#this is ambiguous but hes gonna come back at some point

[sabertoothwalrus]

hi !! just curious because i was looking at your adventure time episode guide and i love hearing other peoples adventure time takes !! how come you don't like finn's characterisation in together again?

I've talked about it before here and here!

But also I'm gonna say more and share some art I did in 2021 for a rewrite comic that I never got around to doing

So again to reiterate: Adventure Time is usually VERY good at making it feel like time passes, even when you're not watching. It's something about what they don't show that tells you everything you need to know.

Together Again did not do this.

It really really felt like they were avoiding showing Finn as an adult, as if they wanted to leave his post-show life ambiguous. Which, now that Fionna and Cake has shown us literally that, it makes Together Again feel even more wrong?? Like. imagine you have to pick a moment from your life that represents You™ the most. Together Again said that Finn, after living his whole life and dying as an old man, feels most represented by how he was at 17. I do not buy this. I am 25, and I cannot fathom identifying by my 17 year old self. I was a completely different person then, I was still cooking. I can imagine most people feel the same. And ok, so maybe Finn DOES for some reason feel stuck at 17? Explain to me why!! What needed to happen to him that made him feel that way?

And before you just say "it's because Jake died," there's still too much that was left out. How old was Finn when Jake died? What was Finn like, at that point? What else had they accomplished? What was he doing at the time that was on the forefront of his mind? Where/with who did they spend most of their time? Where were they living after the treehouse got destroyed?

It was like,,, it was like the story Together Again actually wanted to tell was about Finn's grief, and how poorly he copes, and how too much of his identity is tied to Having Jake, and how he struggles to move on. But that's not the story we got. I honestly think-- as interesting as it was-- everything with New Death and Tiffany and Lich just did a disservice to the focus, which was Finn trying to get over Jake.

I think Together Again should have gone like this:

Finn and Jake had always planned that whoever died first would wait in the dead world for the other to die so the two of them could reincarnate. Jake dies first. Jake would be able to "watch over" Finn as he lives the rest of his life, so Jake wouldn't miss Finn as much as vice versa, since he'd feel like he's still there with him. Eventually, Finn dies.

Finn's appearance would change with his emotional state. I thought it'd be interesting to show different phases of his life through the stages of grief.

There'd be a room where they could watch Finn's memories. Finn would walk Jake through the events of his life. We SEE exactly how Finn dealt with grief, with heartbreak, with love, with friends, with community. All the good and all the bad.

By the end of it, Finn is quiet. "Jake... when we reincarnate, will we.. lose all of this?" "Well, do you remember anything from any of your other past lives?" "No.. But that's the point. I don't want to forget you." Finn, despite their promise, despite Jake waiting for him all this time, declines reincarnating. He doesn't want to move on, because that would mean forgetting everything. He wants to say with Jake!! He JUST got Jake back!!

“What if— in the future— what if they forget about us? What if they don’t know about all the stuff we did?” We see Ooo in its current state. It’s changed, but it’s clearly been affected by the two of them. Every person they’ve saved, every civilization they helped build, every hero they’ve inspired. They’ve left their touch everywhere. “They’ll know,” Jake says with certainty. “We’ll know.” We see the future, with Shermy and Beth. We see the Finn Sword, and BMO with all their old belongings. Everything stays, but it still changes. Will happen, happening, happened. These have always been the themes of the show. They reincarnate, together.

#adventure time #together again #my art #finn the human #finn mertens #jake the dog #distant lands

[heyclickadee]

Guys, I’m gonna need the fandom to stop being weird about Phee.

Okay, so, first off, I’m not back. I’m still on break; I just logged in to check on the DMs? Made the mistake of checking the tags, and happened to see some real hot takes about Phee’s line about Tech and wrote this out before my better judgment kicked in. Two things:

1. From a narrative perspective, a NARRATIVE perspective, not a character perspective, a narrative perspective, Phee’s line has the exact same function as every other mention of Tech by the characters and visual reference to him through the season so far. We haven’t seen any single character process Tech’s “death.” And by processing Tech’s death, I mean that we haven’t seen a single character come to terms with it the way we, for example, saw Omega and Tech come to terms with Echo’s departure, or the entire ghost crew come to terms with Kanan’s death in Rebels.

In refusing to show us this, the show refuses to allow the audience to internalize Tech’s death as an actual event that has consequences and is expected to stick. In addition to this, the show pokes at us at least once an episode, whether by a single line or by visual cues, to remind us of Tech’s absence. In so doing, the show refuses to allow the audience to fully let Tech go; this only makes sense from a writing perspective if the absence is temporary and the much needed catharsis after an event like the first five minutes of “Plan 99” is going to come from something other than processing the character’s death—something like letting him come back. Phee’s line is just another one of those jabs reminding us that Tech is absent.

(Before anyone comes in here saying that they’re probably mourning Tech off-screen: They probably are. That’s not the point. The point is that there is purpose in what writers choose to emphasize. They have had plenty of opportunity to show us Omega or someone coming to terms with what happened, and plenty of time to do even more than that, because not only are they willing to stop for emotional moments—half the season so far has been Crosshair’s extended emotional moment and catharsis from two seasons of buildup. I’m actually not willing to argue about this at this point.)

2. The way Phee talks here is the way that every character has been talking about Tech the whole season. She’s not unique. The Tech mentions have largely been informative and impersonal—just enough to hurt, not enough to derail a conversation. The emphasis has not been on the loss of him as a person, but instead on his absence and how that makes life difficult. Once again, from a narrative perspective, this is because getting personal with the Tech mentions leads directly into the characters actually processing their loss; and since the show is not allowing that processing to happen since it’s almost definitely bringing him back, the little, slightly impersonal mention once an episode is as far as it can go in bringing Tech up. And since it doesn’t want us to forget about him either, that’s what we end up with. It’s not bad just because Phee did it too now.

3. From a character perspective generally speaking (of the whole cast), the way the mentions work reads to me as ambiguous grief. Remember that Hunter and co. never recovered a body, never really saw any evidence, and don’t really know what happened to Tech in the end. And, speaking from personal experience, not knowing can be emotionally paralyzing and can leave you incapable of processing your loss, because you don’t know if it’s a loss or not. They come across to me as stuck and unable to to anything that we see besides noting that he’s not there. He’s gone, they don’t know where he is; he might be dead, and he might not.

4. And, speaking of Phee specifically: Phee’s mention of Tech wasn’t overtly sad, but neither was Omega’s mention of Tech back in “Shadow’s of Tantiss.” Not everyone cries every time they bring up someone they lost. I don’t. Don’t expect everyone to outwardly react the way you want them too, please.

And, frankly (this IS a hill I will die on) Phee brought Tech up out of nowhere. They weren’t talking about him. She brought him up completely unprompted in an unrelated conversation, meaning he’s on her mind, meaning that, no, she’s not over it.

PS: Do not come into my notes and bring up Fives and the lack of Fives discussion in TBB. I love Fives, I love the domino twins, but Fives was a secondary character on a completely different show with a completely different kind of narrative structure. Not bringing him up in this show is not the same as not allowing the characters or audience to process the happened to Tech.

PPS: I’m sorry if I sound salty in this. I am. This isn’t really directed at anyone I follow or interact with on her, or really anyone who follows me; this is directed at certain parts of the larger fandom that are kind of exhausting.

PPPS: If anyone comes into this post to call me delusional for still thinking Tech is coming back because that’s literally what they’ve set up on screen, they’re getting instablocked.

PPPPS: Don’t @ the cast and crew on Twitter, guys. Just don’t. Think about what they’re doing and what you’re doing, and don’t.

#fandom salt #not tagging this under the main tag #because this is REALLY salty

[corazondebeskar-reads]

the devil you don't know (or however it goes)

hunter/raider!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: When Joel's men bring back the (adult) daughter of a rival group of hunters, he sees an opportunity.

Warnings: DARK, dub-con, Joel Miller is not a nice man, suspension bondage, abduction, captivity, themes of torture, mentions of past sexual abuse (not Joel), starvation, dehydration, a smidge of knifeplay, a pinch of bloodplay, seriously dead dove do not eat, ambiguous ending, reader has suicidal ideations because of anxiety and threat of imminent death, I mean it guys, this is somehow less depraved than the last raider!Joel but way darker, author makes up stuff about how garage doors work because google failed her but she's probably on a watchlist now so, canon-typical violence, gags, overnight bondage in an unsafe environment, reader's age isn't specified but she was an adult when the outbreak started

Prompts from this list by @absurdthirst.

also on ao3.

Back in the before, in all the movies and books, when the damsel in distress or dashing hero was captured, they woke up clueless. Thinking they were home before it all settled in. They’d write off the pain as a hangover or a friend’s shitty couch.

That’s not how it happened for you.

When your consciousness first blinked back into the world, you were already having a panic attack. Your brain had registered the clues long before you were involved in the process.

Your cheeks are already streaked with tears before you can open your eyes. Your throat is dry and aching, and you can’t breathe.

Of course, you don’t realize it’s a panic attack at first. You just assume you’re dying. Here in this damp, cold… garage?

Recognition snaps you out of it. You’re still gasping, ragged, like you’re full of broken glass, but you’re alert enough to look around.

You’re alone. Small mercies. Or maybe not, given the way you’re tied up. Coarse rope forces your arms behind your back, wrapped from wrist to elbow. Your shoulders ache from being yanked backward, but the length has some slack, at least, between you and the bracket on the thick steel wall.

No. Not a wall. A door. You’re tethered to a huge door, inflexible accordion-style metal punctuated with heavy-duty brackets. No windows, no rotting wood. Impenetrable.

The door isn’t closed all the way, but it’s locked into place. Even if you got your hands free, it would take time and strength to remove the locks and open it enough to slip out.

The air coming through the bottom is chilly but fresh.

It helps. Focusing on the cold shushes the other alarms in your body. Enough to realize it's not just your arms that are tied.

There are loops of rope around your thighs, tethered to the same point as your hands, and loops around your ankles, which are attached to the side walls nearby. Both grant you enough slack to move a little but hold your legs wide enough to prevent standing.

Not that it matters, you think, as a door on the other side of the room swings open.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” croons a man as he steps through the frame, the soft twang plucking at your heartstrings.

No. No. “Miller.”

“I was surprised to see you, too. M’boys said they found one of your daddy’s people in our territory. Imagine my face when they dragged you in.”

“So let me go. You know he’ll come looking.”

“Will he? Lotta blood out there.”

“Not mine.”

“Oh, I know. I saw the way you carved up one of my guys. You got him good.” He almost sounds pleased. “But daddy doesn’t know that, does he?”

“He’ll still look for me.”

“You think he’s going to break our pact for you? He’s gonna risk facing me over a runaway?” He pauses. “Were you runnin’ to me?”

“No,” you snarl.

“But you are runnin', ain’tcha?”

“No,” you lie. “I just got lost. He’s waiting for me for dinner.” Part of that, at least, is true. You would have never intentionally crossed into Joel Miller’s land.

“Alright, I get it. Better the devil ya know, right?” he grins.

You glared over his shoulder, refusing to look at his stupid, smug face. That was why you had stayed these last few years. When supplies ran lower and lower and your father found other ways to keep his men loyal.

At the end of the day, you had food, water, and shelter.

As you look anywhere but Joel, you see what fills the industrial metal shelving along the walls. There are stacks of boxes of bullets. Pallets worth of bottled water and canned goods. Cases of dried pasta. A couple dirty mattresses are leaning against the back wall. Your stomach sinks.

He sees you taking in the stock. “Sorry, would have kept ya in the other one, where we usually have our… guests, but see, it’s a little messy right now.” He pulls a Dasani out of a case and brings it over, pressing it to your lips after pocketing the lid.

You rear your head back.

“What, you think it’s drugged or somethin’?” Joel takes a big swig out of the bottle, a drop rolling down his chin. He swipes it away with the folded cuff of his denim button-up. “Why would we waste any of the good stuff on you?”

He offers it back up to you, and you let him pour it in your mouth. When he takes it away, you spit it at him.

He sighs. “Wish you hadn’t done that,” he says and tips the bottle over your head. “But if that’s the way you’re gonna be, I’ll go.”

But he doesn’t leave. Not yet. First, he presses and holds the button on the wall and watches as the pulley cranks to life.

The machinery grates, gears crying for oil, and you flinch from the noise. You don’t realize what’s about to happen until it does. The ropes holding you aren’t that long, and as the garage door slides up, it lifts you with it.

You scream. “Stop, please, put me down.”

Joel shakes his head, disappointment exaggerated in his scowl. “Shoulda been good. Now ya know.”

He releases the button when the door is open. You’re hanging, now, with your arms pulled to their limit behind you. Your shoulders already burn. The loops around your thighs and ankles keep you balanced at the expense of spreading you wide. You jerk, trying to… what? Trying to get out? You know that wasn’t happening, not like this. All you were going to do was dislocate your shoulders.

The late summer breeze blows in, and you shiver. Your hair and shirt are soaked.

“Don’t worry,” Joel jerks his head to the dark house across the street. “Ain’t got neighbors.”

He goes to leave, and you can’t help it. “Don’t, please!”

He stops and turns around, head to the side like you’re a puzzle he wants to figure out. “You gonna shut up, or do I gotta take care of that?”

Blood drains from your face.

He comes over to you and pulls a filthy bandana from his pocket. He rolls it up and ducks behind you. You try to lock your jaw, but he digs his fingers into the hinges until you open a little. He presses the bandana into your mouth, yanking back on it, and tying it tight behind your head.

“Night,” he tips his head, flourishing a hand like a fucking cowboy in a Stetson, and leaves, closing the door behind him.

You don’t sleep, waiting for hungry dogs or Joel’s men to find you trussed up.

When he comes back in the morning, you’re a wreck. You survived the fucking apocalypse, but none of it could have prepared you for this. You’re blinking in and out of consciousness.

There’s nothing but the pain. You’re sure you would have cried or thrown up, but you’re so dehydrated now that you can’t even spare a tear. It’s not lost on you that you got into this situation by wasting water.

“Chilly in here,” he says by way of greeting, tugging the bandana off you.

You keep your eyes closed. Imagining his smug smirk is bad enough, you don’t need to see him see you like this.

“You shoulda worn a jacket, sweetheart.”

“Did,” you croak, and wish you hadn’t fallen for his bait.

“Ah, someone took it from ya? Must have been a nice one.”

It was. It was patched up and ugly, but so was everything in this world. And it was warm. Heavy denim with quilted down lining. The last thing you’d ever take from your father, you thought.

He walks around you. You’d stiffen if you could, but you’ve long been stuck, muscles given out.

“Alright, let’s get ya down.”

At least the dehydration saves you from the whimper you almost let out. But it’s silent, and if Joel notices anything, he doesn’t react.

He walks back over to the door and presses the button. “S’gonna hurt like a bitch,” he warns before the door jerks backward, click click clicking as it lowers. It’s slow, but when your legs touch the ground, you may as well have plummeted.

You scream, wrenching it from your haggard throat, hands balled into fists behind your back. When you’re fully on the ground, you collapse against the door, only sparing a wince when your head bounces against the jutting metal seam between panels.

“Deep breaths. You’ll be fine.” He crouches down in front of you, same ratty denim shirt and jeans, same scuffed up boots. “You ready to behave?”

You nod, barely moving, but he gets the message.

“Y’look thirsty.”

You crack your eyes open to peek at him but can’t. They roll back into your head, lids fluttering.

You’re vaguely aware that he leaves and comes back but have no idea how much time passes. He crouches back down in front of you, and you hear the crinkle of a decade-old plastic bottle.

“If I give you this, are you going to spit it at me again?”

“No,” you whisper.

“You gonna ask nicely?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, but your brain is mostly static, so you give up without much of a fuss. “Please.”

He hums his approval and brings the bottle to your lips. He only lets you take tiny sips, infinitesimal in the arid expanse of your mouth. He pulls it away far too soon, and a soft sob leaks from you in its absence.

“You can have more later. Don’t need you gettin’ sick all over my garage.”

He leaves.

When he comes back late into the evening, you’re asleep, but you startle awake when he turns the light on.

Your wide eyes follow him as he moves about the garage. When he finally approaches you, it’s to offer more water. You accept it immediately, opening your mouth for the bottle before it even reaches you.

“Learned your lesson, huh? Good girl.”

It’s accompanied by a sneer, but that doesn’t stop the way your pussy clenches for a minute. Given that you’re still fully clothed, he remains blessedly unaware.

“Can you just, like, shoot me now or whatever,” you mumble. You know you’re not leaving that garage. You’ve seen where he keeps the top supplies. You know which house this is—or at least, the numbers on the house across the street.

“Nah,” Joel says as if you’re discussing what to eat for dinner. He sits down in front of you, knees bent up, leaning on them with the arm holding the water bottle. “You’re gonna help me first.”

“Why would I help you if you’re going to kill me?”

“Because I’ll make it quick for ya.”

You think you might throw up the water.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he gestures at you with his loose hand, now grasping a closed switchblade. “You know how this goes. Seen your pops do it plenty, right?”

You nod.

“I don’t think you’re gonna make me, though,” Joel muses, and scratches his chin with the outside of the blade.

“I was running,” you blurt. “If I tell you everything, I swear, he’ll never know, I just want to—”

“‘Fraid not,” he says, shaking his head. “Nothin’ personal, sweetheart, just can’t trust ya.”

The way you’re staring at him with your pretty eyes, glistening with fear, makes him scowl harder. He flicks the blade open and watches as a tear escapes before you close your eyes.

“Promise?” you whisper.

“Promise what?”

“Promise you’ll make it quick, if I tell you everything.” You’re shaking, and realize you’re probably about to have another panic attack as your breathing grows shallow.

“Yeah, I promise,” he says. He stands up and watches you, the way you’re clenching your hands into fists and trying to breathe out of your mouth.

“Jesus. It’s not gonna happen right now, calm down.”

Before he leaves, he gives you more water.

You’re awake when he comes back the next morning. He sits in front of you, legs crossed, and sets a cloth full of dried meat between you, and another bottle of water.

He picks up a thick strip. It doesn’t look like the shit they used to sell at grocery stores. It looks like they’ve salted and dried their own fucking jerky.

You stare as he rips off a piece and eats it.

“What? Y’ain’t got pigs?”

You shake your head.

“Jesus,” he sighs. “Is there even anything to take, or am I wasting my fucking time?”

“Lots of guns,” you shrug. “Some food. Not like you’ve got.”

Guns were more than enough of a reason, and you both knew it. He ripped another piece off and held it to your lips.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Here’s how this is going to go,” he says while you chew. “I’m going to ask you a question. If I believe your answer, you can have somethin' to eat or drink. If I don’t believe you, that’s when things get tricky.” He opens the switchblade and sets it next to the water.

It takes hours, but true to your word, you tell him everything. The layout of the old campground your father took command over. Patrol schedules. Planned raids. Locations of guns, food, medicine, everything.

By the end of it, you’d had two sticks of the jerky and the whole bottle of water. You look more alive than you have in days, given that you’d been thoroughly lost for two before stumbling across his men on patrol.

“Why’d you feed me?” you ask when he stands to leave. “Aren’t you about to kill me?”

“No,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Gotta see if your information is good. Probably won’t even make a move for a week or so.”

You tense. “You promised. You promised you’d make it quick.”

“I promised I’d make it quick when I kill ya. If you told me everything. Can’t prove you did until it’s done.”

He doesn’t know what he expected you to do, but screaming was not it. It’s a wounded, rageful thing. He hates it. He stomps back over and covers your mouth, blade in hand. It presses against your cheek, and you hiss.

He pulls his hand away and watches the blood drip down your cheek. You don’t scream again, but there’s something in your eyes when you stare him down.

“Coward,” you whisper.

His hand wraps around your throat, pushing you against the garage door. He doesn’t remember kneeling down close to you, but that’s where he finds himself as he squeezes, bringing the knife up above his hand.

You aren’t struggling, yet, His grip isn’t that tight. Some air still leaks, and you laugh. “C’mon,” you taunt.

He lets go. You slump down a little, chest heaving. There’s blood dripping down from the small nick in your neck to your cleavage.

You watch him watch it. “Can you at least clean that up if you’re going to leave me here?”

He doesn’t know what possesses him. It has to be the unhinged look in your eyes, spreading to him like poison. He grabs your jaw in the hand with the blade and pushes your head to the side so he can lean down and lick the blood off your breast. You moan.

He spits it to the side, and turns your head back to look at him. Your lips are parted, pupils blown. “Fuckin’ hell,” he growls, leaning back, putting distance between him and your tits.

“C’mon,” you repeat, but this time, it’s heady.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” But he doesn’t wait for you to answer. He grabs your jaw again and kisses you. It’s not kind or soft. It’s all teeth and snarls and the knife against your cheek. But you kiss him back, because it pleases the ravaging wildfire of rage that lives in your chest. Fuels it.

He pulls back. “Shit," he mutters.

“You gonna fuck me or what?”

He lets go. Stands up. You think maybe he’s going to get his cock out, but he stalks over to the door. “Or what.”

He slams the door so he doesn’t have to hear you howl in fury after him, spitting insults.

He doesn’t come back the next day.

By the second morning, you’re starting to panic. You’re so thirsty. The last bottle had a few dregs in it, just a sip, but it's just out of reach. The only light you have is when it creeps in from the little gap between the garage door and the uneven concrete.

When he comes that evening, he’s ditched the denim. He’s got tight dark pants and a gray t-shirt on. You don’t look at him directly as he gives you water and more of the salty jerky.

He crouches down in front of you again. You’re getting tired of it. Of his stupid pretty face and this stupid garage. Your arms are numb, and the pounding in your head hasn’t gone away since the first day. You don’t even know how long you’ve been here anymore.

“Why’d you ask me to fuck you?" It’s less of a question than a statement, but you know he expects an answer.

“Dunno. Thought maybe you would.”

“I’m going to kill you. Your pussy ain’t going to change that.”

“Didn’t expect it to.”

“What, you a virgin or something? You trying to get fucked before you die?”

“Or something, yeah,” you mutter.

“Shit.” He can’t believe he’s considering this. It feels like crossing one of the few lines he hasn’t crossed.

It’s not lost on you. “Are you having a fuckin' moral dilemma about this? You’re gonna gut me, and you’re trying to figure out if it’d be fucked up to have sex with me?”

“Not gonna gut ya,” he says. “Said I’d make it quick, didn’t I?”

“Oh my god. That was so not the point.”

“Shut up. Look at me.”

You do. He’s holding the blade again. “I verified your information yesterday. We’re going to make our move tomorrow. I’ll be back by sundown. You still want this?”

It feels like he dumped the water on you again. You shiver. So that’s it. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be gone.

“Yes.”

“Fine. But we’re doin’ this my way.” He walks away, and you think he’s going back inside until he stops and presses the button.

You’re shocked enough that all you do is gasp when the door lifts, pulling you into the air. He stalks back over to you and holds the blade up. “Hold still.”

You’re hanging in the fucking air. What does he think you’re going to do? Fly away? But you hold your breath anyway while he slides the knife between your skin and clothes. When you’re bare to him, he drops the knife and grabs your waist.

“You done anything? Anyone ever make you cum?”

You shake your head and murmur, “No, no one.”

When you look up at him, you’re surprised to see something almost soft behind his eyes. You glare. “What, is it going to make you feel less guilty if I have an orgasm?”

“What do I got to feel guilty for? You fuckin’ begged for it.”

“Then fuckin’ fuck me already,” you snap. Your arms hurt again. You want to fuck him, you want to land your fists against his stupid face, you want to not fucking die tomorrow.

But you can only have one of those things, so. “Please,” you say, and sigh.

He cups your breasts, stroking thumbs over your nipples. He leans over and licks, and you moan again, soft this time.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t gotta do that. Just fuck me.”

“Ain’t doin’ it for you,” he lies.

You don’t protest again, not after he takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks. He brings a hand to your cunt and thumbs your clit, sliding two fingers down to start working you open for him. He eases the first one in through your slick, and you whine.

“I’m not gonna be nice,” he says, panting a little. “It’s going to hurt.”

“Yeah,” you agree, watching as he stretches you open. Your legs are held so wide they ache, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from rolling back when he picks up speed.

He holds you tight when you cum so your arms don’t jerk too hard. It’d be a shitty end to a shitty life, you think, to wait all day with dislocated shoulders for him to come home and slit your throat.

Finally, he pulls his cock out. A man of his word, he doesn’t go nice or slow. It does hurt. His cock is thick and long, and he makes it fit even as your body tries to reject him. He hooks his hands under your thighs, forcing you to put some of your body weight on him as he fucks up into you.

It takes the pressure off your arms, and you suspect maybe he's strong enough to fuck like this without the help from the ropes.

The burn is exactly what you wanted. It stings, and you cry, silent but for a few whimpers. He pulls another orgasm out of you with his clever fingers on your clit.

When he comes, he pulls you to him and sinks his teeth into the meat of your shoulder. You wail, but you also cum again as he fills you.

You expect him to leave you there, dangling and dripping his spend. But when he lets go, it’s just to lower you back to the ground.

He tucks his soft cock away and zips up, staring down at you. You lay against the door, trying to catch your breath.

“What’d you mean by ‘or something’?” he says, surprising himself.

“S’nothin,” you sigh.

He sits down, offers you water. You drink and watch him, tense and untrusting.

“Was that the first time you’ve been fucked?”

“First time I ever wanted it,” you say.

His jaw ticks. “Answer one more question for me, ‘bout your father’s camp.” He waits until you meet his eyes. “If you’re strugglin’ for food, how’s he keeping all them happy?”

You flinch and look away.

He doesn’t need another answer.

You don’t expect to see him in the morning, so you’re startled when the door opens. He throws something on the floor, but you don’t have time to look before he’s crouched over you, knife in hand.

You had promised yourself you’d be brave and quiet when he came for you. But you thought you’d have time to prepare yourself, so when he brings it toward you, you flinch back and cry out. “Hold still,” he snaps. He doesn’t have time to wait for you to cooperate, so he holds your shoulder with one hand and slices through the rope with the other.

When he’s done, he jabs the knife in the direction of the pile of fabric by your foot. “Get up. Get dressed.”

You can’t stand. He huffs and pockets the knife, pulling you up. Your limbs barely move from the way they’ve been stuck, splotchy and limp from poor circulation. He helps you tug the flannel on and step into what must be a pair of his boxers.

He looks you over. “S’all I got.”

“Okay,” you say. You’re so confused. Between the pain, the hunger, the dehydration, and the fear, it’s a wonder you can string together a single thought.

“Let’s go,” he snaps as he heads for the door, like you were supposed to know already. When you get into the house, he grabs one arm and pushes you ahead of him, through a kitchen and living room and out another door.

Most of his men are in two vans, but Joel shoves you into a pickup truck. He buckles you in and waves a finger in your face. “You try anything, and it’ll take you days to bleed out.”

You just nod. You’re thinking now that he probably doesn’t want to kill you in his house. Blood all over the stockroom would be a pain in the ass.

At least you got to see sunshine again.

It’s not a long drive, but you keep your eyes closed. The autumn sun is weak, but you think you might cry as it brushes your skin.

Joel doesn’t say a word.

You don’t open your eyes until he parks. He hops out and comes to pull you out the other side, but when you see where you are, you panic and try to push him away.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps. “Get out of the fucking truck.”

God. Everything you’d heard about him is true. Was he really this cruel? Monstrous enough to drag you back, to die here when you’d finally escaped?

Or—has he struck a deal? Is he going to give you back to your father?

You can’t breathe.

Joel crowds you against the truck, hands on your shoulders, and shakes you a little. “Snap out of it, I ain’t got time for this. Stick with me and keep your mouth shut.”

For a moment, neither of you move. You get control of your breathing and realize he hasn’t restrained you. He didn’t give you shoes, but you still know this land far better than he does. You told him all your father’s secrets, but not yours.

“Don’t,” he says. It’s the softest he’s spoken to you yet.

And, god help you, you nod.

Two of Joel’s men are struggling to hold your father when Joel drags you into the living room of the main cabin. He’s holding your wrists behind your back, his gun pressed into your side.

“Oh, thank god, honey, you’re okay,” your father says, but his face falls when he sees the gun. “C’mon, Miller, let her go. She’s not a part of this.”

“She is now,” Joel says. “Found her on my land. Ain’t that right?”

You want to close your eyes, want to ignore your part in this, want him to just fucking shoot already, but you can’t look away from your father’s face.

“I swear to god, Miller, if you laid a hand on her—”

“Like your men did?” He waits and doesn’t receive a response. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“You know how it is,” your father says. He can’t read Joel, never could. “Everyone’s gotta contribute somehow. Keep morale up,” he plows forward, oblivious to the dangerous way Joel’s eyes have darkened. “Look, I can look past it. Whatever you did, she probably had it coming, for trespassing. We can call it even.”

Joel’s slow smirk is feral. He nods. For a moment, your father breathes with relief. But Joel isn’t looking at him.

His men move quick, and your father is on his knees in just seconds. They struggle to hold him down with hands on his shoulders, but he stops fighting when Joel lifts the gun away from you.

He doesn’t aim it at your father, who has to watch as Joel flips the gun in his hand and offers you the grip. He didn’t even notice that Joel had let you go.

You don’t say anything. You look at Joel for a moment, and your father watches you slowly move to take the handgun. He has the nerve to look relieved again, until you stop, holding it in both hands in front of you, looking at it.

“What are you doing? Shoot him!” your father says.

You look up at your father, grimacing against the bile rising in your throat.

You look at Joel again, gun heavy. You wonder what would happen if you let it drag down, out of your fingers, to the knotty pine panels that cover every surface. You wonder what would happen if you clasped your fingers around the weight of it and raised your arm to the left.

Joel’s men watch him, unsure. He holds up a hand and waits, watching the glow from the hearth dance across your face.

“Shoot them, you stupid girl, and get me out of here.”

Joel steps closer, puts his hands on your waist, and leans in. “Up to you, darlin’,” his hot breath against your ear.

You pull the trigger.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #dark!joel miller #raider!joel miller #hunter!joel miller #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #the last of us smut #dead dove do not eat #kinktober 2023

[henneseyhoe]

I Think She Like Me.

Oc x BLACK!FEM!reader

WARNINGS: smuttt, masterbation, gay shit, smoking, sexual confusion.

Summary:your girl crush wants you more than you thought.

Ps. This is my first girlxgirl smut so please give feedback and advice if y’all can! Also some of this is unedited but it’s late so I’ll do it later Lmfao.

✮✮✮✮

Raven.

Look at her. She was so. Damn. Fine. The way she applied pink tinted gloss to her already two toned pink lips had my thighs clenching, wishing she was in between them instead to halt them from closing, my very own honey flooding her tongue as she made it her mission to lick up every drop that spilled from this pussy, which she claimed belonged to her.

Just gawking at her like this made me confused. I was confused looking at her and her beauty, but something in me said I didn’t have to understand to admire, and I was fine with doing that without dissecting my feelings towards her, or any other woman for that matter.

“You got a staring problem” I hear from besides me, making me look back down at the assignment papers I was really supposed to be focused on. I heard Marlo sigh. “I’ve been talking for five minutes and all you can do is stare across the room! Who you thinkin’ bout’, shordy? Me?” My bestfriend teased, poking at my stomach. I chuckle and swat his hand away, pulling my crop top down to cover the place he poked.

Marlo wasn’t a fan of being ignored, especially by me. He demanded attention all the time like the extra drama king he was. You’d think he wouldn’t want any more attention with how racially ambiguous and confusing he looked as a whole, but I stood corrected.

“Cut it out. I’m just…thinking of ideas”

“What kind?”

I glare at him, getting ready to say something smart, per usual. “The kind that’ll get us both an A, nigga” He kisses his teeth, us both laughing because he knew he wasn’t gonna do any work that was helpful anyway. He was never any help during these group assignments, but I was use to it after two years of friendship. If it didn’t have anything to do with the frat he pledged to, or girls, he wasn’t interested.

“You know you ain’t shit for not helping me”

“Ain’t shiiiit?” He held his chest, gasping. “I provide the supplies, mamas. Ion need to help if I’m spending money”

“Yeah, yo ass need to buy us an A so I don’t have to work either” I shook my head, and he shrugs.

“Speaking of buying A’s, here comes bird chest and her AyE kAy aYes” he joked, making fun of the group of girls walking towards us, specifically pointing his insult at his ex, Alicia, and her new C cup titties.

I kept my giggles to a minimum and lowered my gaze to avoid any unnecessary looks from any of the girls that’d have my heart ready to jump out from my throat and onto the table in front of me. Obviously that was unsuccessful, Raven greeting me with a soft spoken “Y/N” while walking by me with a sultry sway, her dropping a paper besides my hand and sliding it into my main view before she made her way out of the cafeteria with the rest of her friends.

“Well damn, I’m invisible?” Marlo grumbled, his eyes following Raven just as intensely as mine. It was obvious we were both looking at her ass sitting up in that skirt. I took it upon myself to control my urges and turned away first to avoid any questions, picking up the flyer in front of me. Reading the paper that was just given, my eyes skimmed over the words to get the gist of what was going on, but before I could even finish, the paper was snatched out of my hand by Marlo, a devious smile on his face.

“Ouuu! Y’all havin a sleepover, how cute is that? A bunch of girls in ya’ girly little bras and laced panties, braiding each other hair and painting toes all night” his tone got more perverted as he went on, a disgusted groan leaving my mouth.

“You’re a pervert” I say, snatching the paper away and reading the rest of it. He laughs and peaks over my shoulder to read the rest of the paper. “It’s at Raven’s house? Matter fact, I think imma come” He smirks, but I shoved the paper back in his face before he could settle on that idea. “No boys allowed! Have fun beating your dick to the thought tonight though” Getting up from my seat, I excuse myself from the conversation by walking away. Marlo sucks his teeth and stands from his seat, walking the opposite direction of me.

✮✮✮✮

“Aye! Raven!” Marlo shouted, the girl stopping dead in her tracks. Letting out a sigh, she turns to him, a sassed hand placed on her hip. She could smell the bullshit a mile away. “Why do you always find me? What now, Marlo?” She asks, having no time for his daily shenanigans he always attempts to pull her into for some odd reason.

“You ain’t call me last night. Wassup wit’ that?”

“I gotta talk to you everyday now?”

His lip arched up and he looked at her up and down. “Ian askin’ you to cupcake wit’ a nigga, I’m just wondering why you ain’t call”

“Cause I didn’t have to…” she shrugs, looking around, waiting for the perfect time to exit. Marlo chuckles with no humor. “That’s how you act after you put the pussy on somebody?” He boldly mentions. Raven took all disrespect to him even approaching her, but talking about them fucking in public? A big no-no.

Raven squints, ready to bite his head off for mentioning their little “moment” together. “I told you not to tell nobody, and yet here you are, talking about it freely”

“I didn’t tell nobody, but why you don’t want nobody to know we fucked? It ain’t even that deep”

“It is! I don’t need everybody knowing who getting this pussy, and you not about to have my name out here” she huffs, frustrated that she even had to explain that to him. “I knew I shouldn’t have fucked wit’ ya’ ass! Y’all niggas chat more than women” she fussed.

Marlo kisses his teeth, waving her off. “Man, cut the bullshit. You probably got a nigga and don’t want word to get around”

Raven laughs, shaking her head. “Ain’t nobody worried bout no nigga, irritating ass. Now lemme get to my class ‘fo you make me late” Her accent became more pronounced the more irritant she got.

she turns to walk away, but Marlo was stubborn and was planning on bussin her down again by the end of the day, so he pulls her right back to place. With undeniable anger, Raven jerks away from him, her hot head traits popping out like never before. Too bad for her, Marlo was also quick to get loud.

They argued. Back and forth. Marlo’s Brooklyn accent over lapped with Raven’s Creole one, a loud, hot mix of cajun and tajin that would have never lasted in a relationship.

“You know what- I got sum fa’ you!” Raven said, her hand held up to the boys face. He immediately stopped talking, his head tilted and his eyes in a squint. “Whatchu got for me, ma? Huh?” He asks, his tone threatening, but Raven was unfazed.

“You’ll see when I’m fuckin’ ya’ friend” She smiles. Her statement was both a threat, and a promise, and Raven was a woman to always keep her word.

“…Excuse me?”

“You heard me” She stepped closer. Marlo only had one friend that Raven knew, and he knew that friend wasn’t on no freak shit like that. Or so he thought.

“That sleepover tomorrow night? I’m gonna fuck your best friend”. Marlo stood there, unimpressed with the threat. “Okay. You have fun with that, Raven” and with that, she walked away, leaving a salty Marlo in her dust.

✮✮✮✮

“Listen up, ladies! First task of Raven’s super summertime slumber party, we gotta take our shots. And no pretending, I’m willing to smell breath after this to make sure!” Raven announced, the girls laughing and taking their shots as soon as they were served to them. Everyone was packing into the kitchen to get their own drinks of choice, downing them with small “eck”s and “yuck”s leaving their mouths.

I shivered as I took my shot, patron being my choice of liquid death.

“Oh, you got balls” I heard from behind me as I finished my drink. I cleared my burning throat and turned, Raven giving me a soft smile as she took a small sip of her drink.

I paused, looking around to make sure she was talking to me. “Yeah, you” She confirms.

“No chaser?” She asks, grabbing at the punch bowl on the table next to her and pouring herself a little more of whatever spiked drink she had in her red solo cup.

“Yeah, no. I don’t do chasers” I answer, my energy becoming more reserved like I wasn’t just shaking my ass to the yinyang twins a few minutes ago.

“You like the taste of it without a chaser?” leaning closer to me, I feel her hand brush against my lower back, softly pushing me aside to grab a piece of chocolate that was offered out for everyone to take as they please. I nod, watching her take a bite of the Hershey kiss, then lick her lips to rid them of the droplets of alcohol and chocolate that didn’t make it into her mouth. I could only hope she knew what else she could do with that damn tongue.

“What else do you like? The smooth or the burning feeling?”

“Both..I like how it feels going down” I answer, and she smirks.

“I like how it feel going down too”

She hums, eyes trailing down my body. It was like she was only using the conversation as a way to freely steal glances. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was checking me out. “..Nice top by the way” Darting her eyes back up to mine, she takes another sip of her drink, then simply walks away.

‘What the fuck?’ I questioned myself. If I didn’t have my thighs clenched so tightly right now, I probably would have already had dampened my panties by now.

✮✮✮✮

Minutes later and there was music blasting, dancing, card games, but most importantly, and my favorite part, a blunt rotation. The blunt was passed around more than twenty times by now between me, Raven, and five other girls who decided to partake.

“I think I’m feelin it!” Tinesha gasps, smiling to herself. I chuckle at her reaction and take a strong pull from the blunt, passing it to Raven right after. She happily takes the blunt from me, her soft fingers caressing mine simultaneously to her taking the spliff from me.

I attempted to ignore all over her subtle, yet not so subtle movements and comments towards me. I felt like I was tripping for even thinking she was coming onto me. Maybe it was the shots and this blunt.

Weed smoke surrounded all of us, the taste of herb and alcohol parading my tongue. I blew smoke into the air and smiled, the girls around me cheering me on.

I felt my body relax in the couch as the minutes ticked by, the heat of Raven’s body next to me giving me a sort of comfort as I tried to find calm in my current space. I could physically hear my heartbeat in my ears now, and I was thinking about how bold I had to be to actually come to this sleepover, but it must’ve looked like I was geeking instead of panicking.

“You feelin it yet?” Raven asks, her leg making its way over mine. I felt her run her freshly done toes up my shin, her touch sending sparkling tingles through me. It was like my brain went into panic mode, my first thought being to jump up. Was she really coming onto me?

“We should go change for tonight!” I declared suddenly, the girls attention falling onto me. If I were them I’d look at me like I was crazy, but seeing that the weed was louder than a frat house, nobody saw a problem with my sudden urge to end the night. “Ouuu, yes! I bought us all these cute onesies to wear tonight for pictures” one of the girls exclaimed, standing up and running off to the living room to grab the clothing.

“I actually need to take another shower, so imma take this outfit change as an excuse” Tinesha spoke up, one other girl agreeing. A shower is just what I needed to cool me down. “I’ll take one too” I said, wiping my sweaty hands in my jean shorts. “I guess I’m taking a shower too” Raven says, smiling.

✮✮✮✮

Like I said before, a shower is just what I needed. The bathroom was huge, and the shower alone was bigger than any I’ve ever been in before. The water was hot, just how I liked it, and the water pressure was enough to send me to heaven. It honestly almost did when I was rinsing off with the detachable shower head and accidentally put it too low, the water grazing my clit ever so slightly, but it was still enough to make me let out a stifled moan as my knees buckled.

I had to quickly get out of there before I started something.

Wrapping a towel around my body, I grabbed the clothes that was given to me and exited out of the fogged up bathroom, walking through the long hallways of this house that was quite literally made for a princess. The house was huge, no doubt. Five bedrooms, a bathroom in each, outdoor pool, basement AND attic, even a kitchenette to compliment it all. I’d love to live in some big ass castle like this, but obviously it wouldn’t fall into my lap easily, and I wasn’t born with a silver spoon. Raven though? Born a heiress to both her parents fortune. Her mother was an accountant, and her father a successful realtor. She had it made.

I knew because I may have done some snooping on a few girls upon deciding whether I wanted to pledge AKA or not.

‘Damn, does this place end?’ I asked myself as I picked a random room to change in, assuming not all of them could have been occupied. Twisting the door handle, I walk in, but immediately stop in my tracks once I realized it was occupied, specifically by Raven.

“Oh! I’m sorry! I’ll go to another room-“

“No, come in! I don’t bite, I promise” she smiles, holding the towel up to her body.

“Y-..you sure?”

“Yeah! The rest of the rooms are occupied too so you might as well” I nervously chuckle. “All of them?

“All five, baby” She confirms, giggling.

I clear my throat and hesitantly walk into the room, my heart beating like a drum in my chest. “Close the door, silly. I don’t want just anybody seeing my goodies” she says, flipping her 26 inch bundles off of her shoulders.

I slowly close the door behind me with my foot, my arms clutching my clothes close to me. I had never been alone with her before, or any woman like this. Not this close, not this naked. I felt hot, and not in the heated way.

Easily slipping off her towel as if she wasn’t naked underneath it, she begins moisturizing her body with what I presumed to be oil. My hands fly up to my face at lightning speed and my clothes fell to the floor, a light gasp leaving my mouth at how it happened so quickly. I couldn’t tell if she was being promiscuous or if she was just that comfortable with me. Something told me it wasn’t the second option.

I heard her let out a shallow sigh, like she was tired of my reactions. “Raven I-“

“I want you to look….” She interrupts and I tilt my head, my hands still covering my eyes.

“What?”

“I said, I want you to look. You want to anyway. Cmon..” she pried. my breath was shaky as I slowly let my hands down, the girl continuing with her previous actions.

I had never been this open with women before, it shocked me how she was so free. Just last year I was convincing myself that I was straight. I was wrong. I don’t know what I am, but looking at the scene in front of me, it definitely ain’t that.

She rubbed oil over her torso and arms, her hands smoothing over her collar bones before making their way down to her titties. Round, brown, perky, pretty. She had tits models would die for. Her nipples were hard, standing at attention as her fingers caressed over them, her plump lips letting a moan slip right passed them. The touching was constant, her hands never leaving her body with her left hand sliding towards her freshly waxed pussy.

You could immediately see the glow and sheen the oil gave her lips as she used her entire hand to spread the oil over her before taking her middle finger and sliding it between her lips for a split second, a smirk growing on her face as I watched in almost a controlled state, not missing a beat.

“You wanna watch?” She asked. I didn’t even have to answer before she climbed into the bed and laid on her back, her ass slightly hanging off the bed with her legs spread wide, giving me a clear show of everything she had. Umber on the outside, rose pink on the inside. I couldn’t even help the jumping of my clit, my slick coating between my thighs as it had no barrier to stop it.

Ravens fingers danced around her slim body, one of her hands still working on tweaking her nipples as the other did as it pleased with her pussy, a singular finger playing with her pink button. She rubbed in circular motions with her jaw slack, breathy sighs leaving her mouth and moans following after. She could feel my urge to fall to my knees, but she gave me no permission.

Her juices her slowly pushed out of her as she clenched around nothing at all, her fingers tracing down to spread a little of what was urging to touch the sheets under her. She only rubbed faster from this point on. Her toes curled, and her moans picking up. her hips bucked upwards, and her legs shook. She came so gracefully with a constant lull of her head, her fringes falling into her face once she picked her head back up and looked at me.

“You like me…don’t you, Y/N?” She spoke suddenly, controlling her breathing.

“…yeah” I answer, nodding.

“So..can I make you cum tonight?”

“Yes, please” She smiles.

“Come lick me up and I’ll make you cum as many times as you want then”

✮✮✮✮

#black fanfic writer #black fanfiction #black!reader #masterlist #black actors #black reader #black!fem!reader #black!oc #smut masterlist #enby #lesbian #black lesbian #oc x you #oc stuff #oc x reader #oc smut #oc x reader smut #oc x you smut #original character #henneseyhoe

[neo-zone]

Anyway, more tease and sneak peak for Sweet Home season 3

Gonna put this "keep reading" in case some people don't wanna be spoiled

Interesting things to note :

Hyun-su's monster side is still in control at season 3

It seems that the main conflicts will be Hyun-su vs Eun-hyeok and Hyun-su vs Bamseom Neohumans (including Wui-myeong ofc)

Hyun-su's real self will be absent, as he resided to the back of his consciousness to rest after nonstop batch of trauma he was forced to deal with. How long it is, well, we will only know when season 3 is released

Hyun-su's monster side seems to only do what real Hyun-su thought/would do rather than acting on his own personal interest/gain

More confirmation of Hyun-su x Eun-yu

The ambiguous potential of Eun-hyeok and Eun-yu's plot point not having a happy ending

Ah, fuck. I guess my fear about antagonist Eun-hyeok really gonna come true 🫠🫠🫠🫠 And what the fuck is the "we don't know if it's gonna be happy ending or not"???? OH, COME ON 😭😭😭😭😭

#sweet home #sweet home netflix #sweet home season 3 #cha hyun su #cha hyunsu #cha hyun soo #cha hyun-su #lee eun hyuk #lee eun hyeok #lee eun-hyeok #lee eun yoo #lee eun yu #lee eun-yu #get ready for real actions and more angst folks #oh i just realized one of the teases basically confirmed one of my hyun-su's alter theory #yay i guess? #i'm never gonna be ready for the lee siblings angst in season 3 #god imagine if it's gonna be the reverse of their season 1's dynamic with eun-hyeok being cold and uncaring to eun-yu instead

[super-paper]

so what are your thoughts about what happened to og!afo? while og!afo was able to stop pretending right before his death, i feel like it was just... not enough? do you think his character arc is not over yet and will continue with vestige!afo? because i can't stop thinking about 368 where shigaraki's face changed to afo's pre!potato face upong seeing yoichi and how in 369 afo kept saying "not yet, not yet!" and talking as if he still has some kind of a last card up his sleeve. and that trump card was mentioned again in this chapter.

If this were the actual conclusion to AFO's arc, I wouldn't feel satisfied! But like you said, Hori has already gone out of his way to include the "trump card" line and left the actual fate of AFO's vestige deliberately ambiguous (ex: using words like "suppressed/defeated" instead of "killed" to describe vestige-for-one). Like, there's a lot that points to his arc not being finished yet, imho.

That said, I do believe AFO's "trump card" is gonna be something particularly heinous, and may involve him tipping his hand/finally revealing his involvement in the Shimura Family massacre. Like, something we have to keep in mind is that Tomura sincerely believes that he killed his family intentionally and that he """enjoyed""" killing them + enjoyed destroying his home— it’s what he considers to be his origin, and "remembering that origin" is what allowed him to take back control of his body. So in theory, all AFO has to do in order to shatter Tomura's sense of self is cast doubt on that "origin" (which in turn may create a necessity for Tomura to finally remember his *actual* origin in order to take back control of his body again).

Like, I gotta stress: AFO's villain mask/demon lord persona finally slipping off to reveal the pitiful and desperately lonely human underneath does not equal him suddenly becoming a good person, so I'm 100% expecting vestige-for-one to try and pull some truly awful bullshit at the absolute worst possible time lmfao.

----

Anyhoo, a couple more points to consider:

I know I'm beating a dead horse at this point, but once again: names are everything in mha and Hori 100% wants his readers to pay attention to what names are being used/emphasized during key scenes-- especially when it comes to names being used to separate fantasy from reality, authentic from inauthentic, and the "actor" from the "character/role."

Chapter 393 begins with the LOV discussing the meaning behind hero and villain names and encouraging Toga to pick a villain name for herself (with Toga ultimately deciding to use "Toga Himiko" written in katakana as her villain name because she ultimately just wants to be seen as herself)-- chapter 393 then ends with Ochako referring to Toga as "Himiko-chan," in a stealth rejection of Toga's stealth villain name. Bakugo resurrects and starts proudly referring to himself as "Kacchan" instead of “Great Explosion Murder God" + starts calling Izuku by his given name in total earnest. Meanwhile, Tomura stops referring to Izuku by his given name and starts referring to him as the much colder and distant "hero." Etc etc.

With this in mind, AFO still not having a name reveal-- not even during his own damn flashback/origin chapter-- is something that sticks out like a sore thumb.

This chapter was (appropriately titled) our farewell to "All For One: The Demon Lord/The Villain King/The Shameless LARPer" It's not necessarily our farewell to "*insert name here*: The Cataclysmic Mess Of A Person" yet. Yoichi and Tomura are the only ones who can properly say farewell to that side of AFO, because despite everything, they're the only ones who have some semblance of pity/"affection" for AFO as an actual human person (not as a god, or an object of worship, or a villain king, or a "role").

Death and Rebirth continues to be one of the big (and criminally underrated) themes of the series-- MHA frequently plays with the idea that part of a character's identity/alter-ego can "die" while their body lives on (or conversely, that a person's will can take on a life of its own and live on even if their body dies. which. y'know.)

All Might """dies,""" but Yagi Toshinori lives. Touya """dies""" and Dabi is born. Tenko """dies""" and is "reborn" as Shigaraki Tomura. Endeavor """dies""" during the PLW, leaving the world's ugliest crier Todoroki Enji behind. The representation of Keigo's hero identity (the fierce wings vestige) """dies""". Bakugo switches it up by dying for real, but upon resurrection, sheds his conceit and discards the "mask" he used to conceal his insecurities. Etc etc.

AFO himself has always been born (and reborn) from death. He takes his very first breaths while next to the corpse of his mother and half-dead brother. He died once, but was brought back to life by someone that society rejected and AFO ""accepted"". He has now died a second time, triggering a subtle change in Tomura that has made him even more dangerous (i.e. Tomura has started using the AFO quirk again, and more specifically, is now using the AFO quirk to whittle away at the collective "will" of OFA by stealing the vestiges one by one. This Action Will Have Consequences.jpg)

Killing AFO does not actually solve the root problems of this story, nor does it fix the longstanding problems of heroaca society (which all precede the advent of quirks and the creation of the hero/villain system)-- or rather, it might be better to say that AFO will never *truly* die as long as the world remains fundamentally unchanged. AFO is enabled by the status quo! He is allowed to keep existing and able to continuously resurrect himself over and over and over again as the ultimate villain specifically because of it.

My theory right now is that AFO will only die permanently when A) He is finally acknowledged as a human individual and given a name, and B) when Izuku finally takes Tomura's hand + Tomura is "finally taken out of the garden and back into the house," symbolizing the radical shift in the status quo that empowered (read: created) AFO in the first place.

Also worth mentioning: body!AFO and vestige!AFO are heavily implied to have some sort of "shared" awareness with each other-- we even see body!AFO flashing back to the UA cage match during his mental breakdown. This means there's a chance what body!AFO was feeling at the moment of his death might spill over to vestige!AFO, allowing for his arc to continue seamlessly from where it apparently "left off" during this chapter.

Which is good! Because this chapter has AFO finally admitting that "nothing is good" without Yoichi while also indirectly confirming that yes, the various traumas from his childhood DID in fact play a major role in his development into a villain-- AFO and Yoichi growing up in a society that ignored them is basically what fuels AFO's ridiculously self-detrimental attention seeking behaviors (like the AFOmight fight becomes retroactively hilarious when u realize AFO was trying to get as much attention out of mangling Toshi as possible and that his obsessive need to kill Toshi in front of an audience is what ultimately led to his downfall 💀It's, uh, marginally less hilarious when u also realize that he impulsively killed Yoichi bc Yochi had stopped looking at him. 😬)

Anyway....!! AFO and Yoichi are both the "source" and the representation of the main conflict in this series-- og!AFO fizzling out without any fanfare is admittedly an appropriate narrative punishment for someone who wanted to be the eternal star of the show, but it doesn't offer a proper resolution to the actual conflict of the series: the cycle of irrational fear and insecurity leading to a lack of understanding, lack of understanding leading to rejection, rejection leading to the creation of villains, villains creating more fear in civilians and leading to the necessity of heroes, which inevitably leads to even more rejection, and so on and so forth, etc etc etc. Yoichi and AFO exist at the center of this cycle, representing it in its purest form-- and Tomura is the ultimate consequence of this cycle.

Ultimately, I feel like vestige for one’s death may be….. gentler, for lack of a better word. Less focused on karmic punishment and more focused on giving Yoichi and Tomura a sense of closure. Like, it's honestly not about what AFO "deserves," but what Yoichi needs in order to finally pass on and what Tomura needs to finally detangle himself from AFO (although in the spirit of keeping it completely real, all three of them need to detangle themselves from each other lmfao💀💀💀). Neither Yoichi or Tomura have ever been granted a chance to truly grieve the loss of themselves or their families, and AFO is at the root of that as someone who is both "family" and as someone who also took everything away from them.

tl;dr Hori can eat his cake (punish AFO for his hubris by having him fight, lose, and die against versions of himself that *chose* to be better or regret how they treated their own "Yoichis"-- i.e. Toshinori, Endeavor, Bkgo) and have it too (finally resolve the ShigaBros century long conflict and the complicated feelings AFO-Yoichi-Tomura all have for each other, giving everyone the closure they desperately need) thanks to the presence of the vestige world.

I also think it'd be cool to get some sort of resolution re: the captain hero comics, since they were the "trigger" that started it all-- perhaps in the form of a dying dream sequence, where we get Yoichi and AFO as children again-- but this time Yoichi basically forces AFO to sit his ass down and finally read volume 4 of captain hero lmfao.

Like, a lot of AFO's actions/beliefs stem from his insistence that he ~already knew~ how the story was gonna end, and he built his life and plans around "rejecting" that ending-- I feel like a scenario where it turns out the ending WASN'T what he expected (like, say it was an ending where Captain Hero does defeat the Demon Lord, but ultimately chooses to save him rather than kill him-- something that mirrors Tomura's ultimate fate, rather than AFO's) would be a neat way to wrap up his and Yoichi's arcs from a metafiction perspective, since he and Yoichi both represent "different types of readers."

It would also be bittersweet, with the implication that things could have been different if AFO had just stopped being reddit pilled for five seconds and just read to the end with Yoichi in the first place-- the blueprint for an ending where the hero is no longer all alone and where the "demon lord" doesn't have to die/vanish at the end of the story was there all along, he just refused to see it.

tl;dr 2.0: AFO's ultimate punishment should involve him getting slapped in the face by tiny yoichi with his little comics over and over and over again until he develops an actual sense of media literacy.

#mha spoilers #all for one #mha.txt #my hero academia #yoichi #shigaraki tomura #thank you for the ask!

[juuuulez]

📰 | part one: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour!Reader, female reader I’m so sorry!!!!, mostly scene setting..next chapter will get juicy.

summary: You meet Carl whilst the Satellite station is being raided, where they take you as prisoner.

previous | next

This is gonna be an ongoing fic!!! I’ve already got like,, 8 parts mapped out, but will likely add more stuff here and there. It also currently has no name……but I’ll think of something. It will follow canon loosely, mostly at the start, and then I’ll just diverge into whatever I want to write about LOL. Let me know what you think, if you like it, want more soon etc etc.

It’s Saviour!Reader, with very heavy father-figure Negan because I am sorry but I LOVE HIM! Slow burn, enemies to lovers with Carl, teenage squabbling, you get the gist.

I’m also open for requests!!

It feels like you can’t breathe.

It’s dark, so dark. Almost pitch black, if not for the moonlight shining through the windows, spaced out near the rooftops to allow some visibility. You try to keep your footsteps light, one hand clutched around a metal baseball bat, the other feeling the wall to make sure you don’t trip. Everybody else is asleep.

Everybody else is dead.

You have no idea who’s done this. But it’s multiple people, from what you’ve gathered. A group uninvolved with the Saviours. Until now, you suppose.

It was no secret that your father was a tyrant, and had his fair share of enemies, but this? Talk about retaliation. If you’d been sleeping, too, you’d be dead. Maybe it was some sort of fate that you weren’t. Divine intervention. Whatever, it didn’t matter.

Then an alarm blares, disturbing the calculating silence, awakening anybody who remained unconscious. Panic spreads throughout the satellite station, followed by the relentless noise of machine guns. Your grip on the bat tightens as you sprint down the hallway, searching for salvage, somewhere to hide. They’d overpower you, no doubt. Though you were strong, a dedicated fighter, there was only so much a 17 year old girl could do. Facing them was too risky.

And to come home in a body bag? Not an option; Negan would kill every last person alive.

You round the corner, facing a door that you knew led to a supply room. The perfect hiding spot. So, you check your surroundings, weapon at the ready before entering the small space.

The door slams behind you.

“Hands up.”

You panic, momentarily, yet don’t obey. Spinning on your heels, you meet the source of this threat, a pistol pointed in your direction.

But behind it stands a boy, likely no older than yourself. Messy brown hair, stupid looking hat. Eyepatch. Definitely not a soldier.

He takes your silence as offence, “I said, hands up!” The boy barks at you, pulling back the safety with a distinct click.

It feels like there’s a lump in your throat, yet you speak anyway, arms still caged defensively at your sides. “You wanna kill me?”

The question clearly takes this boy off guard, judging by the way his jaw clenches, displeased by the ambiguous attitude you’re holding.

“Haven’t decided yet.” He answers, tone cold and steely.

But the gun isn’t pointed at your head. It’s a little to the right, just past your ear. If he shot it now, the bullet would hit the concrete wall. Lack of depth perception, you decide. One eye.

And so, you take that chance. With one motion, you’re swinging your bat towards him, using all the strength in your body. For some reason, he doesn’t shoot, but does duck down, the swift motion causing that stupid sheriff’s hat to fall to the ground.

The minuscule moment of shock, uncertainty, is your window of opportunity: it doesn’t take much to barrel towards him, your shoulders colliding with a thud as you disarm the boy, letting the pistol fall to the ground.

You don’t bother to pick it up, kicking the weapon away from the two of you, letting it skid across the concrete and hit the opposing wall. But in the time it takes him to retrieve the gun, you’re already out the door.

It doesn’t take long to navigate your way out of the station. Sprinting through hallways, narrowly avoiding tripping over limp bodies of people you once knew. Then the doors are right there, so close. You could even see cracks of sunrise seeping through the gaps.

Fresh air assaults your face, filling your parched lungs, and it takes everything in you not to fall to the ground in relief.

But it doesn’t matter.

There’s shouting, the figures of people coming into view. It floods your system with panic, suddenly alert at the newfound danger. Your sprinting comes to the stop, skidding on wet grass, blanketed with morning dew.

You fall flat on your ass.

The moment of clumsiness is all it takes for these people to approach you, shouting, demanding a name. A gun in your face. You grit your teeth, spotting the metal bat a few feet away, too far to reach.

And that boy, with the stupid hat. He picks it up. It makes you want to scream.

They demand you take them to Negan. To the next outpost. Locate their friends. There’s talking, bargaining on a radio. You stood in silence, childishly frustrated about being used like a pawn on a board. Exchange of you, for their two friends. That, or they’d kill you.

This immature silence lasts the whole trip.

The handcuffs around your wrists are irritating. There’s an itch on your cheek you can’t scratch. Your shoulders begin to hurt from being twisted into such a position.

But the worst of it? That boy, with his stupid hat, holding your baseball bat.

You swallow your anger.

You swallow your anger as they leave you in the RV to raid the Saviour outpost.

You swallow your anger when they come out with their two friends, but none of yours.

You swallow your anger when they tell you that Negan is dead, he’s been killed. That you’ll be put in a cell until they know what to do with you.

“Let me see the body.” You demand, brows furrowed, attempting to shield your inner confliction. Concern.

The man with the curly hair and beard answers, already distracted, moving onto the next task. Like the life of your father was meaningless. “Ain’t no time, we gotta move. Get back to Alexandria before nightfall.”

You swallow your anger.

Until you can’t anymore.

It hasn’t even been that long. The end to a long, gruelling day. At least, it appears to be, judging by the dimming light seeping through tiny windows. You’ve never been in a prison cell before. Though, granted, it was probably time you got some semblance of consequence for your morally-grey actions.

There’s footsteps. Once person approaching, then another walking away. Keeping guard on your cell, you presume. The same process had happened twice already.

Except this time, the footsteps continue a little further. The jingle of keys, a metal door creaking open.

Then he’s standing in front of you, on the other side of the bars. You want to burn that stupid hat.

“Your hat looks stupid.”

His face twists, brows furrowed, but otherwise ignores the harsh statement. The hat remains on his head.

“What’s your name?” He asks, standing a few meters away, warily. As if he’s afraid you’ll squirm through the bars and attack him. Maybe that’s a good thing.

You don’t answer.

But the boy continues talking anyway, “Mine’s Carl.”

It’s like an olive branch, a truce. An ounce of humility amongst this whole, terrible experience.

You roll your eyes, but tell him your name anyway. Carl seems to take this as permission to continue, as he now sits down on the cold concrete floor, though still maintains the distance between the two of you.

“Were your parents back there?” He asks you, though doesn’t sound particularly curious, nor judgemental. It’s that same, weird, stony tone. Like he only wants to know simply for the benefit of information.

So, you humour him.

With a shrug, you mumble, “No.”

“Is Negan your dad?” Carl asks almost immediately, already having a path of conversation in mind. This boy knows what he wants, and intends on figuring it out. That, or he’s just really blunt.

Once again, you shrug, giving a pointed look that conveys how you don’t intent to cooperate.

In response, Carl narrows his eyes, taking your lack of cooperation as hostility.

A few moments pass, and he’s getting up again, storming towards the door. The keys jingle. Metal creaks.

And he’s gone.

Another few days pass.

Nobody had interacted with you; it felt like you were going insane. Four walls and a dinky bed.

At least Carl tried to talk to you, nobody else seemed interested.

Until the curly-haired man is back, who you presume is named Rick, and is getting you out of the cell, once again adorning handcuffs.

“You’re going to Hilltop,” He tells you, snapping your wrists together once more, but this time offers the reprieve of cuffing your hands in front of you, “Somebody will watch you, give you a new home. You misbehave? It’s back in the cell.”

Though displeased, you have no choice but to follow. Suspicion stews in your gut, as these people appear to be in a rush, ever so slightly frantic. An energy in the air.

You remain impartial, annoyance radiating from your being as they drive, all these people packed into an RV. Everybody is having their seperate conversations, though you remain alone, handcuffed at the back of the vehicle.

A few hours in… and the road is blocked.

Blocked by people. A few cars parked nearby.

Disruption stirs in the RV, weapons suddenly gripped, prepared for a threat. Just before Rick can go to investigate: you hear it.

Whistling.

Your face must clearly light up, a hint of hope, and you’re rushing to stand. Though you can only make it two steps forward, deeper into the RV, when suddenly hands are gripping your shoulders, a firm hold keeping you in place.

Keeping you from escaping.

You twist and turn, aggressive curses leaving your mouth, but are unable to fully face your captor.

But from the corner of your eye, you see the rim of that that stupid, stupid hat.

#the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes #negan smith #twd x you #carl grimes x you

[ronearoundblindly]

Ransom x reader

Enemies to lovers , bot came from wealthy backgrounds as one is a trust fund (ran) then the other has her life getting good with a buissness outside her family . Why are they enemies at first? Shes admired for not relying on her folks too much as a teen and down to earth , enjoys the finer things as she views them as a reward or gift but ransom Demands that shit they also bicker how shes freinds with people bellow her and she sasses him how he always rely on perks thats petty

Warnings: so. much. cursing. It's all from Ransom's point of view, and since he's a disturbing(ly sexy) asshole, that translates to language. Plus smut (protected sex) MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. Reader's background/company is ambiguous. Also of note is the 'enemies' portion is quite subtle. WC 4k

The Root of All Ransom, Part One (see series)

There’s new money and then there’s new money.

Ransom loves the smell of new, physical money, and because he spends so much of it, he gets to feel those crisp bills all the time. Sure, his black card gets the same look at a register, but the plastic gets tattered after a while. The metal cards are a nice touch. Hefty. Metal makes a great tapping sound when he’s bored of waiting for a retail worker to do their fucking job and let him leave already. Cash is easiest to toss down and run out. He likes all forms of money. Ransom is diverse that way.

You, however, you are the New Money, the shit that’s a title, the shit that’s been earned, and it reminds him of his mother’s ranting. ‘Self-made’ his ass. Grandpa Harlan never made Linda repay a dime; that’s not a million-dollar loan. That’s good, old-fashioned nepotism. That’s inheritance come early. Old Harlan is Old Money, but New Money You is just as stale.

“She’s a breath of fresh air,” the middle-aged woman beside him coos.

Fucking gross.

Each time Ransom sees you he gets a foul taste in his mouth. His nostrils flair. He can smell the budgeting on you even at a distance. For every one of these events (with swag bags and a charity write-off promise) where you make a speech after receiving an award for whatever—he’s already too bored to listen—Ransom drinks heavily to make it to the end of the night.

He hasn’t given a dime, mind you, but Harlan has, and Linda has. Neither of them ever wants to go hobnob. Linda would but can’t trust Richard at these things, so she sticks to daytime shindigs. Walt is a bumbling, awkward mess, so he can’t represent anything other than why big pharma for every neurosis exists. He’s not welcome. Instead, it falls to nowhere-else-to-be Ransom. 

He thought he’d hate the events as much as the company until he found a thick, silver lining: some starry-eyed wannabe is always seated at an adjacent table. Handsome, young Ransom is guaranteed someone to go home with. Bonus points if they give head during the car ride.

Tonight though, he fucks up.

Ransom Drysdale makes the mistake of chatting up your date: your friend, Mariah, from high school who’s in town for the weekend. She’s doing a remarkable impression of a bimbo socialite, and he’s already wasted most of the meal trying to land an unattainable prize—though not a worthwhile prize, obviously.

It’s not his fault; he was at the bar when you and Mariah arrived, so he had no clue.

He expects you to be defensive once you make your way back to the table after your speech and find your friend with him. Ran is sure his reputation precedes him. He looks great in the photo ops just as he looks for great ass. He thinks your smile seems forced until you get closer. All you do is tell them to enjoy themselves.

Mariah here looks like she’s about to drop to her knees under the table, and you’re gonna let her?

You can’t possibly be stupid enough to trust him, can you?

He snorts out a chuckle, thinking you may know your business but you clearly do not know people. He wants to fuck Mariah. Then he really wants Mariah to tell you about fucking him, ad nauseam, hopefully, multiple times. Then he’s not sure whether he’d prefer you want to fuck him or you be mad about him fucking Mariah. He’ll have to wait and see.

“Isn’t she the best,” Mariah tosses out as flippantly as her hair extensions over her exposed shoulders. “I’m surprised she wanted me to come instead of a real date.”

“Sure,” he swigs his whisky quickly, “but then I wouldn’t get you for the evening, too.”

If he’s not mistaken, Mariah just soaked the pretty little thong he can just see the outline of in her tight dress, so Ran lays on a few more easy moves and thinks it’s a done deal.

Alas, he is wrong, and you and your friend leave together smiling while he races to text a booty call to meet at his place in a half-hour.

It’s all very frustrating, and Ransom hates you that much more.

Ransom has two new coats, a half-dozen new shirts, a three-piece suit, three new pairs of shoes, and he’s looking for the piece de resistance: a scarf (or several).

He loves accessories because he loves to change things up. He gets bored extremely easily, and he feels better when he treats himself.

In Hermès, he eyes a few options. He might even bother to get that one for his mother just because it has a few hideous accent colors he knows she’ll hate. Linda will still smile tightly and fake gratitude; it’s the only type of gratitude she knows. He doesn’t find anything for himself though, so he heads to the counter and recognizes the curves of a woman’s backside…in a dress that he’s seen in multiple candid tabloid shots.

How old is that garment? Jesus. Have some pride, woman.

His bored greeting startles you.

“Mr. Drysdale,” you exclaim, hand over your heart, “good to see you again.”

Is it?

“Right,” he grumbles roughly. “What brings you out of your goodie-two-shoes hole this afternoon?”

You seem excited, but in a different way than he’s ever noticed. At events, you are the picture of humility, full of genuine gratitude (and possibly the only reason he knows what that looks like), but this is something else.

The salesman returns with your order and unboxes a Birkin bag for you to inspect.

Now you’re just plain giddy, overjoyed, and vibrating, and Ransom preens a little to see Ms. High-and-Mighty so lowered as to indulge in retail therapy.

That’s a twenty-five thousand dollar bag you’re holding.

“Nice color,” Ransom chides, but he isn’t rewarded with your deterrence. You simply turn to beam at him.

“My favorite!” Your hands return to sweeping over the beautiful pebbled leather. “I had to wait for years—which is fine—“ you quickly add “—but I promised myself I’d do ten hours a week of volunteer work to earn such an extravagance.”

“Are you going to use it?”

You nod without turning back to him.

“Are you going to enjoy it?”

Another saleswoman motions to help him with the scarf he holds, and Ransom says nothing to her but drops his black card on the counter.

“Very much so,” you say quietly, almost like a confession.

“Then what’s so crazy about that?”

You giggle. You actually giggle. You don’t tell him how wrong he is or judge his spending in any way, which is surprising when that’s all those events he knows you from are for—to get him to spend money their way.

Ransom doesn’t know what compels him to stand there with his small purchase and watch while your bag gets squared away. You don’t choose to wear it out of the store, something he finds patently ridiculous because it’s a fucking Birkin and you’re about to walk out of Hermes with it in a box in another bag.

He pushes off the counter to walk out with you, an idea springing up.

“You’ve met my mother, I believe.”

Your polite smile gives nothing away. “Yes, a few times. Very briefly.”

“Her birthday is next month—” he lets an employee open the door for you both “—her sixtieth, allegedly.”

“Oh, well, tell her happy birthday for me.”

“You could come.”

Your face scrunches but whether from his offer or the bright sun on the street, he doesn’t know. His sunglasses are already on. You rummage around in what looks like a tapestry bag on the bad side of vintage for yours. 

This is why you should have left using the Birkin, and he’s honestly surprised Hermès even served you looking like you do.

Where’s all that new money now, he thinks, because one bag is certainly not all of it.

“Why not? You both own businesses and run in similar circles.”

“Hugh, I don’t think—“

“Ransom,” he corrects with a sneer.

“Well, I just…” You regard him thoroughly for a long moment until a black car pulls up and its driver opens the door for you.

There it is. There’s a bit of pomp. He’s almost proud to see you being served. You’re just like him—or rather his family—in a way; you have help.

“Fine,” you say to Ransom while nodding to your driver, “text me the details, and I’ll see if I’m in town.” Even though your words are dismissive, they sound genuine and kind.

Yuck.

Your driver fishes a card from his breast pocket and curtly adds a ‘sir,’ before shutting you behind tinted windows.

Ok, so it’s not the easiest ‘yes’ he’s ever gotten. It wasn’t a ‘no’ either. Good news is that Ransom is not holding his breath. If it works, it works.

The idea is to flaunt you in front of Linda, not romantically, of course, but as a younger woman, perceived as better, more self-made, more successful, with a Birkin bag in his mother’s actual favorite color, while he gives her a scarf she’ll be revolted by. It’s perfect.

This did not at all go to plan.

Linda is supposed to be pissed. She’s supposed to be appalled and furious and have to hide that from her guests—which is most of the family, catering staff, and Harlan’s house help. She’s supposed to look at Ransom and know that he did this on purpose.

He told you not to bring a present for a reason, but he made damn sure when he picked you up that you were wearing that damn bag.

How the fuck was he supposed to know you’d go and be the dumbest bitch ever?

Linda got through two whole sentences of greeting after obviously clocking the Birkin and then turned it about her. She’s predictable that way, but you are not.

“That’s my favorite color,” she said.

“Mine too,” you said.

You both fucking laughed.

“I’ve always wanted one,” she said.

“You should have one,” you said.

He should have known right then except for on what planet does someone…

Ransom only stepped out for a few minutes to mess with Walt, smoking that sickening cigar. When he comes back in, there on the table right beside Linda is your bag. He looks around, but you aren’t in the living room. Then his mom smiles and pets the Birkin possessively.

“Oh, Ran, that girl is so sweet,” Linda coos.

Richard snorts in astonishment. “She’s really something.”

Ransom cringes at the lustful leer on his father’s face while he stares off toward the library.

What the shit? 

You gave his mother your bag? After one minute of conversation?

God fucking damn it.

He has no words. Ran just purses his lips and stalks off to the other room in search of you. You’re deep in conversation with Harlan, seated across from each other in the bay windows of the library in high-backed upholstered chairs. On the floor beside your foot is a Blood Like Wine tote, partially filled.

“Grandpa,” he interrupts, leaning one arm against your chair with a questioning gaze.

“Ransom, my boy, it’s good to see you.” Before he can get a word in, Harlan waves an arthritis-gnarled hand in your direction. “Have you met my neighbor?”

“Neighbor?”

You shrug with a weak smile. “I purchased the Carlyles’ old property last year but kept my apartment in town.”

He’s thrown off by this news, thinking. “That’s walking distance from here,” Ransom says flatly.

“Yes, it is. That’s why I can find my own way home tonight.”

“Ah,” Harlan taps his nose, “so you two know each other.”

“Your grandson was kind enough to invite me.”

“And you made quite a fucking impression,” Ransom growls while putting a hand on your shoulder.

Harlan flicks Ransom away. “Don’t be creepy, son. Get the lady a drink.”

“Mr. Thrombey, please.” You stand, forcibly pushing his hand off of you. “Ransom’s your family. Why don’t I get you boys something while you catch up?”

“Whiskey, neat, two fingers,” Ransom bitterly spits, shoving the hand in his jean pocket.

Harlan tsks him with a solemn look.

“The same,” his grandfather sighs before returning your smile. “I appreciate it, dear.”

“Anytime.”

Ran fights the urge to kick your tote on the floor.

Harlan simply moves on. “One of my next novels is an intrigue of corruption, involves a non-profit, and Good Miss was enlightening me to a few details of their inner workings.”

“Glad you both can turn it off for five minutes,” Ransom grunts back.

Harlan’s sharp gaze lands on him.

“While I am glad you did not use her and lose her, as they say.”

“God, no,” Ransom groans in revulsion. “She’s here to rub Linda the wrong way…not me.” He tries to bury his self-satisfied smirk in a sweater sleeve held to his mouth.

“Charming.” Harlan means anything but charming as he looks to see you side-tracked again by a chat with Marta. “You’ve done much worse before—“ he turns to the window “—but my guess is she never has.”

Ransom’s jaw twitches. This is why he hates his family, even his favorite among them. No wonder he brought someone exclusively to annoy them, hoping to make them feel small and selfish, but he forgot something important.

They’re all like him. None of them care to be selfless. They don’t want to be charitable. They are fine being perceived that way, if necessary, if it gains them something else they want.

But.

What Harlan says gives him another idea. What if he keeps you around? They are sure to lose their minds. Harlan would be impressed (and proved wrong). Richard will be jealous (although that’s still gross). Linda would be unable to manipulate that situation (though she’ll try).

Plus, Joni will hate you instantly because you’re prettier and don’t need her snake-oil skin shit.

“Harlan,” you offer his grandfather his drink first, then turn to Ran with that irritatingly kind smile. “Hugh.”

He takes the glass and flashes pearly whites.

It’s decided. He just hopes the sex won’t be as boring as he thinks. You’re definitely not a roadhead bitch.

Although based on that damn Birkin, you are stupidly generous, so he hopes that translates to the bed…or wherever he fucks you.

“Sure your shoes can take it?”

As if he can’t walk across the fucking woods…the embers of waning alcohol all push around in his gut on the trek over to the Carlyles’ place. He hasn’t gone over there since maybe freshman year of high school during a long Christmas stay at Thrombey Manor.

He was wrong. Ran’s shoes are not fine, but he has to bury that irritation down deep while entering the warm and inviting mansion filled with your...roommates?

Four other people live in a house that you sometimes stay in: Angela, Diego, Terrell, and Luca.

Ran doesn’t fucking care. This is not some weird orgy he’s planning. He almost walks right back out and floors the Beamer back to civilization.

Mercifully, you have most of the upstairs entirely to yourself, a small suite of a bedroom, office, and bathroom neatly tucked above a quieter part of the house.

He’s surprised that you drop the tote bag and start shedding clothes so quickly.

“Sorry about them. We all went to uni together and this works as a crash-pad for the internationals.”

“No problem,” he sighs, “I know what it’s like.” They’re freeloaders, like my cousin Meg, is what they are, but Ransom keeps that thought to himself.

You offer him another drink, which Ran accepts, watching you like a hawk with sky-blue eyes.

Beneath your dress, you wear a slip, a silky satin thing that actually impresses him. He’s convinced there is thick shapewear beneath it because that just seems like a you thing to do: one sexy move, one boner killer. Instead of showing him though, you spin your finger around in front of him.

“Really,” he quips. He’s already resigned to putting his dick in either way, so he doesn’t really care.

You smile too sweetly for it to read as coy. “Make yourself useful and go to my bag.”

“That’s not a bag,” he scoffs. “Might as well be made of tissue paper.”

He still obediently wanders over to the chair you draped it over and flips back a handle. Excellent. This nearly makes up for the entire party. Ran derives a sickening amount of pleasure from knowing these condoms were stored in the Birkin his mother will now carry around with pride.

He downs the remainder of his drink and whips out a wrapper. He wouldn’t care if you didn’t have any, or didn’t want to use one, or if you made some reference to them but the lights were off and didn’t check. The lights are still on though, and you’ve pointed him right to them. He’ll play ball. He hopes you play with balls, too. He hopes this is fun instead of just mediocre. He prepares himself to be actively bored, however, because that’s the most likely scenario.

It’s his usual MO. Works like a charm. Start out slow and teasing—girls tend to think it’s sensual but he’s being lazy (and they beg soon anyway)—until he can take over in exactly whatever fashion he wants. Except you don’t quite let things unfold that way.

He expects you to want him to kiss you, but you playfully turn away each time he advances. You swat his hands when he tries to touch you, only to grab the hem of his sweater and rip it off him. You don’t wait for him to unbutton his jeans before sliding cool fingers down past the band of his boxers.

Fuck, he does like it when they're forward.

He pops the button, pushes the zipper, and shuffles out of the heavy cotton while you get a good hold of him. Ransom doesn’t care that your hands are soft, just rough enough for friction and nothing more, and he doesn’t really care that your slip is still on because he’s figured something else out.

You’re not wearing underwear. He’s not sure if you were but tossed them aside while he grabbed the condom, or perhaps you’ve been speaking with his family for the better part of two hours with your cunt kissed by the same air they were all breathing, but he’s happy about it.

Ransom leans forward to you again, but instead of letting him kiss you, you look down to spit in your hand and work him harder.

“The sooner you suit up…” you taunt him, glancing at the wrapper still clutched in Ran’s hand, “sooner you get in for the night.”

He’s been with bossy doms before—not his favorite—but this is different. His instinct is that you want a show of it, maybe you want to see him touch himself, maybe you want to see his face as the tight latex is rolled down his throbbing cock, but you hold his gaze while turning your body away from him.

Since he doesn’t have to play up how he looks, Ran focuses on the expanse of skin across your back. There’s so much more than your dress showed, yet not enough, and it’s beautiful. He thinks about the same, smooth skin that must be stretched across your ass and rolls his hips against the fabric while his mouth maps your neck and shoulders.

Not romantically, of course, he’s not trying to make you feel better—you are more than capable of feeling yourself, but Ransom enjoys a little taunting of his own now and then.

His hands move to cup your breasts, and fuck, did you not have a bra on earlier either? This day is full of surprises.

His intense rutting coupled with teasing your taut nipples makes your slip catch between your ass cheeks, and he angles his dick to press through the apex of your thighs, taking the satin with him.

Pretty skin beneath his lips, pretty noises ringing in his ears, Ran pulls away.

The fresh wet spot on your slip sticks to the condom when he looks down at his demanding erection.

You’re ready. He’s ready.

Fuck, Ransom is so ready, and you know it, climbing onto the edge of your bed to get comfortable presented in all your glory, all the lights on, fingers already teasing and working yourself open.

This is already way better than he expected. He doesn’t have to work. He doesn’t have to try. He doesn’t have to fake interest. You handle your clit like the expert you are on yourself, and Ran works himself up, sheathed and thrusting in you like the expert he is on himself. Pleasure for pleasure, and fuck is it pleasurable. 

His fist holds onto the bundled satin across the small of your back, and you make natural escalating noises.

It sounds genuine.

Shit, when was the last time he didn’t get annoyed at some bitch hamming up her moans? Not that it distracted him from coming, no, he could get him whether she was dramatic or an awkward, silent one. Takes more effort when he has to ignore something she’s doing though. 

Then you demand he goes faster, and he’s into it. Then you come with a groan that’ll haunt his hindbrain, and he can feel the massaging grip and release. Then you take his balls in hand, tugging gently, and he fucking loses it.

He feels the hot flood of his cum into the condom as your walls still ripple against him. 

Damn, he doesn’t even care if you made him wrap up. That was fucking satisfying. It wasn’t even complicated, but you came and he came and that’s all he needed.

Ransom hasn’t been at a girl’s place in a while (certainly not without his car ready to get away) because he prefers to kick them out and already be home, but his hookups are usually clinging to the idea of staying the night.

You immediately go to the bathroom, clean up, and—now completely naked—stand at the foot of the bed.

“You good, Hugh? I’m on a call with Beijing in fifteen, so take your time—“ you button up a plain, blue shirt, your nipples showing right through “—or sleep or whatever. I’ll be a bit.”

“Only the help calls me Hugh.” It’s all he can come up with while he stares at your breasts and contemplates why he feels a bit used.

He got off, you’re not clinging to him, and you’ve given him an easy out. If he had to describe his perfect fucking date, this would be it, and his gut twists oddly just thinking about being dismissed.

You don’t miss a beat, heading for the door with only panties and the shirt on. Your ass pops out easily from under the hem.

“Suppose I’ll see you at the Kennedy thing next weekend, huh?”

Ran slaps his hand over his face, remembering there’s another fucking event coming up. “Yeah. Is that the stupid inner-city garden initiative?”

You hum in response, grabbing something else out of your flimsy purse tote. He better not see you carry that fucking thing around in front of actual fucking people. You don’t see him staring at your ass through his fingers before you swivel back around.

“If you need something, text me. Don’t knock.”

He snorts, knowing that he wouldn’t stay if a girl paid him to.

For one shining moment, you turn to beam at him. “Thanks for making it quick,” you chirp with a wink and shut the door behind you.

You goddamn wink at him after chucking him into the quickie category in your own mansion.

What the fuck?

Out of spite, he should just sleep here, he thinks. Let Harlan question why the Beamer is still in the drive. Let Walt stare at the car and know Ransom can get better pussy than that twat has had in a lifetime. Let Linda…

Hell, let Linda do whatever the fuck she wants and let Richard think whatever the fuck he wants.

Ransom takes his own naked walk of glory to the bathroom and does just that—he sleeps in a hookup’s bed all night, completely pleased with himself and his control of the situation.

a/n: Honest to god, this was supposed to be a one-shot. Genuinely, I swear. Now that I've plotted it out though...there was no way. I just personally don't really like more than 5k per Tumblr post. Too easy to lose your place. This way we stick with a three-ish-act structure, too. Squee! Hope you enjoyed this, and please let me know what you think in comments, reblogs, or anon asks!

[Next Part]

[Main Masterlist]

#hugh ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drydale x you #ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #ransom smut #fanfic #fanfiction #knives out fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale smut #ro answers

[issacballsac]

“Attempting to be Friends with Vergil Sparda„

Honestly he’d never outright call you his friend💀 ! Gn Demon Reader

Origins | DMC3

Let’s be FR he wouldn’t care abt your gender or lack there of he still sees you as lesser than

You’d have to be a Devil or half Devil to even linger around him

Im seeing you just come from Hell to be friends with him🦀

Naturally like any of the devils in DMC3 u were originally gonna attack Vergil bc NPC does what NPC is supposed to do

But you have common sense a pretty mf with a sword is bad news so let’s be friends dear beautiful one

Bear with me right—all ur demon gang gets slaughtered by this mf and you’re just standing there watching fascinated absolutely entranced by this mf

Seeing as you’re the last obstacle he points that big ass katana at you

“Sorry I just can’t fight someone so beautiful man.”

Gives you the MEANEST side eye

Still tries to HARM you and succeeds—but like you regenerate 💀

Mf would let out the BIGGEST sigh and just walk away🪦

You follow ofc bc who wouldn’t (a mf who wants to live 💀)

Bonding

Me when might controls everything 🫦

Despite being a demon yourself you def would try to convince him to NOT open the portal

Bc lets be FR them other devils ain’t shit for nothin‼️

He constantly looks annoyed and has a mean case of resting bitch face

He’s very stand-offish and depending on how long/well you know each other he’ll listen to what you’re sayin

Especially if ur a person that likes to go on rants

DMC3 he’d be more open to a mf who has no attachments as seen during the scene where he stabbed Arkham

New to friendship and sees everything as a transaction

You give me this and I give you that typa thing

Would take FOREVER to tell you abt his childhood and by the time he does u pretty much already know bc of Dante

Would get along better if ur also half demon rather than full demon as he has a complex where he continuously tries to rid himself of his humanity

Bros on a MISSION so u gotta be able to keep up

Obviously being demon/half demon you got some power but if you’re weak he’s gonna drop you I’m sorry 💀(no I’m not)

Daily

Doesn’t celebrate his birthday

Just in general regardless of his childhood I just don’t think he’d like to

So no surprise parties please🫶

Now don’t get me wrong he IS smart but like also a dumbass💀

Constantly makes you think bc he’ll say smth so stupid but make it sound so smart

A very dramatic mf

Always makes dramatic entrances no matter where he goes

Walks into McDonalds with his blue coat flowing, snowlike hair, glistening eyes, arched eyebrows, and a judgmental look

Baby let ur hair down🫦

Bro is effortlessly breathtaking and if u ask for tips or question what he does for his routine he looks you up and down, scoffs, and leaves💀

I NEED MORE POWER

Spars with you bc luckily you can regenerate

Infinite punching bag

Love a reader with no shame(me acting like I didn’t write this)

Idk why but I feel like he can play the piano as just like a pastime thing

When trapped in Hell u just roam around y’know bc you’ve lived there for as long as you can remember 😭

Vergil is in a constant search for more power and ur just chillin watching him

Like those mfs who still calmly sip on their drinks when there is a bar fight

“Woohoo! Go Vergil you’re doin’ great!”

“Shut up!”

He loves you, I promise.

Talks shit abt Dante, lovingly ofc

After the events of DMC5 if he were to come back with Dante(ambiguous ending)

Y’all would prob live together

And they were roommates 😨

FR tho it’s like weird especially with Nero being recognized as his son

“Nero is my son?”

“You have a son?”

“I didn’t know..”

“How did you not know?”

Becomes more vocal during the friendship during/after the events of DMC5

He doesn’t see the need for an abundance of clothes so if ur into fashion your ideas fill 98% of his wardrobe

Honestly I think he can cook

More of a baker methinks

He probably wouldn’t like sweets but he’ll certainly make them himself

No I’m not going to make a berries delight joke.

#fanfic #fanfiction #platonic headcanons #x male reader #platonic #x gn reader #x reader platonic #x female reader #dmc vergil #dmc devil may cry #dmc x reader #dmc fanfiction #dmc headcanons #dmc #vergil #vergil x reader #vergil x you #Vergil x reader platonic

[lowkeychenle]

Try Me On [NJM] (feat. Chenle)

Description: FWB!Jaemin takes you to buy lingerie. You're surprised when he tells you to pick out one Chenle will like too, until you realize what his goal is. A few photos and a video call later, you know you're in for it the next time you see Chenle.

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 3,073

Content Warnings: So much goes on here lmfao sooo public sex (Jaemin), phone sex (Chenle), one lil instance of a hand necklace (thank you Jaemin), use of the term Princess, Chenle calls them brats yada yada oh and unprotected sex (plz don't do this part)...and use of mirrors.......and taking pics and videos there's a lot okay

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader x Na Jaemin

Author's Note: This is the second installment...so you should read the first part of the AU first, but the poly portion of it is kind of ambiguous right now? They'll get there eventually but the smut needs to progress naturally to that point (bc boo more smut right?)

Opposites Attract [Poly!Jaemle Series Masterlist]

General Masterlist

Permanent Taglist: @haeigoo

“Isn’t the whole point of lingerie like, you being surprised?” You furrow your eyebrows at Jaemin. “Plus, what if someone sees you with me?”

“You know we’re still friends in real life, right?” Jaemin chuckles as he walks into the store behind you.

“Male friends don’t usually go with female friends to try on underwear, Jaem,” you remind him, eyes already snagging on a few pieces you like.

“I’m a man, and you need a man’s opinion. Sounds simple enough to me.”

You snort in response.

“It’s not complicated at all, Princess. Plus, I paid them to close the store for two hours so you could find whatever you’d like.” His tone is so nonchalant, you almost miss what he actually said.

“You paid them for what?” Your jaw drops. “Jaemin, what the hell? What if they know who you are?”

“Money solves all problems,” he says. “Stop worrying. The clock is ticking and if I don’t see you at least 90% naked, I’m gonna make you 100% naked in the middle of the store.”

Your cheeks suddenly burn like you’re on fire. There’s not an ounce of humor in his voice.

“While you’re at it,” he pauses briefly, almost like he has to come to terms with what he’s about to say next, “find something Chenle would like, too.”

No way in hell today is happening. It’s completely possible you’re dreaming right now, because Na Jaemin just told you to pick out lingerie sets to wear for him and your other fuck buddy. It’s only been a week since you took both of them at once. Things seemed fairly normal after that—as in, they went back to having completely separate relationships with you.

“Didn’t know you thought of me with Chenle a lot,” you mutter, looking anywhere but at Jaemin.

“At first it was a little bit of an ego shot.” Jaemin’s honesty almost knocks you off your feet. “But it feels normal now. And I’m not going to buy you lingerie to wear for me and not think of the way Chenle has bent you over every surface of your house.”

“Jaem—“

“I never realized how turned on I’d get at the idea of watching you get fucked by someone else. You were so overwhelmed, Princess. It was sexy.” He runs his fingers through his hair, chest rising. “Pick some out for him, too.”

You clear your throat, trying your best to pretend his simple words didn’t have heat swarming inside you. If the offer was on the table, you’d take them both again. The pleasure was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, and you swear you can still feel it tingling inside you at the mere thought of them.

Jaemin prefers lighter colors. Pinks, whites, baby blues. He likes feigned innocence and purity, fabric that left little to the imagination but still covered you enough to leave him some joy in unwrapping you.

And even though you hadn’t ever dressed in lingerie for Chenle, you have a feeling you know what he likes. Blacks, reds, deep, royal blue. For him, you couldn’t really convince yourself he’d like anything more than he likes seeing you naked.

You pick out four to try on. There’s only one that might spark something for Chenle, but you aren’t completely sure. Jaemin would help you decide.

You head over to the fitting rooms, giving Jaemin a wide-eyed glance when he tries to follow you. The worker stops him.

“Sorry, sir, I can’t let you go in there.” She holds up her hand.

“Ah.” With a sigh, he reaches into his pocket for his wallet. He opens it and grabs a wad of cash, holding it out to the woman. “I don’t even think I’m really here right now.”

Reluctantly, she takes it from him and disappears toward the front of the store. You should scold him for doing something like that, but you can’t help but like it much more than you should.

Jaemin leads you into the room by the small of your back, closing and locking the door behind you. You’re not sure what to expect from him. There’s plenty of space to move around, and he sits on the bench on the far side of the room. You stand between him and the mirror, the skimpy shreds of fabric clutched to your chest.

“You want me to just…”

“Yep.” He grins, raising his eyebrows. “I’ve seen it all, baby.”

“It’s different in this context. What if they look bad on me?” You frown at him.

He scoffs. “(Y/N), in no world are any of those gonna look bad. You’re so sexy, you make me hard no matter what you’re wearing.”

You won’t lie—he boosts your confidence way more than you should allow. If Na Jaemin is calling you sexy, you have to be, right?

“Try Chenle’s on first. We’ll send him a picture.” Jaemin pulls his phone out of his pocket and winks. “Think he’s busy?”

You pull your shirt over your head. “He said he was recording with Donghyuck and Renjun today.”

“Let’s make his day a little harder, huh?” He chuckles to himself, leaning back against the wall as he watches you strip.

His gaze drinks in every inch of your bare skin as you remove the rest of your clothing. You try to ignore the dark look in his eyes once you’re fully naked, really try, but everything he does makes you crave him beyond belief.

The royal blue fabric is intense, despite the lack of material. It’s completely sheer, displaying your already peaked nipples without even a smidge of coverage.

“Fuck,” Jaemin mumbles, shifting forward. “You look so fucking good.”

“I don’t know about that.” You let out a small laugh.

“C’mere. We’ll ask Chenle.” He spreads his legs, and you already know what he wants you to do.

“Jaem…”

“Baby,” he whines. “Come get on your knees and let me show him. You didn’t mind both of us at the same time last week.”

You do as he asks, kneeling in front of him and placing your palms on your knees. Gulping, you patiently wait as he positions his phone to take the photo.

“You look so good,” he says, wetting his lips. “Wanna do one more pose for him?”

Against your better judgment, you nod.

“Put your ass up.” It’s not a suggestion.

You listen, turning around and sliding your chest against the floor. The hardwood is cold on your skin, but Jaemin’s sharp inhale makes you undeniably warm. With a burst of confidence, you spread your legs a but further, knowing you’re giving him a clear view of your pussy.

Jaemin grips your ass while he takes the picture.

“Okay, baby. Get one of the other ones. Hurry, or I’ll have to fuck you in this one before Chenle does.”

Blushing, you get up and grab the pink one you picked out. You barely have time to get it all the way on when Jaemin’s phone buzzes once, twice, three times.

He looks at the screen and chuckles. “Chenle’s mad at me. He said he wants to, and I quote, rip that flimsy fabric off of her and fuck her stupid.”

You’re so weak when it comes to them. Jaemin glances up at you, a dark look in his brown eyes.

“My God, look at you.” He clicks his tongue. “Should we keep playing with him? I think so.”

“We can’t stay here all day,” you warn him. “We’ve already been here for an hour.”

“Okay, I’ll give you the choice then.” He sighs. “You can suck my cock or you can get fucked while I send videos of us to Chenle.”

“This isn’t real.” You laugh, smacking your palm to your forehead. “Jaemin, we’re in public!”

“This is a closed room,” he replies.

His gaze rakes over your body.

“We’ll buy that one, too. Put the white one on and pick an option.”

Your logic doesn’t work when you’re around Jaemin. He offers to fuck you and you melt into a puddle immediately no matter where you are or what you’re doing. Your body knows he doesn’t stop until you’ve finished, and now you crave release.

“We gotta be fast, babe.” He unbuttons his pants as you put the white set on. “Please, please pick getting fucked. I’ve been so hard this whole time.”

If you’re going to commit to this, you’ll act the part, too. You put on the best seductive face you can, moving slowly over to him until you’re standing between his legs.

“I’m buying you all of these,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Too fucking sexy.” He turns you around so you’re facing the mirror, his fingers trailing up your bare sides and sneaking under the white lace.

You gasp when he yanks you down onto his lap, hands resting on your hips. He chuckles lowly, kissing from your shoulder to your jawline.

“What are you doing?” you ask breathlessly, eyes nearly rolling when his touch ghosts along your inner thighs.

“Just making sure you’re ready for me.” He squeezes your leg.

“I’m ready.” You grind down the best you can, living for the way he hums in response.

He releases you, allowing you to stand up while he pushes his jeans down. Reaching into his boxers, he pulls himself out of his boxers, stroking a couple times before he beckons for you to join him. You climb over him and make sure to face the mirror while you straddle him. The uncomfortable plastic of the bench digs into your knees, but as Jaemin slides the thin fabric covering your heat aside, you don’t even think of it.

“God,” he groans when he slides a finger along your entrance. “You must fucking love the thought of both of us, don’t you?”

“You might like it a little more than me,” you tease him.

You barely get the sentence out before he’s guiding his throbbing cock into you. Once he’s fully inside, every word you considered saying next has disappeared, and all that’s left is how good he feels. The stretch is a little harder to take without foreplay, but he allows you time to adjust.

“Princess,” he mutters against your ear. “You brought him into this. I’m being good and sharing, is that not what you want? Because I can just as easily keep you for myself.”

You lift yourself up with his guidance, moaning when he thrusts up to meet you on the way back down. He inhales sharply, grabbing his phone.

“Keep going,” he commands.

It’s hard to move in this position, so you’re not able to ride him the way you usually would, but the lack of mobility sends more wetness to your core. You’re desperate to take all of him. Focusing on his pleasure, you ignore the ache forming in your thighs.

His hand travels over the expanse of your stomach, and from the way you see him holding his phone in the mirror, you know he’s recording. You try your best to move faster, wanting to give the recipient of the video that much more material. He finds your clit rubbing it just enough to have you moan loudly and jolt your hips before he stops.

He drops his head against the wall, ending the recording and sending it to Chenle.

“How does it feel, Princess?” he asks, touch dancing along your collarbone. The soft fabric of his sweatshirt presses into your back, and you wish more than anything you could feel his bare skin against yours. He gives your throat a quick squeeze. “You’re stuffed full of my cock, and Chenle’s watching that video wishing he was me.”

You let out a weak laugh. “Jaem, are you getting jealous?”

He fully wraps his hand around your neck and tugs you back until he’s talking in your ear. “Careful, baby,” he warns you. “Don’t give me a reason to be.”

His phone vibrates with an incoming call against the bench, and you stop moving. You settle onto his lap even though your entire body begs you to continue. Jaemin answers, but he doesn’t have time to say anything before Chenle starts scolding him.

“What part of I’m recording with Renjun and Donghyuck did you two not fucking understand?” His voice sounds strained. “You fucking brats.”

“Keep going, Princess.” Jaemin pats your leg before returning his attention to Chenle. “She looks sexy in white, doesn’t she?”

You resume your motions, trying to set a steady pace while Jaemin rubs your thigh.

“Fuck you, Jaemin,” Chenle groans, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “I don’t have a lot of time, and I’m hard as hell. Can’t believe I’m stuck recording while you’re fucking our girl.”

Our girl. You whimper at the words, and you’re not sure if the twitch of Jaemin’s cock buried deep inside you is from you or Chenle.

Your legs burn at this point, but when the signature FaceTime sound starts, you don’t dare slow down your pace. Jaemin feels heavenly inside you, and the thought of Chenle watching has you dripping down your thighs. You forget you’re in public for a moment, moans falling from your lips as Jaemin positions the phone in front of you. He uses his knees to spread you apart further, and he sinks a little further inside you.

Chenle has the perfect view of you riding Jaemin.

“You’ve always been too easy on her,” Chenle growls. “Play with her tits.”

You’re surprised Jaemin listens to the other’s command. He immediately slides his hand beneath the white fabric and tweaks your nipple. Your hips jerk and you’re so close to begging him to make you cum. You feel the high approaching, but you need more. His length is heavenly inside you, but it’s not enough to push you over the edge, and both he and Chenle know that. Your clit throbs, screaming at you to give it attention.

“She doesn’t get to finish,” Chenle says. “Fuck her until you’re done, but she doesn’t deserve it yet.”

You cry out in protest.

“She’s so pretty when she cums, though.” Jaemin pouts, moving down until his fingers tease your lower stomach.

“My God, please.” You move faster. “Please, I need it so bad.”

“Don’t you hear her?” Jaemin hums. “I always make my princess cum. What are you gonna do about it?”

His fingers connect with your clit, and you let out a much too-loud moan as your hips jerk. You move faster on top of him, wanting nothing more than to fall apart. Right before the high washes over you, he stops.

“Fuck,” you hiss, trying to get that feeling back.

Chenle’s breath hitches, and the sounds coming from his end of the phone tells you he’s fisting his cock right now.

“I’ll punish both of you.”

Jaemin’s length twitches inside you, and this time, you know it’s from Chenle. Warmth floods your legs as all sorts of images flash across your mind. You don’t want to be punished, but you desperately want to cum. Your body aches, and there’s an intense pressure building in your abdomen that makes your skin sticky with sweat and your core flutter around Jaemin.

Smirking, he finds your clit again. Almost like he knows what’s going to happen, he drops his phone and covers your mouth with his hand, muffling your scream of pleasure as your walls clamp down on him. Your vision turns white, and you barely notice what happens next between your delirious state and the way Chenle’s moans filter through the phone.

Jaemin pulls you off him and turns you around so he can look at you. You’re back on his lap within seconds, and he tugs you down until you’re filled with him all over again. He seems to have forgotten about the other man. He thrusts upward, nails digging into your hips to pull you down every time.

Another few seconds later, and his head is falling back against the wall with a thud as his warm cum fills you. He gives himself a moment to calm down, and then he grabs his phone. With your head buried in his neck, you shy away from the camera.

“Both of you better be at my fucking house in the next half an hour, understood?” Chenle’s voice is low and a bit scratchy. “I’m getting out of here, and by the time I get home, both of you better be waiting.”

“One more thing,” Jaemin says. He wraps his arm around you and lays you back against the bench. As he slides his cock out of you, he positions his phone so Chenle has a clear view of Jaemin’s cum leaking out of your pussy and gathering on the ruined lingerie.

“Don’t piss me off even more.” Chenle huffs. “Half an hour, Jaemin. I’m not playing with you.”

“We’ll see.” Jaemin grins widely, winking at his phone before hanging up. He tosses it to the side, returning his attention to you. “Are you okay, Princess? That wasn’t too much, was it?”

“I’m good.” You nod, closing your eyes. “We definitely have to buy this one now.”

He chuckles, helping you sit up. “I already paid for all of them. Did you really think I’d fuck you in it and then pay for it? I’m not a monster.”

You stand on your shaky legs, and he helps you remove the ruined fabric and grabs your clothes. Once both of you are fully dressed, he goes out to the cashier to get a bag. You put all four sets into it. When you see yourself in the mirror, you cringe at how messy you look. There’s no way that woman out there won’t know what happened in here—if she hadn’t heard you first.

You don’t look at her as you follow Jaemin out of the store. He flashes his dazzling smile at you, and you’re not sure why that sends a flutter to your heart.

“Guess we’d better go to Chenle’s, huh?” He raises his eyebrows. “He’s not very happy with us.”

“I didn’t even do anything.” You pout but nod anyway.

He laughs and throws his arm over your shoulder. “You were literally fucking yourself on my cock, babe. I think that counts as something.”

Even with your legs shaking as you walk to Jaemin’s car, everything inside you tingles with excitement at the thought of Chenle punishing you.

#nct dream #nct imagines #chenle #nct dream smut #nct scenarios #nct #jaemin #nct smut #jaemin smut #chenle smut #na jaemin #zhong chenle #chenle x reader #jaemin x reader #jaemle #nct dream jaemin

[haunted-xander]

Finished the 6.55 MSQ so here's my (very positive) thoughts:

‌Love love LOVE Wuk Lamat she's so fun and her dynamic with Erenville is hilarious. Very excited to see more of her in Dawntrail.

‌Krile is already getting some nice scenes and I'm very happy she's finally gonna get the spotlight in dt. My girls been side-lined for 4 expacs it's about damn time she gets to shine.

‌The inventor of Pictomancy is literally Relm. Like they name drop her. Obv not the same Relm as in VI but still! Relm is real! And she was an Archon! tbh them naming an important character related to this type of magic after her isn't surprising- I just expected it to be something in the job quests rather than the MSQ.

‌Zero made super-spicy dishes popular in Thavnair lol. Wuk Lamat trying to toughen it out was hilarious. God I love her.

‌Wuk Lamat & Erenville being childhood friends was not something I expected! Very fun.

‌The catboy from the dawntrail promotional artwork is probably Wuk Lamat's brother, Koana(Was that his name? tbh I forgot. But she has a Miqo brother that's what's important). He looks smart, and it's possible he's gonna be another candidate claiming for the throne.

‌Based on the artwork, I had figured our main group was gonna be WoL, Krile, Thancred and Urianger, as they are the only Scions featured, but based on the quest it'll probably be Wol, Krile, Alphinaud and Alisaie. G'raha is allegedly staying behind, but since he's shown in Tural in the trailer I think he'll find an excuse to come along anyway lol.

‌Thancred and Urianger are going to be competing against us, which will be interesting. I think it'll be fun to see some of the Scions take on a more rival-y role, if only for a bit. It looks like they were petitioned by someone else participating in the Rite of Succession, so maybe they're working for Miqo boy? They're on his side of the artwork after all 🤔

‌(Also I think the writers know how popular those two have gotten together lol they're like making it a point to have them with each other at all times)

‌Estinien is going to Tural just for the hell of it which I think is hilariously in character. Literally going there at the same time as us purely by coincidence. He really can't escape us can he.

‌Y'shtola is neither seen nor heard of which tbh I think is fair given how much screentime and focus she got during the whole Zero arc. I do wonder why she's going to Tural tho, she's in the trailer too so I'm certain she will be there.

‌(Also, since G'raha, Estinien and Y'shtola aren't aligned with any particular side as of now, I think they'll be a neutral third party in the Succession rivalries going on. That, or they'll end up siding with the 3rd sibling that isn't the Obvious Villain (based on Wuk Lamat and Erenville's accounts) somehow. Will be fun to see in any case.)

‌The little memory dialogue from Emet was nice :) just a reminder of the adventures yet to be had. Also he's finally in the unending codex which I think is nice (ngl I kinda forgot about the codex until he got added to it)

ALSO I almost forgot to include it BUT we have a nice heart-to-heart scene with G'raha alone on a bridge and if the writers weren't COWARDS (and/or worried about romance ambiguity, at least for those relating to the WoL) he could've proposed to us then and there. You know he wants you. Do not hold him back writers let him do what he wants. (I'd have said yes ofc)

‌Backpack :)

#all in all very good quests wuk lamat is a treasure and i am very excited for dawntrail #it will be fun. very fun. id say im excited to see hoe many of my speculations are correct but also i dont speculate much so. lol #i could never be a theorist thats for sure. thats too much work for my teeny tiny brain #wait how do i tag this. um #i guess ill just tag the most important ones #wuk lamat #krile mayer baldesion #g'raha tia #graha tia #erenville #final fantasy #final fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv #ff14 #ffxiv #ffxiv spoilers #6.55 spoilers #xander rambles

[shmaptainwrites]

'𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐎 𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 [𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS — James Wilson x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — James and Reader receive some news that changes everything

WARNINGS — Cancer, cancer treatments (chemotherapty, radiation), hospitals, medical emergencies, ambiguous ending, lots of angst and hurt comfort

NOTE — Yeah so this is technically ansgty James fic no. 2 not no. 1, I personally love the way this one turned out but just a reminder that if you find any of the things mentioned in the warnings triggering please don't read it and put your mental well-being first!

James could feel his heart beating out of his chest. The pounding was ringing in his ears, so much so he could barely hear his colleague as he spoke to him. He thought he probably looked stupid, his mouth hanging slightly agape. 

When he turned around to see you, somehow you were taking the news in much better stride than he was, hands curled up in your lap, nodding along as the doctor spoke. 

As his colleague finished speaking he handed you a few papers to look through, but motioned to James, for what at this point James wouldn’t be able to tell, his ears still ringing as the blood drained from his face. On his way out, the fellow doctor patted James on the shoulder. He assumed it was supposed to be reassuring, but nothing could help him at that moment. 

He wondered if all these years this is how his patients had felt, that even with the most gentle delivery, it wouldn’t change the fact that everything was about to change.

You didn’t say anything, simply looking through the papers and placing a hand on his leg giving it a small squeeze. 

He ran a hand through his hair before bringing it down to hold yours that was resting on his leg. He squeezed it so tight, but you continued reading, giving him a few more moments to adjust. 

Eventually, you couldn’t stand the silence any longer, so you broke it. 

“Jamie-,” 

“How are you so calm?” he interrupted you immediately. 

“My reaction isn’t going to change what’s happening,” you whispered. 

He ran his hands over his face, biting back the tears that were pooling in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry I can’t be like that,” he chuckled humourlessly and you simply wrapped an arm around him, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to be,” you murmured. “Not with everything racing through your head.” 

Your thumb brushed across his forehead, pushing some of his hair out of the way. 

“I’m still here,” you whispered. “I’m here now.” 

He sniffed and tried to sit up straighter, wiping his eyes and nodding his head. 

“You’re right,” he cleared his throat. “I-I’m gonna go tell Cuddy I need to head out early. Wait by my office?” 

“Sure,” you agreed. 

James stood up to leave, but you stopped him. 

“Jamie,” you curled your finger, telling him to come closer, which he did, allowing you to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you.” 

“I-I love you too,” he held your face in one hand, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “So much.” 

You smiled while he let his hand drop, making his way to Cuddy’s office. He didn’t feel like it was time to reveal the news in its entirety, so he blamed it on a household emergency for the time being, and Cuddy, knowing James would never leave work without good reason, easily let him go as long as one of the other doctors took care of his patients. 

It wasn’t hard to find someone willing to cover for him. James was well-liked and had made a few friends over the course of his time at Princeton Plainsboro. When he came to his office to grab you to head out, he saw you sitting quietly on the couch, reading one of his medical encyclopedias. 

“Are you sure you want to be looking at that?” he asked, his jacket slung over his arm as he leaned in the door frame. 

“I was just curious,” you said simply, closing the book. “Let’s go home.” 

You pushed yourself up off the couch and James wrapped an arm around your shoulder to rub your arm before dropping his hand and intertwining it with yours. 

The drive home started out silent; aside from the music playing in the background. You had glanced through James’ CD folder, picking something familiar and sliding it into the player. 

“Oh come on,” James looked over at you and you playfully smiled. “Really, honey?” 

“I figured we could use some smiles,” you nudged him gently, careful not to alter his steering. “I take it you remember this one then?” 

“Of course I do,” he moved his hand from the gear shift to hold yours. “You forced the band to play it at our wedding, much to their horror.” 

“It’s not that bad,” you chuckled. 

“You sure? Because I’m fairly certain you’re the only one enjoying themselves whenever it comes on,” he teased. 

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself right now.” 

“Only because you are.” 

He focused back on his driving, still steering one-handed. When you pulled into the driveway of your house, you grabbed your purse and James took his jacket and briefcase and you went around and entered from the back door which you had left unlocked. 

After you got settled, changed into something more comfortable and went to sit on the couch, James came up and handed you a glass of water with a Tylenol. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting next to you. 

“Aside from the headache I’m okay,” you assured him after taking the medication. “Feeling lucky.” 

“Lucky?” he scoffed incredulously. He felt the opposite of lucky and he wasn’t even the sick one. 

“Yeah. Lucky to have you,” you placed the water down on the coffee table before turning in his direction and holding his face in your hands. “Not everyone in my position can say their husband is an oncologist.” 

He nodded his head, “You’re right, they can’t. W-When are we supposed to go in for your first appointment?” 

“Tomorrow. I told him we’d like to start treatment as soon as possible,” you kissed his forehead. “Plus, you can come visit me while you’re working. I’ll be right in your backyard.” 

“You’ve definitely got that right,” he held your wrist and turned his head to press a kiss to your hand. 

You moved so you were laying down with your back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around you and kissed your hair. 

“Jamie?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Just because I’m trying to stay positive,” you started with a quiet voice, “it doesn’t mean I’m not scared.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” he assured you and ran his hands up and down your arms. 

“Just promise me that even if we’re both scared, you’ll never stop being honest with me. Even if it’s hard and even if it’s looking bad.” 

“Of course. We’re in this together, just like always.” 

His words gave you enough comfort to close your eyes, knowing that with the next little while having many shifts and changes, it would probably be good that you get as much rest as you could. 

—

“Hey, I brought you some food from home for lunch,” James said as he pulled open the sliding door and entered your hospital room. 

“Thanks, but I don’t really have much of an appetite right now,” you admitted. 

“Chemo this morning?” he asked and you nodded. “That’s okay, I’ll just put it here in case you change your mind.” 

“House dropped by to see me,” you said, placing your hands in your lap with raised brows. 

“Oh, now that is surprising. He hates visiting patients.” 

“That’s what I said,” you chuckled, “but he had come to the very rational conclusion that since we were already acquainted and we knew what was wrong with me it was okay to come and say a quick hello.” 

“That’s definitely House,” James nodded. “I hope he didn’t say anything totally off-putting, you know how he is.” 

“It was fine,” you assured him. “He loves you too much to bother me like that.” 

“If it feels like too much to do the treatment here just say the word and we can change hospitals,” James said. “I know there’s lots of people you know wandering around these halls so if at any point you feel uncomfortable just tell me, okay?” 

“I will, but I’d rather be here. It’s close to you and you trust your colleagues, that’s enough for me.” 

“Are you sure? And you’re looking a little feverish, are you hot? And-,” 

“James, please, I’m fine,” you reached out and held his hand. “I love you and I promise I’m okay right now.” 

“You never call me James.” 

“I was trying to put emphasis on what I was saying so you knew I was serious,” you gave him a half smile. 

“You promise to tell me if something feels off? Even now with your appetite, if you feel nauseous we can give you something to help with that.” 

“I promise,” you assured him. “Cross my heart and hope to-,” you stopped, chewing on your words before deciding on just saying. “Cross my heart.” 

“Okay,” he sighed. “I’ll try and let up, but it’s going to be hard.” 

“I know, which is why I appreciate you trying,” you squeezed his hand. 

“My lunch break is almost over. I should probably head back.” 

You could sense he didn’t want to leave, so you motioned for him to come to you so you could give him a kiss to help him get through the rest of the day. 

“You know, you’re still as beautiful as the day I met you,” he smiled at you. 

“The day you met me I was covered head-to-toe in mud and was pissed off like there was no tomorrow,” you laughed. 

“Exactly,” he winked and you rolled your eyes, blowing him a kiss as he walked out of your room. 

James was in decent spirits for the next part of his shift. Even though he was stressed and tired, he found ways to help and connect with his patients along with their worried family members, feeling a new sense of empathy for them and their situation. 

He handled everything as he usually did, but with an extra added care that could only come from personal experience. Every patient was different, some wanted to know every detail and others nothing at all and he did his best to accommodate each one. 

He was speaking with one of the family members later in the day about what the next steps in treatment could look like. In this case the cancer was at an early stage and could be treated by a variety of means as it hadn’t metastasized. 

James was interrupted when he heard a scream of pain coming from across the hall. He would have let someone else deal with it, but he recognized the sound of the voice crying out in hurt. 

“I-I’m so sorry can you excuse me,” he said quickly while running towards your room, seeing you hunched over by your bed, clutching onto your leg while a nurse attended to you and your oncologist ran past James to see what was happening. “What’s going on?” he asked. “What is it?” 

“Looks like DVT,” his colleague said. “We need to get her into an OR to remove the clot.” 

He called for someone to prepare the OR and James quickly rushed to your side, holding onto you while you were still doubled over in pain. His mind was racing, what had changed in the few hours he hadn’t been with you? You were fine before. Was there a cause outside of the chemo? Something that aggravated the situation? 

“God!” you grimaced through gritted teeth, gripping onto your leg as they moved you onto the gurney. “Jamie, it hurts,” you cried. 

“I know,” his hand rested on your forehead, his thumb gently moving back and forth. “I know, honey. They’re giving you something for the pain right now and they’re going to get you to an OR to deal with it.” 

Tears were streaming down your face when they finally injected you with a painkiller and one of the nurses came to say the OR was prepped and they were ready for you to be brought in. James walked next to your bed, his hand in yours until they came past the doors leading to the operating rooms where Cuddy had seen the events unfolding and quickly stepped in, grabbing him before he went any further. 

“Wilson, you can’t go in there,” she said. 

“What do you mean I can’t go in there, I need to-,” 

“She’s your family. You can’t.” 

James blinked a few times before swallowing thickly. Cuddy was right, they couldn’t make an exception for him just because he was a doctor. The procedure would turn out fine and everything would be okay. If only he could play the role of a concerned loved one, but no. He had to go back to work. 

“Take ten,” she said. “Get some water, take a breather.”

James clenched his jaw and nodded his head, moving away from the door and going instead to his office, quickly apologizing to the family member he was speaking to earlier, saying something had come up and he might be a moment. 

When he entered his office and shut the door and squeezed his eyes shut, begging himself not to cry, not when he had to go back to work. Dealing with the cancer treatment when he knew every possible side effect and everything that could go wrong like it was written on the back of his hand was difficult enough, but hearing you in pain, screaming for it to stop almost jolted his heart. 

He took Cuddy’s advice and grabbed a bottle of water, drinking some of it before deciding his best course of action was to get to work, distract himself. 

He went first to finish his conversation then do his rounds before heading down to the clinic before it closed. 

Just as his shift was about to end he heard the sound of his pager go off and he checked it, seeing a message from Cuddy that simply said: 

SHE’S FINE

Allowing him to finally let out a sigh of relief. 

You’d first be in post-op for a day or so recovering from the surgery then they would move you back to your regular room. 

As soon as his shift was over he had a feeling he wouldn’t be going home any time soon, so he searched in his bag for a change of clothes, finding a t-shirt, a sweater, and a pair of jeans and decided to get changed. 

As he walked in the hallway towards post-op he ran into a colleague from the department who was about to make a comment on his attire before he stopped her, 

“I’m off duty. Don’t worry, I’m not turning into House.” 

She nodded her head with a bit of a chuckle before wishing him a good night. 

When he came into your room you were still under anesthesia from the surgery so he pulled up a chair next to your bed and quietly waited for you to wake up.

After the kind of day he’d had, he was finding it hard to keep his eyes open. He felt his head slump and his eyes closed and he couldn’t be bothered to fight the sleep that came. 

Some time later, James could feel a light brush against his arm, pulling him out of his sleep. His eyes blinked open and he could see your arm reaching out for him. 

“Hey,” he rubbed his eyes before leaning forward in his chair, his hand caressing the side of your face. “You’re awake.” 

“That might be a stretch,” you murmured, your voice hoarse. 

“Let me get you some water,” he stood up and grabbed the pitcher and a cup, filling it with water and helping you drink some of it. 

“It’s late, how long have you been here?” you asked, holding his wrist while he came to sit next to you on the bed. 

“Since the end of my shift,” he yawned. 

“Jamie, you have work tomorrow. You should have gone home and gotten some sleep. Or even slept on the couch in your office,” you chastised. 

“And leave you in here alone?” he shook his head. “No way.” 

You moved slightly in the bed, off to the side and carefully turning so you were now lying on your leg that hadn’t been operated on, making just enough room for James to lie down next to you. You patted the empty spot on the bed and he didn’t fight you, kicking off his shoes and lying down with his forehead gently resting against yours and his hand holding your cheek. 

You were still fighting a little against the anesthetic to stay awake and James could see you trying your hardest to keep your eyes open. 

“It’s okay,” he kissed the space between your eyebrows. “Let’s sleep. You’ve got recovering to do and I have work.” 

“Mhmm,” you hummed and let your eyes close, feeling much more comfortable than before now that you were in the embrace of your husband. 

—

While you and James were both grateful the chemo and radiation hadn’t brought on any more complications, it was beginning to get harder to function on a daily basis. Whether it was the battery of tests they performed or the pain and sickness that came along with it and the treatment, it was taking every ounce of energy you had left to not be miserable. 

Unfortunately, James was spread a little thinner and he was miserable. 

You both practically lived at the hospital at this point and he couldn’t stand getting off work only to see that your symptoms from the treatment were getting worse every day. 

“Jamie, I’m sorry I can’t think straight, everything is really foggy right now. You’re going to have to ask him what he told me,” you sighed. “I’ll write it down next time, promise.” 

“Sure, that’s okay,” he held your hand brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “It’s just the chemo, the fog will go away sometime after the treatment is over.” 

“You think we’ll get to that point?” 

“I was trying to be more positive like you,” he teased. “But it might get to that point and it might not. And if it does, it’s because it’s stage 3 there’s a higher chance of relapse.”

“Just means we get to hang out more,” you wiggled your eyebrows and James laughed a little. 

“I don’t know how you do it, honey,” James sighed. “I’d be spinning in circles if I were you. I’d be doing it right now if it weren’t for you.” 

“Just takes a little bit of delusion and a whole lot of denial,” you joked. “And maybe a little bit of worry too.” 

James looked at you curiously and you went on.

“Worry that if I’m miserable then that cute oncologist that keeps visiting me might start to spiral.” 

“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “You don’t have to be strong for me.” 

You were too tired to fight the tears forming in your eyes as you shook your head. 

“If I'm not strong for you, who's gonna do it Jamie? You’re already too busy being strong for me, for all of your patients, for your friends…” 

James leaned in closer to you, clasping your hand in both of his own, pressing a delicate kiss to it. 

“We’re a team. We look after each other,” you stated firmly. “So I’m gonna keep being positive even if this sucks ass because we both need it, okay?”

James nodded his head. 

“Okay, but promise me one thing.” 

You nodded for him to continue. 

“If it sucks a lot and you feel it in here,” he put a hand over your heart. “For the love of God, don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me, we’ll let it suck for a bit and then we can go back to being positive.” 

Your lips trembled a little until you bit down on your lower lip and slowly nodded your head. 

“Maybe it can suck for a bit right now,” you whispered, letting a tear slip from your eye. 

You were quick to wipe it away, but it wasn’t much use as tears silently flowed down your face. The exhaustion, the pain, the uncertainty, it was all getting to you and you just needed James’ permission to let it out. 

James came to sit on the side of your bed from his chair, leaning down and kissing away your tears. Eventually when the tears slowed he kissed your nose before gently playfully biting the tip of it, getting you to look up at him and his ridiculous idea of fun. 

“You look like a rabbit,” you sniffed. 

“Shoot, I was going for a squirrel,” he snapped his finger and you chuckled. “What do you say I do it again and see if I can get it right?” 

“Jamie,” you smiled and placed a hand on his arm, the other wiping the tears from your face. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, always.” 

—

You were grateful for the knock at your sliding door which pulled you away from the hospital food sitting on the tray in front of you. When you looked up you saw one of House’s diagnosticians, Eric Foreman motioning to ask if it was okay for him to come inside. 

You nodded your head and told him to open the door. 

“Hey,” he smiled while entering the room. “I know Wilson is out of town so I figured maybe you could use a little bit of company.” 

“Usually I can survive without him, I think he’s probably worse off, at least I have nice company,” you motioned to the machines monitoring your heart rate and respiration. 

He laughed a little at that before pulling up a chair and sitting next to your bed. 

“He mentioned you don’t really like the food, so I snuck in a little something from outside,” he handed you a wrapped parcel. “Hopefully you find it up to standard.” 

“Thanks, that’s really sweet of you. I was having a hard time imagining how I’m supposed to eat this,” you pointed to the plate in front of you. 

You unwrapped the package and began to eat, in small controlled bites not wanting to aggravate any dormant nausea. 

“So how are you?” Foreman asked. “I mean aside from all this.” 

“Honestly not too bad. I get to see my husband a lot, I have people waiting on me hand and foot, it’s a decent gig being in bed,” you joked. “Although I am exhausted all of the time and find little enjoyment in watching soap operas on such a tiny screen so, really it's a toss up.” 

“Anything we can bring you from home or outside to help?” 

“If I think of anything I’ll let you know,” you nodded. “But company is nice when I have the energy for it. You’re lucky you caught me right after a nap.” 

“I’ll get Cameron and Chase to stop by at some point too. I could also ask House, but he’s not going to listen to me,” he pressed his lips together and you chuckled. 

“No, he marches to the beat of his own drum,” you agreed, “but he’ll come by every once in a while. I can;t decide if his visits are fun, depressing, or maybe it’s just an emotional rollercoaster.” 

“I think his patients would agree with you,” Foreman leaned back in his chair. 

“Speaking of patients, any interesting cases recently you can tell me about?” you asked. 

“Hmm, there was that one a while ago where there was this whole complication with a transplant and organ donation. The transplant committee wouldn’t give the guy a heart because he was in his sixties, and then the procurement team wanted to throw out a heart because it tested positive for Hep. C. Turns out, after House managed to convince the husband to still let his wife’s organs be used, it wasn’t Hep. C. and we were able to treat it and do the transplant.” 

“So you had to diagnose a dead woman in order to save a man’s life?” you asked and Foreman nodded. 

“Definitely one of our more interesting cases.”

There was a comfortable pause where you ate a little more food before coming up with another question to ask. 

“Tell me,” you started. “How’s Jamie when he’s working? I know you don’t work with him directly, but he’s always with House so your paths must intersect a bit.” 

“He’s…” Foreman tried to find the words to describe your husband’s demeanour. “Some days are good and others aren’t, but no one blames him for it.” 

“I figured as much,” you sighed. “Don’t tell him I said this, but if something goes wrong, and something happens to me, I don’t want to leave him like that. We’ve both had really bad luck when it comes to love and I just… I don’t think either one of us would recover from losing the other.”

“It’s really sweet that you think that, but you’re not going to have to find out,” Foreman assured you. “You’re gonna live long enough to get to the point in your relationship where you can read his mind. Telepathy comes after the 20th anniversary, right?” 

You laughed, “Yeah I think so.” 

“Seriously though, even in the off chance that something does happen, Wilson is well-liked here, hell he’s loved. There’s more than a few people that will look after him.”

“Thanks, Foreman. And I sure as hell hope you’re right.” 

—

“God, I missed it here,” you smiled as you walked into your home for the first time since you had begun your intensive treatment. “And it’s clean!” 

“Because I’m never here, there’s probably moldy food in the fridge and dust everywhere,” James chuckled, holding you from behind and pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“So how long do I get to stay here?” you asked. 

“A few days as long as nothing happens and I asked for some time off so I will be here with you for all of it.” 

“Good, because I need your cooking skills. I think the hospital food was taking the nutrients away from my body,” you exaggerated, taking off your shoes and sitting on the couch. 

“I think that’s probably the chemo,” James corrected you and you shook your head. 

“No, it was definitely the food.” 

“Then let’s get something to eat,” he suggested and put his hand out for you to take. You did and walked to the kitchen together, noticing all the bags of groceries on the floor and counter. 

“I thought you said the food was moldy?” 

“The food in the fridge definitely is,” he assured you. “I just thought it might be a good idea to get something edible for you.” 

“You’re very considerate,” you gave him a quick kiss. 

He made you a quick snack to start and you ate together by the counter before you went to your room and laid down on the bed. 

“Jamie you’re gonna have to drag me away from here when we go back,” you moaned into the pillow. “It’s the little things, really,” you sighed. 

“I’m glad you’re comfortable,” he sat down on his side of the bed, looking down at you. “I hated sleeping here without you.” 

“You clearly didn’t do it often because from what I could remember you only slept at home when I begged you to. That’s why the dark circles under your eyes are just as big as mine,” you lifted your hand to brush against his cheekbone. 

“Hopefully we’ll both get a good sleep tonight.” 

It was wishful thinking. After dinner, you watched a movie together in the living room before calling it an early night and getting ready to go to bed. 

For the first few hours, you were both asleep, James with his arm wrapped around your midsection as he spooned you, but sometime around two or three o’clock in the morning James was awoken by your figure shaking next to him. 

He quickly became fully awake and turned on the bedside lamp seeing you still curled up on your side, sweat dripping from your brow while you convulsed. 

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath and grabbed a thermometer, gently waking you and checking your temperature. 

“Jamie, w-what’s going o-on?” 

He didn’t say anything initially, looking at the thermometer and realizing he had to call the ambulance. 

“You have a really bad fever,” he said while running over to the desk and grabbing the phone. “We need to go back to the hospital, right now.”  

He called 911 and quickly explained the situation to them, packing a bag while he did so. He stayed on the line with them while helping you get up and move to the living room. Soon after the ambulance arrived and he was able to hang up and open the door for the paramedics. 

“What’s going on, sir?” one of the paramedics asked. 

“It-It’s my wife, she has cancer a-and she’s got a neutropenic fever, it’s above 100.4. I’m a doctor, and her oncologist is at Princeton-Plainsboro. If you put her on IV antibiotics we can take her there.” 

The paramedics listened, putting you on the gurney and rushing you out of the house. James slung the bag over his shoulder and jumped in the back of the ambulance with you. He let the paramedics do their job, simply holding on tightly to your hand. 

When you arrived at the hospital, they wheeled you away to the ER. He knew they would have to see if an infection caused the fever and get you stable and bring down the fever. 

He took a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose before heading up to his office to drop off the bag and call your oncologist. 

“Hey, Ted… Yeah we just got here… I just woke up and she was shaking like crazy. I-I thought it might have been a seizure at first, but she woke up when I touched her and I checked her temperature…Yeah, I did all that,” he nodded. “I’m sorry it’s so late I just-,” he bit down on his tongue to stop his voice from wavering. “Okay, thanks Ted, I’ll see you soon.” 

He hung up the phone and bent down over his desk, finally letting his emotions overcome him. 

He hated the way his shoulders trembled and shook so violently, only reminding him of you fighting off your fever down in the emergency room. There had only been a few occasions where James had felt like breaking down over the course of your treatment. This was the only time he allowed it to actually happen. 

His own weight soon became too much to hold and he let himself sink down to the ground, his back against his desk. He sat with his knees almost pressed against his chest and his hands covering his face to stifle the sobs that were escaping past his lips. 

James wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but by the end of it his eyes were red and puffy and all of the energy was drained from his face. In any other circumstance, had he been feeling even a little bit upset or sad, he knew you would always be there to comfort him, to hold him and talk through things, and he felt dejected knowing right now you needed him as much as he needed you and all he could do was sit on the sidelines and hold you hand. Four years of undergrad, four years of medical school, another four for residency and all this specialized knowledge on a disease, and yet he wasn’t even able to put it to much use for the person he loved most. 

It took him a little while longer to feel well enough to walk out of his office towards the washrooms to rinse his face with cold water, simultaneously waking him up and reducing the appearance of his puffy eyes. 

He then decided to go find out where they had moved you to and what things were looking like now. He assumed the fever was hopefully under control by this point and they could figure out if an infection had caused it. 

He ran into Ted who was speaking to a nurse, still dressed in casual clothes and without a white coat. James didn’t blame him; it was much too early to be awake. 

Ted excused himself from his conversation and went to go speak with James. 

“She’s stable,” he said, and the tension in James’ shoulders vanished. “It’s looking like it’s just the cancer that caused it, nothing else we have to treat on top of it. Being away from the IV and other things that were helping her body fight off the fever, it was only a matter of time before it kicked in.” 

“And-And um… what’s the course of treatment?” James asked, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“She’s most likely going to have to stay at the hospital until the cancer is gone. We did some recent scans and I think some of the tumor can be removed surgically, it won’t be too high risk when she’s recovered and then the chemo and radiation will have smaller things to target.” 

James ran a hand across his face and nodded, 

“Can I see her?” 

“I had her moved back to her room on the oncology floor and I got the nurses to put in a cot for you. Just maybe wait until the fever’s gone to share the bed with her,” Ted patted his shoulder as he walked away and James patted his hand in return as a thank you. 

When he went back upstairs to your room, he saw you were sound asleep, having probably been minorly sedated so you could get some rest. He pulled the cot next to the hospital bed and thankful he was already in his pyjamas, he slipped under the blanket and let the exhaustion overtake him.

—

“Jamie, you’re frowning again,” you ran your thumb over the crease between his eyebrows, smoothing it out. 

He held your hand along the side of his face, even though it was tight and a little cramped he loved sharing the hospital bed with you. 

“Maybe, I’m just grumpy. Can I be grumpy?” 

“Sure, but just don’t frown,” you yawned. “Your smile is too pretty and if you frown you’ll get wrinkles.” 

“But, if I smile I’ll get smile lines,” he countered, turning his head to kiss your hand. 

“At least we’d know you were happy. Anyone can get wrinkles, you have to smile to get smile lines,” you traced along his nose and down to his lips. 

“But I’m not happy,” James whispered. “That would be a lie.” 

“You’re not happy?” you looked at him with concern. 

“I promise I’m trying, really hard,” he clasped your hand between his warmer ones, “but seeing you like this every single day makes it really difficult to be happy.” 

You chewed on your cheek, “Guess this has been torture for both of us, watching each other fall apart.” 

“Yeah,” James sighed and looked down at the white sheets. 

“You don’t…You don’t regret marrying me… do you?” you said, your voice below a whisper. 

“No,” he responded quickly, pulling you in closer to him. “Not at all.” 

“The truth, James,” you insisted. “You don’t have to protect my feelings.” 

“That is the truth.” 

You didn’t say anything for a few moments trying to stay in the silence, worried of what would come up if you said anything more. 

“You regret it, don’t you?” he frowned softly, but instead of pulling away he squeezed you harder. You gripped onto his sweater, fighting the emotion in your voice,

“I hate how much I’m hurting you.” 

“You can’t control what’s happening,” he pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“But if you hadn’t met me, if we hadn’t fallen in love-,” 

“I would be just as miserable, but for different reasons,” he lifted your chin to look up at him, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I know you don’t regret loving me and I sure as hell don’t regret loving you.” 

“Then why do you have that look in your eyes every time you see me? Like you can barely look at me.”

James swallowed thickly, the look wasn’t one in absence of love, if anything it was fuelled by that. 

Guilt. 

“I-,” he stopped and took a deep breath. “I should have caught it sooner. You were symptomatic a while before we got you tested for anything and I should have caught it.”

“And if you had caught it earlier we wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“You would have been done with your chemo and radiation by this point, we’d be at home putting all of this behind us, but now even if it goes away…” 

“You’re never going to be able to forget the fact that it could come back.” 

James didn’t even realize he’d begun to cry until you wiped away the tears from under his eyes with your thumbs, gently stroking his cheeks. 

“I don’t think anything I say can help you with what you’re feeling, but not once did I blame you… and I hope you can be kind enough to yourself to come to that same conclusion.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he wept, shaking his head. “I-I didn’t mean to m-make you feel like-,” 

“Jamie, it doesn’t matter anymore,” you placed your forehead against his. “One of the qualities I love most about you is your compassion, your forgiveness, just promise me you’ll try your best to extend the same courtesy to yourself.” 

He nodded his head, his nose pressed against yours and the pillow below you wet with tears on both ends. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered. 

“I love you too.” 

And in the end that’s what you kept coming back to. 

In sickness or in health. 

‘Til death do us part.

@marij0oo

#james wilson #james wilson x reader #house md #house fanfiction #house md fanfiction #james wilson fanfiction #james wilson fanfic #james wilson fic #robert sean leonard

[themissinghand]

Genshin Impact: The Overworked God

Summary: In which one of the lore writers who help write the world of Genshin Impact was suddenly thrusted in the very world they created. He doesn't know how this happened and the way home seemed like a pipe dream.

Well, testing characters is one thing, but playing God?

Oh boy.

Note: SAGAU if you squint but not really. Mainly fluff and healing mainly between a tired worker and the oldest Archon.

Male OC!

Warning: Genshin themes with mentions of war, and death. And OC needs some rest.

"Good morning, your Grace." 

"5 more minutes..?" 

"You are the Creator."

It took approximately one hard pinch to the elbow and 55 seconds later that Kai decided (albeit begrudgingly) that this was his reality.

Always negotiate the terms and pay for any job.

Payment is obviously going back home, but also monetary compensation, enough to retire early as a billionaire. And maybe a nice villa. Or bed.

Until Kai goes home, he might as well get an easier life here.

Which clearly did not go as intended.

"I will not be the babysitter for any Archon." Kai already has countries to run, royal families to manage, and human relationships are ever so complicated. He doesn't have the time nor desire to babysit gods for goodness sake.

And besides, the 7 Archons comes so much later in time! 

He's a game writer, not a politician or babysitter! It's only because he played kingdom simulation games before and read too many fictional works that he could figure things out. 

Celestia is supposed to be his assistant since he's the Creator, but isn't he working too hard!? At this point, he's gonna retire early! 

"But your Grace, you cannot manage the world yourself. Archons can help manage them for you!" 

Yes, Celestia gave up in speaking in elegant and ambiguous ways after their first negotiation session. 

Kai thought about it for a bit before agreeing, anything that spelled less work for him, he'll take it! 

"But, I'm not going to be a babysitter!" 

Archon war? 

Stop making me do more work! 

What happened? It was peaceful for such a long time! 

Was it because there were too many gods or powerful creatures? Damn Celestia, you're supposed to keep it under control! 

Kai has a migraine everyday, so this wasn't surprising, but did the gods have to fight each other, just so only 7 left?! 

Celestia!

"It must be done your Grace! Isn't this what you and your team wrote?" 

"Well I changed my mind." 

"Your Grace! If you go out there now, they will use you and your powers!" 

"But I can't watch people die just because some stupid god or creature that wants power!"

Celestia remained silent at his outburst. 

"Tempus. It's too late, it had already begun." 

"Celestia!"

"Everything is your will after all. You wrote the story, didn't you?" 

It was then did Kai realize that Celestia didn't follow him, but rather the words and designs set by his team in the real world. 

Celestia is like an AI robot, one that only acts in accordance to the wishes of it's Creator. 

But isn't he the Creator right now?! Does this mean he needs more power to be recognized, or overthrow the set system? 

Kai stomped out in fury and for the first time, not as Kai, but the God of Time and Creation. 

Tempus.

Tempus never thought he would play God, but here he is, relying on his godly powers to save what's left of his creation. 

"Tempus." 

Kai sent his final message to his country's royal family before turning to greet the rude guest.

"Morax." One of the 7 victors of war, a newly appointed Archon, entered without announcing anything beforehand and immediately strides towards Kai. 

When Morax stops in front of him, there's an awkward silence between them, and Kai knows this man is waiting for something.

"No." But Kai declines. He's got why too much things to deal with and he's not going to do something he's done too many times. 

"Guizhong is dead." Kai frowns, ah, of course. 

"Please." Morax pleads, and Kai is put at odds when seeing the Lord of Geo so weak, so desperate.

"Morax. You know I cannot."

"Kai." He almost hisses, and Kai could care less.

"I'll do anything to bring everyone back."

"They will die no matter what."

Because I wrote it.

"Shut up!" Kai does not flinch when the God of Contracts claws at him. He simply stares into those golden eyes of fury and desperation.

"Turn back time! Do it!" The entire world quakes at his call, and Tempus is stuck. 

Stuck between pity and reality.

"If I do, what will you do? What can you do?" Tempus responds, tired of this entire show. He groans when he felt strong claws around his neck.

"I'll save Guizhong! I'll stop the Archon war!"

"You'll only suffer and regret." Like him.

"I will not." The resolve in his voice is undeniable. 

"If only you had been there with me then Guizhong-"

"Will die. If not by the war, then by her people."

"What?" Morax freezes, and Kai could hear the bitter realization hit him. 

"If not by her people, then by fate. If not by fate, then by Celestia, by YOU! You of all people know even Gods die, Morax. It's a war." Kai is sick of it. 

Tempus tried everything, but he is a powerless, useless god against his own pen in his home world. 

Morax inhales, then exhales.

"Do it. Turn back time."

Tempus sighs, a distant memory of a determined, hard-working, and adorable adepti resurfaced in his mind. 

He remembers laughing and writing Zhongli's character-

"One chance." Then the Lord of Geo lets go and bows.

"Thank you." Tempus puts a hand on Morax's bloodied shoulder and closes his eyes. 

This conversation turns into one of the past.

The Archon war occurs, and Tempus watches Morax fail.

If he prevents one red flag, another arises.

Everything repeats, like a never-ending cycle of torture.

"Morax." 

"Tempus." The God of Time stops behind his sitting figure in front of Guizhong and many of his colleagues' graves.

Tempus puts a glazed lily on each of the graves and offers his own condolences.

"Morax. It's over now. Return."

"And where would I return?" Tempus holds out his hand. 

"Then, come with me." 

Morax accepted and followed. 

For some reason, Morax holds onto his hand like his lifeline, and Tempus allows him.

Just like that, the two Gods made their way to Temporium, a land where time moves differently than in the rest of the world. 

Temporium is a wonderful nation.

Old as time, this country is the first nation Tempus raised from the ground. It is also the country that he chose to call "home". 

The royal family is the one that manages the country and Tempus is merely a guide and protector, helping them navigate the dangers of the past and the future.

His protective shield around this land slows down or speeds up time within the shield, creating a safe haven that is immune to any outside influences. 

Kai wants to make this country similar to his real home. 

Before he was thrown into this madness. 

Tempus leads Morax into a transparent dome known as a green house and stops. 

"Morax. Time is limited. So cherish it."

Surrounded by flowers and greenery, there stood a woman with a gentle smile.

"Morax?" 

Tempus watches them reunite and thinks that losing sleep is worth it. 

Looking up into the skies, Tempus thinks that since he was able to change fate, just slightly, it means Tempus is stronger, but not enough. 

Celestia is wavering. 

But he's too late.

Too many died, and too many suffered due to his hand. He can't just turn back time, for he will also revert to the past "him".

Nevertheless, Tempus swore to change the plot, and maybe, just maybe, end this never-ending madness. 

Seeing as to how Morax and Guizhong are fine, Tempus disappears and reappears under a cherry blossom tree.

There was another person he saved, a sister and leader to many. There, two sisters cried in each other’s arms like no tomorrow.

Tempus watches solemnly, and repeats the same disappearing and reappearing, many times.

Tempus shouldn't be at this tea party. 

"Morax. Let's rebuild Liyue."

"Guizhong. They betrayed you." Morax clearly looks like he was withholding his rage. 

"I know." Guizhong acknowledges, but isn't afraid. 

"But even so, I understand their reasons. To protect their land from an unwanted war."

Her kindness knows no bounds. Truly, no one deserves her. 

"Thus Morax, this time, we will rebuild Liyue with the adepti, and we will stand together. As always."

"Guizhong. I...cannot afford to lose you again." She smiles wistfully, and then looks at Tempus. 

"I too am afraid of disappearing, and without Tempus, perhaps I would have perished. It was he who saved me and led me to his realm to heal. For that, thank you." 

Morax too bows in gratitude.

"I apologize that I cannot save everyone." 

"That would be too much to ask from you, Tempus. For you are not an omnipotent, omniscient or omnipresent God." 

For the first time, Tempus feels slightly relieved at someone's words. 

"I'm sure you did your best and already changed so many people’s lives."

Huh. A soft smile blooms on his face and the two seemed surprised. 

Truly, no one deserves her.  

Eventually they leave, and Tempus, sends them off peacefully, wishing them the best.

Then, Liyue is built once again.

This time, they build the foundation and protect the city together.

But again, even the gods cannot go against time.

When Guizhong dies, she dies as she scatters her wisdom all over Liyue, to her people, to her country and to her loved ones.

This time, she dies without regrets.

This time, she dies because Celestia told her it was time.

There was no forewarning, but it looked like she knew. 

She spent the last of her time with Morax and Tempus before she fades and flutters away like dust.

Again, Morax receives a stone dumbbell, challenging him to unlock.

But this time, there was one thing that changed.

"Morax, I hope you can befriend Tempus. He's the oldest of all gods, the one who has drifted the longest among all. Yet, he is perhaps the one that is the loneliest and wisest, or perhaps that is why he acts the way he acts." She says after she gives him her dumbbell.

"If I have one regret, it would be that I have never gained his trust."

"Guizhong, that's impossible-"

"Morax, he has never shown us more than courtesy and kindness. Maybe I am greedy, but I want to become a friend to all." She smiles.

"That is why, I hope you can be his friend in place of I."

"Of course. By your gift, I pledge to fulfill your will." Morax holds her hand as she disintegrates.

"Thank you Morax. I hope only happiness and prosperity follow you."

Like dust, they slip through his fingers and disappear.

Like all of his comrades, friends, and loved ones.

And Tempus could only watch from the distance like a powerless God he is. 

"The loneliest and wisest huh..." 

He could only laugh bitterly.

"Tempus."

"Morax." The god replies with a low hum, "What brings you here?"

"I want to give you my gratitude."

"No need." Tempus does not turn to greet him, but simply continues to write. Morax watches him write with a mysterious utensil, a pen.

Tempus truly is worthy of being called a genius amongst geniuses.

A god who built a country, and protected his realm despite the Archon War, and survived. No wonder he is heavily respected and worshiped by his people.

"Teach me."

The god stops.

"What are you talking about?"

"Teach me how to build Liyue."

"It's already built."

"How to govern as a God." Without Guizhong and his friends, Morax is incapable of running a country. His hands were made to fight and seal monsters, not to care for people. 

"You do not need to govern a country. Barbatos-"

"He's a fool." Morax heard a muffled laugh.

"But his country is still functioning quite well isn't it?" Tempus turns around, his azure eyes meets his golden ones.

"Tempus."

"What will I get in return? God of Contracts?" Tempus smiles before he stands.

"What do you need?"

"Trade." Morax blinks.

"Free trade amongst civilians. No taxes or barriers." Morax doesn't quite understand his terms, but he's willing to learn.

"I accept."

"You don't even know what I said didn't you?" Tempus crosses his arms and shook his head.

"I believe you are a fair person and one who will teach me what I need to know.”

“Just like old times isn’t it?”

This was Morax's first contract, and certainly won't be the last. 

Time passes quickly, and soon, Morax and Barbatos become the two of the original seven left. 

Despite this, Tempus does his job as both a Creator and babysitter job well. 

He ensures Gods fulfill their duty and if they need help, they can seek him out. If Tempus ever saw something worth his time (which is like...every time), he too would interfere, gaining the Archons' favour. 

He realized the power of the butterfly effect. From saving Gods such as Guizhong and Makoto, even with what little power he had during the Archon War to extend their life, it played an immense part in changing the Archons themselves.

Again, too much work, and too little time. 

Even if he slows down time, he could never get enough sleep. 

It's also blatantly obviously the Archons are treating him too well, but he originally thought it made sense with all the effort he put in to change the plot. 

But their affectionate gestures increased after they found of he was the Creator.

Tempus really shouldn't have told Morax this a while back and allowed him to tell the other Archons. Luckily, he prevented them from telling anyone else under the pretense that it was his order. 

Even so, Kai finally feels a little more at ease. He could finally get some sleep. 

Could he really complain about the children (Archons) when they gave him the most premium material to sleep on? 

Or hear a private concert from a certain bard?

Or try out the best food in the jungles?

Or let him sleep under the giant cherry blossoms whenever he wants?

Or take him out to a hot springs in Liyue?

"Kai. How are you feeling?" Zhongli asks from behind him, who is washing his long, long hair. 

"Good...Thanks...Zhongli."

Kai can finally relax a bit and it’s well deserved. Taking care of kids is hard. Much less 7 at once.

At least they’re paying him back with interest.

Zhongli couldn't help but smile proudly when the sleepless God fell asleep in his domain.

He'd be sure to brag about this at their next Archon meeting. 

Not knowing it would be their last.

#manga #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin fluff #genshin #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin sagau #zhongli #genshin morax #genshin impact morax #morax #rex lapis #genshin x oc #genshin x male reader #zhongli x oc #zhongli x reader

[milk-ducts]

I'm so glad to have encountered a fellow Cecil stan. I freaking love coming up with headcanons for Cecil, platonic or romantic, because he's such an interesting character. For real though feel free to dump any Cecil headcanons (platonic or romantic) on me anytime.

AWAAAA!! YES HAII OTHER CECIL AFICIONADO !!! im so glad theres more of us sprouting out here. my wife is so underappreciated, you have no idea how much he means to me. i'd love to req n swap headcanons anytime !! I have so many thoughts on that morally ambiguous gilf.

[messy, disorganized surface level autism rambling ahead. this will be just random scenes and characteristics i like of him]

BUT YES .. cecil's character is just so interesting to analyze. he does unethical, necessary things. But he doesn't subscribe to idealistic notions of "the greater good" or justifying his actions to make himself sleep better at night. He knows the harsh reality that someone has to make the difficult decisions, no matter how unethical. The psychological toll it takes to calculate how many civilian lives can be spared, and how many are inevitably lost in order to achieve the optimal outcome. He doesn't celebrate after victories like the other heroes do. After the dust settles, his mind is already racing - calculating, strategizing how to prevent future catastrophes. How to minimize casualties next time.

his methods are...questionable,, as ive said,, but there's a hint of nobility to it that just makes you respect him, A SHADY GOVERNMENT CHAR that does the dirty work and takes in all the heat for it so no one else has to? SIGN ME TF UP! i love exploring his character and all the little glimpses of humanity we get to see from him,, especially with debbie, SO SOFT FOR HER, there's so much depth there. that old fuck would MOVE mountains for her if he could,, TRUST. EVEN though he doesnt deserve her .. <<

LETS CONTINUE TO CIRCLE BACK TO S1 with his confrontation w Nolan in the desert, the way he entrusted his survival to the skills of his team operating that teleporter watch (I'm aware he can control it himself, I think this was just my interpretation of it since the employees seemed directly involved here). The margin for error was nonexistent. One miscalculation, one millisecond too slow, and Cecil would have been reduced to a red smear across miles of sand. MY WIFE HAS BALLS ON HIM. (also love walton goggins breathy lil giggles here .. hwaghffhh)

All this, All the whilst Nolan could have ended him with a casual backhand, as easily as swatting a fly. And for what? For humanity's (mostly his) right to know the truth. For Debbie's right to understand what she had truly married because Cecil respects her that fucking much for her to have a part in all of this, and what fate may lay in store for her son.

AND what I particularly liked about that scene is that unlike most SHADY GOV CHARS ™.. Cecil isn't afraid to regularly place himself in life-threatening situations, and for that im just.. FKING obsessed. finally. a hyper competent gov char that gets shit done and occasionally by his own hands instead of always puppeteering in the shadows. Love u .. love u honey snooch, please stop putting yourself in danger for your crazy alien side-hoes .

but ahem ... back to s2.. and some flaws of his that i'm not afraid to point out. the way he's been treating mark is killing me. manipulating my son by comparing him to his dad then keeping him on lock by saying he's not like him??? The breadcrumming definitely didn't work out at all, cuz Mark is too damn stubborn to continue to be swindled by fear tactics he does not give a shit for anymore (homegirl DEBBIE taught him better) hes not gonna listen to a cranky skullet-having side bitch of nolans who clearly has been tryna manipulate him since s1. i HATED how he went "ur broke tyrannical bitch father felt the same way" in the last minute when mark tried to leave earth and yet i still lobve ceci cause ough,,.. my bastard wife knew something was probably up.

Him wanting to keep a short leash on MARKY could be summed up after all that has happened in s1. i'm not going to justify his scummy manipulations or paranoia,, especially after all the shit mark has done and endured to prove himself over and over again that he's not like his father BUT its somewhat understandable for cecil 2 be wary if you look from it in his perspective.

moving on from that, lets dive back into ep 2 ..

Debbie was semi-right in her deduction in s2 ep2, that this is what it's really all about for Cecil - being in control. Not of any situation, but of Mark. To ensure history does not repeat itself in the form of Mark becoming another Nolan. imo He likely doesn’t actually view Mark as his father, Not saying the possibility of it being a part of Cecil's subconsciousness is out of the equation but the way I see it? He was just exploiting that one weakness, that one insecurity Mark has - the fear of becoming like Nolan. And it’s a fear Cecil seemed to prey upon to keep Mark under his thumb and in the fucking GAME.

awaaaa :3 !!!! psychologically damaging teens by comparing them to their abhorrently shitty fathers !! FUCK YOJ STEDMAN (love you snookums..)

,,,,I'd also like to think in my warped deluded perception (aka hcs) that he sees Debbie in Mark, so he can't help but care for the kid too. IVE ALWAYS seen a lot of comparisons between Mark and his dad, plus the whole motif of this new season hasn't helped it allay. But Debbie and Mark share so many similar characteristics as well and i wish that was talked a bit more often &lt; 3 (I will go in depth about it at a later post.)

n umm like ...,,, bck to cici in gen. I guess the safety of earth is one of Cecil's redeeming qualities along with his compassion for side characters like Debbie. His pragmatism and utilitarianism define him. He lacks normal morals but has his own code that cultivates to his character. this ramble could not do justice to him ughfglg..,, what a compelling jezebel.. how can u captivate me so !!

My inbox is always open to discuss this multi-faceted rat man. here's to more cecil content in s2..,... hopefully with more of his dynamic with Debbie because I LIVE for that shit. though its unlikely their interactions could range to anything positive now since they may be hinting to cecil becoming an antagonist and/or taking extreme measures w/ mark. soo.. i dont think debbie's scolding was enough for that slut 2 take in ..

in the mean time i'll be catching up on the comics/re-reading them, look up more of his backstory and hopefully create 10 novels worth of google docs of analysis' of his character < 3 cuz .. he means .. that much 2 me.. and i want to prod at every crevice n brain matter he has inside that megamind head of his .

((hwaghhhhhh << hoping that one day the discord moots ive been keeping in my basement and most invincible fans fall victim to cecil stedman propoganda.. no one should be immune to my girlboss and his awful skullet.))

#invincible #invincible season 2 #cecil stedman #omni man #invincible spoilers #debbie grayson #mark grayson #longest paragraph of me saying i want to fuck an old man but rewording it in a semi-melodramatic way .. #SORRY FOR USING THIS AS AN EXCUSE TO RAMBLE !! please go check out superbangelhearts blog; cecil stans . i love their yan headcanons alot . #this was SOOO messy n disorganized #milkyasks #milkyrambles #i think he should be fucked by every adult char in the show #i love him so much .. he has been infesting my fking brain. #I think alot of people confuse his ends justify the means for actual justification n self righteousness . but THERES no indication of that #IN THE SHOW. #hes self aware to a considerable extent over what he does #wrote this at 4am plsss give me a break ... #i would swallow a gallon of acid for him . #so much msgs in my inbox .. i apologize for not being able 2 answer them quickly :( this is still very new 2 me #im like a boomer getting used 2 smartphones... typing w my pinky finger as we speak.. #slobbers n chews on his gnarled knuckles #idkfkk whts WONG W ME ! HELP ! MY PSSYS GONE CRAZYY !!! /ref #this was mainly just pinpointing random parts i liked ab cecil not really an analysis

[shysublimecoffee]

I ain't gonna act like what original Luo Binghe went through under Shen jiu wasn't horrible because it was but like shit I feel like original Luo Binghe was obsessed with the OG tbh because that level of torture is heinous. I don't get how some be like Shen jiu got what's coming like yeah what he did was bad but shit he didn't deserve to the extent of torture that he suffered under and did especially after learning some things were debunked. Like if it were an eye for an eye thing sure but nah he went over to the point my man just became a human stick. Everyone in PIDIW weren't good people they were bad it's just my guy had that strong villain halo on him going strong.

Shen jiu wasn't a good person he was a kid when a man QJL cruelty permanently altered his life and worked under someone called Wu yanzi under a promise to get stronger only for that to result for SJ to become a willing accomplice to his crimes and took advantage of him and encouraged him for violence and murder. That whole debacle of him going to the brothel to sleep around and being a lecher is just one big fat lie.  I think NYY reminded him quite a bit of Qiu Haitang, who he obviously cared for a great deal it's so fucking sad that every good deed he does like trying to save Liu qingge just backfires and were only further used to condemn him.

What's even sadder is that he climbed the cultivation ladder to peak lord status, only for someone to hijack his body at the pinnacle of his achievements. And the cherry on top? Nobody cares about his past memories on how to get them back . It's a combo of fears – rising to glory only to have it snatched away, and the deafening silence around his struggles. We don't really know what happen to him in the end sadly.

Luo Binghe's actions were not just bad; they were significantly worse especially his treatment of women. I'm not gonna ignore the fact that in PIDIW i'm sure he developed a fucked up mentality when it comes to consent because he virtually lives in a sex-pollen world where that must seem so normalized to him being a stallion protagonist and how much sex sceniories and dub-con is enforced with him in it.

I personally think Bing-mei retains the manipulative traits of OG Bingge, with the key distinction that Bingge manifests when feeling wronged and unloved, yet their underlying morals remain quite similar. Despite the potential backlash, I've always pondered why the revelation never occurred in SVSS, possibly tied to the imperative concealment of Shen Yuan's identity. It's intriguing that Bingge receives validation; NYY was always kind to him. However, Shen Jiu's approval holds greater significance. Bingge's fixation on Shen Yuan to me was always essentially an obsession with Shen Jiu.

The absence of a reveal leaves me with a bunch of questions. If there were one, everything would click into place, and we'd be confident that Luo Binghe fell for Shen Yuan, the individual. However, since that revelation is MIA, it does open the door to the possibility that his affection might hinge on the the false identity of the transmigrator not being revealed . The ambiguity introduces an element of fascination – is it genuine affection, or is Shen Yuan's need to keep his transmigrator identity under wraps from Luo Binghe, purportedly for the world's survival, a dubious twist in the tale?

#svsss #luo binghe #shen jiu #shen yuan

[kenphobia]

PASILYO!

"Panalangin ko'y ikaw."

summary. moving into a new town is nerve-wracking, especially when your new neighbors are quite the eye candy. ( headcanons / 1k wc / read end notes )

contents. human au! welcome home, relationship dynamic is ambiguous and up for interpretations, general fluff, somewhat implied angst

WALLY DARLING!

✦ The surname 'Darling' was not unfamiliar to you. In fact, you recognized it being one of the many famous names in the art industry, a family of well-known artists. So when you found out your next door neighbor was no other than Wally Darling, one of the top selling painters, you couldn't put your shock into words.

✦ He truly lived up to his surname, being quite a lovely companion and always assisting you any of your problems. He'd always ask you to be his muse in return for his help or even join him on little trips to Howdy's Place for more art supplies.

✦ If you asked him to teach you how to draw or if you're an artist yourself and need some constructive criticism, he definitely does well in that department. If you're interested in dabbing into some painting too, he's right there beside you and guiding your hands on what to do, regardless of what medium.

✦ He'd even be your muse too! He'll be a bit embarrassed, not used to getting such attention in a way like this, but he does a great job at staying still and posing in a way that's not too difficult but enough to still be interesting.

✦ Coffee shop 'dates' are a must. Wally doesn't do well with coffee, so he orders tea more often that not. If he does get coffee, he always sticks with you so you can stop him from stealing Howdy's apples and running off. Again. He's ... energetic like that.

HOWDY PILLAR!

✦ Howdy was the owner of the bodega and you boss! When you had stepped into his store, you are set leaving with too many bags hanging from your arms and a nearly empty wallet. It doesn't bother much residents since his products are extremely high quality and worth the price.

✦ When I say he has everything, he has everything. There's nothing you won't find in his store, it's practically a mini mall at this point. Sure, he does lack in some areas but you cannot lie that this man has a lot jam-packed in his store.

✦ He's also one of the tallest neighbors you have met throughout your stay, and had lifted your body up more than twice and made you look like nothing more but a bag of grapes in his hands. Doesn't matter what your height is, he has those strong, finely toned muscles from always several boxes stacked atop each other.

✦ Howdy is the most intelligent when it comes to emotions since after all, he has a lot of siblings and most of them are younger than him and/or looks up to him a lot. You need a break? No problem! He'll lead you right to the staff lounge and offer you some tea. A hug? Someone to hold your hand? He is on the way with blankets and pillows, and there is no way stopping him from making a pillow fort. He will also listen to your vents and comfort you or join you in gossiping and shit talking about the more ... rude neighbors.

✦ Babygirl's always been girlypop like that. And oh, his hugs are the best! Absolutely comfortable and not gonna lie, you often feel as if he had four arms wrapped around you all firmly and sweetly. Sometimes, you can see another pair of arms protruding from his back. but you aren't sure if it is true or a work of imagination.

POPPY PARTRIDGE!

✦ Being Howdy's employee, you're bound to come across everyone's mother figure: Poppy! Though, she was a bit anxious and jittery around you at first, she quickly came used to your presence and would beeline straight for your register if you were covering up for one of the cashiers.

✦ She's incredibly sweet, easily flustered and often gifts you her baked goods or knitted accessories and clothing. She often invites you to her baking sessions, even teaching you the basics of baking if you haven't done it before.

✦ Whenever Poppy isn't feeling well, she'd usually go to the obvious person: Wally. After all, they have a close-knit familial relationship and Wally always knows how to calm Poppy's nerves. But when he isn't around, she comes to you. She calms down easily when she has you in her arms, cuddling on the sofa while the TV plays her favourite show.

✦ It's a bit funny when someone as tall as Poppy picks you up like a little ragdoll cat, shoves her face into your hair and sobs. It's even funnier if you're known to be quite grumpy, but you couldn't push Poppy away without Wally coming after you.

✦ If you ever yourself hurt, it's best to not let Poppy know or else she'll start worrying. It's fine if it's just a little scratch, nothing like a quick, thorough wash can fix. But please for the love of god, keep yourself in check and wound-free for both of your sake. Neither of you would not risk getting white hair in your 20's.

RANDOM HEADCANONS!

✦ All neighbors are somewhere around 25 and above, with Howdy being the youngest, and both Barnaby and Wally as the oldest.

✦ Wally graduated with a Bachelor's degree in Fine arts and Poppy managed to snag a BS degree in Nursing, but Howdy's an undergrad and wasn't able to finish college because of having to focus providing for his family more than his studies.

✦ Poppy used to work in a clinic before completely ditching it the moment she sees the slight of blood. She was willing to endure the grim crimson liquid during her college years, but she'd drink a whole spoon of vanilla extract than see blood again.

✦ Wally had a blue period once, but most of the paintings from that time is locked away in his basement. Only a few of them hung in some art galleries and Barnaby's house.

✦ Howdy spends his lunch break at the community center. He also avoids packing himself an apple because Wally once grabbed it with his teeth and ran off.

notes. this is just part 1!!! im prepping myself for that human au! welcome home x tma because i want to make expand more on their characters!! the story is basically self-indulgent and completely fanon. once the actual welcome home storyline is out, i may or may not rewrite it (again)

also dont mind me inserting the Filipino vibes into my writings. this isn't just half of it. i could make an entire human au! welcome home but all of them are filipinos, but i barely know my country and its people 😔

Anyways!! requests are always open, read my pinned post b4 interacting and have a good day (人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+

#writing log! #welcome home x reader #welcome home #wally darling x reader #howdy pillar x reader #poppy partridge x reader