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todayisawthewhxlewxrld · 2 months

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A TRAGEDY THAT'S BUILT ON DESTINY!

I WOULD CHANGE MOST EVERY SINGLE THING. I WOULD LET YOU KISS ME, KILL ME!

synopsis// multiple different universes, but one thing remains the same: geto loves you in each and every one of them.

pairing// suguru geto x gn!reader

word count// 5.8k

contents// different universes, angst, satisfying angst?, hurt/no comfort but also hurt/comfort at the same time, ooc geto?, character death tehe

notes// inspired by everything everywhere all at once and the song kiss me kill me by mest :3 i wrote this SOOOO long ago but u have no idea how much i adore this oneshot. like i think it might be my fav oneshot ive ever written. it is everything to me!! and i did not do the idea justice but u get the point!!

December 24th

You assume the fight is over because neither you nor Shoko have gotten any more wounded victims. The two of you glance at each other briefly but don’t bother saying anything. What could be said about a full-blown borderline war schemed by your high school best friend and lover? Nothing could possibly be said, so nothing is. The two of you stand there waiting for anything to happen, whether that’s getting called back to Jujutsu High or being brought another victim, and eventually something does happen, and Shoko gets a call. You can’t read her expression for the whole 20 seconds she’s on the phone before she passes it to you. You furrow your eyebrows in question.

“It’s Gojo,” she says blankly before attempting to hand you the phone again.

You hesitate to answer. “Hello?”

“You should get down here,” he says blankly over the phone.

“What? Why? Is everything okay?”

“Um, yeah, just—you know those back alleys by the school?”

“Uh huh?”

“Meet me there.”

“Gojo, you’re kinda scaring me-“

“Y/N, just come; you’ll thank me—I hope.”

You frown and begrudgingly agree, “Okay, fine, yeah, whatever, I'm on my way.”

“Make it quick, alright? I'm serious,” he adds quickly before hanging up.

As you give Shoko her phone back, you roll your eyes at the fact that he didn't even give you a chance to say okay before hanging up.

“What was that about?” she wonders, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

You sigh. “No idea, but he wants me to go meet up with him for some reason.”

Shoko hums curiously. “You should get going then; must be urgent.”

You nod, “Yeah.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

It doesn't take you long to get to the school given how fast you were walking since Gojo told you to hurry it up, the tense anticipation aiding in your speed. It does, however, take you a few moments to find Gojo, but once you do, you find that he's not looking at you, but he’s speaking, and it's not to you either; it's to something—or rather someone—he's blocking with his body.

“Gojo?” you ask once you finally reach him.

Gojo turns to face you, a sorrowful smile on his face, before stepping out of the way to reveal who he was speaking to and the whole reason why he called you here in the first place.

When you see Getou on the ground, your heart sinks into your stomach, and your blood runs cold. You look back at Gojo, who merely shrugs.

“You should say your goodbyes; I already did,” Gojo whispers before leaving you and Getou alone.

Getou lets out a hushed laugh. “That’s a little melodramatic of him, don’t you think?”

The hammering of your heart roaring in your ears makes it difficult to hear what he says. You stand there frozen in what you can only describe as horror as you stare down at Getou, who's missing an arm and is only growing more pale by the second from blood loss.

“Do you plan on ignoring me?” he asks softly, as though he’d understand if that really was your plan.

You blink a few times and shake your head, your tears blurring your vision. “I dont-“

Getou hums appreciatively and smiles up at you, which makes you completely break down, a sob racking through your body so violently that the only thing you can do is collapse to your knees. Getou winces as he tries to sit up straighter, as if he’s going to catch you or crawl over to you. You sniffle, your sobbing uncontrollable, as you crawl to him, and once there, you let your head fall upon his blood-stained chest. Getou immediately places his only remaining hand on the back of your head, as if holding it to his chest, and gently pats your head.

“Are you an idiot?” you snap.

“Might be.”

You sob even harder into his chest. “Why would you do this?”

Your question makes his heart race. “I wanted something better for Jujutsu society.”

You shake your head at him disapprovingly. “Why’d you have to go about it this way?”

“I don’t know Y/N," he sighs. "Does it make a difference?”

You scoff, raising your head to glare at him. “Of course it does, you idiot! You left! and had a hit placed on you! Why couldn’t you have just stayed?” You sob, letting your head fall back onto his chest. “Why couldn’t you have wanted me as much as you wanted this? Why couldn’t... Why couldn’t you have wanted me as much as I wanted you?”

“Y/N,” he coos regretfully, as if he doesn’t know what to say, which he doesn’t. He did want you, and he’d even go as far as saying he wanted a better jujutsu society for you so you wouldn’t have to live your days slaving away for the non-sorcerers. “Y/N, look at me.”

You shake your head and screw your eyes shut, not wanting to look at him. You don’t want to see your first and only love withering away right in front of you.

“Y/N, please look at me.”

“I-I can't."

“Y/N, open your eyes.”

The demandingness dripping from his voice has your head shooting up to look at him and your eyes opening wide, but as you open them, you’re not met with an actively dying Getou; you're met with a sunny and flower-filled meadow? You move to wipe your tears, but your face is dry. You blink a few times, trying to take in your new surroundings, given that a moment ago you were just in a dark alley and now you're sitting on a blanket in a field under a glowing sun.

“Y/N?” Someone speaks from beside you.

Your attention is drawn to the person. “Getou?”

He smiles at you.

“Getou, where are we?” you ask, now starting to slightly panic.

He looks at you in confusion. “We’re on our date?”

Your chest heaves up and down, and you're more confused than ever. “Huh? But- We-“

“We what?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

“We were just behind Jujutsu High; you were missing your arm, and-"

Getou scoots in closer to you and cradles your face in his hands. The feeling of a warm, full-of-life Getou touching you brings tears to your eyes all over again.

“Woah, woah, love, calm down. What are you talking about? Jujutsu High? Me missing an arm?”

“You don’t remember?” You croak out, distraught, and slightly convinced that you’re going crazy.

“Remember what, love?” he asks softly.

You stare at him in disbelief. “The fight—you wanted a better jujutsu society, and you tried? You lost your arm! You were dying; I saw you! I was there with you! You were covered in blood and-“

Getou gently wipes your tears away. “Love, that didn’t happen. I’m here, yeah? and I have both my arms, and there was no fight for Jujutsu society? Whatever that means..."

You blink at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“It was probably just a bad dream, Y/N.” He smiles at you reassuringly.

“You don’t know about jujutsu society?”

“Am I supposed to?”

You stare at him in awe. What’s happening? How could he not know about jujutsu society when it was the very thing he was fighting for? But then again, how could he not be missing an arm? And how could the two of you not be in a dark alleyway right now? How could any of this be happening? Maybe he’s right; maybe it really was a bad dream. A very vivid, detailed, lucid, and lifelike bad dream.

“I guess not,” you respond with a frown.

Getou wipes away your last few tears and smiles at you. “You’re okay; I’m okay. We’re okay. It was just a bad dream, love.”

“Yeah,” you say haltingly, "yeah, I guess it was..."

“Are you okay now?”

You nod as you take one of his hands off your face and into your own. “Yeah, I think so... Um, where are we, Getou?”

“On our weekly date?” He answers curiously as he removes his other hand from your face.

You look around at your surroundings curiously. “In the middle of a forest?”

“This is your favorite place, Y/N,” he says, quizically.

As you take another glance around, you hum, not necessarily agreeing or disagreeing. “I can see why; it’s beautiful here.”

He raises his free hand and grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Y/N, are you okay? How come you don't remember?”

You look into his eyes, and something doesn't feel right—as if you're not meant to be here—but you digress and shrug anyway. “I don't know...”

He frowns briefly before leaning in and giving you a quick peck on the lips, and you practically melt, having not felt his lips on yours for far too long.

“That's alright. We can still make the most of the rest of our day, right?”

You nod, and he smiles at your response, letting go of your face and hand to open his arms to you, inviting you into his embrace. You return the smile before laying yourself in his arms, trying to ignore the rising feeling that something is wrong, but you can't because the minute your head touches his chest, you're thrown into a moment, a memory, a dream? where you're back in the alley with your head on a bleeding-out Getou, and it's just for a split second, a flash in time, but it's enough to make you go stiff and your breath hitch.

Getou rubs his hand down your back soothingly. “Hey, what's wrong?”

You swallow harshly and try to concentrate on the green scenery in front of you rather than whatever you keep seeing. “Nothing, I'm fine. It's fine.”

Getou places his head on top of yours. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “I am.”

He hums disapprovingly but doesn't press the issue any further; instead, he just runs his hand up and down your spine in an attempt to calm you down, which works as you begin to relax into his embrace and regain control of your breathing.

“What do we usually do here?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He shrugs. “Usually just talk about our days, our future plans, and stuff like that.”

You hum. “Is it nice?”

“Very nice; I like spending our days together.”

“I do too,” you correct yourself, “or I'm sure I did too.”

Getou doesn't say anything; instead, he lays himself down and, since he's holding you, takes you with him. You sigh contentedly and let your eyes flutter close, the sun and his hold keeping you warm. Suddenly, even with your eyes closed, you can tell it's getting brighter outside, and you groan. You’re about to ask what's up with the sun when a shooting pain in your head causes you to wince. Your heartbeat rings in your ears, and you can feel your hands grow clammy.

You feel unstable, as if you're no longer on the ground being held, as if you're floating through time and space, and the uncertainty forces your eyes open, but you're not met with anything—no, that's not right, you're met with everything, glimpses of time that you can barely make out. One moment you see Getou at an alter, and then you see you and Getou nodding to each other in determination, and the next glimpse is of you, Getou, Gojo, and Shoko laughing about something before you’re hit with another shooting pain in your head. Screwing your eyes shut, you hiss in pain, and all too suddenly, you're back on stable ground, no longer floating, and the brightness you could see through closed eyes a moment ago is gone.

You still hesitate to open your eyes, unsure of what you'll see, but when you can just barely make out that you're not where you were before, your eyes shoot open. You're now standing in the doorway of what appears to be the room of two teen girls, and Getou is sitting at a vanity staring at you; his hair and make-up are done, and he's frowning. Despite your confusion about where you are, you can't help but burst out into a fit of laughter.

He sighs and rolls his eyes. “Oh haha, yeah, keep laughing.”

You slap your hand over your mouth in an attempt to stifle your laughter. “What happened?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and looks away, mumbling, “Our daughters thought I would make a very good model, apparently.”

You go to laugh again, but it hits you, and you look at him like he's crazy. “Sorry, daughters?”

He returns the look. “Yes? Our kids?”

You look away, muttering to yourself, “We have kids...”

You didn't mean for him to hear it, but he does anyway and instantly stands up and makes his way toward you. He grabs your shoulders, drawing your attention to him, and when you look at him, he's staring back at you in concern.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

You want to take him seriously, but truthfully, you can't when he’s wearing bright pink lipstick and bright pink eyeshadow. He does look cute, though. You try to bite back a smile.

“I'm sorry, but I can't take you seriously when you look like that.”

Getou sighs. “I know I look amazing. Can you try to ignore my beauty for like five seconds and tell me why you’re acting like you don't remember our kids?”

You frown. What are you supposed to tell him? That you're apparently having nightmares upon nightmares about different lives with him? And now you're not sure what's real and what's not? You can't say that, so instead you shrug and merely mutter, “You do look amazing like that, though.”

His head drops to the side at the same moment that his smile fades. “Y/N.”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know?”

“Some really weird shit is going on, Getou,” you breathe out heavily.

He doesn’t say anything, instead grabbing your hand and leading you to one of your apparent kids' beds, where he sits you down.

“What’s going on?”

“I don't know, and you wouldn't know either so,” you explain vaguely in frustration.

He gives your hand a squeeze. “Maybe I would?”

You shake your head. “I don’t wanna waste time on that; I don't know how long I have here.”

“What?” he asks blankly. “What do you mean you ‘don't know how long you have here’?”

“Getou,” you whine, not wanting to think or talk about it because you wouldn't even know where to start; all you want is to learn about this new nightmare and what it holds.

He relents. “Okay, I won't ask.”

You smile at him and let a moment of silence pass before asking, “What are they like?”

“Huh?”

“Our kids—daughters.”

Getou hums. “They’re great; we raised them well.”

“They are especially great at making you a model, huh?” you snicker.

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “Oh whatever, you're just jealous they never make you model.”

You shrug. “What are their names?”

“Well, we were gonna keep the names they had when we adopted them, but they ended up not having any names at all, so we settled on Nanako and Mimiko.”

You stare at him in awe. “Did you pick the names out?”

“We both did,” he recalls fondly and vividly, as if it were just yesterday that the two of you were picking out names.

“And we are...?”

He kisses your cheek before answering, “Married—we’re married.”

You hum and raise your left hand, your gaze fixed on your ring finger. “I don't see a ring?”

He hums curiously. “You were wearing it this morning? Maybe you dropped it somewhere?”

You nod. “Yeah.. Maybe..”

Getou doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t know what to say. What could he? His partner of multiple years suddenly has some form of amnesia and can't remember that they have kids, let alone that they’re married to him. You turn to face Getou. He looks like Getou—like the Getou you know, who apparently was merely a nightmare. Besides all the makeup and stuff, he looks like Getou. He says he’s Getou, but something just feels off.

“Are you real?”

He nods. “Very real.”

You look around the room, taking in the messy vanities, the messy beds, and the drawers stuffed with clothes. “Are our kids real?”

“Extremely real.”

You study his face for any hint of uncertainty, and when you find none, you ask, “Am I real?”

He narrows his eyes at you and hums curiously. letting go of your hand only to bring both hands up to your face and start smooshing your face together, pushing and pulling at the flesh on your cheeks.

“Getou,” you mumble.

He hums approvingly and nods, letting his hands fall back to his sides. “Yep, you’re real.”

You smile at his idiotic antics but appreciate them nonetheless. And although you can touch him and feel him, and he is real, as are you and your kids, it still doesn't seem real. And then, all too suddenly, your head starts throbbing again.

“Fuck no, not again,“ you panic.

“Y/N? whats wrong-“

You can't hear what he’s saying anymore; it's like you've gone underwater and he's speaking to you from the surface. Another shooting pain in your head has your eyes screwing shut, and you know you're fucked when all you can hear is your heartbeat ringing in your ears and feel your hands grow clammy all over again. You’re back to feeling unstable, drifting between time and space once more, and just like last time, the uncertainty of the feeling forces your eyes open, and you're faced with everything again—more glimpses in time that you can barely make out.

One moment you think you see yourself back at the beginning on Getou’s cold chest, and then you see yourself and Getou covered in blood, and you're not sure if it's yours or someone else's, and the next glimpse you see is of Getou on your cold chest, like your roles had been reversed, before you’re hit with another shooting pain in your head. Screwing your eyes shut, you wince in pain, and finally you're back on solid ground again, no longer floating, and the brightness you could see through closed eyes a moment ago is gone. This time you don't hesitate to open your eyes, and you find yourself in a cemetery.

You look around curiously, trying to assess your surroundings while simultaneously trying to recover from whatever just happened. But you're starting to realize something now. All of this is real. You laying on Getou’s chest was real; having a picnic with a perfectly fine Getou in a world where curses apparently don't exist was real; having kids and marrying Getou was real; and all of those little bits of time in between each new life were real. All of it was real—is real; all of it happened—is happening; it just didn't happen to you specifically. Not this version of you, at least. You’ve realized that you’re experiencing different universes and living alternate lives of your own. You didn’t think alternate universes existed, but it's not too hard to accept when the world you live in—the world you belong to—is riddled with curses and sorcerers. You are not above believing in alternate dimensions.

Finally over your sudden epiphany, you're able to realize that you weren't immediately met with Getou like you had been the past two times you got transported into another dimension. As you put the pieces together, a grave feeling washes over you—no Getou, and you’re in a cemetery. You swallow harshly.

No, no, no.

You start running around the cemetery, inspecting each and every headstone, and praying to the universe(s) that you aren't about to find one that reads his name.

No, no, no.

You keep running, the cemetery seemingly interminable, until you run up behind someone who looks suspiciously a lot like Getou, and when you hear him murmur under his breath, you sigh heavily in relief that it is him, but why is he here? You tilt your head and try to look around him to read the gravestone.

“What the fuck?” you exclaim, stunned.

Getou spins around faster than you can even blink, and he almost chokes on his spit. “Y/N?” His chest heaves up and down as he shifts his gaze between you and the gravestone. “But-but-how-you’re-“

“Dead apparently,” you say, finishing his sentence as you stare at the gravestone that reads, "HERE LIES L/N Y/N."

He stares at you, completely bewildered, and you can see him trembling. “How—how are you here?”

Will something bad happen if you tell him this isn't your universe and there are actually multiple universes out there? Who knows, but you’re about to find out.

“I'm not, well, I'm not supposed to be.”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I'm just hallucinating; you’re not real.”

His reply breaks your heart. “I am real.”

“You’re not.”

You step forward, taking his hand in yours. “I am.”

He finally opens his eyes back up, and he stares at you through tears, completely amazed that you're here, that you're actually touching him, and that you're actually alive and real.

“I don't—I dont understand—you're dead!” He stammers, yanking his hand from yours, and as he breaks out into full-on sobs at this point, he’s reminding you an awful lot of yourself in your own world.

You nod slowly. “In this universe, it seems so... how?”

“What?” he stutters. “This universe?”

You ignore his question. “How did I die, Getou?”

He shakes his head sternly. “No, I'm not saying anything until you explain what you meant. What if you’re a curse? What if I cursed you, holy fuck? Fuck!”

“Okay, curses still exist in this universe; good to know,” you acknowledge with a nod.

Getou snaps, “What are you talking about!?”

You flinch, which only makes him sob harder.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap—I'm just so fucking confused; you're supposed to be dead,” he bawls as he falls to his knees.

You take another step closer and kneel down, drawing him into your embrace and letting him sob into your chest for as long as he needs, ignoring the horrible feeling of deja vu crawling all over you like worms.

“Shh, you're okay,” you whisper, soothingly brushing your fingers through his hair.

He finally starts to calm down after a few more minutes of whispering sweet nothings to him, and once he’s no longer sobbing, he pulls away.

“Answer my question, and I'll answer yours,” he says through sniffles.

You nod.

“What were you talking about, universes? How are you here, Y/N? You’re dead—or you’re supposed to be...”

“Do you believe in alternate or multiple universes?”

He shrugs and wipes away any remaining tears. “I don't know; I never really thought about it.”

You hum and nod. “Right, so, uh, they exist! There are a lot of universes out there, actually." You let out an uneasy laugh.

He stares at you curiously.

“Obviously, I'm not from this universe.”

He continues staring at you.

“Oh, cmon, curses exist, but you draw the line at alternate dimensions?”

Getou frowns and says, “I guess you’re right... So you’re from a ‘different dimension’?”

You point a finger at him, narrowing your eyes. “Don't air-quote me like you don't believe me; how else would I be here right now if I were supposedly dead?”

“I don't know; that's what I'm trying to figure out!” he exclaims, gesticulating wildly.

“Can you just humor me and hear me out?”

He takes a deep breath before ultimately agreeing, “Okay, fine.”

You clasp your hands together. “Okay, um, in my universe, you’re dead.”

“What?!”

You shake your hands and your head. “Ok, no wait! You’re not dead yet, but, uh, you were like on the verge of death when I got put into another universe.”

He looks at you in disbelief. “And you just left me?!”

“It wasn't on purpose! Why would I want to leave you when you’re dying? I don't know how I ended up here! or in the last two other universes!”

He stops you and asks, "Okay, okay, wait—how am I dying?”

You look away awkwardly. “You wanted to change jujutsu society in… a not-so-friendly way... And, um, you were willing to die for your cause.”

“I'm dying the same way you did?”

You return your attention to him. “What?”

Getou nods. “Yeah.”

You shake your head. “What do you mean you're dying the same way I did?”

“In this universe, you’re the one who wanted to change jujutsu society in a... not-so-friendly way,” he explains sheepishly.

“Holy shit,” you mutter to yourself.

He nods again. “So, in yours, our roles are reversed.”

“And I'm dead already? I didn't even last as long as you?”

“Well, yeah, I guess," he shrugs, "but it worked; there hasn't been a curse, at least not a special-grade one, since you died." His eyes gleam as he looks up at you. “Did I succeed?”

You bite the inside of your cheek anxiously and shake your head.

“I'm dying for nothing, then?”

You look away and mumble, “My Getou is okay with it; he knew he might fail—he knew Gojo was the only one who could probably change anything—but he still wanted to try.”

“Okay, well, this—” he gestures to himself, “Getou isn't okay with it.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, well, you’re also still alive, so it doesn't really affect you that much, now does it?”

“Still! You just told me one version of myself is dead—or dying—and I'm supposed to be chill with that?”

You stare at him blankly. “Your version of me is dead.”

Getou grows quiet, and you can almost physically see how his demeanor wilts away.

“Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he says, shaking his head. “You said you were in two other universes before this one, right?”

You nod.

“What were they like?”

You smile as you think back on the previous universes: “We were both alive and happy, and we were together in them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah... and curses didn't exist either.”

“Huh,” he says ambivalently, like he's not sure whether to be happy for his other selves or be bitter that that isn't him. “Tell me more?”

“In the first one, we were actually on a date in some forest that I apparently loved.”

He stares at you wide-eyed, completely engrossed in your retellings.

“In the second one, we were married.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Really?”

You nod. “We even adopted two daughters.”

“What were they like?” he wonders, enamored by some alternate universe of you two.

“I'm not sure; I didn't get to meet them,” you confess meekly. “But I know their names were Nanako and Mimiko, and they loved doing your hair and makeup. You adored them, and I'm sure I adored them too.”

He nods wistfully. “In your universe, were... were we together?”

“For a bit.” You look away sadly. “We broke up when you, uh, went off and wanted to-“

“Change jujutsu society,” he chimes in.

“Yeah... How'd you-“

“Same thing here, just roles reversed, remember?” He laughs sadly.

You nod. “Did you still love me? even after I'd gone off and did what I did?”

“I did. I do,” he quickly corrects himself. “Did you?”

“I still do.”

The two of you sit looking away from each other in glum silence. It's hard to stay upbeat about your happy alternate selves when your actual selves are currently dying or dead.

“Kinda feels like we got the short end of the stick, don't you think?” Getou mumbles softly.

“Huh?”

“Well, I mean, there are no curses in those universes, and we’re both alive and happy, but in ours we’re dead?” he elaborates.

You nod reluctantly. “Well yeah, but I don't know; I guess it's kinda nice to know that it worked out in at least one universe.”

“Don't you wish it worked out in ours?”

“Of course I do, Getou; what kind of question is that?" you scoff. "You think I want to go back to my universe just to watch you die?”

“Well,” Getou pauses, turning to face you, “what if you don't go back?”

Your gaze zeroes in on his. “What?”

“What if you stay?…”

You abruptly stand up and chuckle uncomfortably. “Getou-“ your sentence is cut short by an echo of your name that only you seem to hear because you're the only one gazing in the general direction it seemed like it came from.

Getou joins you on your feet and follows your stare, but when he realizes you aren't staring at anything, he returns his sight to you.

“Think about it.”

His voice snaps you out of your trance, and you look back at him with a small frown.

“I'm practically dead in your universe, and you're dead in mine, but we’re together right now!" he says, taking your hand in his. "Maybe the universe put you into mine for a reason— so we don't have to go back to one where we’re not together…”

You struggle to swallow; your mouth suddenly goes dry as Getou stares at you in full, unadulterated hope, and you can't bring yourself to say anything to crush that.

“Y/N, wouldn't that be nice?”

You nod and murmur, “It would.”

“Then?” he asks expectantly.

Someone calling out your name echoes in your head again, and you quickly look down the street to now see a small, bright light in the distance, and you know your time here is soon coming to an end.

“I... I can't stay, Getou.”

His voice cracks as he panickedly asks, “Why?”

"Because,” you explain with a shake of your head, “I'm not your Y/N, and you're not my Getou.”

“I could be,” he says confidently, or he would have if it weren't for the way his voice trembled.

Your vision goes blurry from the tears welling up in your eyes as you shake your head.

“We could try!”

You sniffle and reiterate, “I can't stay.”

“Please,” he begs through his sobs. “Please, we can make it work.”

You look away from him, trying to fight back your tears, but it's futile; you’re a complete mess, just like he is now. “No.”

His hands shake as he grips your face and forces you to look at him. “Y/N, please, I'm begging you.”

“I cant.”

“Don't leave me again.”

The same voice calling out your name echoes in your head again, this time louder, and the bright light is getting bigger and closer.

“I don't want to go back to a universe where you’re just gonna leave me either, but,” you sob, weakly clinging onto the wrists of his hands that are still on your face.

“So stay.”

You shake your head and take his hands off your face. “I won't.”

Getou’s head goes limp and drops as sobs shake his entire body, and you can't help but think that's exactly how you'll look when you return to your universe and have to deal with the death of your Getou.

“Please,” he pleads.

You're both in tears as you lift his head up by his chin to look at you. The voice calling your name echoes even louder, and the bright light is getting closer by the second.

“You’re not my Getou, and I'm not your Y/N.”

He nods reluctantly. “I know, but...“

The bright light is only a few feet away at this point, and the voice echoing in your head is so loud that it's giving you a migraine—you know this is your last few minutes, if that, in this universe, so you lean in and take Getou’s lips into yours—a goodbye kiss for a Getou who you'll never see again, a goodbye kiss for a Getou who desperately needs one when he never got one from his y/n. You pull away and cradle his cheek gently.

“I have to go say goodbye to my Getou now; I think he’s waiting for me.”

He nods. “If he’s anything like me, he’ll want a goodbye kiss too.”

A faint smile tugs at your lips. “I know.”

Getou doesn't get the chance to respond when you're suddenly gone—completely vanished right before his eyes.

You, on the other hand, are back again, feeling unstable as you float through time and space, and again, the uncertainity of the feeling forces your eyes open, but this time you're met with only one thing—the image of you on your Getou’s chest. With every passing second, it grows closer, as does his voice calling out for you, and before you know it, you're back in your body, looking up at him with a gasp.

“Y/N?” he asks weakly.

You're still in tears from the previous universe as you now pull him into your embrace.

He winces, and you quickly let go of him. “Sorry.”

He smiles at you with blood in his mouth and teeth. “It's okay.”

You have to force yourself to look away to try and choke back a sob, but Getou notices immediately and slowly lifts up his remaining hand to cradle your cheek.

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You nod. “I know.”

“You’ll be okay.”

“I know,” you croak out.

“Kiss me?” He asks out of breath, knowing he doesn't have much longer.

You don't hesitate to lean in and kiss him, ignoring how it tastes like blood and tears as well as how cold his lips feel. You ignore it because he's kissing you back. He’s kissing you with all the power his frail body can muster, and it makes up for all the years, months, weeks, days, minutes, and seconds that your lips haven’t touched. But just as quickly as he kisses you, he stops, but it's gradual; he gradually stops kissing, moving, and breathing. It doesn't take long for it to get to that point, and even when he's not kissing back, you still kiss him with some fairy-tale hope that it will bring him back, that your kiss will somehow save him, like he's Snow White and you're Prince Charming. But it doesn't.

It doesnt.

You pull away to look at Getou, whose eyes are glazed over but not closed. You sob as you reach up to close his eyes, only to let your head fall against his chest. He’s so cold. Too cold. That's why you have to stay there on top of him to keep him warm. You'll stay there all night if you have to. But you don't even get the chance to stay there for longer than a few minutes when someone suddenly pulls you off of him, and you look over your shoulder to see Gojo, who's crying as well.

“He’s gone, Y/N.”

"I know," you sniffle, “I know.”

Gojo helps you up to your feet, his hand on your waist to keep you steady as he leads you away from Getou’s body. The further you get from it, the harder you cry.

But it's okay. It’ll be okay because, even though you lost Getou in this universe, you’ll eventually be able to come to peace with it knowing that in a hundred, a thousand, and even a million other universes, you and Getou are living happily ever after.

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

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eddieschains · 7 months

Text

Dirty Little Secret

a/n: i’ve had this idea in my head for literal months and i finally decided to write it so yay 🤭also this is barely proofread oops

Word Count: 1.7k

TW// 18+, masturbation (m and f receiving), sex toys, daddy kink, degradation, voyeurism, cum play, cum eating, let me know if i missed anything !!

You and Eddie didn’t keep secrets. At least that’s what he thought. You never kept anything big from him, just the little things that might’ve embarrassed you. There was really only one secret you kept from him, and that was your… collection. Your toy collection, that was. Of course you and Eddie had a healthy sex life, an abundant one at that. But, letting him know the things you do to yourself in your alone time? No way were you letting that cat out of the bag.

You kept them all hidden away in a little box in the back of your closet. A place Eddie would never think to look. Until today, that was. He had let himself in your house as he waited for you to get home from work. It was normal for both of you to let yourselves in each other's homes, even if the other one wasn’t there.

Eddie made himself at home in your bedroom, getting comfy on the mattress as he passed the time by writing out his next campaign. As time passes, the nighttime chill starts to creep in through the window. There’s still a couple more hours until you come home from work, so Eddie decides to look in the closet for an extra blanket to keep himself warm until you get home.

He gets up from his place on the bed, walking over to the closet to grab a blanket from the top shelf. As he grabs a hold of it, a little brown box nearly falls with it. He quickly catches it and goes to put it back before glancing inside. His eyes grow wide as they’re met with multiple little vibrators, and most importantly, a large pink dildo. It’s just about the same size as him, and had looked to be used quite recently.

“Dirty girl…” He whispers to himself as he adjusts himself in his jeans. The thought of you being so needy without him you just had to fuck yourself, had him hard as a rock already. He absentmindedly starts to palm himself through his jeans as he stares at the colorful toy, your arousal still lingering on the tip.

He unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants down to his ankles, his boxers following suit. He keeps the dildo tight in his hand as he spits in his other. He brings it down to his cock, twisting his hand around it to lube it up just the way he likes it.

He keeps his eyes on the not so little pink toy in his hand, imagining you spread wide on your bed burying it inside of your wet cunt as he quickly begins stroking his cock. He doesn’t take his time one bit, as he’s gotten himself so worked up just with his imagination his cock is nearly crying out to him to spew his hot cum all over his hand.

“Such a filthy fucking whore, aren’t you? Fucking yourself to the thought of me, hmm?” He whispers to himself, the wet shlick sound of his wet cock pumping into his hand filling his senses. It’s not long before he starts twitching in the palm of his hand. His legs begin shaking slightly as he speeds up, stroking his length and rubbing his palm around the tip once he reaches it.

He lets out a guttural moan with every stroke of his hand until he can’t take it anymore. He can’t find the strength to stand up anymore, so he falls back onto the mattress, pumping his cock at lightning speed while he holds the dildo in front of it.

He throws his head back as he loses control of his body, and is soon cumming all over the bed, coating the dildo with his seed as well. He keeps his eyes closed and his head thrown back as he catches his breath, still slowly stroking himself to milk his cock for all it’s worth. He was so focused on reaching his high that he didn’t even hear you come home.

You stand in the doorway of your bedroom in shock as you watch his chest heave up and down, before he finally opens his eyes and they land on you. He flinches slightly, not expecting you to be standing in front of him, before his face turns into a lustful smirk.

“There’s my dirty girl.” He says lowly, finally removing his hand from his cock. He notices your eyes are widened, and your mouth is agape, mortification spreading over your entire body. “Aw, is my pretty girl embarrassed? Embarrassed that daddy found your special toys? Embarrassed that now I know how fucking dirty you really are?”

Your mouth closes and opens quickly, wanting to speak up but not being able to find the words. Goosebumps rush across your arms as you stand still in utter shock. Eddie holds the dildo up, admiring the cum dripping down it as he brings his attention back to you.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and join daddy on the bed, huh?” He slams the mattress with his empty hand as you slowly walk to that side of the bed. “C’mon don’t be nervous, honey. You trust me, right?” You nod quickly, sitting on the bed next to him. You did trust him, that wasn’t the issue. You were just genuinely so embarrassed you barely knew what to do with yourself.

He places his hand on your thigh, hiking your dress up just enough to show the slightest bit of your flower print panties. “You know… thinking about you fucking yourself with this…” He flails the cum soaked dildo in front of you, some of his seed dripping on to your thigh. “I really think I need to see it in person. My imagination only does so much.” He smirks.

You feel yourself grow wetter with each touch of his hand and each word that comes out of his mouth. You squeeze your thighs together while keeping your eyes on his, earning a soft chuckle from him. He pulls your dress up higher and begins to ghost his fingers across your clothed pussy, making you shiver.

He rubs his fingers around your clit through your panties, groaning as he can feel your arousal seep through. He slides your underwear to the side, slipping a finger inside of you with ease as you let out a soft whimper. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking the soft skin as he pumps his finger in and out of you, soon adding a second one with just as much ease as the first.

He continues fucking you with his fingers, keeping a quick yet steady pace. He moans into your neck while nibbling the skin in between his teeth, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. “I think you know what I need you to do now.” He whispers, pulling your panties down your thighs as he taps the head of the plastic cock on your clit.

“Hmp, okay.” You grunt, keeping your eyes closed as you ride out the bliss from his previous attack with his fingers. You open your eyes once you come back to reality as he holds the dildo out for you. You hold it in your hand and rub it through your wet folds as Eddie watches.

You close your eyes once again, spreading your legs wider as you slowly begin to push the toy inside of you. Your breath hitches in your throat as you insert more and more until it’s buried inside of your cunt. You close your walls around the toy, keeping it in place for a moment as you get used to the feeling.

Eddie places his hand on your thigh, rubbing softly while he moans as he watches you slip the dildo inside of yourself. Once you adjust to the feeling, you start pumping it in and out of you, your breathing getting heavier with each thrust.

“That’s it baby. Fuck my cum into you. Wanna see it drip down your pretty little legs.” Eddie coos, going back to kissing up and down your neck which only makes the pleasure intensify. You already feel yourself getting close after only a mere few minutes of fucking yourself. Eddie’s previous finger fucking probably helped with that.

You bring your spare hand down to rub your clit to speed up the process, making Eddie moan loudly in your ear. “God, you’re so fucking sexy you know that? Watching you fuck yourself full of my cum… jesus I could cum again just looking at it.” He bites down on your shoulder, making you moan in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“This… this is the craziest, fuck, craziest thing I’ve ever done.” You breathe out, throwing your head back as you speed up pumping yourself full of Eddie. He sucks on your skin harder as he can tell you’re getting close.

“That’s it baby, cum for me. Let me see you cum for daddy.” He squeezes his hand tighter on your thigh. You look down to see his cum mixed with your own arousal dripping down on the mattress which is just enough to push you over the edge.

“Oh my- FUCK!” Your legs shake as you squeeze around the toy, moaning loudly with your head thrown back. You keep fucking yourself through your orgasm as Eddie attaches his lips to yours.

“That’s my girl. My dirty little girl.” He whispers into your mouth. You keep your eyes closed in bliss while you try to regulate your breathing. You slowly pull the dildo out of you and chuckle as you look at it covered in both of your guys’ cum.

“Uh, I’m gonna go clean this up.” You giggle as you move to get up from the bed. Eddie stops you and wraps his wrist around yours, taking the toy from your hand.

“I can do that for you.” He smirks as he wraps his mouth around the toy, sucking every last drop from it. “Mm, tastes good.” He smiles.

“Oh my- jesus christ, Eddie.” You scoff. “Who’s the dirty one now?” You playfully slap his chest and climb on top of him, attacking his face with kisses.

“Listen, you’re the one keeping all your little trinkets a secret from me. Which we will also have to use at some point.” He laughs, tickling your sides. He looks over to the spot on the bed covered in your arousal and smirks before looking back at you. “Now that, we will have to clean up.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

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archesnalleyways · 1 month

Note

you should really expand on the thought of having to suck rick’s cock at gun point like I’m salivating thinking about it

Teehee 🤭

requests are open, we are so back

Warning: contains guns, other weaponry, non-con/dub-con

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

You’ve moved away from your basecamp alone, in desperate need for some cans of food. The supermarket looks pretty bolted up but you spotted a inconspicuous window high up on a wall and decided to try your luck. Some shelves were tipped over, some broken, but as you worked your way through you found a storage room.

Your eyes spotted a cardboard box and in your hungry, desperate state you just dropped your gear and started to rummage through it. In the damp box there was a load of tin-cans, some leaking but multiple intact. Beside you on the floor you started to pile up the useful ones, trying to read some of the drooping labels.

But then you hear a gun click behind you. The blood freezes in your veins and one hundred scenarios flash before your eyes,

“Drop the cans” a husky voice states.

Your hands instinctively let go of the food, brain jumping from the fear of being shot, to your weapons being three feet behind you, to the hunger residing in your gut. Lifting your arms up in the air the show that you’re unarmed.

“Now turn around, slowly.”

You start to rise up but you hear the man behind you tut.

“Stay down.”

The pang of humiliation is faint in contrast to the fear, but it’s still there. But you listen and spin around, still on your knees, and turn to see a tall man pointing a gun straight at you. There’s a shotgun slung over his back, multiple knives strapped to his body and his blue eyes trained at your every movement.

“Aren’t you a pretty lil thing?” He says with a southern drawl, looking you over once before focusing on the box slightly behind you.

An old, ragged tote is thrown to your knees as he uses the mouth of the gun to point at you and then the food.

“Pack everything edible in that bag, now.”

Your hands made quick work of piling the cans, sorting out the already opened ones onto the side. Your eyes leave the food for a second to look over at the man again. He lifts an eyebrow at you, taking half a stride closer to examine your work. As the last can is placed into the bag you twist your body to place it by his feet.

“Put your arms behind your back.”

You move instantly as he glances into the tote and nods approvingly.

“You take orders so well, darlin” the man says, with something dark glittering in his eyes.

He walks up the few steps toward you, gun still aimed at you, as he grips your chin. His calloused thumb drags against your bottom lip before grabbing your cheeks, forcing your face into a ridiculous pout. As he let go slowly your tongue darted out to wet your lips, completely involuntarily.

He groans and moves his hand to his groin, massaging the bulge there. Your eyes widen as you started to put together what was gonna happen. The mans salt-and-pepper beard moved as he smirked popping open the button on his jeans.

“It would be such a waste to let you go now, doll-face” he says as his hand returns to his dick that is hardening in a rapid speed, “especially since you are so good at taking orders, right darlin’?”

His whole face darkens and his eyes bore into your own, as he leans down slightly.

“If I even feel a hint of your teeth I’ll empty the fuckin’ clip” the man hisses at you, pushing the barrel of the gun firmly against your head.

You nodded softly with your heart beating out of your chest, and lifted your hands to pull down his jeans. The cock that springs out is undeniably pretty and perfectly red over the tip. Paired with the rugged good looks of its owner this experience might’ve been enjoyable for you. But then you’re reminded of the weapon and ushered to get to work.

Your tongue darted out to lick at the underside, lips wrapping around his tip. You taste the hint of precum before taking half of his length into your mouth, tentatively bobbing over the first couple of inches.

“Good, that’s good” he grunts, dick twitching as he sees tears starting to roll down your cheeks from the strain.

Hollowing out your cheeks you decide to take in some more of him, desperately trying to make this the best blowjob of your life. Saliva starts to gather at corners of your mouth as you dare to look up at him for the first time, but not before stealing a glance of the gun in his hand first.

“Pull your top down, wanna see your drool over those tits”

With a quick yank your boobs spill out, nipples already pert from the cool air and, despite the circumstances, arousal. The man groans in appreciation.

A big hand splays over the back of your head and you have time to anxiously dart your eyes up to his before he starts to thrust into your mouth, and subsequently down your throat.

The sounds of his pleasure and your gags blend as they ring out into the store, one of your hands resting at the base of his cock and the other landing to cup your clothed pussy.

“Ah, fuck it!”

The curly-haired man seemed to get lost in his pleasure since he decides to fasten his gun into his holster to free up his hands. Grabbing a chunk of your hair to maneuver you over his massive cock, pushing you down until your nose was pressed into the patch of hair at his base. You gargle around his member, more drool bubbling from the edge of your lips.

“That’s it, doll” he moans, “choke on it.”

He lifts his hips slightly to get the very last of his dick stuffed into your mouth, your eyes rolling into the back of your skull. When he pulls you off a string of saliva lands on your chin before it drips down onto your exposed chest. He places his dick over your face, pre-cum and your spit leaving sticky trails onto your nose and forehead.

“Aren’t you perfect stress relief?” He asks rhetorically, lifting his cock to slap it over your face a couple of times, “found me food and takes cock like a slut.”

Despite everything you feel your face flush from his words and humiliating actions. He chuckles at you, almost cooing softly before pushing you down onto his cock.

“Too bad I don’t have time to test your other holes, I’m sure they’re lovely” he groans out, thrusting deeper and deeper.

His grunts starts to increase in both volume and frequency, warning you that he’s about to cum, and you begin to mentally prepare yourself for swallowing when he pulls his cock out.

“Stay still, darlin’” he murmurs, eyebrows knitted together, as the hand not jacking himself off with pulls at your hair to put your face in the perfect angle, “I’m gonna paint a pretty picture.”

The last syllable morphed into a groan as he came, hot load landing in ropes over your face. His eyes glittered darkly as he covered you and the utter filthiness of it all made his dick twitch one last time. A few spurts landed on your tits and you keep your eyes trained onto his, mouth slightly agape. He tapped the last drops of cum onto your lips before pulling his pants up again.

He picks up the bag of food you packed and stopped for a second to take in the state of you. Tits out, eyes irritated from tears and face covered in cum. Truly a sight for sore eyes.

“Bye-bye sweetheart, I hope I’ll run into you again” he says with a wink and leaves.

#rick grimes #rick grimes blurb #rick grimes drabble #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes oneshot #rick grimes smut #rick grimes twd #rick grimes the walking dead #twd smut #the walking dead smut #gun k!nk #gun play

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penny00dreadful · 3 months

Text

AO3

Death had visited Hawkins many times in the last few years, far too many times for their liking if they were being honest.

The twisted and unnatural things that had gone on within that small town were against Nature and Death was a part of Nature.

The cycle of the world was just one great big event of Life and Death but there had been so much here.

They remembered coming for Barbara Holland and though it might have seemed unfair, it was her time. Death didn’t take anyone before their time but at the very least they tried to bring her some peace, letting her see the stars one last time from underneath the water of the pool and letting the stars see her right back, twinkling above her as the water held her close.

Bob’s passage was less gentle. Stuck inside where nature couldn’t reach, torn and shredded and in agony, but still, Death tried to make his passing less terrifying, softly caressing his face and enveloping him in their dark wings quickly, not wanting him to be in pain any longer than he needed to be.

The others after that were more difficult.

A great big mess of people in a damp basement who did not deserve to go the way they did, disintegrating into a sludge of bodies, only to be puppeteered by a vile excuse for a human, then killed again. Nature had been forced to twist away from that one.

Death couldn’t do anything for them, no matter how they tried, there were just too many and too quickly, but still they hugged them all close and brought them to their passing.

It was times like those when Death wondered if their quiet, curious fascination with human life was something that was even worth continuing.

Humanity had such a talent for killing each other en masse and Death would be forced to observe, along with the grass and the trees and the clouds and the wind.

But humanity kept pulling their focus back. There was such a capacity for them to love each other too, even though sometimes they were hated for it.

For the simple act of love.

Death watched as the two boys, children themselves really, though forced to become so much older, parted with a kiss at the Quarry, forced into a clandestine meeting after they had saved the world because of other people’s hate.

The wind tried to push them away, urging them to run, to move faster, to push themselves out of the series of events barrelling towards them but the boys just laughed, brushing hair from each other’s face before leaning in again.

The Quarry echoed up towards them, hoping to spook them into jumping into their own cars and peeling out of there at high speed, but the boys didn’t notice, too wrapped up in each other.

The evening sky watched on in silence, unable to do anything about the incoming storm and the small group gathering on the other side of town, ignorant and fearful and wanting to hurt in return.

Death had visited Eddie Munson before, just once. Not to take him, but to help him hold on. It wasn’t his time to die, no matter what others in the town thought.

The boy was loud and brash and passionate, bursting at the seams with life and energy and light and Death didn’t want to see that pass unnecessarily. They refused to take him before they were due to.

They had leaned down, brushing a light kiss against his lips and had stepped back as his friends and one boy in particular threw themselves down next to him.

Steve Harrington had received multiple visits from Death over the years.

Their first meeting had come on the tail end of a vicious beating and a plate over the head. The ground below him had shuddered with the impact and while the children around him screamed and he lay unconscious on the floor, Death had flapped their wings and flared that dying spark of life back up into a flame.

Barely a year later they had gone underground and brushed their fingers through his hair, while a girl spat in another man’s face. They could feel the earth around them try to reach out to support, but being held back by metal walls and a sickening aura from another world.

Then again only a day later while the sky and the sunlight and the pollen could only watch through the windows, Death took his hand, pulling life back into him from his slumped position on the couch he’d been sleeping on, still in his uniform.

The next time was more difficult. Trapped in another world that Death couldn’t reach, if Steve died there, then he’d be there forever. But the boy had just managed to make it back to the other side, cradling Eddie’s body close.

It wasn’t until he stepped back outside the hospital, all of his responsibilities temporarily being watched over by nurses and doctors and he had screamed, harsh and loud and bloody into the night. He collapsed, the dirt below trying to cushion him from hurting himself more than he already had been.

Death had stayed with him until someone found him, keeping him warm in their arms, but never closing their wings, not all the way.

It wasn’t his time.

They watched as both boys came together, feeling young again, even though they had to hide. But they found happiness in each other, even if others could only look on in confusion or anger, threatened by what they refused to understand.

The group across town began to move, intent on driving him out of town for good this time, believing him to be a stain on their pristine lawns.

It was ridiculous and Death could do nothing to stop it.

They watched as Steve buzzed around his empty home, getting dinner prepared for himself, full of light and love.

When the group arrived, they didn’t announce their presence with a polite knock on the door but with a rock through the window, followed quickly by glass and gasoline and fire.

With the window broken, wind could now enter but it stayed away, not wanting to fan the flames as Steve gripped his bat, slowly and carefully walking back towards his patio door.

There were only six of them, but six against one were still terrible odds, no matter the creatures Steve had fought in the past.

His walkie was out of reach, sitting innocently in the kitchen along with the landline and his dinner burning on the stove, too far out of reach.

There was a scramble of movement as they broke through the windows, through the front door.

Jason’s parents, Andy Johnson, that dog walker, Steve’s own neighbours and Chrissy Cunningham's younger brother were amongst the crowd and wasn't that the most devastating thing?

Whipped up into a frenzy of hate and fear at barely twelve years old, by those supposed to look out for him, believing they were teaching him to take care of his town, handing the future to him.

Because of course they chose Steve to hunt.

He was one of them. He should be one of them. He was the one their daughters should be bringing home, the one they should be shaking hands with in church or sharing beers with.

Eddie was already an outsider. He wasn't a reflection of them. He didn't hold a mirror up, showing how much they could change, how far they could fall, how empty all of them were inside.

But these were the people Steve used to associate with. They saw him as more of a blight on the town than any of the other outsiders because he used to be them and if he could fall, then they must be able to too, right?

So they had to tear and scratch and burn to convince themselves that no, he was, is in fact wrong. He had always been that way. He was never right, not like them. No, they could never fall the way he did.

He was a disease and so they had to cut the disease out, had to eradicate any trace in case the infection spread.

As much as everyone pretended the religious fervour had died down, the town had only just gotten a taste.

It had whet their appetite for mob mentality and they were thirsty for more, feeling they were morally full to the brim but were in fact starved of compassion, blind to anything outside of their own comfort.

They claimed to be loving, to be healing, to be all welcoming with plastic smiles and greedy eyes but they would run anyone over who stepped a foot out of line.

And unfortunately, Steve stepped out of line. He broke the mould and they believed they had to punish him for it.

The patio door crashed open and Steve was running out towards the woods before they could find him, his old home billowing thick black smoke at his back.

Death knew his parents wouldn't care. The insurance pay out from the fire would be more than enough to soften the blow, cosy in their new home in New York City.

They would never publicly acknowledge what happened here but privately they would thank their neighbours for their crusade.

The grass could feel the thud, thud, thud of fearful running footsteps. Broken twigs and slippery leaves caught him unawares and were apologetic but powerless to do anything about it as shouts full of hate and the frenetic energy of bloodlust followed him into the woods.

The trees that surround them, that had shielded Steve and the chasing group alike whenever they needed it, could feel when he was disarmed and the bat was thrown to the side, the bloodsoaked nails digging into the earth as it fell.

None of them were brave enough to use such a deadly weapon against him, fearing too much the consequences of being the one to pick it up and undoubtedly have the responsibility of killing him, and Steve was not enough of a coward to use the bat against the group.

Strikes landed against the trees, from fists that missed him and from impacts travelling through Steve’s body and into the wood, cracking their bark and flaking it off. The earth soaked up the blood that was spilled heavy and hot but too metallic for nutrition.

Adrenaline came fast and hard but left just as quickly and when the group looked at what they had done, the haze of anger and righteous indignation no longer thick enough to colour their perception of their actions, they took a step back, each of them sickened somewhere deep inside by what they had done but none of them were bold enough to admit it to the other.

Steve was still full of the need to keep living so he took an opportunity where he saw it, forcing his broken body to run again in a slightly delirious way, making it back to his car.

The group didn’t follow immediately but it wouldn’t take long for them to realise that Steve knew each and every one of them and that maybe allowing him to get away alive might no longer have been an option.

Death could see Steve peel out of his driveway, his car always at the front of the house and ready to go after years of dealing with the end of the world.

Across town, Eddie was practising a new piece on his guitar, full of joyful energy and barely able to contain his excitement when he got it right, almost jumping for joy and eager to tell Steve the next time he saw him.

Robin was in her room, pouring over books on cryptography, a fascination for her that began in the back room of an ice-cream parlour and hasn’t left her since. She had come to terms with the fact that this might be what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, but she would have to travel far to be able to study it, unsure of how to bring it up to her soulmate because she wanted him to come with her and to bring along his new love as well.

But still it would be a big change.

A big conversation.

The kids sat in the basement of the Wheeler home, giving Will back his DM seat, just between them. It was an apology for all that they had discounted his passions before, just like Steve had advised them to do and the bond between all of them glowed ever brighter.

The blinking stars watched as the car veered, swaying dangerously at speed from one side of the road to the other.

The crunch of metal and the impact splintered some of the thinner trees, leaves and branches falling onto the scene below, one sputtering headlight pointing out into the forest, a lighthouse in the night.

Somewhere in town a walkie crackled to life.

The skies opened up and the rain did what it could to help, washing the blood away and Death descended.

Steve blinked his eyes open.

“Hello.”

Death was unable to respond for a moment, but eventually replied, “Hello.”

“I’ve seen you before.”

“Too many times.”

Death crouched low, one wing extended over them, to keep the rain off his face.

“Am I coming with you? There’s so much left I need to do.”

Death heard it all before. People begged for more time, offering a card game for their soul, but Death doesn’t trade in souls. That was not their business.

They would always promise Death other lives, other deaths in place of their own, money, power, glory, kingdoms, countries if they would just let them live a little while longer.

It never worked and Death never bargains.

Their time was their time and nothing on earth would ever be able to change that.

Death was nothing if not fair.

But even so, Steve didn’t beg. He didn’t try to bargain or trick. He was just asking. He wanted to know what to expect.

“No.” They answered. “Not yet.”

Death got down to their knees, hovering over him, close enough to throw him into shadow.

“But eventually?”

They nodded. “Everyone comes with me eventually.”

They lowered themselves down, pressing their lips softly against Steve’s as his eyes slipped closed again.

“But not you. Not today.”

On the road just behind them, a deer jumped out, bounding across the black expanse, spooked by a branch a nearby tree dropped, sacrificed just in time.

Tires screeched to a halt.

The wind had been at their back the entire time.

Birds are sent flapping frantically into the sky as the screams of Steve’s friends and love rip through the air.

Death watched from above as they did everything in their power to get him out, get him to safety.

When he was eventually taken to a larger hospital in the city Steve was watched over at every available second by a slowly revolving door of people who would not leave him, even if Death themselves asked them to.

Steve never stepped foot back in Hawkins again after he crashed just beyond the ‘Now Leaving Hawkins’ sign, but he was not without his people.

The family that Steve had built up around him were merciless in their judgement of the town. Those who were able to, leave immediately. Eddie and Wayne only enter Hawkins again to gather up their most prized of prized possessions, happy to never ever look back on it, no matter what might crawl out of the ground.

Robin and her parents, who had come to see Steve as a second son, followed not long after.

Some of the kids' parents were more ready to leave than others, but eventually they all did, all of them disturbed and terrified and angry.

Every single one of Steve’s family was happy to leave the town to rot without them, there was nothing left for them there anymore.

They all follow him.

Every single one.

And he is once again surrounded.

Everyone he had ever helped, ever loved, ever stood in front of them and Death for.

They all surround him and they are all there, many, many years later when Death comes for him for the last time. His family was waiting on either side of the veil for him, old and grey and wrinkled.

But they were all there for him.

AO3

Based off of Take Me To Church

All my love to @hbyrde36, my friend and beta for screaming with me over this.

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild Hozier Project

Gonna tag @griefabyss69 and @starryeyedjanai who sent in asks about this fic for a previous WIP Weekend post. 🖤

#stwg #STWG Hozier Project #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #penny00dreadful #eddie x steve #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #fanfic #hozier songfic #take me to church #hozier #take me to church songfic

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moonywritez6 · 4 months

Text

Kinktober Day 10 (Reupload)

Character: Original Sukuna x Witch Reader

Reader: Fem Reader!

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, harsh language, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, oral (fem receiving), double dicks, double penetration, blood, violence

Wc: 2,849

A/n: Hello my sweets! Unfortunately, I got locked out of my old blog account, so I had to make a new one! So, chances of you having seen this before are high as it's on my old account! (I am so sad about it honestly). But I am going through all my old accounts posts and reuploading them here! I hope you can still enjoy my works!

S/N: I kind of referenced this fic to one of my earlier works between Sukuna and Witch Reader! (It's sad and angsty but I just love the story I have behind the two so I couldn't help myself! Just look for Sukuna's part if interested! (Not required of course!) This one is not edited or proofread so I do apologize for all the mistakes.

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Making his way through the dark woods, Sukuna lets out a few breaths, his body taking him down the path he had come to engrave deep inside his mind. "Damn pathetic witch…living so far out." He growls to himself. Your mere existence was annoying, but at the same time, your face always seemed to calm his rageful soul. After what felt like a century of walking, his eyes take in the faint glow of the lantern you always kept hanging from your porch. He grunts, not bothering to knock as he pushes the door open only to be greeted by pure silence. The curse narrows his eyes as he searches the small hut noticing no signs of life. “Oi! Damn witch of the woods!” He shouts allowing a moment for you to respond but there is nothing. He grits his teeth, his mind running through all the possible things that could have happened to you. “The village.” He spits, recalling how you had once mentioned being hated and feared by a village a few miles away. Thinking that one day they would come for you. Sukuna quickly rushes out of the hut, his feet taking him at max speed towards the village, his bloodlust filling the air.

As he dashes through the woods one of his eyes catches a glimpse of a figure standing out in the lake causing him to halt. He approaches the tree line with all four eyes taking in the figure under the moonlight. There you stood, body fully exposed as you bathed under the moon, completely defenseless as you looked up at the sky, eyes shining with the stars. Sukuna watches his mind and nerves going crazy with multiple emotions. Fear, anger, relief, lust each one clashing with the other as he tried to push it all aside. “Do you seeeee her?” An eerie voice whispers from a few trees down getting his attention. There hovered some low-level curses, their eyes peering at your oblivious self their actions irritating Sukuna. “She’s known to be one of the prettiest creatures to grace these woods~” Another curse giggled, leaning closer to get a better look at your exposed breasts.

“Do you think we can touch-” It falls silent as one of the curses falls to the ground, head cut clean off. The other curses jump quickly looking behind them to see the king of curses hold a severed head in his hands, eyes cold as he smirks down at the pathetic creatures before him. “Just by looking at her you die.” Was all he needed to say before blood splattered everywhere covering his body in the filthy red liquid. He growls while examining his body with disgust before his ears ring at the sound of your voice. “Who’s there?” Though you pose it as a question your tone is stern and demanding causing the king of curses to smirk an idea popping into his head. Carefully he emerges from the tree line still drenched in blood as he lets out a deep sigh while one hand scratches the back of his head.

“Calm down damn witch.” His eyes trail back to you watching as your defensive form relaxes at the sight of him, this small action causing the bloodthirsty killer's heart to waver. Though you had relaxed you soon remembered that you were bathing under the moon completely exposed to the man in front of you causing a deep red to dust your cheeks as you tried to duck under. The sight is amusing as Sukuna slowly strips himself of what little clothing he already wore, his body slowly entering the cold water of the night. “I-I’ll be out soon Sukuna-san! You can just go back to the hut!” You protested while swimming further away, your entire body flushed at the quick glimpse you had gotten of his naked form. You hear him scoff as he moves closer to you only stopping a few inches away as he peers down at you with dark eyes.

“You weren’t there…” He mumbles, reaching out to pull you against his chest; you flinch at the sudden contact, your usual calm demeanor gone. He smirks at this, finally being able to see a new side of the most powerful witch of the woods as he rests his chin on your head. “I almost went to kill that village.” He confesses one of his hands carefully sliding down your right arm to extend it out as he examines the black tattoos that covered your skin similar to his own thanks to that soulmate spell you had performed almost three months ago. You frown at his words not wanting him to murder innocent lives because of some witch. “Sukuna-san I only went to bathe under the moonlight! I didn’t even know you would be coming here at this time of the night!” You scold turning your head up to look at the curse who was labeled as your soulmate. He hums, taking a piece of your hair between two of his fingers gently playing with it as he recalls the curses, he had just slaughtered a moment ago.

“Do I need to inform you when I will arrive? Tch, who do you think you’re talking to?” He growls dipping his face into the crook of your neck to leave a possessive bite, his teeth piercing into your skin causing you to whine as you grip onto two of his biceps, your sharp nails dragging against his skin sending tingles through his body. “I told you before…I’m not afraid of curses.” You breathe listening to him lick at the fresh mark a satisfied hum leaving his lips as his eyes look up at your face brows furrowed. “Curses aren’t afraid of you either, you know. In fact, curses are drawn to you.” He growls pulling away his body becoming clearer under the light of the moon as you take in all the red still staining his skin the smell of iron finally processing in your nose.

“Are you hurt Sukuna-san?” You question quickly turning your body to face him, your bare breasts pressed against his chest as you examine him for any injuries getting ready to cast a healing spell if needed. He stops you, arms trapping your body as close as possible to his, a small gasp escaping you as you feel the two hard cocks pressing against your lower body. “I’m fine dammit! I just found a few pathetic curses trying to mess with something that belongs to only me.” He growls at the memory of their ugly faces, his blood boiling as he could only imagine what was running through their minds when they looked at your lustful body glistening so beautifully in the night. “It makes me so pissed…that you can just let others see you so exposed.” He grabs at your chin with one hand forcing you to look up at him, his eyes taking in your flushed appearance.

“I didn’t even know they were around…I guess I was just spacing out too much.” You confessed feeling foolish for having let your thoughts of the man in front of you cloud your senses making the area around you nonexistent in the moment. Sukuna hums watching the night sky reflect in your pure orbs so full of care and love for this world's filthy creatures. “Your skin is so divine in the moonlight.” He confesses cupping your cheek, his mind filling with only you, the one creature he was willing to love for all eternity. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, mouth agape when you see the soft look in his eyes. “Sukuna-san you didn’t drink any of the potions when you were inside, did you? Some of those are for customers who asked for aphrodisiacs!” You worry, not wanting to have the curse mad at you the next day for allowing him to drink something that would show any signs of weakness.

He frowns at your words, going to pinch your sides in annoyance. You let out a small cry from the stinging pain, a pout on your lips. “Tch. You think I would be so stupid to drink one of those disgusting vials?” He growls, finding your questions insulting for the king of curses. You try to shrink away into the water, finding his mood to be slightly unpleasant. “I was just wondering…big jerk.” Your words were quiet but not enough to go unnoticed by Sukuna who disliked that you were no longer pressed against him, his body not feeling whole. “If you wish for my anger to cease then will you be a good witch and please your king?” The question shocks you as you make eye contact orbs searching for any mischievous intent only to find pure lust greeting you. The two of you had made love only once when you had discovered you were soulmates, both your harbored feelings finally being released into three whole days of passion.

As if reading your mind Sukuna let out a small chuckle, his arms gripping at your waist as he pulled you close once again this time making you wrap your legs around his torso. “It's been so long since I’ve made love to you…tell me does your body still recall my touch?” He whispers lips pressing against your forehead. You hum, unable to think of any words as you feel your heart racing, your eyes trailing all over his chest taking in the man who had won over the most powerful witch. “Look at me Y/n.” He growls forcing your chin up the use of your name causing something inside you to tingle. “I’m going to make every creature in these woods know that you’re mine. So don’t you dare hold back filthy witch.” With those words his lips are roughly pressed to yours in a bruising kiss as he pries your mouth open with ease, his tongue almost plunging deep into your throat as he hungrily takes in your taste.

You whine, arms wrapping around his neck to deep kiss your body wanting more of him as if remembering those three days like it was something you experienced your whole life. A deep growl leaves Sukuna’s throat as one of his hands grips the back of your head taking in a fist full of your hair as you feel him smirk into the kiss. Your eyes shoot open in shock, a small cry being muffled by his lips when you feel a giant tongue lick up your pussy. Sukuna’s fist pulls at your hair separating the kiss, a long string of saliva still connecting the kiss as he lets out an amused laugh “Does it feel good darling? Having two tongues inside you?” He breathes as the mouth on his stomach hungrily lapped at your twitching pussy under the water. You let out a few pathetic moans. The feeling of his other mouth was different compared to his normal one.

Sukuna closely watched the way your face twisted into pleasure as your arms tightened around his neck, your hips starting to move in sync with the licks of his other tongue. He watches cocks twitching as the sight deeply arouses him. “What a filthy witch~” He teases his tongue sliding up your neck as he wraps a hand around your throat. You shiver body trembling from all the pleasure you were feeling. Sukuna presses his forehead to yours, his eyes taking in every detail of your face before pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. You whine, your body stiffening when the tongue from his stomach slithers deep inside your hole, eyes widening as your legs squeeze around him. Sukuna pulls away an evil grin on his face as he looks down at your fucked out expression.

“Filthy whore coming from another mouth!” He laughs a hand caressing your side as he tries to pull you away however your grip doesn’t loosen up as you try to recover from your orgasm pussy twitching. He sighs, pressing a few kisses to your cheek. “Strongest witch in the world but so pathetic from just getting your pussy tongue fucked.” His words earn a small smack from you followed by a tiny ‘shut up’ causing him to laugh. “If you want me to be satisfied you have to move away a bit darling. Otherwise, I can’t put it inside.” He whispers into your ear taking notice of your shivers. ‘The water must be getting cold.’ His thoughts are confirmed when you slowly float away from him, his eyes landing on your perked nipples and trembling lips. His two lower hands reach under the water to pump at his throbbing cocks wanting to feel inside your warm walls.

“Your pussy can handle both, right? Or has it been too long for the Witch of the Woods?” He hums remembering how long it took for your pussy to accept both his cocks the first time. Your body stiffens as you contemplate swimming away from the curse, your eyes trailing over to your clothes that lay by the shoreline. Taking notice of your gaze Sukuna frowns quickly gripping at your wrist to pull you back into his chest. “You dare think of running from me witch?” He growls two of his hands lifting you up, earning a small squeak from you as you try and hold onto his shoulders for support. “S-Sukuna-san I don’t think I can! It was so long ago!” You plead nails digging into his flesh.

“I want any pathetic creature lurking around to see my little witch get fucked by a true king!” He shouts while positioning both tips at your entrance, the feeling of them rubbing together causing a decent amount of precum to mix with the lake's water. With a free hand, he cups your cheek, eyes locking as his lips hover over your bruised and swollen ones. “The only king she will please and love.” He whispers before sloppily kissing you while thrusting deep into your pussy. You scream into the kiss tears falling down your cheeks as you feel your pussy being ruined as his cocks fill you. Sukuna groans into the kiss, his chest tightening as he feels your walls squeeze almost making him cum on the spot. He pulls away multiple curses leaving his lips as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, his body shaking from how good you felt.

“So, fucking tight…such a good witch…my good girl.” He praises kissing anywhere he can while listening to the tiny whimpers you give in response. After a moment he starts to move growling at the feeling of his cocks rubbing together the friction driving him crazy as his movements start to pick up. His hold on your body is tight as he bounces you up and down like a doll, the sound of water splashing filling his ears. However, that was the only sound causing him to look up at you while gritting his teeth. “I fucking knew it.” He scoffs watching your mouth move but no sounds come out. This wasn’t the first time you had cast a spell to conceal your voice from him not wanting to disrupt any of the woodland creatures or anyone in the area.

“Tch, I won't let you stay quiet with your spells this time witch.” He spits venomously his nails digging into your hips as he pounds deep inside you the tips of his cocks entering your womb causing tears to fall from your eyes. Having learned some of your spells Sukuna is quick to rid you of your silence, your screams of pleasure music to his ears as they echo throughout the woods. “That’s right, witch! Scream my name let these woods hear who makes their precious witch so weak and pathetic!” Sukuna laughs maniacally, his thrusts merciless as he feels you cum for a second time. You toss your head back drool falling from your chin, eyes glossed over with lust as you stare up at the moon. “Sukuna! Sukuna! Give me more!” You scream your mind is too fucked out to care anymore. Sukuna laughs followed by a few grunts as he feels himself reaching his own release, the excitement from killing all those curses along with seeing how beautiful you looked under the moonlight bringing him so much pleasure.

“Kiss me Y/n…kiss your king…your soulmate.” He breathes heavily. His only desire is you. You look at him with a fucked-out expression that causes him to go over the edge, his lips smashing to yours as he fills your insides, your pussy clenching as you spray all over them. Sukuna’s arms hold you tight, his eyes trailing to the tree line, smirking against your lips as he watches the smaller curses cower away. Once he made sure the two of you were clean, he was careful while carrying you out of the lake making sure to grab your clothes along with his own. “Sukuna-san…you’re so mean.” You whisper half asleep from the tiring activity. Sukuna just scoffs rolling his eyes at your words.

“Shut up Y/n.”

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charles-leclerizz · 2 months

Text

TRAILER : THE BEGINING

🏁 Content warnings : Swearing.

🏁 Spoiler alert : Please read the masterlist, Character sketch and Team sketch to understand.

🏁 Genre : Drama, Action, Sports

🏁 Reading time : 15 minutes, 6 seconds

🏁 Word count : 3.0.k (3021 words)

🏁 Chapter summary : It all begins now.

🏁 Author's note : So, this is it, welcome to the beginning of this wild ride. Just wanted to explain a few things [so skip this right now if you're not really interested, no hard feelings !] Now, this format is probably confusing, basically the first part of this is the trailer, how it would look on Netflix, the actual video/film. And the writing after the banner, Behind the Scenes, is literally behind the scenes, what isn't shown on camera. Second, this whole series is meant to be very dramatic, it's entertainment made by "Netflix" [not really, please don't sue me] for God sake. With all that said, Enjoy!

Masterlist · 🪷 Aisha · 🪷 Porsche F1 Team · 🪷

[Please play this song whilst reading the trailer & feel free to stop once we get behind the scenes with the drivers !]

The screen fades from black to show a Porsche F1 car skidding down the track, the sound of screeching rubber against the tarmac harmonises with the energetic music that pumps behind the video.

Circular shots of a driver climbing out of the car from different angles flash across, and just before they tug off their helmet the scene changes to the paddock, pit crew, mechanics and drivers rush past in a blur, their differently coloured uniforms merge together like lights in a city scape. Suddenly, everything stops and the music fades away momentarily.

“In the fast-paced world of formula 1,”

Scenes of driving legends hoisting up their trophies with happy grins and champagne soaked racing gear flash past. Ayrton Senna, Michael Schumacher, Kimi Räikkönen.

“Where every second counts and emotions run high.”

The grating sounds of cars speeding past bursts into the frame, Max Verstappen shaking his fists ambitiously as he wins, yet another grand prix, Charles Leclerc as he wins in Spa and Monza, Carlos sainz and Lando Norris partnering up in the Singapore 2023- “Yeah, it’s on purpose.” The Spaniard grits out just as the narrator begins to speak again.

“Our team is about to redefine the game,”

The narrator is revealed, a woman, tall and proud as she sits in front of a grey backdrop. Her blonde hair is cut to a sharp bob and her glasses, astute and black sit high on her nose as she laughs jauntily and arches a well-managed, bleached brow at one of the three camera’s recording her, “Is that good?” she huffs out, thick Manchester accent shining through her cheerful words.

Black takes over once again, and the Indian flag, flapping in the wind from a tall pole that reaches high into the sky is shown, the bright, proud colours shining against the pale, blue sky. The camera pans down to the bottom of the ground, where the same driver,who was emerging from the car in the begging is looking up, at their flag.

But instead of their helmet securely fastened around their face, it’s held between the crook of their elbow and waist. The white base is glossy as multiple sponsor logos are littered around the entire frame, along with the black, bold letters “PATEL” being showed off at the back, currently visible to the camera along with the behind of the driver’s racing suit.

The shot pans up, revealing long flowing hair, black thick strands a contrast to her off white racing suit. The same flag peeks out from between the chunks of her fluttering locks, large and proud on the expanse of her back. The driver begins to turn and just as her red painted lips come into view the scene changes and a different narrator begins to speak again.

“From the makers of 'Drive to Survive' comes a new Netflix Original Series that takes you behind the scenes of the most exhilarating sport on the planet.”

Scenes of the woman running across the paddock and into her garage, her teammate not far behind overlay the announcement.

Another moment is revealed, this time of her ducking into her car, glove covered hands braced on the halo as her face turns upwards towards a racing engineer who speaks to her. She nods before turning to look directly into the camera and lowering herself into the cockpit.

The woman begins to speak again, "Aisha is our trailblazer in Formula 1.”

The iconic lights of Formula one begins to count down as the mechanical ticking echo throughout the grand-stands and the camera goes to shoot the anticipatory lull in the air as spectators hold their breath whilst the engines start up and the last light dims.

“She’s smashing stereotypes and racing towards victory.” The team principal shakes her head, a soft, proud smile playing on her light pink lips.

The team car revs menacingly as the gaggle of drivers manoeuvre their way through turn one of Bahrain.

The Porsche chassis glows between the unmanageable scuffle of the other 18 cars on the track, as both team racers attempt to come out on top in the dangerous pile of engines, the expectant victor of the throng doesn’t appear, the deep blue red bull is yet to emerge. The crowd gasps and cheers as the true victor begins to approach the next turn, speeding down the straight.

The camera catches the proud logo on the side of the car, “Porsche” and on the back, as the DRS begins to activate, the opened flap reveals, “Patel”.

“I just hope people are ready to see her in action. Because she isn’t stopping anytime soon" She stares into the camera as her name appears on screen, a small box enveloping the words, “Katherine Anderson, Porsche team principal.”

Finally, the rumoured driver comes into the scene, walking up to the stool as the camera drags up her slack clad legs, the cream material swishes by her ankles along with the golden payaal that jingles with each step of her stiletto heels against the floor. Her torso is revealed slowly, a tight top hugs her bust whilst the printed Porsche logo morphs against the curves of her chest. The varied tennis barcelets and charmed jewellery around her wrist titillate together as she takes a seat on the chair, and her face is revealed.

She squints her eyes and brings a manicured hand up to push away the straightened hair from her lips, her mouth purses as the unintelligible voice of the producer talks to her, whilst her eyelashes flutter and she hums in agreement.

“So, I just talk?” She asks, pointing a finger at the camera that faces her before blotting the lipstick on her lips. She nods once as the cameraman confirms.

“My name,” She tilts her head as she smiles, perfect, white teeth shining underneath the light, “Is Aisha Patel, and I drive for Porsche F1 Team.”

The camera cuts again, showcasing Aisha on the podium, pushing a large trophy up into the air as her teammate, Pierre cheers and sprays champagne on her stomach from his place on the “2nd” platform. She shakes her head and laughs as her entire head becomes soaked with the bubbly, sweet drink. Multiple identical shots are placed one after the other, of her standing proud and sweaty on the 1st place podium.

“I’ve worked my ass off,” Aisha’s voice over-runs the music, “And I’ll be damned if anything stands in my way.”

She squares her shoulders as she unzips her racing suits and bunches it up at her waist as she stomps over to Max Verstappen, the Dutch man looking equally malicious as his blue eyes roll with annoyance and already red face puffs out intimidatingly.

She pokes a finger into his fire-proof covered chest as she begins to shout, ignoring the worried stares of the crew around her in the Red-Bull garage. Max spits out the long, twirling straw from between his lips and begins to argue back.

Her mouth moves angrily as she goes to snatch the can of branded drink from his tense hands, throwing the sugary drink in his face, thoroughly dousing the shouting man and reducing him to a spluttering mess as she stomps away, flipping off one of the camera’s that eagerly follows her.

The narrator returns, his deep timbre rumbling through the video, “But the road to victory is never easy, as Aisha navigates through rivalries, scandals, and the pressure to perform.”

The scene switches to Aisha rushing out of a hotel in England, the night before Silverstone and the odd, overwhelming flashes of hounding reporters seem to be tuned out of her gaze as Lando runs behind her, grabbing helplessly at her hand whilst tears stream down her flushed face.

Her hair is mused and makeup runs haphazardly across her tan skin, she wretches her wrist out of the man’s grip, shaking her head as her lip wobbles. She covers her eyes before dodging and weaving through the paparazzi, barely able to mumble polite, “excuse me’s” from between erratic sobs, as she unlocks her expensive car and slips into the driver’s seat.

The second shot is of her and Carlos, hand in hand as her shoulders begin to shiver in his hold whilst she adjusts the heavy cardigan that hangs limp from her shoulders. The Spaniard’s face is tough and rocky as his hands comes to embrace her upper arm, cradling her against his side whilst the rest of the drivers begin to flee the racetrack, already tired from the latest qualifying session.

Yet, the papparizzi continue to hound the pair mercilessly, Aisha hides her face as the man beside her stops his firm footsteps and turns to a reporter from a less respectable news channel, the sleezy jounarlist gulps but stands his ground as he pushes his microphone forward. Carlos glances down at the tech with disgust, and just before he opens his mouth, the scene ends, and we’re taken back to Aisha who sits contently in the interview.

“In this world, you must fight for every inch. And I'm ready to fight, no matter the cost.” She smirks at another camera, her side profile showing off noticeable details over the expanse of her face like the sharp cut of her nose and the splattering of freckles across her cheekbones along with the odd beauty marks spotted above her lip and a few inches from her nose.

The final shot is off Aisha climbing out of the Porsche car, removing her helmet, allowing her hair to flow over her shoulder and down her back as she tilts her head at the camera and leans back against the pale white halo of her car.

She then crooks her finger at the viewers, gesturing for the cameraman to follow her hand as she holds up a singular finger, and points upwards towards the sky.

The shot is then of the of the expansive indiago above, and through the magic of editing, the Porsche logo takes up the screen.

“Get ready to experience the thrill, the passion, and the drama of Formula 1 like never before.” The narrator ends his sentence powerfully as the crescendo of the song reaches its peak.

“This is 'Formula for Love'.” Aisha ends the trailer, waving at the camera before the video is overtaken with black once again.

The title card appears, “Formula for love – A netflix original series”.

As the words disappear, a shot of Aisha’s car speeding off into the distance after which a mechanical, “Streaming soon, only on Netflix.” ends the trailer.

Aisha sighed, tapping her thighs as the filming concluded and many on-set employees rushed to her side, patting at her face along with offering her a can of thumbs up, the condensation runs down the metallic container and onto her fingers.

“Thank you, guys so much,” Aisha sipped at the straw protruding from the can in her hand before smiling at the people who merely stared at her, already putting away their various tools. A compact snapped shut, a damp towel thrown over a shoulder and a camera cover flipped closed.

Aisha sucked in a breath, flicking her eyes over the workers before looking over at Kate, who was signing a paper handed to her on a writing board.

She chuckled at Aisha’s worried expression and the silence that hung in the air, “It’s okay,” she assured the driver, who looked relieved as the people recovered and retreated away from the filming set, going back to their stations.

“They aren’t very used to people thanking them.” Kate shrugged, “They reacted like that to me as well,”

“Oh, thank God,” She patted her chest as she waved at the director, who smiled back and showed her a happy thumbs up, “This is all so new to me.” Aisha tugged at her hair as Kate pulled up her phone and scrolled through her calendar.

“Don’t worry too much about its Aisha, you’ll get there.” She rubbed the nervous driver’s arm and hissed when her phone vibrated, “I have to go, so much to get done before our first season,” Kate shook her head, wishing Aisha goodbye as she walked out of the trailer and out towards their still concealed garage.

Aisha hummed distractedly, before realising she had no idea what to do once Kate had walked away, “Wait!” But the team principal had already left, “Damn it,” She bit her nail once, handing off her empty can and plucking out her phone from her pocket.

“Oh, there you are.” A media manager bounded up to Aisha, surprising the woman as she jumped and whipped her head around to the approaching worker, “The driver’s briefing is about to begin,”

The man waved a hand at his face before pinching his Porsche x Adidas apparel between his fingers and forcing air between the material and his chest. He was likely middle aged, and sported dark brown hair with peppery roots and salted strands that peeked out from between the chocolatey curls.

He showed her his F1 team ID and stopped fanning himself to usher her with his hand.

“Shit- okay,” Aisha stuffed her phone away, following him out of Netflix filming trailer, out to the dark murky sky above the paddock, towards another building.

The office was tall and white, covered with floor to ceiling windows that were shielded with a layer of reflective film, “Oh God.” Aisha murmured beneath her breath as she took a few calming breaths, already forgetting to trail behind the man who was staring at her impatiently whilst holding the door open, watching as she stared at the building by straining her neck upwards.

She prepared herself, flapping her hands around slightly and jolting when the manager cleared his throat.

“Please hurry Miss. Patel. It won’t look good if you’re late.”

“I know, I know.” Aisha repeated, assuring the increasingly nervous man who walked up to her.

“It will be okay,” He laid a hesitant hand on her shoulder, taking an exemplary deep breath for her to copy. He continued when she did, “I’m Harry, sorry for not introducing myself, and I will be in charge of all media at Porsche.”

“Okay?” Aisha shook her head a few times to clear her mind, “Meaning?”

Harry chuckled and hung his head, “Meaning. That I’ll be with you in there. You won’t be alone.” He pointed a finger at himself, “See, you already have a familiar face to look for,” His slightly aged face wrinkled happily when Aisha smiled at him and relaxed visibly beneath his comforting hold.

“Thank you, Harry,” She huffed and stood straighter, “Let’s do this.”

Her heels clicked beneath her confident steps as she thanked the man who held the door open for her and Harry, who walked contently behind her.

Aisha craned her head around the bend, following the acrylic signs that read, “Driver briefing – Conference room 1.” She adjusted her shirt, feeling, for the first time in forever, conscience of her clothing and slipped a thumb beneath the waistband of her slacks to adjust them slightly.

“Let’s do this,” She pushed at the milky white door, steeling her face with a bored, neutral expression just as her name was called out, most likely for rollcall.

But, Aisha stopped in her tracks, the door barely nudged open when a flurry of deep chuckles and whispers erupted at the sound of her name.

“Seriously? Is this what fans are doing now?” The speaker rolled his “r’s” whilst shaking his head.

“How much do you think that cost them?” An oddly familiar British voice mumbled whilst crossing his arms and nudging the man next to him.

And one of them groaned and slapped his thigh once, complaining about “-needing better media stunts.”

Aisha scoffed quietly, so these were some of her heroes? Assuming that a woman could never possibly be selected to race, instead she was an obsessive fan who had shrines for each of the men stashed in her closet?

She pushed open the door, causing a few drivers to rustle and shift in their seats and turn minutely towards the sound of the door hinges, opening and closing.

Aisha walked forward and planted a hand on her hip, leaning onto one leg as each of the men looked towards her with annoyed expressions.

“I’m sorry, fans aren’t allowed here.” A French man, dressed in glaring red began to stand up, nodding discreetly at the security men flanked at either side of the doors- who glanced at each other hesitantly and barely moved at his guidance, obviously recognising her, “How did you even get in?”

“Ridiculous what they’ll do for an autograph,” Another one stood, and stared at her thunderously, his Dutch accent causing him to lisp his angry words, “All right, time to go.” He was the first to directly address the security, “Guys, get her out.”

Aisha held up her hand, between her fingers a prestigious card stood proud, the F1 logo bedazzled in gold foil, shimmered beneath the yellow lights, she glanced over her shoulder at the burly, guards who relaxed at her identification.

“Aisha Patel?” She looked to the FIA officer who stared at her, amused with her entrance before ticking off her name, “Porsche F1 driver.” She announced her title, smirking with slight arrogance at the gob-smacked expression on both the French and Dutch men, both of whom flushed an embarrassed red and muttered apologies whilst returning to their seats, next to both of their teammates.

“I’m here for the briefing?” Aisha prompted the officer, before smiling at the rest of her fellow drivers, most of them attempting to suppress their cackles at the other two’s mistake.

“Yes, of course Miss Patel,” The man greeted her, gesturing to an empty seat next to Pierre who smirked at Aisha.

She began to walk down the walkway between the sets of chairs filled by F1 team personnel and racers, waving at a few of the managers from other teams who knew of her position and staring darkly at some drivers who looked her up and down with curiosity.

“Sorry for being late, I was busy paying of my debt. Do you know how much it costs to get your name on the register?” She leaned forward on her crossed knees, looking down the row with a sarcastic expression. The ones who did dare to meet her eyes mumbled in agreement and slumped against their seats.

“Fuck-“The driver who made the comment doubled over, hiding his freckle covered face in his hands, causing his bright orange athleisure jacket to stretch prompting his teammate to chuckle whilst patting his back.

honourary tags [for special pookies] : @disneyprincemuke, @weekendlusting, @woozarts, @mellowarcadefun, @paintedbypoetry, @33-81, @kazuha-pista-badam

A/N : And that's that, the first ever episode [trailer really] of this series is done and dusted. As always please show some love to this tinker-bell minded writer and remember to comment and reblog <33

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lastwave · 6 months

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Harry Du Bois, the skills + DID/OSDD coding

a compilation of most of my thoughts on harry as a system (note: i am system im not just like. pulling stuff out my ass)

1. Structural Dissociation Theory crash course

so for this point i'm going to give you a crash course structural dissociation theory (do not use me as a source for ur knowledge on it this is very like. base level and just to establish context)

structural dissociation states that we all start as multiple different facets, and that as we grow up, these facets all fuse into a cohesive personality. however, in DID/OSDD, ongoing trauma proves it safer to NOT fuse these facets and instead develop dissociative and amnestic barriers between them to varying degrees. these facets cope by developing into individual personalities, and if traumatic events persist, the brain may split more personalities to try and cope with this. this gives us two bits of information that i'm going to use throughout this

1. there is no "original", just alters that host for long periods of time and/or identify with the body the most

2. amnestic & dissociative barriers are fluid. in times of rest, these barriers may start to come down between some alters, but not necessarily all.

**NOTE: these are not hard and fast rules and vary from system to system. it's also vastly different if you have Polyfrag DID or Complex DID. since I don't hc Harry as polyfrag or complex tho, i'm not gonna get into that

2. Harry (the system)

so it's pretty easy to establish that harry has a good handful of childhood trauma. being born in a military hospital + town and growing up there means he probably saw and/or heard a lot of death and sickness. we also know his father left based on the logic passive in the measurehead conversation

we also know from the reaction speed passive when you find out your name that harry was born in a time all these were concerns. most likely, hunger, considering how through the game hunger + eating is an undertone w/ harry

we also have the klaasje half-light passive implying that harry's been raped (might not have occurred during childhood, but still a contributing factor to trauma)

my point being bro has enough childhood trauma and then some to create a system.

we also see a LOT of amnestic barriers between harry and the rest of the skills. besides the obvious not remembering anything, we see the skills remembering things that harry doesn't.

for example, EChem remembers that harry took speed some point recently, while harry himself doesn't

we also see that the skills have distinct personalities and opinions separate from each other. shit we've got a communist (rhetoric) and a fascist (endurance) living in the same fucking body. half light is immediately suspicious of everyone and everything while empathy tries to understand everyone even to their own detriment. and volition and echem need a whole post of their own. thats some pretty strong dissociative barriers

3. Harry (the alter)

to be quite honest with you i think harry as we, the audience, know him is a brand new split, an introject* of an old host that has either fused with another alter or gone dormant. he's trying to fill a different harry du bois's shoes- someone he is fundamentally similar to, but is, at his core, not

*Definition from did-research.org: Introjects are alters that are based off of an outside person or figure. Introjects may or may not see themselves as the individual that they represent.

knowing nothing about yourself, even what you look like, is a common feeling for new splits (in our experience). with the high amnestic barriers separating harry from the rest of the system, it makes sense that the first time he is conscious he is totally lost about his own identity, where he lives, or what his occupation even is.

losing facts about basic reality is probably a dissociative response. things the brain knows (see encyclopedia filling in gaps once given a prompt about something like Fillipe the Conquerer) but doesn't want the new host to know for fear of not being able to function.

4. Certain Alters with Functions

some of the skills fall into alter "archetypes" (not all alters will, even in like. real life systems) and im just gonna list them out here:

ones with subtextual backing:

Volition: Caretaker + Apparent Normal Part

Half-Light: trauma holder

Electro-Chemistry: symptom + trauma holder

Authority: protector

Logic: apparent normal part

ones that are just my headcanons:

Interfacing: little

Endurance: ex-persecutor

Inland Empire: ex-caretaker

here ends my post of articulate thoughts, if u have any like. follow up questions feel free to shoot me an ask. might take me a minute tho

#hugh txt #disco elysium #harry du bois #did osdd

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bokutosmochi · 1 year

Text

HOW THEY PUNISH YOU

what's it? smut allergen warning/s? edging, thigh-riding, degradation, impact-play, spitting, oral-fixation, choking, name-calling, multiple-orgasms, oral f!receiving, overstimulation. most of these are for toji, rip. sugar level? 0.7k names for the order? gojo satoru, fushiguro toji, nanami kento, sukuna ryomen regulars? @hanayanetwork

GOJO SATORU: edges and teases you until you're crying and begging for him.

"aww, c'mon angel, you can do better than that, can you? you were so good at grinding on me earlier. where's all that spunk now?" he pouted down at you trying to get yourself off on his thigh. his hair was down and he had his hands behind his neck, not helping you along at all. "'toru, please. want it so bad." bless him, he finally took pity on your sobbing form and started to flex the thick muscle, making it move up and down and grazing your clit. you lost your balance, plopping down onto his waiting chest as he was sat up against the headboard. you took advantage of the situation, rubbing yourself against him and panting, mouth wide open, breaths coming in and out rapidly. and there you were, so, so close, but before you could actually tip over the edge, gojo was holding you by the waist and halted your movements. "ah, ah, ah, not so fast."

FUSHIGURO TOJI: degrades you to filth, as if you are nothing to him.

he slaps you across the face once more before grabbing it and spitting on the corner of your lips, his thumb works to spread it all over it then pops into your mouth. you suck at it and run your tongue around the appendage while your hips subconsciously juts up to grind yourself against him, legs wrapped around his waist. the hand that used to be on the bed carrying his weight transfers itself to your neck, squeezing tightly, just the way you like it. "you're such a fucking whore." he hisses out at you. not that you mind it, not that you can even comprehend it because all it does is make you even wetter -- something he knows all too well because he can feel how your panties dampen at his harsh words. "no good cock hungry slut. it's a good thing that cunt of yours is heavenly or else you'd be worth nothing."

NANAMI KENTO: overstimulates you. makes you cum again and again.

"a-ah kento! t-too mu-ch!" you whimper out at the man who's head is buried between your legs, treating your clit like a fine wine as he works to coax out your fifth orgasm of the night, all from the talent of his mouth. and once again, he gets it out of you. your toes curl and eyes roll into the back of your head, but he doesn't relent. he shows no signs of stopping. "no," he simply states, his tongue, wet with your cum, stops flicking at your clit, replaced with his thumb which rubs circles on it. three thick fingers covered in cream continue to thrust in and out of you. his voice was dominating and the bass of it makes your abused pussy quiver. "you wanted to be a brat, correct? this is what brats get." the best worst part of it is the fact that you know he's not done with you yet because nanami kento cannot resist burying his cock into your pussy.

SUKUNA RYOMEN: uses your cunt as if it's nothing but a fleshlight for him.

after making sure that you're wet enough to take him, he unceremoniously shoves his cock into your cunt, not even giving you any time to adjust to his sheer size. it brings tears to your eyes because it burns even if you were already sopping wet from his dirty walk. it doesn't seem like sukuna cared much though. he continued to thrust in and out, panting wildly above you, chasing his high and not caring about how you felt. he throws both of your legs over your his broad shoulders so he'd be able to shove his dick in further into your hole, yet he did not sacrifice speed nor strength. you knew your pubic bone as well as your thighs would ache tomorrow, but you couldn't get yourself to care. the way the tip of his cock easily brushes your cervix and the throbbing vein running alongside his shaft grazes your g-spot every time he fucks into you makes it so, so worth it.

i get: reblog

you get: a blue button down shirt

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comicaurora · 7 months

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Hi! I'm a big fan of your work. Thanks for taking the time to read this.

I'm an artist who's been working on a story with a close writer friend of mine since the pandemic. Together we've outlined a webcomic that we're both very excited and passionate about, and it's been a great experience. Late last year we started actually making the comic itself, and a little less than a year later we're 37 pages in.

I wanted to ask you how you're able to somehow push out three high-quality pages every week? I work full time, and most days I'm too drained when I get home to immediately start working on the comic. Plus all the other stuff I have to take care of to be a functional adult. I'm not even that slow of an artist, but it just doesn't feel like there's enough hours in the day. At my current rate, I get about one page done per week. I'm 24 now, I don't want to be in my 50s still working on this story. Do you have any advice for increasing your output as an artist without completely overwhelming yourself?

Sorry for the wordy question. There's a reason I'm the artist and not the writer.

Oof, that's a tough one!

I mean, to start with, a fundamental difference in our schedules is I don't work full time. Everything I do for a living is very self-scheduled, and I can work far in advance to meet the deadlines I set and take entire days or even weeks off when I need them. Back when I was in college, dealing with outside schedule requirements, I definitely wouldn't have been able to keep up everything I do now.

That said, there are still methods to streamline and speed up the artistic process. I don't know the details of your methods, but I'd recommend sketching and storyboarding larger numbers of pages at a time and finalizing them at a more leisurely pace, rather than taking one page of comic at a time from a total blank to a finalized, polished version. The storyboard can be very basic; many of mine are little more than color-coded scribbles showing the characters and text boxes showing their dialogue. It's just enough to be readable to me so I can go in and edit it for pacing and timing, but it looks like absolute chickenscratch to anyone else. On the production side, that makes it much more feasible for me to work on multiple pages at a time, since I don't need to finish polishing one page before I can start boarding another.

This method can be expanded into a bit of a factory production line, allowing for a two-pronged approach of progress - one for finalizing older pages, the other farther along for storyboarding new ones. And once you have multiple pages done at a time, you can schedule them well in advance, which takes a lot of deadline pressure off and can make it less mentally daunting to work on. This also diversifies the space of things you can work on, depending on your headspace and energy levels - which is a useful option to have when you're wiped from outside responsibilities.

#asks #writing stuff #art stuff

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canmom · 1 year

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comics and animation have a lot in common, but one interesting difference is that arranging pictures in space rather than time means there's a tradeoff between the amount of drawings you use to show an action, the amount of space each drawing is given, and the amount of pages you cover which determines the 'pacing' of the comic.

if you slice the page up into a lot of tiny boxes to show many stages of a motion like an animation, then each panel has correspondingly less space for background details, and it may affect the aspect ratio of panels. if you give yourself space for a large splash panel, then the pace will slow.

one solution to this problem is to break the convention that a panel is a single 'frame' of action and show multiple images of a character in the same background. Kentaro Miura did this sometimes, and Tradd Moore (on here - @traddmoore) is an expert who uses it frequently (I'll reblog his spiderman comic in a minute). Kamome Shirahama, a genius at creative paneling, also uses it in a couple of places.

a similar trick will have a single background continuous across multiple panels, showing a static 'camera shot' at different times.

the limitation of these methods is that breaking convention makes the panel a little harder to process - you need to make absolutely sure you cue the reader clearly about where to enter the panel. and it requires action that involves a large movement so the drawings don't overlap. so most authors use it as a 'once in a while' thing.

an opposite approach, used in early parts of Superpose by Seosamh and Anka and Goodbye, Eri by Tatsuki Fujimoto, is to go even harder with the cinematic convention and give each panel the aspect ratio and detailed backgrounds of a film camera, taking all the space you need - Superpose opens with about two panels per page which may be very similar to each other, creating a very deliberate sense of pacing. to pull this off you need to be either extremely fast at drawing like Fujimoto, or accept your comic taking a long time to get anywhere - and you also need to be very good at placing the camera in space. you're basically drawing fully rendered storyboards at that point.

one of the interesting difficulties of comic-making is controlling pacing. if you draw many very similar panels it will convey a sense of high concentration and intensity, or a heavy atmosphere, like a long take in a film. much like in prose, if you spend a lot of pictures on something it draws attention to it. so you want to use the 'slow down' sparingly for effect.

as in animation, you're also limited by your own capacity to draw all those pictures, and moreover the space to put them. this is one reason why comics in magazines tend to be sharply limited in page count, and webcomics tend to be very slow compared to other forms of serial fiction. (perhaps manga can make heavier use of pacing tricks by virtue of cheaper printing and endemic overwork. i don't think that's the full story though.) meanwhile, when Transmetropolitan started to experiment with manga-style pacing, apparently it upset fans who felt the story progression was being diluted. when reading Transmet in one go, though, you don't even notice. what works well in an anthology of hundreds of pages may work poorly in a serial.

i think the pace of the reader is often controlled primarily by the text - at least for me I find I sometimes have a tendency to jump very quickly over panels to get to the next bit of the story and have to consciously slow myself down to make sure I don't fail to appreciate the art. so while a series of text-less panels is effective artistically, you might want some words to act as speed bumps. but too much text per picture and your comic becomes exhausting to read, like Subnormality. and you don't want to over-explain what's conveyed perfectly well by the pictures, as many older comics do.

ideally, you use your text, small panels and large panels to create a sense of rhythm. a big splash panel can act as the full stop in a sentence, or a longer take after a series of rapid cuts. negative space is an especially powerful device in the right hands: when you hit a page of Chainsaw Man or Berserk that is almost entirely white after several pages of dense illustration, a character bursting into the void, there's an immediate 'wow' effect before you even process what's happening in the illustration. (i can't seem to find the chainsaw man example i had in mind, so here's one from berserk.)

and on that note, the other thing that comics have that animation doesn't is the impact of being confronted with the whole gestalt page. in the manga I was helping Fall translate when she died, We Are Magical Boys (Bokura wa Mahou Shounen), Fukushima Teppei frequently puts one panel much larger than the others so it dominates the page, usually a close-up or full length character portrait, allowing the cuteness of their unique art style to treasure centre stage. Sandman, which I'm currently rereading, is full of elaborate page compositions, where a drawing might not even be a panel per se, but a visual element. Witch Hat Atelier is full of elaborate borders and clever compositions. just look at this...

how did she come up with that! the absolute madwoman! the right side is relatively standard Atelier (establishing shots, the main cast eagerly stepping out of their panel) but on the left, we have a set of panels falling down from above onto a large splash panel. even though this image is concurrent, the panels invite us to appreciate it in chunks, and the page as a whole has this great visual of the pages of a book, continuing the image of the previous page. (more of this on upcoming post on Atelier)

a character emerging from their panel to overlap others, breaking up the monotony of the grid and adding a sense of depth to the page as a whole, is a reliably appealing motif. also, drawing one panel borderless, so it implicitly continues behind the other panels. large areas of black and white and choices of colour saturation can convey a mood to the page as a whole.

the danger you run is always the loss of clarity. the reader must be able to tell what panels to read in what order without thinking about it. Sandman will sometimes do a double page spread where you're supposed to read across both pages, and this consistently trips me up. Dresden Codak is by an adhd author and her drive to give every page an elaborate layout is very familiar to me, but especially in Hob, it messes with the flow of the comic overall.

so every comic page, every comic, is a fascinating balance of all these factors. how to create a strong, visually interesting composition, control the pacing appropriate to tone, create a thrilling sense of rhythm... all without sacrificing clarity.

not much more to say about this as yet, it's just something I'm thinking about while trying to lay out a page of Ghost Barrier. my tendency is to generally use larger panels, and try to be creative with layouts, but you have to consider not just each page in isolation but how they relate to other pages. so to make the splash panel land, I need to contrast with a denser page immediately beforehand.

the more I make comics the more of a feel I'll get. cool medium!

#comics

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beyondkion-blog · 30 days

Text

Rating Resident Evil Men’s Marriageability

Note: I tried my best to be impartial with each of the men, regardless of my personal opinions

Chris Redfield

Pros

Loyal

Protective

Trusting

Wants to see the best in people

Strong

Anti-capitalist

Cares deeply

Prioritizes family

Ass that you could bounce a quarter off of

Cons

Smoker

Prone to bouts of depression

Definitely has PTSD

Drinks to forget

Literally solves his problems by punching

Married to his job

Rude to waitstaff

Keeps secrets because “it’s better for you not to know”

Blames himself for things out of his control

Canonically a bit of a slob

Overall Score: 5/10 - Could do worse, but could definitely do better. High potential of being a stereotypical “straight husband”

Albert Wesker

Pros

Rich

Attractive

Super strength

Super speed

Verified genius

Might destroy the world for you

Looks good in a leather jacket

Natural leader

One of only two RE men to canonically have sex

Cons

Violent sociopath

Might just destroy the world in general

Obsessed with power

Believes himself to be superior to all other beings

Turned himself into a giant worm monster

100% would track your phone

Withholds physical affection as a power play

Overall Score: 1/10 - At best you’ll exist as a bored but scared trophy spouse. At worst he’ll dissect you as part of an experiment

Leon S. Kennedy

Pros

Loyal

Kind

Affectionate

Caring

Silly sense of humor

Protective

Willing to be emotionally vulnerable

Always wants to do the right thing

Soft hair

Trusting

Goes out of his way to help people

Cares deeply about his friends

Strong

Flexible

Tries to make the best of any situation

Dog lover

Drives a motorcycle

Cons

Definitely has PTSD

Prone to depression

Bordering on/alcoholic Degeneration and up

Body belongs to the US government

A little dumb

Should not be behind the wheel

Overall Score: 8/10 - Potential to be an amazing, loving husband with therapy and support, but may fall into toxic or even self-harm tendencies if left unchecked

Carlos Oliveira

Pros

Sweet

Protective

Kind

Physically Affectionate

Supportive

Strong

Cares deeply about the people in his life

Skilled with his hands

Emotionally vulnerable

Trusting

Wants to be the best person he can be

Willing to break laws to help those he loves

Natural provider (acts of service love language 100%)

Verbally affectionate

Sense of humor

Laid back attitude

Gorgeous hair

Respects boundaries

Cons

Probably has unprocessed trauma

Will do Dumb Guy Shit™️

Trusts too quickly

Will throw himself into dangerous situations without thinking it through

Will probably make inappropriate jokes without thinking unless you tell him specifically not to

Likely wanted in multiple countries

Overall Rating: 10/10 - Literally marry this man immediately. He will be a good partner, good husband, and good father. May need reigning in occasionally, but it comes from a place of love

Luis Serra Navarro

Pros

Always has the best intentions

Cares deeply about his friends and family

Tries to do the right thing

Sense of humor

Highly intelligent

Extremely curious

Debonair

Charming

Good dancer

Chivalrous

Book lover

Good with his hands

Cons

Doesn’t open up easily

Tends to trust the wrong people

Smoker

Doesn’t think things through

Prefers fantasy over reality

Doesn’t always keep his word

Self-serving

Unprocessed trauma

Tends to deflect

Overall Score: 5/10 - Potential to be a great partner, but would take time and patience to get there (best outsourced to a therapist)

Jake Muller

Pros

Snarky

Literally designed after male models

Loyal

Will have your back

Affectionate once he opens up

Surprisingly good with kids

Drives a Motorcycle

Self-sacrificing

Looks amazing in black leather

Cons

Daddy issues

Self-sacrificing

Tendency to only do things that benefit him

Takes a long time to open up

Illegal drug use

Wanted by multiple governments

Would need to be forced into therapy if he went at all

Overall Score: 4/10 - German Shepherd partner vibes. Would be forever loyal to you if you broke through his walls, but only to you. Probably wouldn’t stop any (self-) destructive habits of his either

Piers Nivans

Pros

Kind

Trusting

Loyal

Nice to waitstaff

Appreciates good food

Cares about the emotional well-being of his loved ones

Not easily deterred

Cons

Self-sacrificing

Codependent tendencies

Most likely has unresolved trauma

Hotheaded

Overall Score: 7/10 - The potential is definitely there, however - like Chris - Piers winds up with a high likelihood for being a stereotypical “straight husband,” mainly due to his upbringing in a military family

Ethan Winters

Pros

Loyal

Trusting

Kind

Good with kids

Indestructible

Gentle

Protective

Never gives up

Would still love you if you were a worm

Not easily scared

Domestic

Creative

Good under pressure

MacGyver skills

Soft

Self-sacrificing

Cons

Mold

Bad luck

Arguably too trusting

Self-sacrificing

Thousand yard stare

Overall Score: 10/10 - Like Carlos, marry this man immediately. Second only RE man to canonically have sex and the only one to get married. Just hope you don’t have a penicillin allergy

#resident evil #biohazard #leon kennedy #chris redfield #leon s kennedy #carlos oliveira #albert wesker #ethan winters #jake muller #piers nivans #luis sera navarro #luis serra #chris resident evil #re8 village #re4 remake #resident evil 6 #re3 remake #please get these men some therapy #tw sh mention

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shuhwaa · 4 months

Text

Tsuki | Edging [M]

Kinkmas 2023 - Day 23 Billlie Tsuki x gn!reader words: ~700 genre: smut (sub!Tsuki, dacryphilia, some begging, praise, edging, fingering, oral, multiple orgasms (all idol receiving)) warnings: none

"P-please! Can't take it anymore...!" Her sweet voice resounds in your ears as you're hovering above her, her thighs shaking from the way you've been edging her for quite a while now. You don't know how long you've been playing with her like this exactly, to be honest you weren't planning on dragging things out for this long, but the things her desperate pleas do to you just made you unable to stop yourself. You find beauty in Tsuki's contorted face, the way she's shutting her eyes tightly whenever she's coming close and how she looks up at you with tears welling up in her eyes when once again you don't give her that sweet release she's longing for. And you make sure to tell her that - how beautiful she is to you and what a good girl she is for letting you have your way with her.

And seeing the fucked out state she's in despite not having had a single orgasm that day you're starting to think that just maybe it's about time you give her what she wants. So you lean in and you brush a kiss against her lips, letting your mouth travel down her throat and the valley of her breasts before sitting up and starting to slowly pump your fingers in and out of her again.

"Baby... my beautiful girl..." you mutter, finding yourself breathless all over again from the image unfolding in front of your eyes. Her, grabbing onto the bedsheets until her knuckles turn white, the sweetest unintelligible whines falling from her lips and the blush gracing her cheeks. "You wanna cum that badly, hm?" She nods, mewling an answer that comes out as nothing but a desperate sound. "You've been so good for me too..." you continue your praises as you scatter some kisses all over her chest. "Letting me have some fun with you... you must be so frustrated..."

"Y-yeah..." she whines, strength leaving her voice.

"My poor girl..." you coo over her, "having to put up with all of this just so I can have some fun... I'll make it up to you, yeah?" You can feel her trembling when you leave a trail of kisses down her stomach, and you lick your lips just when you arrive at her core. "You want me to eat you out?" you ask. "Wanna cum in my mouth until you can't anymore?"

"Y-yes, please..." she whines, and her reaction makes heat rush through your veins.

"Then I'll take care of you, my sweet girl." You let the tip of your tongue circle around her clit slowly for a short while, but with how she moans at every oh so little touch of yours you realize she won't last long anymore. And so you speed up, wrapping your lips around the sensitive bud to suck on it gently, while you curl your fingers against that sweet spot inside her over and over again. It takes merely a few moments until you can feel her violently clenching around you, crying out from the pleasure finally overwhelming her and as you keep your pace steady, you drag out her orgasm for as long as possible. And then, as she's coming down from her high you give her a few seconds to catch her breath, before going right back to pleasuring her.

"Y/N...!" she cries out your name in surprise, squirming underneath you now.

"I told you I'll make it up to you..." you mutter in between your ministrations, pushing in another finger to fill her up just perfectly. Flicking your tongue against her clit at a steady pace, she continues moaning and whining at every single one of your touches, and in no time you have her coming undone a second time. Kissing the insides of her thighs as you give her another few moments to calm down, you then add,

"I told you I'll make you cum until you can't anymore, didn't I? And I keep my promises." And then you help her put her legs onto your shoulders so you could have even better access, and before you know it, you have her racing towards her next high as you continue eating her out.

#billlie smut #billlie x reader #tsuki smut #tsuki x fem reader #tsuki x reader #billlie x fem reader #billlie imagines #billlie scenarios #billlie drabbles #girl group x reader #girl group smut #gg x fem reader #gg smut #gg x reader #smut

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monsoon-of-art · 21 days

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I know a bit about computers so heres how some of the specs work:

-RAM: 8 GB is good for most things, but if you have anything real intensive (High definiton games or rendering) you should get more (and you can probably add more later depending on how many slots there are for that)

-CPU: how many cores is how many different threads (think of each computer process as an embroidery and each thread as a thread) can be processed at once and GHZ is the speed at which threads are processed. I'm not quite sure about how many cores and how much speed you need, but you should definitely get a CPU with multiple cores

-long-term storage: more storage is better, especially if you're going to be creating and saving a bunch of files (I reccomend 1 TB), also SSDs (Solid State Drives) are better than HDDs (Hard Disk Drives) in terms of data integrity (magnets dont destroy data) and data retrieval but im not sure about how long each type lasts. HDDs have mechanical parts that can wear down or break, but SSDs technically have a limited amount of uses of each tiny place where data is written

-graphics card/GPU: a seperate processor (sometimes even some RAM too) for rendering images on the screen, make sure that the computer you're getting does NOT have "integrated graphics" (or at least has a graphics card in addition to integrated graphics) because that is a tiny card that isn't very powerful at all

-cooling: water cooling is better than fan cooling, but you probably won't need it

-make sure the computer comes with all the ports and drives you want for it (CD/DVD drive if you want it, legacy ports if you want those for older devices, enough USB ports for the USB devices you want to attach to it)

Hope I helped! Good luck with computer stuff

thank you anon I could kiss you

I know im not gonna get the best computer on the market with my mediocre budget, but this is definitely gonna help narrow things down!

#im looking at some ibuypower and yeyian builds because they appear decent from my research

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 months

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WIBTA for reporting my neighbours for running a hack shop mechanic operation? [Long post, sorry!]

I live in a somewhat "bad" area. I really don't mean to judge people for who they are or what they do with their lives, but living here isn't pleasant. Unfortunately, the price divide between the "two sides" of my area is steep. You go from $60,000 houses to $400,000 houses with no middle ground, so moving isn't really an option unless I want to just change where I am in the "bad" side.

I live on a straight stretch of road, houses on one side of it, a wall on the other. This is relevant to the story. Its not a very long straight, but its straight, with two blind corners on either end.

Now, onto my neighbours. They're not good people. They deal and use drugs, there seems to be an endless supply of people moving in and out with them, they have uncontrolled and aggressive dogs that have caused issues in the area, they're known for fighting at maximum volume on the streets at 4am, they ride loud illegal (and stolen) bikes up and down the street at dangerous speeds and other things.

(With the latter, they've already caused two accidents, almost caused a lot more, and have already killed two animals by hitting them as they race up and down the street.)

Their latest thing, for the last year or so, seems to be running some kind of illegal workshop on bikes and vans right outside their house. At all hours. I've been woken up at 11pm and 4am before by insanely loud engine revving, and when I've looked out of the window they're on the street with torches, elbow-deep in engines.

This is a daily thing. And the engine revving seems to be a constant part of it. Even with my windows closed, I had to call off a work meeting once because it was so loud my team couldn't even hear me talking properly.

At least twice a day they have a van or motorcycle, sometimes more than one, that they're working on. They'll rev it a ton, rummage around, speed it up and down the street, then the cycle begins again the next day. Multiple people in my area have complained to them, but all they do is tell you to fuck off or threaten to beat you up.

Now the noise and the dangerous driving is one thing, but I'm also extremely dubious about the quality and safety of their so-called repairs. None of them seem to have any actual training in mechanics or how to properly fix what could be a legitimately dangerous issue in a vehicle.

If you know anything about vehicles you know that something "fixed" improperly can be deadly. If something fails in a vehicle when you're doing high speeds on the freeway, you can not only take your own life but possibly those of others, too.

And my neighbours do not seem like the kind of people who care about that.

I've seen them using duct-tape to fix up a motorcycle once.

Now normally, I've just turned a blind eye to anything happening in my area. The people who have been relocated due to their behavior have just been replaced by people equally as bad, if not worse, so I've learned to just stay in my lane, save my money and hope I can leave one day.

However this... Seems like something I should speak up about. I can respect a hustle and a little under the table income, but I cannot respect risking people's lives for some quick cash. Nor can I respect the fact that it triples the dangerous driving and dangerous people in the area.

So... My question is would I be an asshole if I at least tried to get the police to do something about this? Or, is it even worth it? Can anything be done about an unlicensed mechanics operation?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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pareidoliaonthemove · 27 days

Text

Left for Dead

Part One

Scott Tracy breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the wheels of the ‘conventional’ jet he was flying left the tarmac.

His never failed to feel lighter once he was no longer touching the earth, but this time the relief was more intense than usual.

As he guided the executive jet – once Jeff’s favourite plane, a sleek long-haul commercial jet that had been the Aviation arm of Tracy Industries flagship product, and dubbed ‘Tracy One’ – exactly through the ‘gateway’ at the end of the runway climb out, the radio crackled to live. The heavily accented English of the Departures Controller for Trondheim Lufthavn gave him his final instructions to clear the Lufthavn’s controlled airspace and join his filed flightpath out of Norway and back to Tracy Island.

He only let himself relax as he hit his cruising speed and altitude, and activated the pre-programmed autopilot.

Reaching back he caught the retractable tray table and dragged it towards him, before picking up his insulated mug, a custom-made gift from Brains that allowed him to ensure he had hot coffee available on a solo flight in the plane.

He couldn’t help glancing back at the safe built into the bulkhead at the back of the cockpit. He still had grave reservations about getting TI involved in the construction of the World Government’s new high-security computer system to be based in Norway; but the World Government had wanted Tracy Industries for their reputation for excellence and security, the TI Board wanted it, and most importantly John wanted it.

Scott tried not to think about the fact that his brother was likely to include a backdoor to the system.

But Scott had been convinced that it was in the best interests of all involved to take the project on, and he had gone to Norway to meet the key personnel and personally take receipt of the plans. TI facilities would produce the various key components and they would be shipped to Tracy Island for construction by one Hiram K. Hackenbacker

Scott sighed, even Brains had been excited by the prospect of getting to look at the designs, and the attendant programming that the hardware would be running. Something about the specifications for the “new ‘unbreakable’ encryption protocols”, and “the next major breakthrough in computing, practically quantum!”

Scott was worried that the two – three if Alan inserted himself into the mix – computer nerds would back-engineer the TOP SECRET computer and incorporate it into International Rescue’s equipment.

When – and Scott was not an optimist when it came to this sort of things, so it was when and not if – the rest of the world figured out that they had that technology, there would be some uncomfortable questions that Scott would be left to try to answer.

And he was resolutely NOT thinking about what Eos could do with all that processing power. Scott had reached a truce with the Space Monitor’s pet AI, but he hadn’t made peace with it … her. She had come dangerously close to killing John, ‘misunderstanding’ or not, ‘self-defence’ or not.

Harming his family was the one sin Scott Tracy could not forgive.

The next hour or so disappeared quietly as Scott brooded on his misgivings, carefully watched the plane’s gauges, and the sky.

Sometime after the onboard computer indicated that it had successfully completed its mandatory handshake with Chinese Air Control Scott stretched, arching his back and spreading his toes within the confines of his shoes. Flying alone was great for relaxation, flying alone long distances however … no matter how good the autopilot, a good pilot never left the controls unmanned.

Tracy One, while fast, was no Thunderbird One. I’m getting soft, Scott thought bemused. Too used to the multiple mach speed of his usual means of transportation.

Settling back into his seat, Scott once more scanned the gauges … only to see them all fade out as the engines whined their rollback to idle and shutdown.

Scott swore, unbelieving, hands once more on the controls, as he quickly hit two buttons, setting his transponder to squawk distress mode, and deploying the RAT, a small drop down wind turbine that dropped from the planes undercarriage and caught the airflow, generating enough power to get some gauges and controls working.

Fingers automatically worked at the controls, reconfigure for maximum glide, run through the midair engine restart procedure. And …

Nothing.

As Scott immediately recommenced the restart, he was on the radio: “Mayday, Mayday, Maday. This is November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Twin engine roll back, loss of power. Attempting restarts. Requesting assistance to squawk location.”

No response. Scott cycled through another engine restart attempt as he waited, nervously watching the altitude numbers seemingly freefall. There was no way he was descending that fast, surely?

Two more attempts at transmitting the mayday resulted in silence. The engines refused to restart.

Scott reached for his collar and swore. The meeting had been so high security even IR’s integrated collar coms were not allowed. And Scott had been in such a hurry to get back to the Island that he hadn’t changed his clothes, only ditching the ordinary – albeit obscenely expensive – coat, suit jacket, tie and cufflinks.

No direct link home. No mid-air rescue for Scott Tracy.

No matter. He could manage.

Abandoning his attempts to restart as the altitude numbers screamed down under the threshold.

His plane was going to kiss dirt. All he could do was make it as gentle as possible.

Scott switched his attention to scanning the ground below him, looking for a suitable space. Thank god he had elected to fly west towards home, meaning he was over the Gobi Desert.

Sand was preferable to water, no matter what Gordon said.

Sand would make for a nice soft runway, provided Scott managed a tail-first. Letting a leading edge dig in would be a disaster. Even with the International Rescue approved safety features retrofitted to the standard executive jet, there wouldn’t be much for his brothers to recover if she dug in and flipped, or windmilled around a wing.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Restart negative. Unpowered landing necessary. Requesting immediate assistance to squawk location.”

Scott breathed carefully, focusing on his search and not the possibilities.

There!

Off in the distance Scott spotted a level area, large enough for the plane to coast to a stop on her belly.

He breathed out, mentally calculated the distance and descent, and carefully reconfigured the plane, setting the ailerons and stomping on the rudder to bring her tail around into the head wind and shed speed: side-slipping. He gently slewed her back the other way, ensuring she maintained the correct heading, but shedding altitude and speed.

This was a dangerous aerial ballet. More so than any dogfight he had been in during his service. One wrong move …

Scott’s hands were sweating on the control yoke. His heartbeat deafened him.

Oh, there was going to be so many lost of control drills for his brothers in the future. It had been too long since they had run any.

His luck held all the way down.

He managed to line up to the long axis of the space, and his tail kissed sand at the edge of the smooth space.

Metal screamed as sand ripped at the undercarriage as Scott gently lowered the length of the plane onto the dirt, and deployed all flaps and slats, increasing the resistance to the air, even as the sand resisted the movement of the hull.

And Scott became a passenger.

He kept his feet at the rudder pedals, trying to keep the plane moving in a straight line. Yaw risked rolling. But it was largely a futile effort, the path was set, determined by physics, geology and … geography!

Scott’s heart leapt into his throat as the plane hurled itself over the top of a rising dune that had been hidden by his approach angle. It was a significant drop down the other side, and the plane had lost enough momentum that it had little aerodynamic power.

The nose fell, and Scott heard yelling.

It took the eternity the plane was falling to realise that it must be him.

Impact was hard.

Metal screamed as sections of the cockpit rushed towards him, dislodged and distorted.

Something above him broke loose, swinging down into his field of vision.

It was the last thing Scott saw.

Notes:

This is Part One of my last Febuwhump Prompt from MariaShades, Part Two will actually address the prompt, but work's been mental, and Scott's been a little shit and really didn't want to crash his plane ... Oh well, better late than never.

And if I post this half, I'll stop faffing around with it and actually write the second half. In theory.

#thunderbirds are go #fanfic #my fanfic #scott tracy #febuwhump2024 #better late than never #plane crash

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