe will immediately comment that you “smell good” before following you home, breaking into your house, and leaving a bloody organ on the floor for the player to trip over. Many yanderes can at least fake a veneer of normalcy, but from the get-go Doe doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s anything less than an otherworldly creature stuffed into a vaguely person-shaped meatsuit. In an effort to find out why so many people had latched on to Doe – including me – I shopped around social media and YouTube for answers, and what I found was a widely unanimous sentiment.

While some were drawn to his fun design and goofy personality, most simply thought that he wasn’t inherently malevolent, just very confused. In addition to being a supernatural being with a completely alien axis of morality, Doe’s meta-awareness and unbridled attempts at winning the player’s affection lends him quite a bit of support from the audience, especially if you yourself also happen to struggle with social cues and relate to his pure earnestness. In Ending 7 of the extended version, the player character has the option to tell Doe – who has altered himself to pass as more ‘normal’ – that they prefer who he truly is, at which point he grows visibly flustered and sports an adorable pair of literal heart-shaped pupils.

Whether they’re charismatic, seductive, cute, sweet, funny, nurturing, or generous, the best yanderes have engaging personalities. Even while they’re committing truly heinous crimes against God, man, and your guts, you still kinda want to hang out with them, and you want them to acknowledge you as being just as interesting. And this is all fine in fiction because you’re the one in charge, and if you ever get bored or uncomfortable or busy with something else, then you can simply close the tab or window with zero consequences, which brings us to the final and most important reason.     

Power Dynamics and Consent in Fantasy (I Couldn’t Think of a Joke Here Guys, This Is Kinda Serious)

Once again, I feel that I must preface this section just for the sake of my own peace of mind: sexual coercion and assault are vile and disgusting crimes that should never be emulated or tolerated in the real world. We are speaking purely of fictional media, specifically adult-oriented media in this case, so please be mindful.

In 2009, Bivoni and Critelli conducted a study on 355 undergraduate women with the goal of assessing the reasons behind fantasies of non-consent. At the time, there were two leading explanations of this phenomenon. One stated that women with high libidos but repressed views of sex used these imaginary scenarios to alleviate the guilt they had grown to associate with sex. Because the simulation was a purely mental exercise and they themselves were cast as helpless victims in the scenario, they were able to remain blameless while still finding sexual gratification. The second stated that these fantasies were an expression of liberation by women who were adventurous and comfortable enough with their own sexuality to engage with taboo ideas that they weren’t at all interested in performing in real life. Which do you think was more common?

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If you guessed the second option, you’d be right. The study found that of the 220 women who had experienced such fantasies, 45% found theirs erotic, 46% were mixed, and only 9% reported pure aversion. One justification for this outcome relies on psycho-biological theories, for example masochistic preferences or the unintended activation of the sympathetic nervous system and subsequent mis-attribution of arousal. Other reasons have to do with higher order thinking and are tied to the power dynamics within such fantasies. On the surface is the appeal of being so desirable to someone that they simply cannot control themselves, but then there is a deeper impulse, which the researchers referred to as Adversary Transformation. To quote the article: “[fantasies] involve a struggle between an assailant and a potential victim in which it is relevant to consider who is the winner and who is the loser. At one level, it is a struggle over sex, but the woman's non-consent may be feigned or token. At another level, the woman may be seeking a victory that is not about whether sex occurs, but about what happens emotionally between the protagonists.”

Basically, the imaginary perpetrator may have ‘won’, but the self-character need not have ‘lost’.

Media provides an extra layer to the illusion, one that you as the viewer have absolute control over. If you are choosing to engage with a piece of media that explicitly labels itself as including R18+ yandere content, then you clearly have some expectations, and that background awareness goes a long way in reducing long-term discomfort and allowing audiences to make informed decisions. If you don’t like the plot, you can simply turn it off it with the click of a button, and when the screen goes dark it’s not like the yandere is going to punish you for saying no. Strade isn’t going to break into your house with a drill, there are no homicidal clown ghosts hiding in your TV, and no suspicious pink-haired hackers watching your webcam. They aren’t real, and the consequences aren’t real either. You have all the power here.

Conclusion

In summary, Yanderes are appealing for a variety of reasons. Whether you want to save them, think they’re attractive, wish to indulge in a dream of being utterly coveted, or simply enjoy a bit of spice in your me-time, it’s obvious why the trope has persisted for so long and will likely continue to do so. If you enjoy yanderes but are worried that having a taste for the less wholesome side of things might imply something about who you are as a person, don’t be. The notion that fantasies and media preferences directly reflect subconscious desires is not only painfully out of date debunked nonsense but also indicative of restrictive ideologies wherein bad thoughts = sin. This isn’t 1984. You haven’t committed a thought-crime by having a weird kink. You aren't going to superhell for fantasizing. The human mind is hardly ever so mathematically rational, and the point of fiction is to allow us to safely engage with and explore various ideas, provided the everyone involved is mentally, chronologically, and emotionally mature enough to do so.

Thank you all for listening to me. If you learned something or were just a little bit entertained. If you're curious about knowing more, I've listed my sources below

REFERENCES

Bivona, J. M., & Critelli, J. W. (2009). The Nature of Women’s Rape Fantasies: An analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents. Journal of Sex Research, 46(1), 33–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490802624406

Critelli, J. W., & Bivona, J. M. (2008). Women’s Erotic Rape Fantasies: An Evaluation of Theory and research. Journal of Sex Research, 45(1), 57–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490701808191

DeWall, C. N., & Bushman, B. J. (2011). Social acceptance and rejection. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 20(4), 256–260. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721411417545

Flynn, F. J., Reagans, R., Amanatullah, E. T., & Ames, D. R. (2006). Helping one’s way to the top: Self-monitors achieve status by helping others and knowing who helps whom. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91(6), 1123–1137. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.91.6.1123

Harandi, T. F., Taghinasab, M. M., & Nayeri, T. D. (2017). The correlation of social support with mental health: A meta-analysis. Electronic Physician, 9(9), 5212–5222. https://doi.org/10.19082/5212

Hazen, H. (1983). Endless rapture: rape, romance, and the female imagination. https://openlibrary.org/books/OL3161300M/Endless_rapture

Kroon, R. W. (2010). A/V A to z: An Encyclopedic Dictionary of Media, Entertainment and Other Audiovisual Terms. McFarland.

Matuszak, M. (2017). Hybristophilia White Paper. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55dfd21ee4b0718764fb34cc/t/5cb7cabee5e5f00ab13be58b/1555548863275/Hybristophilia+White+Paper.pdf

Oarga, C., Stavrova, O., & Fetchenhauer, D. (2015). When and why is helping others good for well-being? The role of belief in reciprocity and conformity to society’s expectations. European Journal of Social Psychology, 45(2), 242–254. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsp.2092

Parker, R. (2014). Serial killer groupies. RJ PARKER PUBLISHING, INC.

Wang, T., & Sha, H. (2018). The influence of social rejection on cognitive control. Psychology, 09(7), 1707–1719. https://doi.org/10.4236/psych.2018.97101

[lacollectionneuse1967]

slip of the tongue

Theseus Scamander x Reader

The word left your mouth before you could process it, “Daddy.” He froze completely, locking eyes with you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face.

summary: you're a personal assistant at the british aurors office. you accidentally call your boss, theseus scamander, "daddy."

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: smut with plot

warnings: 18+ smut, ddlg themes, (light) mdom/femsub dynamics, (light) size difference kink, unprotected penetration

It was mid-November. London was dark by four in the afternoon and you were out of the Ministry by five, pulling your trench coat around you and shouldering your way out into the stone streets and coal black skies. It wasn’t bitingly cold yet, but you kept your arms tucked close to your body regardless. Dipping in and out of the indistinct crowds, moving with purpose.

You had about fifteen stacks of classified documents on you, but they were safely magicked away into the lining of your coat, and they weighed nothing. Magic almost always weighed nothing, cost nothing. 

For you, at least. 

“A natural.” “The brightest witch of her year!”

That’s what they’d called you at Hogwarts. Even your closest friends in [your House] eventually grew bitter and irritable, so you had to feign stress before exams and pretend to practice your spells alongside them in the common room, in a display of camaraderie.

The truth was you didn’t need to practice, or study. Ever.

You were muggle-born, everything in your life before Hogwarts had been so difficult to bear, your parents’ death, the streets of East London, the orphanage. Even talking to other people, simple conversation, bore some inexplicable strain for you.

But magic had come as easy as breathing. Your wand was like a limb, an extension of your body, you didn’t even have to reach for magic, it just sprung forth, dancing into the world. 

You wanted to be an Auror since you were fifteen. You were good at magic, and little else, and you were curious, had a talent for dueling and abhorred those who took advantage of the weak. It seemed a natural path.

You were hired straight out of graduation. You were only meant to work as an Administrative Assistant at the Ministry of Magic for a few months. But that was nearly a year ago…

In truth, you’d already been offered a position as an Auror. You turned it down discreetly. Theseus Scamander, Head of the British Auror Office, was the man you’d been assigned to as an assistant. He was the figure you answered to, and you’d been his sole, personal secretary.

Before you loved him, you liked him, but even then you could recognize that you liked him too much for what was appropriate to feel for your boss. He was nothing like you in that he was maddeningly easy to become fond of. He was funny and charming, kind and handsome. Sarcastic and a bit of a straight edge. You glowed in his praise.

Every “Excellent work, Y/N” or “Y/N, you’re a lifesaver,” or casual introduction beginning with “This is my genius assistant-” swelled inside of you with happiness. Once he’d even, absent-mindedly and only half-looking up from his copy of The Daily Prophet, said “Good girl,” and you’d nearly fainted. 

The first time he hugged you, after some successful project of yours, he’d braced his arms around you and spun you around, and you’d gone wide-eyed and stiff. He set you down in a flourish.

You were terrified your reaction would put him off touching you forever, but he only laughed aloud, the sound like bells in the wind.

“Not scared of the death threats we receive from dark wizards but you’re scared of a little hug from your boss?” 

Your heart seized, though you returned his laugh in relief. If he only knew what you were really scared of.

“Try it again,” you smiled and met his gaze defiantly. “I’ll do better this time, I promise.” 

It always seemed to shock and delight him in equal parts, the way you responded to him. You liked to challenge him, and to make him smile just to see it spread across his face.

When Theseus hugged you the second time it was him who hesitated at the feel of your warm body pressing into his, his large hands hovered in mid-air before resting delicately on your upper back. 

When you were hired he was still engaged to Leta Lestrange, as he was when you turned down the promotion you were offered. Pathetically, being his assistant was the closest you could get to him. You weren’t about to walk away from that, walk away from him. Between late-night talks at the office and laughter-filled afternoon teatimes at his house, he’d become something like a friend. You couldn’t have him, but this was enough to sustain you. You weren’t her, but you knew you meant something to him…

When you entered his dark apartment, slipping the key out from under the welcome mat, it was no warmer than the outside world. Barren and cold as death, no signs of life. You whisked your wand out and spelled on the lights, spelled the documents free and they fell heavily from your coat, thunking unceremoniously on the hardwood floor.

Since he broke up with Leta, Theseus hadn’t been home, that was clear from the state of his place. He had hardly been at the office. You covered for him without even having to think about it, without even blinking you spewed out excuses and deftly dismissed the Aurors who came to call on him.

You didn’t think about what that meant about your loyalty, to the Ministry and to him. 

"Y/N," he’d prefaced in a letter, an owl sent to your house. "I trust you with my life. Not in theory, but in practice: with this letter you hold my life in your hands. You’re my assistant, but you’ve also become my closest and most cherished friend."

He’d mentioned Grindelwald, going behind the Ministry's back, “choosing sides,” and that he was with his younger brother, Newt. He told you to tell the Ministry he was on business if they asked, to make up something about a dark wizard lead in Romania. And he mentioned that he would need you to make copies of some confidential documents from the archives for him. He asked you to set them aside "but not in my office. Not safe. Bring them to my apartment. Key under the mat. I’ll be in touch soon. I owe you."

And so here you were. Still in your work clothes, a navy blue pencil skirt and chiffon blouse, black tights and your [hair color] hair pressed into loose finger waves, your heels scattered somewhere across his floor. You were organizing the documents into piles.

He’d requested the strangest things, all top secret, in the most restricted section of the Ministry Archives. Old maps and travelogs pertaining to sightings of some ancient creature with certain prophetic or spiritual abilities. Topographical maps of Bhutan and Austria. Classified research on dark magical objects that bound promises in blood.

It made you feel like you were in school again, made your head spin.

Wishing always hurt for you, coming from your background, you hardly let yourself indulge in it. But right now you wished he would’ve told you more. You wished, more sharply and painfully, that he was here.

In the middle of organizing the endless piles of parchment you began to drift off. The words on paper began to cross and blur in your vision. You didn’t want to disturb his apartment or his things, so you hadn’t put on the fireplace. Cold and tired you padded to his empty room. 

Just a little rest before I finish up here. You thought to yourself. Just going to rest my eyes.

You crawled under his crisp bed sheets and your eyes pricked at the overwhelming smell of him. If you didn’t allow yourself to miss him before this, you couldn’t help it now. You’d never been in his room before, you thought distantly, fatigue already claiming you, dragging you down into a black sleep. 

-------

You weren’t cold anymore. Someone had put the fireplace on. You became aware of this before you heard him.

“Y/N,” Theseus’s voice was rough and low and sweet. It must've been past midnight. He was dressed in a suit still, bending over the bed, his eyes tender and tired. “Did you fall asleep, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. You stirred. That word undid something in you. Unfettered any tension or stress you’d been holding in your body since he’d been gone.

“Theseus,” you muttered, still half-sleep. Your eyes were swollen, you would’ve been mortified, but he was here, at last, and he was looking at you with a gentle smile, so affectionate.

“M’sorry, the documents—I fell asleep-"

“It’s okay,” he chuckled. He dragged a hand over his face and stood. You felt guilty for stealing his bed, you didn't know where he'd been, but he looked positively wrecked. “Rest. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

He turned to leave, presumably for the couch. You reached out for him, any part of him, and your hand caught the waistline of his pants, a finger hooked there.

He looked down at the offending hand and raised a brow.

You were half dreaming, his arrival was so unexpected, so surreal. Your face felt hot, something like fever. 

"Mm, don't go," you mumbled. And then, the word left your mouth before you could process it, “Daddy.”

He froze completely, locking eyes with you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You were suddenly terrifyingly awake. 

You clapped a hand over your face, mortified, and rolled over in his bed so that the pillow concealed your face. Consciousness seeped in gradually and with every sober second you were swallowed by dread. 

“Oh,” you said stupidly. “Oh god, I have to leave. I'm sorry, I was sleeping, I don't know why I said that."

You stood as clumsily as a drunkard, taking half his sheets to the floor with you. Your hair was a mess and your skirt had hiked up nearly around your waist, revealing your black panties through your sheer tights.

“Oh god,” you said again. You couldn’t look at him. You began to fix your skirt and pat down your hair when he stepped forward, eyes dark, hand gripped around your wrist. 

You startled, confused. But he looked the opposite, an absolute calm washed over his face.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Coming home to you in my bed,” he let out a sharp breath, something like a stifled groan. “You have no idea what I wanted to do to you.”

Your stomach fluttered. You searched his face for any signs of confusion. He looked tired, a little undone, but more himself than ever.

“I don’t understand,” you didn't know why you felt on the brink of tears, when this is all you’d wanted all along. “You… you want me? But you were engaged, you…”

The look in his eyes was blazing and still, fire in water. It was enough to silence you. 

“I want you. I ended things with her because I couldn’t live with it, wanting you. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, not at your job, and I’m sorry to bother you with it now, but it can’t be helped. You can leave if you want, things can go back to normal. Me, wanting you, and you knowing nothing about it.” 

He seemed to return to himself now, he sounded like the Theseus you knew. Poised, sure of himself. Mercifully kind. But his chest was heaving and the desire, plain on his face, was enough to make your knees buckle.

He wants me. He wants me. With each beat of your heart you felt the truth of it swell inside you. You could see it, unmistakable, the look of want that mirrored your own. Ready to worship and renounce and claim.

“I don’t wanna leave,” you admitted, weakly. When he spoke again his words were terse, strained.

“Get back in bed,” is all he could manage, and then, “And call me that again.” 

And for the first time since you’d known him, you defied him.

Like the possessed, you fell into him, kissing him. He stumbled back in surprise, catching you with his hands crowded around your face. And you were both kissing and grabbing at each other, you fell to your knees and he followed you down.

You couldn't stop kissing him, not even to regain your balance, to catch your breath. He tasted so good, and his mouth on yours would've been enough to sustain you forever. The two of you were so desperate with need, you were half-kneeling on the floor. 

You began to whine in protest when he pulled away at last, but he stood and pulled you up from under your arms. When he threw you back onto his bed, your stomach flipped. He was looking down at you, pulling off his shoes and jacket, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. With him looking at you like that, you would've let him do anything to you, anything at all.

“Sweetheart, I said,” he pulled off his dress shirt and your head went dizzy at the sight of his bare chest, his shoulders and arms. “Get back in bed.”

His voice was stern, but fond. You knew what he wanted immediately, and it thrilled you to give it to him.

“Yes, daddy.”

You could see him struggling to control his expression, he just bowed his head back and pinched his eyes shut. The corner of his mouth twitched.

The knowledge that it was you doing this to him, driving him crazy, turning him on, heightened your arousal. Submitting to him strangely felt like power in your hands. 

“Good girl,” he said at last.

He was in his boxers now. The shape of his dick through the thin cloth made your mouth water. You wanted to press your open mouth against it there, wanted to pull it out and kiss it. You don’t know what had come over you. You couldn't think straight.

He got into bed beside you.

“Come and sit in my lap.” 

Your body purred and thrummed in delight. This is all you’d ever wanted at the office, to drape yourself over and onto him like this.

You crawled over him and sat firmly in his lap, legs splayed around his thick thighs. His hands came up around your waist, sliding further up to your chest. He looked up at you unblinkingly, eyes hooded and reverent, but his fingers moved of their own accord, unbuttoning your shirt.

You reddened, suddenly self-conscious. “Wait, don’t-“

“Don't?” he raised an eyebrow. “What, you want me to stop?”

He made a tutting noise and continued to remove your shirt, you had to look away when he flung it across the room, you were so embarrassed. He had your bra off in seconds.

“So cute. So shy.” he said dotingly, but his actions were anything but cute, massaging and running the rough pads of his thumbs over your nipples over and over again in circles. 

You moaned without meaning to, and the sound embarrassed you further. You felt him grow even bigger beneath you, between your legs.

“No, you don’t want me to stop.” He sounded so cocky you wanted to tell him off, but you couldn't, not with him playing with you like this. You could only moan weakly beneath his hands.

Your hips began grinding against the outline of his cock. It was so big your entire body thrilled at the feel of him, at the ludicrous idea of fitting it inside of you.

He seemed determined to humiliate you, he kept talking you through it.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Can you feel how hard I am?”

“Yes,” you answered, breathless.

“Tell me what you want. How you want me.”

“Inside me, please.”

“Please, who?”

You were so frustrated you could've cried. You wanted to come so bad, your legs were trembling. Up and down grinding and rubbing wasn't enough when you knew he wanted to be inside of you, that you could've had him inside of you.

“Please, daddy," You cried, feeling broken. 

Theseus pushed you back onto the bed roughly and crawled over you, reaching down to hike your skirt even further up your midsection. You were already topless, but he gripped into your tights with both arms flexing and ripped them apart at the seam.

You gasped and instinctually tried to cover up, bringing your legs together, but he was already pushing your panties down past your ankles, and then his broad hands were covering your kneecaps, pushing them apart.

“No, no, don’t do that. You’re mine," He reprimanded.

It felt so vulgar, him seeing this part of you. But you were only half a person now. You needed Theseus inside of you to be complete, you were dumb with want. A whining, needy mess and he couldn't get enough of you.

Tears stained your cheeks.

“Please, pleaseplease-" You started to beg, but he silenced you with his mouth on yours, wet and warm and perfect. When he shushed you this time it was surprisingly caring, he caressed your face reassuringly.

“Okay, baby. It’s okay, I’m not trying to tease you, hold on.” 

When he pulled out his length, your mouth went dry. You instinctually spread your legs wider. It was big, bigger than you thought. Both thick and long.

He reached a hand down between your legs to find wetness. Your back arched, your whole body curled and keened in pleasure against his hand, his touch.

But when he pushed a single finger at your entrance it met resistance. You moaned in pain and contentment when it finally slid in fully, past the knuckle.

“Ah,” he said with a grunt. “You can barely fit my finger, baby. You’re so tight.” He said this in equal parts admiration and lament. 

“No!” you whined. “Please, please, I can take it-“

Theseus shushed you and kissed your forehead.

“I know you can, pretty girl. I don’t wanna hurt you, though.”

“I want you to. Please, please.” 

He hissed something like fuck under his breath and began to add more fingers, a second and, then, absurdly, a third. You already felt like you were being split in half. He could barely move them, but soon enough he was pumping them deep and slow, in and out, and the act was so lewd you wanted to cry again.

“Fuck, that’s tight," he said to himself again. “Christ, Y/N, you’re gonna kill me.”

When he removed his hand you wanted to cry out at the loss, but then he was moving his body up, his hands clasped around the inside of your knees and he spread your legs up and open and wide, just for him.

When he sank down into you, his dick was so big and hard that your eyes bulged and your mouth opened pathetically.

“Oh,” you said, stupefied.

Then he pushed in and in, endlessly, until he bottomed out. You were already throbbing around him, so overstimulated from before, coming and fluttering around his cock before he’d even fucked you properly.

“Oh!” you exclaimed again, throwing your head back against the pillow and bringing the back of your hand to your mouth to bite, hoping to stifle the moan as your orgasm washed over you hard. Waves of pleasure ran from the crown of your head all the way down your legs, you could see it coming from a mile away but were nonetheless overcome, completely. 

He made a small noise at the sensation of you tightening and pulsing around him and ripped your hand away from your mouth.

“I wanna hear you,” he ordered, and so you let him. It was almost an out-of-body experience, the way he materialized in front of you, inside of you, when you finally came back down to earth, blood roaring in your ears.

“I just stuck it in, and you already came?” His tone was dark and teasing. “That’s all it takes, darling?”

He leaned over and kissed you deeply, passionately, and then straightened your legs and threw them over one of his shoulders, bending you in half. He began to fuck you in earnest, fucked you limp. You really felt like a rag doll now, helplessly pinned beneath his weight, his hips pounding into your backside. He drilled into you, growing impossibly harder by the second, it was almost like being filled for the first time all over again. 

You couldn't stop moaning, he kept telling you how good you were doing, how you were almost there. Kept asking you questions that made you blush, making you answer them.

Every thrust of his hips was pure ecstasy, vibrating shocks of pleasure were sent straight to your core, your whole pussy throbbing with it. He was fucking you and it was the best thing you’d ever felt, you never imagined sex could be this good.

You felt his dick stretching you wider and wider when he said, “Where do you want me to come?” 

You didn't even think. The word preceded any thought.

“Inside. Please, please-"

“Fuck.” 

The feel of him shooting into you, hot and warm and pulsing, sent you tumbling into another orgasm, it hit you so hard your vision went white and spotty. You had the impression your whole body was vibrating with the force of it.

He rolled your sweat-slick bodies over so that he was cradling you, holding you. You could feel his heartbeat, feel the air rushing in and out of his ribcage. He held you for a few minutes before finally relenting and pulling out with a hiss.

“You’re so perfect,” he panted, pressing a kiss to your temple, your chin, your neck. 

You felt overwhelmed with emotion. Overstimulated. Completely at his mercy.

“I love you,” you said. Powerless. All your life you had clung to power, whatever power you could cling to and not be kicked off like a dog. But for him alone you allowed yourself to be weak.

Utterly and devastatingly weak. 

You always imagined him saying it to you, first, but the thought barely had the chance to dampen your soaring heart because then he said, “I love you more. I promise you, whatever love you have for me, Y/N, I'll always have more for you.” 

-----

He cleaned you up and gave you some of his clothes to change into. Soft and oversized, you were almost drowning in them. He changed into his own pajamas, changed the bedsheets and threw the old ones on the floor. Gave you a toothbrush to use and soon you were both cozy and tucked back in his bed.

“I wanted to do that from the first time I saw you," He admitted. “Even though I was your boss, and your friend, and I was a taken man at the time. It made me feel ashamed, sick with myself. How badly I desired you.” 

Hearing Theseus say these words was like a dream, or something you wouldn’t even dare to dream.

“Are you staying here for good now? Or are you leaving me again?” You asked.

“You’re coming with me. With us.” He said in a way that was so sure and simple, it made you feel safe. Made you forget about the Ministry, and the world falling apart. “We need your help. And besides, I've missed you.”

-----

part two here

A/N: woohoo first fic ever! let me know if you have any requests or if you'd like a part two. right now i am only writing for theseus and no one else.

[archivistofnerddom]

A Human author once classified Earth (and its residents) as Mostly Harmless.

By the time the rest of the galaxy realized that is a joke, it was too late. Earth was considered to be relatively mild and not much of a threat because Humans, the planet’s dominant species, classified their cradle world and species as such. Most aggressive species in the galaxy considered it to be an easy target for conquest. They had no idea how wrong that assumption was.

It took one ill-timed and easily stopped planetary invasion for the Cprix, generally accepted as the galaxy’s boogeymen species, to fear Humans and their cradle world. By the time word got out that the Cprix had launched an attack on Earth and for a response to be mounted, the invasion had been repelled. The Cprix fleet was retreating from Earth’s solar system at a fast rate.

No Cprixen would ever disclose what happened or what caused them to be defeated.

No Human gave the same answer about what happened. Some said the invaders made the mistake of landing in Australia or Canada or the Amazon or in the Yellowstone super caldera. Some said it was the honey badgers or some deep sea creature. A few even joked about more obscure (possibly cryptid) Earth creatures were involved, such as the chupacabra or the kraken or the mama bear/mom friend. There was discussion about natural phenomenon, like hurricanes and volcanoes. Some cited the variety of military technology that was so low-tech or outdated by comparison to the rest of the galactic standards. The only thing that Humans would agree on was that they didn’t know why the Cprix fleet was afraid of them. Earth was just Mostly Harmless, after all.

Those answers from the Humans generally prompted more questions. Earth suddenly received more interested visitors from their alien friends. That’s when the other species began to realize that Earth was far more frightening than they had previously realized and Humans more deadly.

A self-professed Mostly Harmless death world is still incredibly terrifying by most generally accepted metrics. Only a Human would call their cradle world Mostly Harmless.

They had no reason not to see it as anything other than that.

[victoryverse]

crying screaming begging the lord himself for this-

imagine simon has a wife, he been had a wife, a military so and so who ranks wayyyyy above him -

she visits the base and everyone’s treating her with the utmost respect and formality until she passes simon who js,, casually offers her a cigarette, like ???? as if she’s not super massive important formal person number one ?

i’m here for the shock and awe,, everyone just being so completely caught off guard by them

“wh whahbwhh wh?????!!!!???”

“oh yea that’s my wife btw”

y/n riley

i really liked this idea anon >.< thank you for sending this!!! hope you like this <33

. . .

Simon Ghost Riley, the infamous and elusive member of Task Force 141, had always been a mystery to his team. He was a man of few words, a deadly sniper with a dark past, and someone who could disappear without a trace. But what his team didn't know was that behind the tough exterior, Simon had a soft spot for one special person - his wife, Y/n.

Y/n was a high-ranking military officer, a woman who had worked her way up the ranks with her intelligence, bravery, and unwavering dedication to her country. She and Simon had met during a classified mission, and it was love at first sight. Despite their dangerous jobs and the constant threat of danger, they had managed to build a strong and loving relationship.

But their love was a secret, known only to a select few in the military. So when Y/n decided to surprise Simon by visiting him at the base, the reactions of his teammates were nothing short of comical.

As she walked through the base, every soldier and officer stood at attention, saluting her as she passed by. Even Captain Price, known for his stoic demeanor, couldn't help but gape at the sight of her. But it was Simon's reaction that was the most surprising.

As Y/n approached him, Simon casually took out a cigarette and offered her one. The other soldiers were stunned, their mouths hanging open in disbelief. Did Ghost just offer a cigarette to a high-ranking officer? But Y/n just smiled and took the cigarette, her eyes never leaving Simon's.

The team was in shock as Simon and Y/n walked hand in hand, laughing and talking as if they were the only ones in the base. Even Soap, who had always been the closest to Simon, couldn't believe his eyes.

'Wh-what is going on here?' he stuttered, looking at his teammates for an explanation.

'I have no idea,' replied Konig, equally confused.

But as Simon and Y/n approached them, they all snapped back to attention, saluting Y/n as she stood by Simon's side.

'Boys, this is my wife, Y/n,' Simon said with a proud smile.

The team couldn't believe their ears. Simon Ghost Riley, the man of mystery, had a wife? And not just any wife, but a high-ranking military officer?

Y/n greeted them all with a warm smile, introducing herself and making them feel at ease. As they all sat down to chat, they couldn't help but ask about their relationship.

'How did you guys meet?' asked Soap, still in shock.

Simon and Y/n shared a look before Simon spoke up. 'We met during a mission in Afghanistan. Y/n was part of a team sent to assist us, and let's just say, she caught my eye.'

The team was in awe of their love story, and as they listened to them talk and laugh, they realized that Simon was a completely different person when he was with Y/n. He was happy, carefree, and even cracked a few jokes.

As the day went on, the team got to know Y/n better and realized that she was not just a high-ranking officer but also a kind, down-to-earth person. And as they saw the love and affection between Simon and Y/n, they couldn't help but feel happy for them.

From that day on, Y/n became a regular visitor at the base, and the team welcomed her with open arms. She brought a new light to their lives, and they were grateful to have her as part of their family.

And as for Simon, he had found his true partner in life, someone who understood and accepted him for who he was. He knew that with Y/n by his side, he could face any mission and come back home to her.

Their love story may have started amid chaos, but it had blossomed into a beautiful and unbreakable bond. And for Simon Ghost Riley, there was nothing more valuable than the love of his life, his wife Y/n.

. . .

tags: @ilovehobi101

[nelkcats]

Paranormal Department

Something strange was happening in the world, something that even the League would not have prevented. It seemed that the United States government had been fighting things they didn't stand a chance with, and this almost ended in disaster if it wasn't for the kindness of what they were dealing with. The details were highly classified and encrypted so Batman didn't know the details and it was frustrating him.

All that trouble resulted in Justice League Dark working steadily with the "Paranormal Department", there wasn't much information on their members and they worked in the shadows (Bruce wasn't amused, he needed contingency plans) but Zatara claimed they were excellent allies, despite their strange use of modern technology.

Bruce didn't know what they were about, or what agreement the president had made, but he didn't trust this "new department". They could betray them at any second. That's why when Constantine informed him that they would take over the "Lazarus pits" he flatly refused. Apparently his refusal didn't matter at the end since the "Department" got jurisdiction over the case.

Team Phantom, which was now headquartered in downtown Amity Park (and had many new members like Paulina and Dash) was having fun pissing off the Bat. While Danny had made an agreement with the government to deal with threats from the Realms, one of the clauses was not to tell the heroes they existed (After years of living with the Fenton's Danny was not amused that anyone knew ways to eliminate him, Clockwork was backup enough). Sam thought it was childish but didn't stop him.

Sam handled all the legal stuff, but it seemed like they had jurisdiction over all the cases that interested them (more than JL, since they were an elite team in that field), and no one could reveal their identities, which relieved Danny greatly.

Their main job was to send the ghosts home and close the rifts, plus deal with demons, or creatures that came out of said rifts. Easy enough for them, but probably extremely risky if you were inexperienced. Honestly, since they dealt with the GIW themselves, Danny didn't trust the heroes, however JLD was fine.

[gunebuggiesprompts]

Word of the Day dpxdc Prompt #18

July 22: Illustrious

The Justice League are well known for their heroic acts and overall saving the world. Them eradicating ectoplasmic beings (aka ghosts) was seen no different, as it was classified by many organizations and governments for ghosts to be a threat needing to be rid of. The general public also congratulated the JL for continuing to do what was the best for the world they live on, seeing ghosts as an intrusive species of sorts.

Now, how did the Justice League permanently get rid of ghosts? They captured the well-known leader of said ghosts, having multiple sources saying that it was the problem for the ghosts, or Danny Phantom. Then they interrogated the ghost, which are known to be malevolent and good actors/liars, and decided that the best course of action was to just make a deal for Phantom to take it's ghosts back where they belong and shut down the portal that Phantom admitted was allowing them in OR be forcefully done so to any extent including violence.

After all, ectoplasmic beings didn't belong in their universe and cause problems, even if their leader tried to contain them. There was plenty of evidence and science from funded government branches and organizations stating ghosts to be malicious and completely non-sentient. Why wouldn't the Justice League properly get rid of them and save the world once again?

[reasonsforhope]

HOLY SHIT THEY DID IT

TRUMP HAS BEEN CHARGED WITH SEVEN COUNTS OF FEDERAL CRIMES

"Donald Trump said Thursday [June 8th] that he has been indicted on charges of mishandling classified documents at his Florida estate, igniting a federal prosecution that is arguably the most perilous of multiple legal threats against the former president as he seeks to reclaim the White House.

The Justice Department did not immediately publicly confirm the indictment. But two people familiar with the situation who were not authorized to discuss it publicly said that the indictment included seven criminal counts...

The indictment enmeshes the Justice Department in the most politically explosive prosecution in its long history. Its first case against a former president upends a Republican presidential primary that Trump is currently dominating, and any felony charges would raise the prospect of a yearslong prison sentence...

The indictment arises from a monthslong investigation by special counsel Jack Smith into whether Trump broke the law by holding onto hundreds of documents marked classified at his Palm Beach property, Mar-a-Lago, and whether Trump took steps to obstruct the government’s efforts to recover the records.

Prosecutors have said that Trump took roughly 300 classified documents to Mar-a-Lago after leaving the White House, including some 100 that were seized by the FBI last August in a search of the home that underscored the gravity of the Justice Department’s investigation...

The investigation had simmered for months before bursting into front-page news in remarkable fashion last August. That’s when FBI agents served a search warrant on Mar-a-Lago and removed 33 boxes containing classified records, including top-secret documents stashed in a storage room and desk drawer and commingled with personal belongings. Some records were so sensitive that investigators needed upgraded security clearances to review them, the Justice Department has said."

-via WTOP News, June 8, 2023

[sissa-arrows]

Just got an ask from someone who wants to stay anonymous asking me why Algeria doesn’t sue and ask for reparation.

It’s simply because France made it impossible. Basically whenever there was a massacre France would burn or hide the proof especially the registers of births and deaths. When they left they also took a lot of archives and they refuse to give us access to those archives. The law actually says that archives must be made fully public after 50 years. Well guess what? The majority of the archives related to Algeria are still not public and its been 61 years. At first they promised to make them public. Then they said they had to check each page before making it public in case there some stuff that should stay classified. Then they decided that if in a box there’s just one single page that says “classified” then no page from said box can be made public. All of that for one simple reason. France voted a law giving a full amnesty for the colonial crimes committed by the French in Algeria. That law means that nobody can be judged for anything they did to Algerians during the war (let alone before the war). The only way for that law to be considered illegal is if the colonial crimes committed by France in Algeria are officially labeled as a crime against humanity. Because amnesty is not valid for a crime against humanity. That’s why they hide the archives because they prove that there was indeed a crime against humanity and that would force France to pay back for what they did.

Basically imagine there’s a murderer and everyone knows he did it he says that he did it but you still need the evidence for the trial… except the murderer has the evidence everyone knows he has them he says he has them but he can choose which one he keeps and which one he shows… France is the murderer in this scenario.

P.S: I talk about Algeria because I’m Algerian and because the situation was very specific but France should pay for ALL its colonial crimes (settler colonialism is very different because it’s a form of colonialism that doesn’t see indigenous people as merchandise or cheap labor they are seen as a threat something to be eradicated)

[praisethegabs]

SCARS

pre re4r!leon kennedy x reader

synopsis: You and Leon are the rookies in the training camp, although Leon is under the training of Major Krauser. You hate Krauser more than anyone else and you despise his methods, knowing how abusive he can be. As for Leon, he's your roommate and he's like a stranger to you — until you see his scars.

warnings: descriptions of violence, bullying and physical abuse. Leon cries a lot, hurt and comfort, angst with good ending.

word count: 4492k

a/n: another angst one shot with a happy ending. I'm really into angst, anyways. hope you guys like it as much as i do!

"Being silent does not mean not speaking but opening our ears to hear everything around us" Paulo Coelho

As you walked into the cold, fluorescent-lit government training facility, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of anxiety and excitement. You were part of an elite group chosen for a classified program, and the details had been shrouded in secrecy. All you knew was that your skills were needed to combat a rising threat.

Navigating through the labyrinthine hallways, you finally arrived at your assigned room. You swiped your access card and pushed the door open, revealing a sparsely furnished living space. Two singles bed, two desks, and a small bathroom were all that adorned the room. You already knew you would have a roommate, and you were excited to meet them.

As you entered, your eyes fell upon a man standing near the window, gazing out at the facility's courtyard. He had a rugged handsomeness about him, and the name on his doorplate read "Leon Kennedy."

"Excuse me, I think there might be some mistake. I was assigned to this room, and it appears we're meant to be roommates." You cleared your throat to get his attention.

The man turned to face you, his expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. He was young, perhaps in his early 20s... but something about his eyes told you he's someone who went through a lot. His eyes were sad, tired and traumatized.

"Roommates, huh?" he said, a faint smile gracing his lips. "I'm Leon. Leon Kennedy."

You smiled largely at him, shaking his hand. You spotted a bandage over his shoulder; probably something recent. You left all your belongings under your new bed, and sat there with crossed legs.

"Do you know who's your instructor?" You asked him, curious.

"Major Krauser. Do you know who's yours?" Leon asked in return, avoiding your gaze.

"Hmm... I don't know yet, but apparently we won't train together" you said, grabbing a few clothes.

"Well, good luck" Leon faced you, his voice sounding kind for a brief moment, and he smiled.

You hated Major Krauser.

After the first month in the training camp, rumors had been circulating throughout the training facility about Major Krauser and his unorthodox methods. Whispers in the hallways and hushed conversations among the trainees hinted at the darkness behind his strict training regimen. You had heard your fellow agents-in-training speak in worried tones about the psychological toll it took and the physical brutality they endured under his guidance.

This evening, as you returned to your shared room after a grueling day of training, you noticed Leon sitting on his bed, shirtless. His body bore a tapestry of bruises, fresh and angry against his pale skin. It was the worst you had ever seen him, and it sent a chill down your spine.

"Leon," you gasped, rushing to his side. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Just a rough day in training. It's part of the program." Leon shifted his gaze away from you and shrugged, wincing in pain.

You didn't buy it. You knew that Leon had faced something before, even though he refused to talk about it, but these bruises looked different, more vicious. You couldn't keep silent any longer.

"Leon, this isn't right. I've been hearing things about Major Krauser, about what he does to us, to you" you sighed heavily, trying to convince him to talk.

"Come on, you don't understand. Krauser's methods may be tough, but they're meant to prepare us for the worst. We can't afford to be soft in this line of work." Leon's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and frustration, and he turned to face you.

Still, you weren't convinced. You'd seen the toll it was taking on your fellow trainees, and now, on the man you truly cared more than anyone.

"Leon, it's not about being soft. It's about doing what's right about treating us with respect and dignity. This isn't training; it's abuse." You glanced at him as your voice sounded more concerned, and you stood up, then sitting next to him.

Leon sighed and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Sometimes we have to do things that others wouldn't understand. There's more to this than meets the eye, and I can't talk about it. Just focus on your training. We'll get through this."

You wanted to push further, to demand answers, but you could see the weariness in Leon's eyes. You knew he was hiding something, something that ran much deeper than the surface of their brutal training.

And then, when you were about to leave for dinner, someone knocked aggressively at the door. It was him, the said man you hated the most. Major Jack Krauser.

Krauser was standing there, an imposing figure with a harsh expression. "Kennedy," he barked, "get ready. We're going to train right now"

Leon nodded, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. He had been through tough training earlier, but something about today's session felt ominous. Krauser was notorious for his extreme methods, but this was different.

You watched silently as Leon left the room, being escorted by Krauser. Everyone at the dorm room was looking at the scene; it wasn't a secret that Krauser loved to bully Leon. If he had any small opportunity, he would definitely take advantage of it.

The training began, a relentless barrage of physical challenges and combat drills. Leon gave it his all, but Krauser pushed him harder than ever before. He moved with the agility of a panther, landing blows that seemed impossible to evade. Each strike landed with a painful intensity.

Time blurred as the grueling training continued. Leon's body ached, his breathing labored, but he refused to give in. He knew the importance of pushing his limits, especially in their line of work.

He felt every punch against his skin, the way Krauser did that just for his humiliation. It wasn't training. It was a pure demonstration of who was in charge.

"You're weak! Pathetic!" Krauser yelled, punching Leon even more. "Do you think you'll survive the training? Such a disappointment"

Finally, when Leon's muscles screamed in protest, and his vision blurred with exhaustion, Major Krauser called a halt.

"That's enough for today, Rookie," he said, his tone colder than ever.

Leon, battered and bruised, sank to his knees, gasping for breath. His body felt like it had been through a meat grinder. He couldn't help but wonder what had brought on this level of brutality in his training today.

As Major Krauser walked away, leaving Leon alone on the training ground, he couldn't shake the feeling that something sinister lurked beneath the surface. But for now, all he could do was struggle to his feet and gather the strength to carry on, one step at a time.

He managed to go back to the dorm room, feeling his bones hurting. Leon spotted the bleeding from his ribs, and he wanted desperately to cry.

After everything he saw at Raccoon City, this was the only thing he wasn't expecting at all. The training was hard and painful, and it was taking a toll on him. And worse than that, he still would see you. Leon couldn't understand why you cared so much about him, but sometimes he got himself thinking you were just like him. Or what he used to be.

"Did he hurt you?" Leon heard you ask when he walked inside the room. He sighed heavily.

"It's okay, I'm fine" Leon muttered, trying to avoid you. He thought it would be for the best to keep you away from him.

Silently, in the pungent scent of antiseptic hung in the air, Leon gingerly removed his torn shirt, revealing the intricate web of cuts and bruises that adorned his battle-worn body. With a sigh, he slumped onto the edge of his bed, his breath labored.

You decided to stay silent, completely focused on your book, which was very usual.

The other roommates were friends at this point, but not you and Leon. You were a total stranger to him, and he was a blank space to you.

But, truth be told, you had been an unexpected presence in his life. A stranger at first, you had shown kindness and compassion that Leon had never experienced before. You had witnessed his struggles and the pain etched on his face, and in your own quiet way, had offered your support.

Decided to change that, you took a deep breath and walked straight to the bathroom. When you came back, Leon was still laying on his bed, his eyes closed and his breath heavier. Your gentle hands trembling slightly gathered an assortment of bandages and ointments. You knelt beside Leon, your touch soft as you began to clean and tend to his wounds. The room was filled with a hushed serenity as you worked, a comforting contrast to the relentless violence of his training.

"What are you doing?" Leon gasped, his eyes meeting yours in a surprise tone.

"Being your friend" you said to him, focused completely on his swollen ribs. "Let me take care of you, Lee"

He winced as you tended to a particularly nasty gash on his forearm, but he held back his pain, not wanting to show weakness. However, you saw through his facade. You looked up, your eyes meeting his with an understanding that ran deeper than words.

"Leon, it's okay to let it out," you whispered, your voice soothing. "You've been through so much today."

He hesitated for a moment, struggling to contain his emotions, but the weight of the day's trials was too much to bear. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he finally allowed them to escape, his shoulders shaking as the emotions he had suppressed for so long came rushing forth.

You set aside the first aid supplies and wrapped your arms around Leon, pulling him into a comforting embrace. You held him as he wept, offering solace through the storm of his pent-up feelings. In that moment, Leon realized that he didn't have to be alone in his pain and vulnerability. He had found an unexpected friend and confidant in you, and your presence was a source of strength he had never anticipated.

After twenty minutes, Leon finally calmed down. His eyes met yours again, and you felt something delicate floating inside you.

"I'm sorry" Leon muttered again, sighing.

"You don't need to apologize, it's okay" you said back, your words full of kindness and care.

"Do you... do you know anything about the incident in Raccoon City?" Leon finally asked, feeling he needed to talk about this torment.

"I've heard something about the outbreak... and the city being exploded" you said to him, already understanding what he was saying.

"I was there... it was my first day at the RPD..." Leon said, and somehow, you felt the pain in his words. "It was in there I got shot"

And then, he showed you the scar on his chest, right under the shoulder. Truth be told, you were not his friend, and you weren't exactly the best person to talk with, but Leon was alone. He had no one else besides you. But he was so broken inside that he needed to vent.

Leon sat on the edge of his bed, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes filled with tears. The room in the training facility was the only place he felt safe enough to open up. You sat again next to his side, waiting patiently for him to open up.

"It was a nightmare" Leon began, his voice shaky. "My first day as a cop in Raccoon City… It was nothing like I expected."

You leaned forward, placing a reassuring hand on Leon's knee. "Take your time, Leon. You can tell me everything."

Leon took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He closed his eyes, and suddenly, everything about that night came back like a wave.

"I got a call one week before telling me i wasn't supposed to go, but I decided to go there anyway, ignoring the call. When I arrived, it was like something out of a horror movie. Zombies, blood, chaos everywhere." He whispered to you as he could see that night again.

Tears welled up in Leon's eyes as he recounted the horrors he'd witnessed.

"Annette Birkin, a scientist working for Umbrella Corporation, shot me in the shoulder when I was trying to help a friend. She was trying to protect something, something terrible. I could see it in her eyes. She didn't care that I was just a rookie cop. She just… shot me."

Your expression softened as you listened, your grip on Leon's knee tightening in support. "That sounds terrifying, Leon. I can't even imagine what you went through."

Leon wiped away a tear and continued, "And then, I found Claire again, this girl who was looking for her brother. We tried to escape the nightmare together. But it just got worse. We found out the city was infested with those… those things."

His voice broke, and he buried his face in his hands, finally letting the tears flow. You moved closer, wrapping your arms around him and offering comfort as he sobbed.

"I don't know if I can handle all this," Leon said, his voice muffled. "I never signed up for this. I just wanted to be a cop and make a difference."

You held him close, offering a soothing presence. "You're stronger than you think, Leon. You've already survived so much. We'll get through this together. And when it's over, you'll be the hero you want to be."

Leon continued to sob out loud. He was keeping things inside him for so long that it was almost unbearable. And then, you noticed he wasn't telling you everything. He kept more things to him than he told you.

"Leon," you said gently, "you've been through so much. You don't have to keep it all bottled up. I'm here for you."

He took a shuddering breath and looked up at you, his eyes red and puffy from crying.

"I… I don't know how to explain it. The city was like a nightmare. People turning into those monsters, the stench of death everywhere. And then… then, there was the Tyrant."

Your brow furrowed as you listened intently.

"The Tyrant? What happened?"

Leon's voice trembled as he continued, "It was this hulking, unstoppable monster. It was relentless, chasing me through the police station. I thought I was going to die. I thought I was already dead."

His voice cracked, and he wiped away more tears. You sighed heavily. Of all things you imagined, this was the last thing you would think of. Gently, you decided to take his hand, offering a comforting squeeze. "I can't even begin to imagine how terrifying that must have been, Leon. But you're here, you survived it. You're strong, and you can get through this."

Leon nodded, his voice still shaky. "I know, but the nightmares, they just won't go away. Every time I close my eyes, I see those things, and the Tyrant's face… I can't escape it"

After that night, Leon seemed more distant. You've noticed his small attempts to start a conversation, but every time he tried, he ended up being silent and avoiding you. And honestly, you couldn't understand him. You were so worried about him, feeling desperate to help, but being obligated to watch him sink in his own darkness, refusing any help or a friend.

As for his training, Major Krauser had always been a formidable presence at the academy. Tall and imposing, his glare was enough to make even the bravest cadets shudder. He had taken a particular interest in Leon, a young recruit with potential, but also an easy target for the major's relentless bullying.

As the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the training grounds, Major Krauser approached Leon, his voice laced with cruelty and a smile that would make the devil himself be scared.

"Leon," he barked, "You're a disgrace to this unit. You'll never amount to anything here."

Leon clenched his fists, trying to hold back tears of frustration. He knew better than to talk back to the major.

"Yes, sir," he replied through gritted teeth.

Major Krauser's lips curled into a sinister smile. "Since you seem to enjoy wasting everyone's time, you have a new mission. A punishment mission. You're to report to the obstacle course at 0500 hours tomorrow. Maybe that will teach you some discipline."

Leon's heart sank. The obstacle course was notorious for being grueling and unforgiving. He couldn't help but feel the weight of despair as he nodded and saluted Major Krauser.

The obstacle course loomed in the distance, a daunting series of barriers, walls, and challenges. Leon stood at the starting line, his confidence shaken from the relentless bullying of Major Krauser. The memory of the major's words echoed in his mind, eroding his self-esteem.

As the signal to start rang out, Leon's heart raced, but his steps were heavy. He stumbled over the first set of hurdles, scraping his knees against the coarse ground. His classmates, once his friends, now looked on with a mixture of pity and scorn.Leon tried to ignore their judgmental gazes and push forward.

The rope climb came next, and he struggled to find the strength in his trembling arms. His fingers slipped, and he fell back to the ground, the impact driving the wind from his lungs. The tire run proved equally difficult. With every leap through the hanging rubber, he felt like a clumsy child instead of a trained cadet.

A chorus of laughter erupted from behind him as his classmates breezed through the obstacle.The wall presented a nearly insurmountable challenge. Its height seemed to grow with every passing second, and Leon's past success at conquering it felt like a distant memory. He tried to summon the courage to leap, but his legs refused to obey. Each futile attempt only deepened his frustration.

Major Krauser watched from the sidelines, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. He had orchestrated this punishment with the intention of breaking Leon's spirit, and it appeared to be working.

Leon finally reached the final leg of the course, the mud pit. Covered in muck and exhaustion, he struggled to pull himself out, his body feeling like dead weight. His vision blurred, and it became increasingly challenging to distinguish the course from the nightmarish haze in his mind.

As Leon approached, he couldn't help but think of Major Krauser's words: "You'll never amount to anything here." The tears welled up in his eyes, and his hands quivered.

Finally, as Leon reached the wall at the end of the course, his trembling arms gave out, and he fell to the ground, unable to complete the final obstacle. The disappointment was crushing, and the sting of failure was intensified by the distant laughter of Major Krauser, who had been watching from the sidelines.

Major Krauser approached Leon, a cruel smile on his face. "You're a disgrace, Rookie," he sneered. "I told you that you'd never amount to anything here, and you've proven me right. Incompetence at its finest."

Leon's eyes filled with tears, not just from the physical and emotional pain but from the humiliation of being berated by the very man who had tormented him from the start. The other cadets exchanged uncomfortable glances but said nothing.

"How pathetic! Are you gonna cry like a baby? You don't belong in here, Rookie!" Krauser shouted, humiliating him in front of everyone.

Leon's spirits were shattered, and the weight of Major Krauser's scorn felt insurmountable. As he lay there, covered in mud and feeling utterly defeated, the obstacle course had become not just a physical challenge but a harsh reminder of the relentless cruelty that he would have to endure on his path to becoming a better soldier.

The following morning, Leon returned to the dorm room, covered in mud, sweat, and exhaustion. He stumbled through the door and collapsed on his bed, tears welling up in his eyes. The events of the punishing mission had taken a toll on him.

As you were studying at the desk, as soon as Leon walked inside the room, you immediately noticed his distress. You rushed to his side, concern etched on your face.

"Leon, what happened?" You asked gently.

Leon's voice quivered as he recounted the humiliation and the physical strain of the punishment mission. "I can't take it anymore," he admitted, his pride shattered.

You sat beside him, offering a comforting embrace.

"I know his an asshole... and he's cruel... but I'm here with you" you whispered, wiping away a tear from his cheek. "I'm here"

As Leon buried his face in your shoulder, he realized that your support was the beacon of light in the darkness of his training. After so many months together, your presence gave him the strength to face each day, no matter how tough the challenges became. After what happened in Raccoon City, he finally saw that he had someone by his side. You were the only one who could understand what he was going through.

As Leon buried his face in your shoulder, he realized that your support was the beacon of light in the darkness of his training. After so many months together, your presence gave him the strength to face each day, no matter how tough the challenges became. After what happened in Raccoon City, he finally saw that he had someone by his side. You were the only one who could understand what he was going through.

"You gave it your all, and that's what matters. Don't let Major Krauser's words get to you." You finally said something after minutes in silence.

Leon tried to force a weak smile, but the tears still welled up in his eyes.

"It's just... It's hard. He makes me feel so small, and I don't know how much more of this I can take." Leon vents with you, feeling exhausted after the course.

Your voice was filled with compassion as you offered a reassuring hug. But then, you noticed something different. You already knew Leon had scars, but this was new.

"But what happened to your eye?" You glanced at him, your concern deepening.

Leon hesitated, not wanting to draw more attention to his ordeal.

"I... I must have hit it during one of the obstacles," he mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact.

You gently lifted his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. When you saw the deep purple bruise forming around his eye, your eyes filled with anger.

"Leon, this isn't from an obstacle. Someone hurt you." You couldn't hide your frustration as you realized the truth.

Tears welled up in Leon's eyes again, but this time, they were tears of relief. He had kept the incident with Major Krauser a secret for too long, and now, someone who cared was finally noticing.

"It was Major Krauser," he admitted in a hushed voice. "He hit me after I couldn't finish the course."

"That asshole, son of a..." you muttered with every ugly word you knew. "We can't let things end like this"

"It's okay, you don't need to pick up a fight for me" Leon smiled again, his eyes still shining with tears. "Soon we'll end this training and then... I won't see him again"

"Are you sure about that, Leon?" You asked him, with visible concern and worry on your voice.

"Yes, I'm sure" he nodded, confident.

Leon was the type of guy with a hero complex. He thought he could fix everything — not noticing that sometimes, there were things beyond fixing. Each day, he returned to the dorm room full of purple marks and exhausted. Each day, you were there for him, like a true friend. You took care of his wounds and showed him support and reassurance.

Most importantly, you were there.

Leon doesn't talk about Raccoon City. Every time he tries, he shuts himself completely and cries. He avoided this topic for months because he felt he wasn't ready to share the rest of it. He wanted, but he couldn't.

You've decided not to ask more things about his life. He needed time to process everything, and the training, although cruel and painful, made him forget for a while.

But the nights were the worst.

He had nightmares, and sometimes, he would wake up screaming. Leon refused to talk about his nightmares, always thinking he shouldn't bother you with such silly things. Little did he know that you cared — a lot.

It was almost two in the morning. Leon awoke with a start, the lingering terror of his dream still clutching at his heart. Beads of cold sweat dotted his forehead as he struggled to discern the line between reality and the haunting images of Raccoon City.

The room was almost filled by a pale moonbeam that sliced through a gap in the curtains, casting eerie shadows across the walls. Breathing heavily, he tried to shake off the horrors that still clung to his mind. He couldn't go back to sleep; the nightmares always returned with a vengeance.

A soft rustle from the bed beside him caught his attention. Leon turned his head to see you, your eyes filled with concern.

"Leon, are you okay?" You spoke in a hushed, soothing tone.

He sighed, his voice trembling. "Just a nightmare, but it felt so real."

You scooted closer, your fingers reaching out to gently stroke his cheek. "Tell me about it. It might help."

Leon hesitated for a moment. But after so many months of silence, he gave up. He took a deep breath, then started to recount the horrors of his dream, the monsters, the chaos, and the relentless pursuit of survival. As he spoke, your presence provided comfort, grounding him in the real world.

When he had finished, you offered a reassuring smile. "You're safe now, Leon. Raccoon City is gone, and we're here together."

He gazed into your eyes, finding solace in the warmth and kindness he saw there. Your hand slid into his, fingers entwining as you two lay side by side.

"Thank you," he whispered, his heart slowing its panicked rhythm.

You leaned in, your lips meeting his in a soft, reassuring kiss in his forehead. As they pulled away, you murmured, "Now, try to get some rest. I'll be right here if you need me."

Leon nodded, closing his eyes, and as the remnants of his nightmare faded, he realized that the presence of you he was starting to like the help he needed to heal.

The training finally ended.

Now, you were officially a government agent, ready to serve.

After six months of pure stress, you finally ended your training. The ceremony was exactly like you imagined. But, for some reason, you weren't that happy. It was like you were missing something — or someone.

You found him after the celebration party. And he was so beautiful.

"Congrats, Agent Kennedy" You smiled at him, shaking his hands.

"Congrats to you too" he blushed a little. "I guess... I never properly thanked you... for everything"

"You don't need to thank me. You needed a friend" you said, your face blushing as well.

"Can I at least take you on a date or something?" Leon asked, and then he avoided your eyes. He was tense.

"Yes" you nodded, feeling your heart skip several beats.

And then, to your surprise, Leon kissed you. Right there, in front of everyone else. He didn't care about Krauser, the bullying, and the punishment he went through. When his lips met yours, he felt he was doing the right thing.

You both knew that you wouldn't see each other soon.

He needed to enjoy that moment. He needed you, at least one time.

You've seen his scars. You were there for him. You were exactly what he needed.

[katz-chow]

deranged!reader & her task force (katz's version)

me & ur mother @moongreenlight are genuinely insane. this is basically us if it even care 😞

a/n: fem!reader all military names fake, processes fake; mostly it'd be classified, not just not done...well we wouldn't know for sure. medical shit also real. i’m in both of those fields irl. no i am not a swifty

clinically insane reader doesn’t rampage kill. art has many mediums; regular people choose acrylics, watercolor, culinary, pottery…reader chooses murder. it’s a meticulous process that depends on the person, it’s slow, drawn out. which makes her a great torturer. thing is, she was part of SEAL team tango-8 but focused more on SARC stuff (search and rescue). she knows her way around a suture kit—and, fortunately, surgical instruments.

laswell knew reader for two reasons: odd separation orders and her confirmed kill count. there was barely anything documented about her medical discharge which was weird because 98% of the military is just paperwork (a fucking pain btw). only thing noted was “medically discharged” and “0% disability”. her confirmed kill count? 43. happy to be back in uniform, she skips around the hallways to price, giving him a giant hug and a kiss on the cheek, whispering threats in his ear. “if you ever discharge me, i’ll dip you in concrete to be my custom statue.” a sickeningly sweet smile follows. as he furrows his brows in confusion and bit of horror.

soap tries really hard to like her and he really does. she's so sweet and always tries to include him in things and bakes him cakes and always somehow includes almonds, joking how it's actually just cyanide. soap laughs until he sees her have actual cyanide in the kitchen, carefully dropping it into the batter with an eyedropper. then a tsp of almond extract. it wasn't enough to hurt or kill anyone, but it scared him

he told ghost and ghost goes and investigates. then he sees reader one night, cleaning her instruments, different mallets, scissors, blades and knife handles etc. and they are pristine...not surgically pristine but definitely floor grade. he continues to watch her at 2100, without fail, and cleans her surgical instruments. until he sees her missing from her barracks from her open curtains. he goes and finds her carefully dressing a man like a buck. she sees him and smiles at him beckoning him closer. after he puts an end to that, with cuts and bruises, he goes and tattles to price. reader crying in the prison about how much she'll "miss her uniform" price and laswell speak about it and they finally know what the fuck us going on. they send her out on the field.

its just gaz, a few recruits, and reader in a safehouse. they've captured one prisoner, a soldier of the pmc against them. he's tied to a chair and after gaz runs over his psychological warfare in him. gaz fails and tiredly beckons for reader to come in. he finds her staring dead straight ahead, looking like she was falling asleep with her eyes wide open. he slowly calls out her name, no response. he calls again, same outcome. he taps her on her shoulder and her eyes fall into a "normal" state and smiles brightly at him, "my turns?!" gaz films it, the blood, the slow agony-per laswell and price's request reader starts to skin the soldier. starting with just a silly little joke about cuticles and then it goes higher and higher, the piece of skin never tearing. it's superficial, it barely draws blood. "does that hurt? don't worry, i'll help!" she blows cold air onto the exposed skin, drying out his flesh slowly while the blood keeps it from fully drying. gaz gulps, the camcorder on a tripod next to him. "it's okay, you're not going to die. and if you do...i'll make use of you, no waste! promise! gaz, can you pass me the kerrison rongeur, please?" gaz scrambles around in her kit, metal and metal clinking together in the heavy duty box. "the fucking hole puncher, gaz." she screams at him, causing him to jump. he finds the long, gun-like instrument, its blade pokes and punches together. he hands it to her, the work end first. she yanks it from him, nails scratching his hand in frustration, but that same smile on her face. she takes small chunks of flesh from the man, blood gushing and pools. she digs dipper until she hits an artery, blood splattering over them all. "the mosquito! give the fucking mosquito." she screams as the man in front of them bleeds out. she launches for it in her box and clamps down. the man half awake. gaz's chest heaves up and down, his face in shock and fearful freeze. reader storms out, face falls flat, no more smile, no brows furrowed, just a dead stare in front of her. "pieces of shit, human bodies are."

laswell pulls out any psych eval documents she can find. she finds exactly one set of documents: your medical discharge. price shows ghost and they stare at the replaying video on his monitor. the image of a wide, blank-eyed reader, hair and face dripping with crimson blood, a small clamp clicked to close an artery. they keep her. soap is the one who finds your bloody kit left in your barracks. chunks of flesh, blood, bone... and other bioburden seemingly never there at all. the shiny chromium finish looking as if they were never used at all. reader who failed out of medical school because of the lack of moral and ethics her professors and physcians saw in her. they banned her from residency.

"can i...have him..? please?" "why would you want an execution order? aren't you an interrogator?" "i want to see the peristalsis!" "the fucking what?" "how his intestines move in his body and squirm around like snakes!!!" she dissects the man in a way only a careful surgeon could. doyen clamps closed off certain sections as she sits and animates the movement on her ipad. the man inhales and exhales evenly, a bandage over his throat, eyes wide and dry from the lack of tears.

soap, as empathetic as he is, sees reader in chow, sitting by herself as she stares dead ahead, mind clouded in thoughts. her arms moves a bit, twiddling her thumbs under the table. he sits down across from her, her gaze staring pass him, face unreadable and almost bored looking. "you alright bonnie?" reader's face smiles, her eyes still dead and still as they lag behind the smile she puts on. her eyes squint. "yeah! why?" "twiddling your thumbs there, anxious about your second mission?" she puts her cupped together hands onto the tabletop. her hands unclasp. she twirls the severed thumbs around. "just a lot on my mind, yeah..."

"can i have it?" reader asks when she sees gaz's shiny teeth.

reader takes interrogations very seriously, taking souvenirs for herself. a finger carefully dried out, teeth, an ear, hair, vital organs in formaldehyde, eyes into earrings, tendons as rings and bracelets.

she gave price a birthday present which included a human heart, dried and shrunk in a glass displayed case. "made it myself", she says. "...on your own time, my love?" "yes, never company time!" his birthday is not public imformation.

ghost was missing a pow. he asks reader. "where is he?" "who?" "the prisoner..." "i let him go." "why the fuck would you do that?" "i'm going hunting, do you want to join? we can dress him in the field!"

"i got you flowers, ghost, for your mother's grave." "how the fuck do you know about that?" "you told me!" "i fucking didn't! now tell me who the fuck told you that shit?!" "you did, don't be silly. you told me over a glass of scotch...or many glasses actually!" she giggles as he slams her against the wall.

price wakes up one night, the spine-chilling feeling of a pair of eyes stalking him. he picks up the gun from his nightstand, clicking off the safety. he blinks a bit, vision clearing and seeing a figure in the shadowy corner. "go back to sle-" her body is slammed against the wall, gun to her head. "go to bed, price." "what...are you doing here?" price breathes out, trying to steady his racing heart, popping the gun back to safety. "wanted a piece of your hair."

gaz finds reader in his room after work one day, reader sweeping his house. he changed the locks within a week, locking all external doors and windows. reader leaves him breakfast every morning still. he trashes it after the cyanide incident. he wakes up to reader with a plate of eggs and toast over his bed. "please eat it and don't waste food :("

the task force lives their day to day lives with the feeling of impending doom, paranoia, and a feeling of dread washing over them all at once whenever they catch a glimpse of you. they beg price to remove you, but price would rather not be covered in cement while still alive.

[profictionist]

One thing (and trust me, theres more) i hate about antis is their hypocrisy towards different crimes

"You can't ship that! It's illegal!!" Yeah and the guy who murders people is also illegal, but youre fine with shipping him with people.

"You can't like that character! They canonically sexually assaulted someone!" But you love that one character who physically assaults people?

I don't get why antis thing sexual crimes are the worst of the worst and if you even tolerate a character who did that, you deserve to get death threats. And the fact that they hate abusive ships so badly, but love characters who are murderers? That's just double standards, and I'm tired of it.

If one immoral crime is okay in fiction, then they all should be. No crime is above or below other crimes. They're all horrible actions that can traumatize someone for life, but since its fictional and not real, all of them should be okay to engage in, IN FICTION. Because it isn't real.

"But sexual, abuse, and pedophilic crimes can trigger someone! That's why we cant have them!" You ever thought that maybe murder and assault could trigger someone? There's a lot of people who are triggered by gore, and yet I don't see any antis sending death threats to those who make it. And guess what? Tagging exists. You can filter out tags so that you don't have to see any of that. That's why tagging posts is so important, so that people who have triggers related to that content won't be able to see it. Problem solved, and everyone gets to do what they want.

But antis just don't want to do that? They'd rather shame people for liking immoral things, or not even just immoral, things THEY classify as more immoral than other immoral things.

It seriously makes no sense, and I can't grasp how antis think like this.

[honeytonedhottie]

how to successfully rebrand⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🧁

this post is a collaboration with my FAVORITE @prettieinpink. in this post we'll elaborate on rebranding urself and implementing change in a way that is not only efficient but not that difficult to do ✨

FLIP THE SCRIPT ;

write down who u wanna become. what ur goals are, what ur style is like, ur schedule, achievements, relationships etc. however instead of writing it like "it'll happen one day" write it as though it happened already.

on the flip side i want u to write down what u think hinders you or blocks u from making the rebrand that u want so desperately. ur weakness. then flip them and find solutions on how to deal with it entirely, or diminish it significantly.

EXPAND ON UR BEAUTY ;

learn how to do makeup that is suited for ur own features. learn which clothes and colors compliment and flatter you the best. when u try and use a cookie-cutter approach to beauty as a way to fit a standard, you won't feel/look ur best.

thats why its important to know your own self the very best. no one knows ur beauty and body like you do so only you know best how to make ur beauty bloom.

DEVELOP UR OWN STYLE ;

u dont have to follow along with every single trend that u see in the fashion industry. although its fun at times or the particular trend can inspire u to create more outfits, its important to have a sense of individuality when u dress.

i recommend creating a pinterest board and filling it up with clothes that u love and clothes that align with ur style. find a fashion inspiration or multiple if u dont know where to start. when u go shopping, reference this board and look for clothes that r similar to the clothes in ur pinterest board.

REFRESH BUTTON ;

block the numbers of people that keep u trapped in a version of urself that u no longer associate with. get comfy with the block button girlies!! you can control who sticks around you and you're directly responsible for protecting ur peace.

delete photos of people who are no longer in ur life (like, they hurt u or walked out of ur life/vice versa) change up ur environment and what ur staring at every single day. unfollow people on social media who dont inspire you/who make u feel bad about urself and where u are on ur rebranding journey.

ADAPT ;

remember that list that we made earlier? lets learn to adapt habits can cultivate that and make this rebrand thrive. identify nonsense in ur life and learn how to get comfortable with cutting it off.

EXECUTE ;

now its time to put everything that we've covered into a action with a few easy and simple steps.

do ur SWOT analysis (strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats)

create solutions to what u classify as ur weakness

commit to yourself and your rebrand

[nyctoaerah]

𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

“𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐔𝐒”

╰┈➤𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒: You found yourself stripped of your immortality, a punishment for daring to flout the edicts laid down by your father. Your transgressions? Two-fold. First, the grave sin of disobedience, and Secondly, the cardinal offense of falling irrevocably in love with your Lady in waiting. In your father’s eyes, the sanctity of your divinity was tarnished by a same-gender relationship, a concept that he vehemently repudiated as aberrant and abhorrent. Such unforgivable love, he pontificated, dulled your goddess-like essence. Thus he used his powers and casted you adrift into a parallel universe suffused with curses and sorcerers whose love aren't really the healthy type of love, a punishment to show you that ‘Love’ isn’t all about sunshine and rainbows.

╰┈➤𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Gore, Slow Burn Yandere, Love Percentage Au.

╰┈➤𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere! Jjk x Fem! Isekai’d! Goddess Reader.

╰┈➤𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieri, Yuki Tsukumo, Kento Nanami, Utahime Iori, Choso, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen.

╰┈➤𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Hearts and Reblogs are greatly appreciated<3. Also posted in Quotev and Wattpad.

╰┈➤𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 6,040 words.

╰┈➤𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

╰┈➤𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 & 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

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MYRIAD OF LIGHTS OF multiple colors danced in your eyes as if on orchestra, it was intense, so intense that it seemed like they could blind you.  The overwhelming brightness left you feeling lightheaded and disoriented, while waves of excruciating pain reverberated throughout your entire body. The vertigo you experienced was excruciating and it felt like as if you were going to faint.

It felt as if an immense weight was being forcibly pressed upon you, causing your bones to crack and shatter. The splintered fragments traveled through your veins, intensifying the pain you were already enduring.

In an effort to cope with the pain, your teeth gnawed at your lower lip while your trembling intensified, unable to quell the torment in any way.    

To make matters worse, your regeneration abilities seemed to be failing you in this dire situation, leaving you defenseless against the onslaught of pain.

But Suddenly, as if transported to a parallel dimension, you found yourself immersed in something akin to a vast galaxy. The immense pressure in your lungs threatened to rupture them, and indeed, they gave way—They ruptured, hindering your ability to draw breath.

Although you are a goddses, you were somewhat comparable to a human in certain aspects. Your bodily functions mirrored those of humans, complete with human organs, and other human stuff—Like a demigod, yet you couldn't truly be classified as a demigod. This was due to the fact that demigods, while weaker, lacked the divine powers you possessed. They only had semi-immortality, whereby old age posed no threat, yet this alone was a dreadful fate, as it essentially condemned them to a lifetime of servitude.

Moreover, You are the biological child of Aionarch and Xeranthi, and Aionarch has a strong aversion towards demigods, thus, meaning that If you were a demigod, it is highly likely that aionarch would kill you without any second thought. But funny enough, even though you're not a demigod, he attempted to kill you, which doesn't surprise you at all.

However, it still confuses you why he hadn't killed you yet, though, one possible explanation for this is that aionarch intentionally chose to prolong your suffering, as he derives pleasure from witnessing others in pain, as he is undoubtedly a sadistic motherfucker.

Gradually, you began to feel your internal organs and bones slowly regenerating, although it was a sluggish process compared to before. Previously, you can just get any part of your body get cut off and it will heal instantaneously, as if the act of severing had never occurred. But this time, the regeneration process was markedly longer. Perhaps it lasted around three minutes, and you wondered, did Aionarch tampered your ability to regenerate?

Probably.

Then Suddenly, a realization struck you like a bolt of lightning, causing your mind to shift gears. It was as if a light bulb went off in your head, triggering a series of intense emotions. Your eyes, filled with a mix of fear, anger, and apprehension, snapped wide open, while your heart sank and a shiver tingled down your spine.

Ataraxia.

You were all too aware of the sadistic nature of Aionarch, who took great pleasure in inflicting pain. It dawned on you that he would likely target Ataraxia, , simply because she was your lover and he harbored a deep-seated hatred for anything that deviated from his narrow view of sexuality.

You knew he would not hesitate to subject her to unimaginable torture. However, a slight glimmer of hope emerged as you contemplated Ataraxia's abilities. Being capable of transforming herself into solid ice or hiding discreetly, she might have a chance to evade his clutches. 

Yet, doubts crept in. The unsettling realization dawned on you that Ataraxia might not be aware of the grave situation that you and now her, were entangled in. Was she cognizant of the rebellion you had sparked against Aionarch? Did she even know that your life force was slowly dwindling away? The thought gnawed at you, questioning whether she truly comprehended the excruciating pain you were enduring.

Did she understand that your internal organs were rupturing and your bones were fracturing, even though there were no visible wounds on your battered body?

Did she know how much pain you're experiencing right now because of her?

Ataraxia was definitely a personified peril, a reality you had to confront head-on. You swallowed thickly, feeling your chest tighten at the thought of ataraxia dying by the hands of aionarch playing through your mind like an unwanted nightmare.

Please, be safe, ‘raxia. You sniffled, your teeth gritting together.

You serious vowed to take Aionarch's life if he dared lay a finger on Ataraxia. The thought of your beloved perishing was simply unbearable, leaving you with the resolve that you would rather embrace death yourself than allow her to meet such a fate.

The desire to obliterate aionarch, to snap his neck in two and subject him to brutal torture if he ever dared lay even a single filthy finger of his on your ataraxia, consumed your thoughts, but that would be only on your daydream, as he possessed a superior strength compared to your own, for he was the originator of all existence, while you were only his insignificant and useless daughter that struggled to even  cook a simple soup without burning it, because peculiarly enough, you can set even the water ablaze without any logical explanation.

And all of a sudden, a vibrant streak of skyblue emerged right in front of your eyes. The intense force that had previously immobilized you vanished instantaneously, leaving you free-falling from the heavens.

Unexpectedly and with great velocity, a bird collided directly with your forehead, causing you to emit a sharp hiss and wildly thrash your arms in the air, desperately trying to swat it away in irritation and your pyrokinesis ended up working and it burnt the poor bird down.

And when you finally fell down to the solid ground below, the sheer force generated by your landing left an indelible mark on the land, forming an enormous crater. The impact was so powerful that it caused the very Earth itself to shake uncontrollably, sending shockwaves rippling throughout its surface like a magnitude-intensive earthquake.

Moreover, the intensity of your landing was accompanied by a resounding and thunderous explosion, which echoed through the atmosphere with an almost deafening presence as mist swirled on the place.

Excruciating pain surged relentlessly through every single fiber of your existence. you gritted your teeth with a force that could crack diamonds, whilst your muscles became as taut as tightly wound springs, while, your hands grasped onto the uneven, rough, and jagged terrain beneath you.

Your skin bore the traces of burns, blisters, and cuts adorning your body. Each breath you took through your nose was burdened with the heavy scent of blood and decaying flesh, reminiscent of the odor emanating from a freshly butchered pig, causing waves of nausea to wash over you. 

Although the blood did not carry your personal fragrance, it undeniably belonged to you, beceause it was ichor, and your oxygenated blood was currently trickling down your jawline, leaving a visible trail as it trailed down to your neck, gradually seeping into the delicate necklace adorning your throat while the uneven terrain below you etched bruises onto your already battered skin.

Your brow furrowed in distress as you struggled to catch your breath, feeling the constriction in your chest and the inability of your lungs to fully expand and take air, whilst the pain coursing through your body intensified, relentlessly tormenting you, making each breath a challenging task.

Your eyelids quivered as you tried to focus, but your vision started to fade, gradually becoming hazy and unfocused as a sudden and intense coughing fit took over you.

You instinctively reached up and clutched at your throat, feeling the warmth and stickiness of your vividly ichor blood trickling out. The droplets of your vibrant blood descended towards your body and to the ground, adding to the already stained complexion of your body. The searing sensation in your throat persisted, causing it to constrict even further while you continue to regurgitate blood.

Eventually, as the disturbing episode subsided, you slowly lifted your trembling wrist to your mouth, using it to gently wipe away the remnants of blood that had clung to your lips. In doing so, the vivid sanguine liquid was smudged across your skin.

The combination of smoky, metallic, musty scents, along with the burning aroma of leaves, assaulted your nostrils, which caused you to involuntary cough, although you were relieved to find no blood this time. Slowly, you gingerly lifted your head, taking in your surroundings with a look of cautiousness etched on your face.  

Where were you and what the fuck did just happened?

Utter confusion consumed you, and you couldn't help but question what had just unfolded.

Earlier, you were subjected to an excruciating torment inflicted by unknown forces, likely orchestrated by that bastard aionarch, and then you found yourself hurtling downwards from the celestial realm.

The events that had unfolded left you utterly flabbergasted.

In an attempt to make sense of it all, you furrowed your brows in puzzlement, lifting your head to carefully survey your surroundings, attempting to comprehend your current location.  

As you glanced around, a sense of unfamiliarity struck you, realizing that you were situated within a dense forest. However, a mist encircled your vicinity, reminiscent of a raging sandstorm, and despite the obstructed view, your vision of transparency allowed you to perceive through the swirling haze. 

The scene that unravelled before you was one of destruction and chaos, as fallen trees littered the ground, creating a disarrayed landscape, and Notably, a colossal crater lay beneath you. The forest floor was adorned with a carpet of decaying leaves, some of which were set ablaze, releasing plumes of smoke that engulfed the surroundings, which was probably caused by you.

As you gazed at the trees tumbling down, a feeling of unease washed over you, causing you to wince at the sudden destruction unfolding before your [E/c] eyes. It seemed almost as if the trees were toppling over like bowling pins, crashing to the ground in a chaotic display of you power and the realization dawned on you that perhaps your descent had triggered this chain of events, further deepening the sense of guilt and regret weighing heavy in your stomach. You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat as you grappled with the consequences of your actions. 

The dryness in your mouth and the lingering metallic sensation of your own blood on your taste buds only added to the discomfort.

Yet, Amidst this pandemonium, there was a sole detail that gripped your attention, and that detail was the fact that you're in the human world.

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𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐉𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐍, 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝟎𝟐 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟒

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“Satoru, do you really think you can handle riding the bicycle?” inquired the man with the sleek black hair, his purple eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion as he tightly clutched the plastic bags containing their purchased eggs for breakfast.

Without missing a beat, said latter, Satoru confidently replied, placing a hand on his hip in a sassy manner as he looked at the black haired man cockily,

“Of course I can. Don't you have any faith in me, Suguru?” His ocean blue eyes squinted as he cocked his head to the side inquisitively, a small smirk playing on his succulent lips.

“No, I don't.” Suguru murmured bluntly, his words devoid of any sugarcoating, causing Satoru to whine in disappointment, for this was not the answer he was expecting to get.

Suguru approached the bicycle, asserting himself as the rightful driver instead of Satoru, for he was hesitant to trust Satoru behind the wheel, knowing all too well the recklessness that would ensue if Satoru were given control of the vehicle.

“Don't be like that suguruuuuu”

Satoru whined, sounding like a child who hadn't gotten their desired toy, the desperation was evident in his voice as he grasped the black haired man's wrist and attempting to persuade him to switch roles.

“Please suguru? Just this once,”

Satoru's lips quivered, blue eyes looking at Suguru with desperation, adorning his face with a pitiable expression that tugged at Suguru's heartstrings, prompting a faint sense of pity to stir within him, despite the man’s annoyance.

“I really do know how to ride, I promise!! pretty pleaseeee?” Satoru insisted, employing a childish tone and batting his long lashes while looking up at Suguru with puppy eyes, clasping his hands together in a pleading manner to emphasize his pleading. 

Grudgingly, Suguru let out a frustrated sigh, his chest rising and falling with each breath as he reluctantly gave in. His brows were furrowed, and he couldn't help feeling irritated that he had caved so easily just because of Satoru's pitiful expression.

“Alright,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as he doubted Satoru's driving abilities. 

“..Just this once,” Suguru stated firmly, his lips pressed into a thin line to show that there would be no room for negotiation.

Satoru beamed in delight as he squeezed suguru’s wrist.

“I promise, you won't regret it! You've chosen the right person to trust,” Satoru exclaimed enthusiastically, causing Suguru to let out a heavy sigh, his breath visible in the cold air as he observed Satoru's excitement.

“Have I really, though?” Suguru muttered to himself skeptically, before letting out an amused scoff at the whole situation, his lips curling up into a small smile.

Satoru confidently positioned himself on the bike, his eyes sparkling with excitement, a bright beam on his face. Meanwhile, Suguru carefully positioned himself behind Satoru, his grip on the bag of eggs tightening.

And the moment satoru placed his feet on the pedal, suguru knew that this drive is going to be fucked up because satoru was literally driving so fast.

Suguru could feel his heartbeat quicken as Satoru accelerated, their bodies were pressed closely together and Suguru's head was  leaning on Satoru's shoulder as he spoke softly to him in hushed tones.

“You said that you'd be careful,  didn't you?” he murmured, his warm breath tickling the skin of the white-haired man's neck, sending a slight shiver down his spine.  

“No, I didn't, i never said that after all” Satoru countered, feeling a bubble of laughter forming in his throat.

“I simply mentioned that I am capable of handling the bike and this is just a one-time thing,” he added, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. He tightened his grip on the handlebars, urging the bicycle to go faster, prompting Suguru to pull away and let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Please, slow down,” Suguru implored, his grip on the plastic bags tightening.

Passersby gave them strange looks as they navigated through the road and Suguru's eyes widened in alarm when they narrowly missed running over with an elderly woman on the road. He instinctively gripped Satoru's shoulder, urging him to decelerate and suguru almost fell off the bike because of the speed.

“Watch out!” Suguru exclaimed, fearful of harming the innocent pedestrian. 

“Oops! Sorry!”

Satoru laughed and swerved, barely avoiding the elderly woman, causing her to cry out in indignation. Ignoring her protests, Satoru continued pedaling while Suguru hastily apologized for the incident. 

“Satoru! I told you to slow— ah! Slow Down!” 

Suguru felt a sudden jolt in his chest as he saw the lamp post looming dangerously close, almost taking the air out of his lungs. However, Satoru steered them away from the collision just in time.  

“Oh my god, satoru, i told you to be careful!” Suguru moaned in annoyance.

“Lighten up, Suguru, don't be such a buzzkill!” Satoru teased, shaking his head in amusement.

“no, ‘m not. ’m not being a kill joy”

“Yes you are,”

The cool wind rushed through Satoru's hair, adding to the exhilaration he felt as he barely managed to maneuvere through the narrow and winding streets, Suguru regretted that he had let satoru drive, because it was obvious that satoru doesn't have any hesitation or regard for the rules of the road.

Suguru felt the bag slipping from his grip as the force of their speed increased, causing his fingers to tighten around it and his face to contort in annoyance.

“You’re driving too fast, seriously” His heart raced, his voice barely audible over the roaring wind.

Apprehension painted Suguru's face as his eyes suddenly widened, realizing the danger they were in. However, Satoru remained completely oblivious to his friend's alarm, too consumed by the exhilarating rush of their ride to heed his warnings. 

“Damn it, Satoru, slow down! We're going to crash!”

As the road stretched out before them, a sharp curve emerged in the distance, and Satoru, being the dumbass he is, saw this as an invitation to push the limits of the bike, gripping the handlebars tightly and leaning into the turn, They careened through the bend, their bodies mere inches away from disaster as they narrowly skirted the edge of the road. The bag containing the precious eggs shook violently, teetering dangerously, and for a brief moment, the thought of breakfast seemed inconsequential compared to the imminent peril they faced. 

As they sped along, with satoru ignoring suguru's complaints, the looming figure of the forest ahead seemed to rise up to meet them. However, it was not the familiar sight people would expect.

The forest was an ashen wasteland, littered with fallen trees, charred leaves, and other debris and The serene presence of nature had been replaced by chaos and destruction for some unknown reasons.

Suguru's eyes widened, his jaw clenching slightly. “Satoru... Slow down..” Suguru said for the 500th time, wincing as satoru increased the pace again.

“Damn it, slow down a little would you?” He hissed, because despite the unfolding devastation, Satoru's adrenaline-fueled need for speed hindered his ability to see the danger that lay ahead.

“Slow down! WAIT—” Suguru's eyes widened as he saw that they were going to crash, his Adams apple bobs as his breath hitched in his throat.

“STOP SATORU—!”

And Before they had a chance to react, they found themselves hurtling into the dense foliage, the loud crash of their impact engulfing their surroundings. The bike skidded and twisted, throwing them off with a forceful jolt, causing their bodies to tumble through the underbrush like rag dolls, the bag of eggs swung wildly in the air before ultimately smacking Suguru square on the head, the impact shattering the fragile shells and releasing the yolks in a messy torrent.

Sticky, golden streams of yolk rained down upon Suguru's neat jet-black hair and his bewildered face, causing him to gag and grimace in disgust as the slimy egg white dripped onto his nose and managed to sneak through his tightly pressed lips, leaving an unwelcome taste in his mouth. With furrowed brows and a raised wrist, Suguru attempted to wipe away the offensive yolk and egg white, his frustration palpable in the swift motion.

“I f-fucking told you to slow down, didn't i?”   With a tone filled with bitterness, Suguru directed his words towards Satoru, his voice dripping with venom as he expelled the remaining pieces of the egg from his mouth, clearly displaying his irritation.  

“Remind me never to entrust you with a bike again,” he continued, his tone tinged with irritation directed both at Satoru and himself for allowing the reckless behavior to unfold. He should have known that Satoru's lack of driving knowledge would lead to disaster. And not only had their breakfast plans been ruined, but their current predicament in this peculiar forest had left Suguru feeling thoroughly disgruntled.

Grumbling under his breath, he brushed the dirt off his shirt, only to find that the hair tie he had used to secure his unruly mane had snapped, leaving his once-tamed locks to cascade freely on his shoulders.

Meanwhile, Satoru let out an abrupt yelp as he tumbled face-first into the dirt, eliciting a grimace as the taste of earth invaded his mouth.

“EWWWW!” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with revulsion, as he stood up and reflexively stuck out his tongue in an attempt to rid himself of the unwelcome earthy flavor.

“Must you always find a way to involve us in mishaps?”  Suguru chided, his voice tight with exasperation as he gingerly plucked the eggshells from his hair and threw it on the ground. His once impeccable appearance was now marred by the yolk that was now slowly dribbling down his neck as he shot an accusing glare at Satoru, who was attempting to extricate a leaf from between his teeth with little success.

“Hey! It's not my fault!”   Satoru protested as he gasped for breath,expelling the leaf from his mouth, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he desperately tried to replenish his oxygen supply. He could feel the strain on his lungs from the impact that had taken his breath away.  

“Yes it is,”   Suguru replied with a hint of frustration in his voice, his face contorted in a grimace as he stared closely at the gooey and sticky remains of the broken egg shell.

“Now we're a mess, and our breakfast has gone up in smoke,” Suguru grumbled, his tone heavy with dissatisfaction.

“And on top of that, we're currently in this weird forest.” Suguru harrumphed, his eyes darting around at the scene of destruction that surrounded them.

“Where on earth have you brought us, Satoru?”

His purple hued eyes narrowed as he carefully observed their surroundings, feeling a sense of unease as his throat constricts slightly, his jaw setting tight and his eyebrows drew together with concern, trying to make sense of their current situation. 

“Uhhh...”   Satoru blinked, unsure of how to respond. He gazed around, realizing that the surroundings were completely unfamiliar to him. The latter attempted to recall any information that could explain his current situation yet he found his mind oddly blank.

“I dunno, maybe a Forrest or a desert?”

Satoru said dumbly.

Suguru ignored satoru’s obtuse suggestion of them being in a desert, responding with a disapproving glare and even gesturing with his middle finger to show his frustration. Feeling frustrated, Suguru took a deep breath and centered his attention on examining the unusual environment they were in.

While navigating through the landscape, Suguru observed that it was far from being a typical forest. The terrain reminded him of the desolate and eerie settings often depicted in post-apocalyptic zombie apocalypse movies. Proceeding with caution, he remained vigilant as he surveyed his surroundings, making sure to avoid tripping over the discarded and broken bicycle. 

Despite the annoyance of having an egg cracked over his head, with the yolk and egg white trickling down his face before, Suguru was more focused on knowing their current location. 

“This isn't a normal forrest, not at all,” Suguru mumbled.

“No shit, Sherlock. Who said that this was a normal forest?”

“Shut up, Satoru.”

Satoru scoffed at that and scanned the area, acknowledging the strange isolation of the place and doubting the existence of another forest like this on the way to their school. Confident in his knowledge of the route to their dorm, he dismissed the possibility of mistakenly venturing into this peculiar location, because perhaps, this was the same Forrest that had the shortcut to their school.

Just as Satoru was lost in contemplation, Suguru's voice broke his reverie, prompting him to refocus on their current predicament.  

“Satoru,”

“What?” the white haired man replied, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Look at this,”

Suguru's eyes were focused intently on a massive bush engulfed in flames as he gestured towards it. The size of the bush was quite substantial, with what appeared to be feathers decorating its foliage. Satoru, following Suguru's pointed finger, squinted slightly as he too directed his gaze towards the blazing bush before his eyes widened for a split second.

“What the hell is that?” Satoru whispered.

“Why is that bush orange and red?”

“I don't know either,”

Suguru cautiously approached the bush, his mind racing with thoughts of a possible cursed spirit lurking within its depths. His lips were tightly pressed in contemplation, his senses heightened as he tried to discern any signs of cursed energy emanating from the mysterious foliage. Despite his keen perception, Suguru could not detect any cursed presence, only a lingering sense of someone's invisible presence. 

 “Do you think that there’s a cursed spirit there?”

“No,” responded Satoru, his expression growing somber as he joined Suguru near the very huge burning bush. His brows furrowed slightly, betraying the gravity of the situation at hand. 

“I don't sense any cursed energy nor do my six eyes reveal any hidden truths,” Satoru remarked, after all, with his extrasensory perception, he possessed the unique gift of discerning the intricacies of cursed energy flows and reading cursed techniques with unparalleled accuracy, and he couldn’t sense any cursed energy om that ‘bush’.

“Do you?” Satoru asked.

“No,” Suguru admitted, taking a cautious step closer to the imposing burning bush or whatever that stood before them. He was intrigued by the enigma that lay before them, unsure of what secrets it held within its vibrant exterior. 

Before Suguru could walk closer to it, Satoru intervened, seizing his hand and forcibly pulling him away from the bush. His eyes narrowed in focus as he studied the object intently, a sense of unease creeping over him.

“That's not a bush,” Satoru declared the obvious that they failed to notice before.

“Nor is it a cursed spirit lurking in the shadows.” He gestured towards the bush, drawing Suguru's attention to its subtle movements.

Initially, Satoru assumed that the object in question was simply a regular bush that had been surrounded by lava or some other substance, even though logically that would not be possible. However, he had a strong conviction that the entity was actually alive, as he observed subtle movements in its form that resembled the act of breathing.

“Look closely, Suguru. It's breathing,”

“I don't know what the hell that thing is, but it's definitely dangerous.”

Releasing Suguru's hand, satoru folded his arms tightly across his chest, keeping a vigilant watch on the subtle gestures of the unfamiliar being.  

Suguru stood frozen in place, his mind working overtime to decipher Satoru's words. It took a few moments for his comprehension to catch up with his thoughts and he realized that satoru was right, it's not a bush.

Because after all, why on earth would a bush burn and not turn into ashes? Suguru couldn't help but wonder if he's getting just as dumb as satoru.

As he peered closer, he noticed the steady rhythm of the creature's breathing. The enormity of the beast and the intense aura it emitted filled him with an unshakable sense of intrigue.    

Suguru's gaze locked onto it and his breath hitched as he saw something—a stunning display of colorful feathers in shades of crimson, orange, and even cerulean was in it.

It was at that moment he identified the unmistakable shape of wings stretching out. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning—this wasn't just a simple bush. It was a living creature, concealed within the fiery blaze.    

Phoenix.

A fucking phoenix was present in front of them, resting, the same bird that is known for its ability to be reborn from its own ashes after burning itself on a funeral pyre, allowing it to live another life cycle with renewed youth, was Infront of them.

“It's a phoenix,” Suguru whispered, his voice barely audible as his breath caught in his throat. The furrow between his brows deepened, a mix of astonishment and understanding clouding his features. The legendary phoenix, a creature of myth and legend, was materializing right before their eyes. Despite being obscured by the flames.

Its avian form was evident in the way the fire danced along its plumage. The brightly colored feathers in shades of red, orange, and the dazzling cerulean radiated a vivid aura around the creature.

“I thought that they were already extinct and existed only in mythology...” Suguru mumbled to himself, his brows knitting together in confusion, As far as he knew, phoenixes were simply mythical creatures and did not actually exist. So, why in the world was there a phoenix here? 

Realizing the potential danger of the situation, Suguru knew that he needed to inform the higher ups about the presence of the mythical bird. 

“Satoru,” Suguru called out, turning to look at Satoru with a grave expression on his face. 

“We should not disturb it and instead report this to—”  Suguru's words trailed off as he was taken aback by the sight of Satoru picking up a large rock, preparing to hurl it at the slumbering phoenix. 

“Satoru, NO!”

Suguru exclaimed as he made a move to intervene, but it was already too late. The rock was hurtling towards the phoenix, and Suguru winced as it made contact, shattering upon impact on the bird's figure.

His lips slightly parted as he swallowed thickly, the movement of his Adam's apple noticeable. A vein throbbed on his neck as his heart began to race, the pounding sound echoing in his chest.

“...are you attempting to get us incinerated and friend by an angry bird?” Suguru questioned with a poker face despite panicking internally while casting a wary gaze at Satoru, who blinked in response.    

“Well—” Satoru began to explain, but his words were cut short by a sudden feminine voice, tinged with a hint of hoarseness as if the speaker had just woken up.    

“Urgh...was that?”

inquired the voice, causing Satoru's already pale complexion to go even more ghostly, while Suguru froze in place, his mouth hanging open in shock like a fish out of water. 

“...what did I just hear...” Suguru muttered, feeling his heart race in his chest as he realized that the voice belonged to the phoenix, probably.

“Su..su..suguru..” sputtered Satoru, struggling to find the right words as he pointed a trembling finger at the phoenix, which began to awaken.    

Suguru turned towards Satoru, a look of bewilderment clouding his features, his breathing becoming labored as shock set in.

“Satoru,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Suguru! It spoke! It actually spoke! The phoenix fucking talked!” Satoru screamed like a girl in disbelief, his voice reaching a high pitch as he processed the astonishing event, for he was taken aback and bewildered by the unexpected event of a phoenix speaking.

The idea of needing therapy after such a surreal experience seemed like a possibility to him. He had encountered cursed spirits that can speak before, but a phoenix that lacked cursed energy and speaking was beyond anything he had ever imagined.

It made him question if this was how the first person to hear a parrot speak felt.

The series of bizarre events that had led to this moment added to Satoru's sense of disbelief and horror. First, their unexpected crash landing in the strange forest, then accidentally ingesting dirt and having a leaf stuck in his teeth, and now, a phoenix was speaking???

Terrifying.

Mortifying.

Petrifying.

Horrifying.

Suddenly, Satoru felt suguru’s hand firmly encircle his waist, before lifting him effortlessly into the air. Satoru was so flabbergasted by the unexpected turn of events that he couldn't even voice a protest, especially after witnessing the phoenix speaking before his eyes.

Suguru then hoisted Satoru onto his shoulders in a manner reminiscent of carrying a sack of potatoes, swiftly and decisively moving the mortified man away from the unfolding scene.    

“We need to report this to the higher ups,” Suguru murmured urgently. Suguru was aware that he and Satoru had the ability to fight the phoenix easily in battle, because they are the strongest after all. but what he was concerned about was the potential consequences. He didn’t want to attract the attention of the higher-ups and face their stupid scoldings.

The discovery of a phoenix had just been made, and Suguru knew that the higher-ups would be fascinated by such a rare and powerful creature. Thus, this meant that they couldn't simply eliminate the phoenix without facing severe repercussions. 

Raising one hand while holding Satoru with the other, Suguru conjured a portal-like opening, from which his cursed spirits started to emerge.

Satoru on the other hand, Despite his lack of knowledge and mastery of his cursed technique, raised two of his fingers to attempt to use it.

“Cursed Technique Reversal: Red.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𑁍ࠬܓ━━𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏.[Name] has already lost her immortality, thus meaning that after her descent to the jjk world, she's not an immortal anymore, meaning that she can die now.

𝟎𝟎𝟐.It also means that her achilles’ heel is gone too, so she was basically vulnerable. (Also, her high pain tolerance is now gone too cause she's not an immortal anymore teehee)

𝟎𝟎𝟑.[Name] still has some of her powers like her pyrokinesis and shapeshifting, but she definitely doesn't have her regeneration ability now. Also, she decided to shapeshift into a phoenix for a reason!

𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏.Satoru and Suguru are still second years in this, meaning that Yu and kento is still on first year!!

𝟎𝟎𝟐. Suguru and Satoru would’ve just assumed that the reader is a weird bush if she didn’t spoke or moved.

𝟎𝟎𝟑. At first, Suguru and Satoru thought it was a ghost since technically, the place where the reader fell in is a suicide Forrest.

𝟎𝟎𝟒. Satoru was fascinated and definitely has an idea on what to do to [Name].

🔪 || 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒

╰┈➤ 𝟎%

—𝐒atoru wants to kill you, like literally, because he wants to eat you. He thinks that he'll get stronger if he eats you, Though, he's still wondering on how to cook you.

╰┈➤ 𝟐% (𝐔𝐩 𝟐%)

—𝐒uguru is intrigued by you, and he was planning on consuming you, just like satoru (even though you're not a cursed spirit) because he thinks that you're pretty powerful and all. Though, he has a lingering suspicion, that you might be one of yaga's creations for two reasons, one phoenixes only exists in mythologies and they were also said to be extinct too in mythologies, and two, you can speak.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Satoru still doesn't know how to use red, cause yk, he's still a teen in here and hasn't awakened yet, meaning that it might not work, so meaning that [Name] has a chance of being safe. But Suguru is still there, so it's still dangerous.

I used the manga version of suguru's eye color because why not? Purple eyes suits him.

[mikavlcs]

Had Enough

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Summary: Xavier starts to get overzealous with you. Wednesday puts him in his place.

Warnings: mild Xavier slander (sorry bud), possessive-ish wednesday

Word count: 1.1k

Notes: another request. hope you guys enjoy<3

Masterlist

Despite Wednesday’s reputation, there were very few people she classified as true enemies.

Sure, she despised the general population of Nevermore, but since she and Bianca had cultivated something akin to a friendship, there wasn’t anyone specific that haunted her thoughts during the day. 

However, Xavier Thorpe was quickly shaping up to be the new target of her antagonism.

She and Xavier had a somewhat complicated relationship. Their issues from her first semester had been largely smoothed over since she took an arrow for him and he gifted her that dreaded iPhone in return. They weren’t exactly friends, but there was no animosity between them.

His feelings for her seemed to pass as well, something Wednesday was eternally grateful for. Unfortunately, it seemed that the new recipient of these romantic feelings was you. And that was completely unacceptable.

She despised the way he insisted on sitting near the both of you during classes to try and impress you with his abilities or tell you terrible jokes in the middle of lectures.

And there were few things that angered her more than seeing him put his arm around you during conversation or ghosting his hand on your back while walking in the hallways.

She wasn’t jealous. No, jealousy had nothing to do with it. In fact, she found the situation laughable, hilarious even. That Xavier, the blank canvas of a man that he was, thought he could take what was hers.

And sure, your relationship wasn’t exactly public. Neither of you was screaming from the rooftops about your feelings because you both preferred to keep your relations private, but it wasn’t as if you were actively hiding it either. Your immediate group of shared friends knew.

Enid, Wednesday had told personally. Only because she wanted the werewolf to know to give the two of you privacy whenever Wednesday brought you to her dorm.

Bianca pieced it together herself, a fact that irritated Wednesday almost as much as the smirk Bianca gave her whenever the two of you walked into fencing class together. Yoko and Divina figured your relationship out because they got, what Enid rather vaguely referred to as, a vibe. Ajax remained blissfully unaware but he was never a threat.

Even other students appeared to cautiously avoid flirting with you in any capacity once they noticed your closeness with Wednesday.

(This carefulness may have also been cultivated by the way Wednesday glared at anyone that got too close for her liking, but that was entirely beside the point.)

The entirety of Nevermore understood that you were spoken for, and she enjoyed that greatly.

But Xavier didn’t appear to comprehend that.

So she would have to take it upon herself to educate him.

-

The quad was quieter than usual.

It wasn’t completely silent. The chatter of a few dozen students melded together, casting a thin blanket of noise over the small space. But it was nowhere near as rambunctious as it normally was on a Friday afternoon. Which meant that it was easy for Wednesday to find you amongst the commotion.

You were sitting at one of the tables on the far side of the quad, pen in hand while you seemingly worked on homework. Your blazer was tied around your waist, fully exposing the vest underneath.

The sky had been covered by clouds all day, but the clouds were beginning to dissipate in places, allowing rays of light to shine through. One of these places happened to be right above your table, clouds parting to envelope you in a halo of light that could fool anyone into thinking you were an angel sent down from the heavens above.

You looked divine. And the only thing stopping Wednesday from stopping and fully appreciating the sight before her was the person seated beside you.

Xavier.

He looked to be helping you with your work. But Wednesday knew better. He was sitting close enough that your thighs were nearly touching, his lanky frame nearly swallowing you whole when he leaned over to look at your textbook. Every time you looked away to write something down, his eyes would trail down the side of your face in a way that absolutely enraged Wednesday.

What drove her over the edge was his decision to grab your hand.

She was marching over to your table within seconds, her gaze absolutely murderous. A few students in her path instantly fled when they saw her expression, but she paid them no mind, focusing solely on how Xavier’s face fell when you pulled your hand out of his grasp. The sight was just enough to stop her from attempting murder, but not enough to deter her entirely.

You were the first to notice her. The way your eyes lit up at the sight of her gave her an unpleasant fuzzy feeling that she loved despised.

“Hi, Wen,” you greeted, giving her one of the warm smiles reserved for her. Wednesday’s glare softened considerably as her eyes moved from Xavier to you.

“Hello, mon cher.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you until later. Is everything ok?”

The concern in your voice was touching, a reminder of how sweet you were even in less-than-desirable circumstances. But she had other matters to attend to right now.

“Yes. What are you doing?” The question was directed towards you, but her eyes were on Xavier, her fiery gaze boring into him. He squirmed. You didn’t notice.

“Just English homework,” you sighed. Wednesday’s eyes flitted back to you, momentarily drifting to your lips before righting themselves.

“Bring it to my dorm. I can assist you with it myself.”

Xavier started to protest but another glare was enough to quiet him. You looked confused by the sudden change in plans but acquiesced.

“Oh, ok. Let me get my stuff.”

You stood and reached for your textbook only to be stopped by Wednesday.

“Allow me.”

Wednesday began gathering your things for you and in the process, she discreetly leaned over to Xavier and delivered her message, her voice a soft but petrifying whisper.

“Lay your hand on her again and I will remove it. Finger by finger.”

Xavier’s eyes widened with terror, his only response a harsh gulp. Wednesday nearly smiled.

Without another glance in his direction, she stood with your textbook and dragged you off to her dorm. You tried to ask what was going on several times, but she remained silent until she reached her destination.

Once inside her empty dorm, she dropped your things off on her desk and sauntered back to where you were, stopping just in front of you. Your faces were mere inches apart and her eyes wandered back downward against her will.

You began to ask her something, but she cut you off by leaning forward and connecting your lips. A noise of surprise escaped you before you reciprocated, hands instinctively cupping her cheeks. Wednesday tangled one hand into your vest and gripped your tie with the other, lightly tugging you closer. You stayed pressed against one another until you stepped back, slightly dazed.

“What about-“

“Your homework can wait,” Wednesday mumbled, silencing you with her lips once more. She kissed you once, feverish and rough, then again and again and again, until there wasn’t a coherent thought left in your head. Her movements were frenzied—desperate even, and you were helpless to do anything but follow her lead with the same fervor.

When you finally parted for air, she whispered something into the small space between you. Something you didn’t understand, but still wholeheartedly felt.

“Eres mia, mi amor.”