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nyctoaerah · 27 days

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⋆♱⋆RETRIBUTION CH; 4

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

⋆♱⋆WARNINGS Gore, Slow Burn Yandere, Love Percentage Au. Pseudo Incest on Choso’s Case. Confusing Bullshit. Toji is smelly af. Cannibalism (kinda), Cringe, Unedited. Mentions of torture.

⋆♱⋆PAIRINGS Yandere! Jjk x Isekai’d! Goddess! Reader

⋆♱⋆LOVE INTERESTS Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieri, Yuki Tsukumo, Kento Nanami, Utahime Iori, Choso, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen.

⋆♱⋆NOTE Also posted in wattpad & quotev. Hearts and Reblogs are greatly appreciated<3.

⋆♱⋆PREVIOUS & NEXT CHAPTER

⋆♱⋆MASTERLIST

EACH INHALE THROUGH YOUR nose pulled the stale, musty air into your lungs, therefore, you decided to breathe through your mouth, making a conscious effort to keep your nasal airways closed to avoid the unpleasant stench emanating from the man.

No matter how fervently you struggled to elude him, evading the man proved an insurmountable task.

Your every fiber ached with the desperate want to revert to your true form and scram, or ideally, melt into the very earth beneath you.

Yet, the prospect of metamorphosing back into your human guise was filled with trepidation. The notion of him witnessing a repulsive, gargantuan worm contorting into a person would potentially trigger aggression, and you're not in the mood to fight.

After all, it would be double assault too.

The assault on your olfactory senses from his offensive stench is damaging you too, and it would be worse if he were to add the physical damaging too.

And you don't want to risk it.

Seriously, you groaned inwardly.

Doesn't this guy possess an aversion to basic hygiene? Was he really that oblivious to the existence of potassium alum or the simple efficacy of deodorant? While the information of human smells regulation eluded your understanding, you knew that there's this ‘deodorant’ concept of a substance applied to the underarms to stave off malodorous stenches.

Doesn't he use that?

You felt incredibly uneasy as you perched uncomfortably on his unwashed shoulders, already imagining the putrid green aura that signifies a strong and offensive body odor.

Putanginang kili-kili yan. You thought.

The man then suddenly opened his mouth and yawned. The yawn he released unleashed a putrid wave of odor that assaulted your senses like a physical blow, causing your stomach to churn in protest as you froze.

The fumes invaded your nostrils and your meticulously maintained standards of personal cleanliness recoiled in horror at this olfactory assault, your inner hygiene guardian screaming in protest.

WHAT THE FUCK???? HE HAS A BAD BREATH TOO?

You wailed internally.

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𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

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You sat there on his smelly shoulders, utterly stupefied.

That man that picked you up was sauntering by with a grotesque behemoth of a worm sitting on his shoulders, A.K.A you, without any shame.

He reeks, and his smell is enough to incapacitate even the hardiest of skunks. Yet, the people around seemed unfazed, their reactions ranging from mild wrinkling of noses and curling lips to indifference.

A wave of incredulity washed over you. Were their nostrils forged of iron?

Nevertheless, there was no denying the unsightly, repulsive sight of that gargantuan worm clinging to the man's shoulder. Who in their right mind could overlook such a monstrosity? The edge of your patience threatened to splinter.

What the fuck is wrong with these humans?

You've been briefed by your father on the supposed stupidity and repulsiveness of humans, yet experiencing it firsthand was a whole different level of shock.

Could it be deemed normal for them to accept a rotund man, drenched in a putrid stench, nonchalantly bearing a worm with an unsettling face atop his shoulder?

These humans are crazy. You thought, acting as if you're not crazy yourself.

You can feel the weight of regret crushing your spirit as you silently reprimanded yourself for even considering the transformation into such a loathsome form. Amidst the tumult of your inner turmoil, the surroundings begin to dim as the man strides purposefully through somewhere, then through a door.

The ceiling looms above, adorned with strange alien objects that defy recognition to you. The sterility of the environment would have been a welcome reprieve and a fresh breath of air, had it not been for the olfactory assault perpetuated by your uncouth carrier.

As he traverses, you two encountered a few passersby who recoil in visceral aversion at his noxious presence and a slight sense of relief washes over you. Finally witnessing the unbridled revulsion reflected in the reactions of these normal humans validates your own repugnant assessment of the situation.

Finally, normal humans. You mentally sighed in relief, then suddenly, you heard a voice speak.

“So you’re Zeni’n Toji, huh?” a voice utters in a language foreign to your understanding, the moment you saw the man's mouth move, you immediately close off your nasal passages in a desperate bid to shield yourself from the overpowering bad breath emanating from the man.

“Nope,” The black haired man shrugs.

“Not a zeni’n anymore.”

“It’s Fushiguro now, i took my wife’s last name,” The man said, his fingers roaming over the sinewy muscles of his neck. You winced as his touch grazed your slimy exoskeleton.

“Duly noted. So, Fushiguro, I presume you’re the one making these purchases then?”

Peering ahead, you spotted another man draped in a weird ensemble—a solid black garment adorned with five white crests, that is wrapped-front style featuring square sleeves and a rectangular body, with the left side crossing over the right. The peculiar attire perplexed you.

They started to talk, but you were oblivious to what they’re saying, for you are too distracted by the foreign language and the strange attires.

Do humans truly wear such strange attire?

You pondered, you don't really know how things in the other realms, cause your experiences was limited to the confines of your father's celestial castle high above the nebula, forbidden from venturing into the realms beyond.

Bound by the restrictions imposed on you, your existence had been confined to the splendors of the nebula realm—a domain reserved for supreme beings like Aionarch and yourself, alongside his twin sister and her progeny. The nebula is considered to be the most divine and beautiful place in existence in your world, and the highest of them all.

A place more Celestial and Ethereal than heaven itself.

Here, the very fabric of existence holds a unique resilience, swiftly restoring anything that dares to meet destruction. It's a celestial sanctuary where permanence is a fleeting concept, and the essence of eternal renewal is in the ethereal currents. In this sacred domain, nothing can succumb to irreparable harm without the sanction of aionarch.

Nebula is limitless, though, you have only heard of its magnificence from Aionarch, as you have never truly been able to explore it. The only time you did venture into the nebula was with Xeranthi, but even then, you and your mother were restricted in how far you could go, always under the watchful eye of Aionarch to ensure you ‘safety’ cause he was too afraid that his precious wife and only daughter might become lost or in danger. Thus, you were never allowed to venture too far and wasn't even allowed to go to other realms.

The second realm was heaven, where a plethora of deities resided, including Ataraxia. Though a paradise in its own right, it paled in comparison to the ethereal beauty of the nebula.

Although you have never experienced the beauty of heaven firsthand because you are stucked on the nebula, or more like locked up in the nebula, you have heard descriptions of it from ataraxia. She believes heaven is visually stunning, but interestingly, she also believes that the nebula surpasses it in beauty and grandeur, and that the heaven is only the second most beautiful place in the realm.

Then the third realm, Shaxilu, housed the lower deities—a realm known for its inhabitants' disdain towards Aionarch, bottom feeders deities who yaps without knowing much.

A realm teeming with fauna and lesser beings, it boasted of beauty yet lacked the divine allure present in both nebula and heaven. Here, the deities grappled with their responsibilities, ensuring the demigods remained contained and restraining the meddling of their celestial kin amongst humans.

Then came forth rhe fourth realm, known to humans as Earth, Earth was beautiful, yet it was getting destroyed by the humans who call it home.

Beneath this realm, existing as the darkest abyss of existence, was the fifth realm known as Kolase. Nestled in the deepest depths, Kolase was a place that humans calls hell. Everywhere in Kolase, cries of tortured souls and the shadows of demons and other eerie beings were palpable. Despite the horror that filled its every corner though, there was an undeniable beauty to Kolase, a charm that struggled to surface amidst the ceaseless chorus of tormented wails that echoed through its depths.

And by now? You felt as if you were on kolase again because of him.

The cloying stench emanating from him is suffocating, it was akin to an inferno raging in the depths of kolase itself. A shudder runs through you as you avert your gaze, the foul odor threatening to overpower your senses.

You observe him through narrowed eyes, his words muffled by the foul miasma enveloping him. His voice cuts through the thick air, each syllable laden with a putrid undertone that makes your stomach churn. Clenching your jaw, you silently commend yourself for sealing off your nasal passages, sparing yourself the full assault of his repugnant breath and reeking armpit odor.

“How much does those things sell again?” The black haired man asks, green eyes lazily scanning the place.

You blinked, not understanding any of their words.

What did they meant by that?

“About 7 million yen, Fushiguro-san,” the man replied without hesitation, his eyes locking with the gaze of the green-eyed man before him.

Huh? What are they saying? Your lips pressed tightly together.

The black haired man's lips curved into a knowing smile.

“Mhm. So, all I have to do is auction off that things then, and i get the money.” he drawled lazily.

“Yup. Half of the proceeds shall be yours,” the man stated.

“Good,” the green eyed man murmured.

“Just make sure that those jujutsu high brats—No, that gojo satoru brat comes.”

“Rest assured, Fushiguro-san.”

“Is it settled then?” the man inquired, seeking confirmation. The smelly man merely nodded.

“Let us proceed, then.” the man beckoned, his steps purposeful as he began to walk away, a silent invitation for toji to follow in his wake. And follow he did.

Meanwhile, you were confirmed. the foreign words that they uttered left you bewildered, the cadence unfamiliar to your ears. Are humans speaking a different language? The thought nags at you, a stark reminder of the vast gulf separating your celestial realm from this alien world. Everything about them feels foreign—from their attire to their accents and the peculiar sounds that spill from their lips.

Your irritation simmers beneath the surface, exacerbated by your inability to comprehend their discourse. Yet amidst the confusion, one word rings out with unmistakable frequency—“fushiguro.” Your gaze flickers to the man who had hoisted you up, connecting the sound to his assumed identity. Fushiguro, was a name that rolls off your tongue just fine, and it's pretty, just tarnished only by the off-putting odor clinging to him.

Beauty marred by filth. You noted.

You were having many thoughts and suspicion as Toji and the man strode down the shadowy corridor. The further they ventured, the more secluded the surroundings became. The door at the end of the corridor drew near, its surface adorned with an array of locks and pins, and you couldn't help but think that this is a bit shady.

With a metallic creak, the door swung open, revealing a dimly lit room that can only be described as reminiscent of a clandestine laboratory.

The walls were lined with shelves stacked high with various glass vials, beakers, and jars containing unknown substances that glowed in shades of red, green, blue, and purple. Strange symbols and diagrams were etched into the walls, aswell some equations, like a cult. In the center of the laboratory, a large stainless-steel table dominated the space, its surface littered with an assortment of scientific equipment—test tubes, Bunsen burners, and many more.

You noticed a series of cages lining one wall, each containing a different creature. Some were familiar—a dark, sleek-furred cat with unnaturally sharp claws, a plumed bird with iridescent feathers that seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

On the adjacent container lay a grotesque being, a nightmarish amalgamation resembling a spider. Its elongated limbs flexed with unnatural dexterity, stained with crimson. The creature's pallid, almost translucent body contrasted starkly against the bloodied appendages, it lacked eyes, a nose, any semblance of face—save for the gaping maw with serrated fangs.

You winced at the sight of the ugly creature. Shaking off your revulsion, your gaze refocused on the man passing two small containers to Toji.

The lower limb buds of the creature resembled paddles. Fingers were also visible, detailing the complexity of its anatomy. Furthermore, small swellings were starting to outline the future shell-shaped parts of its ears, while its eyes were visibly defined. The upper lip and nose were present, adding to the overall features of the creature. And it was all curled up.

You knew what the fuck those things are.

Fetus.

What they have is a fucking fetus, albeit a bit weird since it's color purple.

But still, why the hell do they have those? Did they ripped those out straight out of the mother's womb?

Your throat constricts.

Your heart raced as Toji suddenly forcibly pried open your deformed mouth.

Oh my fucking goodness, don't tell me that they're gonna feed that to me?

You tried to squirm away, trying to close your mouth, but Toji thrusts the containers in your mouth.

With a sickening squelch, your saliva coated the containers and you felt a surge of panic rise in you, the urge to gag overwhelming. The glass made a sharp contact with your Epiglottis, causing discomfort before slowly gliding down your throat as you struggled to swallow it in one piece. A trail of saliva escaped from your lips and dripped down your mouth as you finally managed to swallow the glass completely.

This is just a dream, it's not happening. You gaslighted yourself as you sobbed internally as you you fought back the rising bile in your throat, your every muscle tense with discomfort.

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𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

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Tension filled your rigid body and your mind was filled with revulsion, your veins coursing with a vile concoction from the memory of that abhorrent act of swallowing a fetus in a glass jar. The sensation churned in your stomach, the urge to vomit it overwhelming.

Could the fetus metamorphose within you? Would it grow inside of your wormy stomach? Would it explode from the jar and live inside of your womb? What the fuck.

would you unwittingly become the surrogate mother to a baby and birthing it while being a worm?

The horrific scenarios played out in the theater of your mind, driving you to the brink of a mental collapse as you and Toji were on a bridge.

Toji on the other hand, strolled nonchalantly, one hand thrust into his pocket while the other had a gadget in his hand, it was glowing and from what you assumed, it looked like a mirror, he was talking but you paid no mind to him—not like you can understand what he was saying anyways.

You still loathed him for making you eat the poor fetus.

The mental image of a tiny human bursting forth from your body made your poor stomach churn, causing a nauseating wave to pirouette up your throat. As you allowed your thoughts to meander, a disquieting unease began to simmer within you. Toji's incomprehensible babbling faded into the background, as all you yearned for was to shed this fucking worm form and revert back to your true self, urgently and unequivocally. The urge to turn back into your true form and just kill toji so he doesn't have to see it surged through you.

After all, you would do the poor humans that is living in the earth a favor by killing a man that smells like the fart and smells like Thioacetone.

Surely, it's not a sin to kill such man right?

But then, was this the fabled retribution aionarch had told you about? It suddenly made sense why you were exiled to Earth, to make you suffer from the overwhelming pungent odor of the man—You are but a clean and hygiene freak after all.

Suddenly, Your gaze unexpectedly locked onto the fluttering of a random butterfly that was on a top of a flower. In that fleeting moment, a profound realization struck you like a bolt of lightning as you got an idea of what's happening.

The Butterfly effect.

Your throat constricts as you realized that you are actually experiencing it firsthand right now.

A minor pledge made in haste to ataraxia had unfurled loads of calamities. From the seething wrath of aionarch, getting tortured, to a harrowing plunge to the earthly realm, to your regeneration not working, to ugly creatures assailing you and to Metamorphosing into a worm, and then getting kidnapped by a reeking man, and now you have an fetus inside you?

please let this be a dream. you sniffed.

You shut your eyes, a thousand thoughts raging through your mind, silent sobs echoing internally as you prayed for this nightmare to cease.

Suddenly, a rumbling sound, like of a horse hooves in a frenzied gallop, rang in your ears.

What the fuck?

Your eyes opened, and when you saw that there's indeed a horse, your lungs seared as if the air had been forcibly expelled from them, a scream bubbling in your throat.

A literal horse was charging towards you and toji—looking like as if it was about to attack you.

Why is a horse coming our way?! You gawked.

THIS IS SO RANDOM! You wailed.

Panic gripped you, muscles coiling tight as you squirmed against Fushiguro's neck, a desperate attempt to make him aware of the impending danger.

“You with the big tits! Move! A random horse is literally coming our way—a fucking horse!”

You were practically screaming at him through your worm like mouth, but it was all distorted and can't be comprehended.

Thus, he remained oblivious.

However, he noticed the way you tightened around his neck—as if you wanted to strangle him.

“Hm? What’s up with you?” He asks dumbly, before looking forward, and gawking.

“The fuck is that?” He gawked.

“That’s so fuckin’ random.”

“Why the hell is a horse—” Toji didn’t even finished his sentence as the horse crashed with you two—Kicked you two. The world around you condensed into a singular point of terror as the wretched horse pushed you to the ground. A guttural shriek tore from your throat, the sound a mix of fear and confusion, as your being buckled under the strain.

Involuntarily, your body reacted on its own and your worm form began to change in your normal form.

Toji's strangled sound of “huh” was barely registered as the world spiraled. The wooden bridge that you two were in shattered and gravity claimed its due, and with a sickening plunge, you and Toji plummeted towards the churning water below.

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𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

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Toji's mind reeled in disbelief at the surreal situation before him. The weight of water pressed against his body as he swam upwards.

“What the fuck did just happened?”

his fingers raked through his hair, pushing the wet strands out of his face as rivulets of water trickled down his skin.

“Did A literal horse just attacked me?” he exclaimed, his voice laced with incredulity. His eyes darted around, searching for answers in the murky depths of the water. The absurdity of the situation made him shake his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the tension in his muscles.

“Fucking weird....” The memory of the horse's unexpected assault annoyed him. Toji swore that he will kill the horse.

“Ugh.. is this my punishment?”

Toji's hand absently reached up to massage the tense muscles at the base of his neck, a habitual gesture that offered little relief in the current circumstances. Frustration welled up inside him as he realized that his precious worm couldn't be found.

“Wait, Where are you?” he muttered, his brows furrowing as he scanned his surroundings.

“Where are you?” he called out, the words muffled by the water surrounding him. His movements were sluggish in the aquatic environment, each motion hindered by the oppressive force of the water.

In the meantime, you would have been pleased that Toji had finally bathed, even though it was accidental and somewhat coerced due to being pushed by a horse. It was a positive development, however, leaving you feeling relieved. You would have been rejoicing in this achievement, had it not been for the fact that you're practically drowning.

The crushing weight of the water pressed on your body and the sharp impact of the rocks against your back was painful, it felt like as if it was scrapping your back, their jagged edges, almost enough to cut through your skin, leaving you momentarily paralyzed. You involuntarily inhaled a rush of frigid water, and your esophagus began to sear as the water made contact with it, your nose contracted in pain.

You squirmed, desperately trying to tune out the pain gnawing at your back from the jagged rocks, you swore that you could see a crimson stream mingling with the rippling water below because of it. Frantically writhing, you sought to propel yourself upwards, but before you could swim upwards, a sudden impact crushed down on you, fragments of the fractured bridge fell down on you.

Your ribs began to break from the force and a searing conflagration within your chest. Your vision was obscured by a watery haze, the burn of chlorine stung your eyes as you fought the drowning urge to gasp, your fingers clawing at your constricted throat, nails gouging into your flesh.

Unable to contain the burning flood, your body convulsed in a futile attempt to expel the deluge, lungs saturated as you swallowed more of the river's waters.

Transform. You tried to say, trying to force your body to transform into something that can breathe underwater.

Fucking do it—now.

But your body wouldn't listen.

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𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

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Your eyes struggled to focus as the world around you were in a murky haze, every breath was like a dagger of pain stabbing at your chest. The cold seeped into your bones, chilling you to the core. As clarity slowly crept back into view, you felt a firm grip clamping the tender flesh of your nose shut.

Someone's lips was pressed down firmly upon yours, looking to aim for a perfect, airtight connection. With each exhale, you could feel the rush of air invade your lungs, and your brows furrowed.

They seemed to sense the stirring of consciousness within you and abruptly withdrew, leaving behind a glistening residue of saliva on their lips, likely remnants from the urgent CPR efforts.

A surge of bewilderment crashed over you as you sucked in a deep, shaky breath, your chest heaving as you greedily welcomed the life-giving oxygen into your deprived lungs.

A violent fit of coughing suddenly seized you, your chest heaving and convulsing as you tried to ciugh out the water that had invaded your airways, your throat was burning like liquid fire.

Each gasping breath felt like shards of glass scraping against your insides, and there was a sharp pain radiating through your body with each jagged inhalation.

A comforting hand pressed against your damp back, patting you, though you were too disoriented and drained to push it away.

“Can’t believe that this is happening... putanginang buhay to... pinaglihi ata ako sa kamalasan eh.” you grumbled through a hoarse rasp. Your fingers absently rubbed at the tender flesh of your neck.

The person withdrew, leaving you to slowly raise your gaze with wide, searching eyes.

There was a man with long, jet-black tresses tightly bound into two long black stringy hair tied into two high ponytails that jut upward and outward. He had purple eyes and across the bridge of his nose, a dark crimson mark stretched from one side of his face to the other.

Adorning his neck was a circular scarf and a purple vest adorned him. Beneath the vest, a loose, light tan robe cascaded down, enveloping his arms and legs.

Your chest heaved as you slowly lifted your gaze towards him. Was it his hands that had pulled you from the water? or was he merely a figment of your delirium?

Your face suddenly irked as you remembered the horse that attacked you, nonetheless, you thanked him for saving you.

“Thank you,”

You managed to say before a crease formed between your eyebrows, a question ready to spill from your lips.

“Wait.. who.. who are you?” you inquired, though a sudden tension gripped your jaw as the realization dawned that he likely couldn't comprehend your words. After all, if Fushiguro doesn’t speak your language, this man probably does too.

“I’m your son.” he stated bluntly.

You froze—You can understand what he’s saying somehow—unlike with fushiguro.

But then, what the fuck is he saying?

How could he claim such a title when logic insisted it was an impossibility? You never touched a man, let alone you're a virgin.

This seemed biologically impossible.

Tangina, anong pinagsasasabi neto?

“dude what.” you deadpanned incredulously, the weight of bewilderment settling on your features like a heavy cloak.

You’re plunged into a swirling abyss of bewilderment.

The very notion of him being your son is preposterous, absurdly impossible. You’ve guarded your body like a fortress, and you’ve never slept with anyone—not even with ataraxia.

But then, could it be that you unwittingly underwent Parthenogenesis? Some goddesses, like your mother had a children without having sex with a man after all.

But as you search the recesses of your bewildered mind, not a whisper of memory surfaces to confirmed that you had undergo through parthenogenesis.

Besides, Surely, such an aberration would never escape Aionarch’s eyes. Hell he even keeps an eye on your virginity and reminds you how important your chastity is.

So... How could he be your son?

After some moments of thinking about it, you finally spoke.

“I’m not your mother, no.”

You shook your head in utter disbelief, feeling the weight of confusion pressing down on your shoulders like a leaden cloak.

“Listen, whoever you are, I believe that you’re mistaken. I am not your mother,” you managed to utter through tightly clenched lips, a sense of exasperation tingling at the edges of your patience.

“You are mistaken,” the words escaped your lips, each syllable heavy with disbelief.

“There is no resemblance between us,” you murmured, noticing the flicker of irritation in his eyes at your assertion.

“Besides.. I’m a virgin, and... my lover is a woman.” Your jaw clenched, trying to wrap your mind around the bizarre revelation.

“And... And I never conceived you,” you stammered.

“You can’t be my son seriously.” You said shaking your head.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance at your assertions.

“If you're searching for clarity,’ he began, his steps deliberate as he closed the distance between you.

“My brother lies within your womb,” he said solemnly, his gaze locked with yours in an unflinching intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

What is he saying? What did he meant by his brother is in your womb? That's seriously creepy.

“What?” you hissed, the word barely more than a whisper as your mind struggled to assimilate the incomprehensible stuff that he was saying.

“We share the same womb, we came from the same womb. Within you,” he stated.

“So... that would imply that you birthed us all,”

“What the fuck kind of logic is that?” You snapped.

And with that, the two of you began to argue.

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𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

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𑁍ࠬܓ━━𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏.Choso assumed that [Name] is his mother because [Name] swallowed his brother (literally) and now his brother is just resting on [Name]’s stomach.

𝟎𝟎𝟐.[Name] was actually glad when they fell on the river because the water finally touched Toji’s skin.

𝟎𝟎𝟑.Mahito is the one who gave the body to choso on the anime, but in this, i changed it, and someone else gave him his body, and that someone is important to the story:P

𝟎𝟎𝟒.So Toji was supposed to sell the death painting wombs, ik that they're hidden somewhere on jujutsu high, but, on this book, jujutsu high only have 6 death painting wombs on them since some of them (Choso, Eso, Kechizu) already have bodies and the other one is on [Name]’s stomach.

𝟎𝟎𝟓.Choso isn’t really [Name]’s son, it’s just that he believes that she’s her mother. From what i know, when they were given the bodies by mahito, they have no memories and doesn’t know their mother or something and only knows that they live for each other.

𝟎𝟎𝟔.And yes! There’s a language barrier between them! And only choso knows how to speak the language [Name] is speaking (You’ll know why he knows that language later)

𝟎𝟎𝟕.Basically, [Name] doesn’t understand any of the words Toji is saying.

𝟎𝟎𝟖.Toji was using a cellphone and talking to some of his clients, but [Name] sees it as a mirror bcs there’s no cellphone in her world

𝟎𝟎𝟗.[Name] and Choso argued after that, but Choso ended up winning the argument.

━━━━━

𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏Putanginang kilikili yan means “That fucking armpits/damn armpits”

𝟎𝟎𝟐.Putanginang buhay to, pinaglihi ata ako sa kamalasan eh. It doesn’t really have a direct translation in English since pinaglihi doesn’t have its english counterpart, and the closest translation of this is “Fuck this life, i was probably conceived from misfortune”

𝟎𝟎𝟑.Tangina anong pinagsasasabi neto means “The fuck is he saying”

━━━━━

🔪 || 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒

╰┈➤ 𝟎%

—𝐒atoru is fucking disappointed. How was he supposed to eat you now if you aren’t a mythical bird? Suguru and Shoko told him that you might be a shapeshifter after all.

╰┈➤ 𝟏𝟎% (𝐔𝐩 𝟓%)

—𝐒uguru found some parts of your hair and some parts of the destroyed necklace when he and Satoru went to the forrest (without permission). And guess what? There were little letter like engravings on every part of the broken necklace. He’s not sure on what language it is though.

╰┈➤ 𝟎%

—𝐓oji is fucking pissed because his worm is missing. Where the fuck are you? He still needs to sell those death painting womb for some money.

╰┈➤ 𝟒% (𝐔𝐩 𝟐%)

—𝐒hoko is trying to decipher all of the words found on the broken necklace, she noticed that some letters of it are different though, there's no kanji, katakana, hiragana, and not even a single letter in the alphabet.

╰┈➤ 𝟐𝟎% (𝐔𝐩 𝟐𝟎%)

—𝐂hoso is confused. Aren’t you supposed to be his mother? Why are you acting like that? Why are you being so mean and snappish to him? He’s pretty sure that mothers aren’t supposed to act like that towards their sons... He literally saved you from drowning and this is how you repay him? He’s starting to feel annoyed at you for denying everything, seriously, why can’t you just admit that he’s your son? Your lips feels soft against his though.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄:

I SWEAR, I'M SO FUCKING EMBARRASSED AT THIS CHAPTER 💀💀💀 it's so random and all😭😭 I'M GETTING A SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT THE FUCK??? And some of it are also confusing too. Like everything is so random 💀💀💀 (ig reels r getting onto me, the horse scene is from an ig reel that i have watched)

Anyways, Choso is not related to [Name], he just thinks that she's his mother or something. So, i also decided to just make [Name] speak tagalog because there's a language barrier yk? I don't wanna use some translator to make her speak other languages. Imma just make her speak my mother tongue.

Alsooo, more scenes w [Name]'s family and the jujutsu high students on the next chapter:33

The choso part got my lazy writing fr..

how i feel after hurting my mc every sngle chapter: 🥰🎀

Yeah, just don't mind me babbling...

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Note

I love dark konig. He just tickles the brain pickle yknow?

I loved when konig noticed how small the reader was, this dude would just straight up, if he thinks you’ve been hurt or gone against him too much, would just scoop u up or curl around u entirely like a human cage. He’s a big dude, and dark konig ain’t afraid to use it.

See also: Huge man goes feral trying to protect smol, injured girlfriend

(Little Mouse Masterlist)

Their guns are trained on him.

Eyes bright, wide, intent on their target, the members of the 141 level their sights at the massive man before them, their voices loud, thunderous as they bark orders, commands. It sounds like the churn of a supercell in your ears, clouds grinding black and flashing with fatal streaks of lightning. The wind seems to lift you from your feet, carry you away into the funnel cloud descending low and ominous on the horizon. A cataclysm.

You can barely keep your eyes open. Your attacker's blade still sits deep in your shoulder, unable to stem the tide of red that blooms around it like scarlet fever. It's warm, wet against the shirt under your tac vest. With every pulse you feel it gush crimson against your body, your thoughts.

They're so close, your allies. If you could find the strength to reach them, to lift your arm in search of their aid, you know they will rush to you, hands descending and voices firm, worried, angry you went off on your own, managed to get yourself stabbed. It was a foolish decision, a stupid one. You had sauntered forward thinking that perhaps he would be there, would trace your steps from the shadows, would keep you safe from those who would do you harm.

He had. A moment too late.

König had roared when the blade carved into your shoulder, sounding for all the world like a descending missile, cleaving apart the heavens as it rocketed downwards towards earth.

He'd ripped the man apart with his bare hands.

Yet that touch was gentle as it landed on you, dragging you onto him, cradling you against his chest even as his fingers stained red at your wound. His voice softer, tender, fearful at the way your strength seemed to fail you, one hand uselessly trying to push him away, knowing it was a futile effort.

"Maus. Maus can you hear me?!"

It's bad. You've had enough injuries, enough near-death experiences by now to know the severity of your injury. It may have nicked an artery, unleashed a tide of warmth that even now seeps down your shoulder like the Nile turned red by plague.

He'd shushed you when you whimpered, hooded face hovering over yours as he muttered nervously in German, the undercurrent of rage ever present in his words. The sight of his eyes had been enough to briefly dull the pain- shocked, frantic, afraid.

"Stay still, Maus. I'll get you out of here, I'll take care of you. Keep your eyes open."

The whisper of the anathema inside you, of the secret, hidden piece inside of you that had almost wanted to see him fluttered helplessly against his fingertips when he had searched for your pulse. You couldn't answer him, trying to find the balance between pain and the forbidden need to have him call you that again, his special name just for you.

Then the world had shifted, and König had snarled, arms securing around you and dragging you to him. His behemoth frame curled over yours, caging you in from all sides as he crouched over your broken body, a single massive arm keeping you tucked against his chest protectively. Keeping you safe, keeping you safe from them.

Ghost and the others had nearly fired on him, almost missing your smaller figure tucked into his front, obscured by his arms as he shielded you from their sights. When you had lifted your head towards them the world had spun dizzyingly, wavering like a desert mirage.

"Rookie! Get away from him!"

"She's hurt."

"Fuck! Can you hear us?!"

It had been Soap who had lifted his gun first, voice nothing less than murderous as he glared at your guardian, eyes glinting like steel, promising violence.

"Did you do this to her?!"

König hadn't answered, his only response being that of the low growl in his chest, the imperceptible shiver of his hands cradling you into his front.

"Don't worry, Vöglein." He murmurs, and the sound of his voice feels lush and soft in the confines of your thoughts, that of a friend. "I'll keep you safe."

Your reply curls across your tongue, and your answer is one you'll never be able to speak. Not here, in front of them, where they can hear the true revelations buried deep inside you. Maybe someday, outside this theatre of war, you'll consider them once more- the truth of them pale and delicate like edelweiss that blooms in the waning warmth of summer.

"I know I'll be safe with you."

---

Taglist (Reply or reblog to be tagged)

@nijiluvbot

#König #könig x you #konig x reader #könig x reader #call of duty #fic: little mouse #asks #requests #Keep upping the stakes with these two and I'm not sorry about it

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ineffablecrankshaft · 3 months

Text

(Video) "Coming Home" - The Trailer

A ceasefire has occurred on the @goodomensafterdark Subreddit, site of the 5 five week long ineffable smut war, but not before the GOAD Writers Guild launched this utter behemoth of a finisher on Valentines Day:

31 Authors.

100 Chapters.

Over 100,000 words.

Over 100 different journeys.

31 authors in the community, co-ordinated by the indefatigable @doonarose and driven by the power of spreadsheets, came together to create a singularity of smut with a Choose your own adventure style telling of that first night in the south downs cottage. And you can play too!

But do not clikc that link before you've picked up your Bingo Card, designed (alongside the lovely poster that I used in the vid!) by @fuzzygoblin

With a couple of days left before they unleashed this on the fandom, their emissary approached me and asked if I would be able to put together a "Trailer" for the launch.

Flattered as I was, time was just to short, there was no way I'd be able to pull it off... Alone

Enter u/FourCatsAndCounting - GOAD Veteran, Purveyor of finest Crack and side splitting nonsense who I had long admired from the shadows. Now Together... Together this was something we could pull off...

And this was the result. The CatShaft Alliance was formed.

Thankyou @doonarose and EVERY writer and creative that made this, It was an honour to put this together for your work even at the last minute!

And @goodomensafterdark for creating a community just brimming with talent that produces so much wonderful content and nonsense.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable smut war #good omens after dark

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thewertsearch · 11 months

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FUTURE carcinoGeneticist [FCG] 3 HOURS FROM NOW responded to memo. FCG: HEY DON'T TALK TO HER LIKE THAT YOU UNCOUTH PIECE OF SHIT. [...] CCG: IT MUST BE PERIGEES EVE, BECAUSE GET A LOAD OF THIS HUGE BEHEMOTH LEAVING THAT JUST GOT DRAGGED IN. CCG: JADE, OUR DUTY IS CLEAR. WE MUST DECK THIS TURD TO THE NINES. FCG: OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE I ACTUALLY THOUGHT THAT WAS A CLEVER THING TO SAY. WHAT A DIPSHIT. ?GG: aaauugh what the hell!!!

Honestly, at this point Jade should just close the chat and come back in an hour.

?GG: i cant take this anymore!!!!!!!! ?GG: i dont even know what im reading here but its preposterous and ive had it! ?GG: i am just so angry, i cant believe i let you push me around all those years ?GG: you are completely out of your mind, i was too nice by just blocking you and typing frowny faces and stuff ?GG: i should have let you HAVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This Jade Violence has been a long time coming. Unleash it!

?GG: if you want to apologize then great i am all ears! but just mentioning it off hand and then yelling at yourself the same way you yell at me all the time as if i need a knight to come save me from yourself is so lame [...] ?GG: you treat everyone horribly, even yourself, i cant even fathom how awful it is to be you

Several other characters have self-esteem issues, but Karkat's the only one who directly attacks himself in conversation - and I'm not really sure why. You'd expect it to be the Time Player whose issues are expressed through time duplicates - although, come to think of it, Aradia's fatalism was evident in how her alt-selves considered themselves expendable.

Maybe, then, Karkat's own direct self-hatred says something about Blood. We don't know a lot about the aspect - and it's hard to derive much, when your sample size is one Player with an unknown Quest - but we can certainly speculate.

There's a lot that Blood could symbolize. Violence would work, as would pain or injury - but none of these stand out as particularly applicable to Karkat or his issues. Sure, he's been injured before - but in Sburb, who hasn't?

Family is another contender, and it'd be interesting to see how that would map to Alternian culture. Plus, it actually does apply to Karkat, since he's the one who cloned the trolls. Nanna even mentioned that a team's ectobiologist is, in a sense, the 'parent' of the other Players...

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #2852 #s80

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jadegretz · 3 months

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Luminous Hulk: She-Hulk's Aura by Jade Gretz

Jennifer Walters stood trembling in the hidden chamber, its air thick with the stench of incense and ancient secrets. The flickering torchlight danced across the crude symbols etched on the walls, whispering stories of forbidden knowledge and dark rituals. This wasn't a courtroom, nor a bustling law firm – this was the heart of the "Temple of the Gamma Grail," a hidden cult obsessed with the enigmatic energy that fueled her transformations.

They believed She-Hulk, her emerald behemoth alter ego, held the key to unlocking unimaginable power, a gateway to a realm beyond human comprehension. And they were willing to do anything to exploit it.

Fear gnawed at Jennifer's resolve. It had been months since she first encountered the cult, their veiled pronouncements and cryptic messages infiltrating her life, chipping away at her sanity. Now, lured by a fabricated lead about a cure for her transformations, she found herself trapped in their lair.

Their leader, a gaunt man with eyes that radiated an unnatural glow, approached, his voice dripping with false charisma. "Jennifer Walters," he rasped, "embrace your destiny. Embrace the power She-Hulk offers."

Jennifer backed away, her voice laced with defiance. "Let me go. You don't understand what you're dealing with."

The man chuckled, a hollow sound that echoed in the chamber. "We understand more than you think, Ms. Walters. We understand the connection between your rage, your pain, and the Gamma energy that fuels your… transformation."

His words stung, ripping open the still-healing wounds of Bruce's demise. Rage boiled within her, but she knew succumbing to it would only strengthen the cult's hold.

"It's not just rage," she countered, her voice firming. "It's strength, resilience, the will to fight for justice."

The man's smile deepened, his eyes gleaming with chilling insight. "Justice," he scoffed, "a human construct! True power lies beyond such limitations, in the raw, unleashed fury of the She-Hulk."

As he spoke, several cultists emerged from the shadows, their eyes wide with fanaticism, ritual dag …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

#ai #aiart #digitalart #jadegretz #fantasyart #fanart #beautifulgirl #aiartwork #aiartcommunity #shehulk #hulk #marvel #marvelart #comics #comicart

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llatimeria · 1 month

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fear mongering about new tech stuff is so fucking frustrating because it leads to people completely losing the plot about what they're actually mad at and the real problems in the world.

like, NFTs are not bad because they're collectable and tradeable pngs. collecting and trading art rules and has probably existed since the first moment a human made a piece of art that could feasibly be handed to another human. NFTs are bad because cryptocurrency is a power-guzzling scam pitched by people smart enough to know it's worthless to people who want to pretend they're just as smart as those people because they have too much money.

AI isn't bad because it's a computer that makes art. that in and of itself is completely and utterly morally neutral. it's a complete nonissue and I can't believe the people who romanticize things like the Mars rovers and Voyager sattelites aren't all over COMPUTER THAT DRAWS THINGS FOR YOU or COMPUTER THAT WRITES A LITTLE STORY FOT YOU as a super cute anthropomorphizeable phenomena.

the problem with AI is that corporate behemoths, who either don't understand the technology or do and don't care, are firing actual people in favor of using AI and even this is nuanced. In creative fields it's obvious horseshit, but in every other field it's slightly more complicated horseshit - we should be striving for a world free from dumbass labor, but we also live under capitalism and a person's ability to feed themselves and their families is tied to the amount of work they do so, unfortunately, they depend on doing that dumbass labor that they probably don't like and would rather be spending their time doing literally anything else, like spending time with the families they're performing dumbass labor to feed.

Not to mention a lot of creative AIs were built with scraped datasets taken nonconsentually from artists and writers (and imo that's also kind of a nothingburger - are you really materially harmed by someone looking at your art and being inspired by it, even if that "someone" is a machine? why do you care if i don't care if my work is used in training data? what would you say if i told you that, if asked nicely, i'd enthusiastically give an AI programmer permission to use my art and writing in their training sets so they can better understand how these programs work?), a significant privacy issue -- creators should have the final say over what is done with their art -- and actively making their programs worse by including junk and irrelevant data. AI is dangerous because it's been unleashed on an unsuspecting public without enough caution and safeguards by its creators, but what's done is done and now we just have to figure out what to in this reality rather than getting stuck on what we should have done.

can we please. Just. keep ourselves on the fucking plot with this shit, before we get people thinking that it's evil to have your cancer diagnosed by a computer program who can catch it way faster than a human doctor could, or that it's a problem to SELL AND TRADE ART, or that we should really stop researching the shit that eases the burden of dumbass labor because some people reaaaallly neeeeeeed to do dumbass labor for money when we could just as easily have those people do less dumbass labor with all the time and energy we're saving offloading dumbass labor to computers instead of making a poor schmuck scan documents day in and day out

#swinging my bat at the hornets nest rn

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blackmetaltv · 5 months

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BEHEMOTH - From the Pagan Vastlands Live 2000.

Unleashing the Pagan power! 🤘 Behemoth takes us back to the raw energy of From the Pagan Vastlands Live at Krakow 2000. Witness the birth of a legendary extreme metal force!

#behemoth #black metal #blackmetaltv #black metal tv #blackmetal #nergal #polish black metal

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pokebreeder · 1 year

Photo

Arctic Squirtle live in groups in frigid environments, staying together for warmth and protection. Although they cannot fully withdraw their ice-coated heads into their shells, the ice provides sufficient protection.

Iceberg Wartortle hunt prey amid frigid waves and broken ice. They are able to burst from the surface with surprising speed, using the frozen spike on their heads to deal incredible damage.

Glacial Blastoise are lumbering, heavy Pokémon, but their ability to blast supercooled water from their canons that freezes solid on impact makes them more than competent battlers. Their glacier-like shells may appear cracked, but they boast impressive defenses.

When mega evolved, Glacial Blastoise offensive abilities are greatly increased at the cost of nearly all of its mobility. The sheer cold it is capable of producing from its cannons is highly dangerous to all life.

While Gigantamaxed, Glacial Blastoise takes the form of a true glacier. It is capable of unleashing a torrent of freezing rain from the many cannons on its back, or enormous solidified chunks of ice- all while remaining an impervious behemoth.

Commission for @kamkong!

#pokemon #pokemon crossbreeds #Pokemon Fusion #pokemon variations #fakemon #squirtle #wartortle #blastoise #mega blastoise #gigantamax blastoise #bergmite #avalugg

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bizlybebo · 2 months

Note

Because its on my mind Im sending this as a "Ramble about it here when you get to X episode" ask. When you finish the episodes titled black, white and grey please rant about them here. They are great and I want to see your opinions

hahaha. hi endy.

the staring at the wall evolved into falling asleep and randomly waking up at 4am, still processing these episodes.

i wrote down. some of my thoughts now having experienced the full thing and got kind of carried away with um. 1.4k words of rambling :3

it’s not even all i want to say but i. ough. fuck these episodes were so good but so. auugggh.

it’s like 5am now im posting this and gonna try to go back to sleep but. holy fucking SHIT when i get you bizly.

(i don’t at all expect you to read this behemoth of a ramble!! just. need to put this somewhere as well because my brain’s still exploding after these episodes)

When season two started I thought it marked a lot of stuff for, y’know, how the show was gonna get darker. I mean, episode one, people were getting killed by a chaos demon in that prison.

I was entirely expecting all the ugly, gory bits of season two to be… external shit. Stuff that other guys, the actual antagonists, did.

But William felt pressured in Black. And suddenly it sets off this chain reaction, and suddenly one of our protagonists is no longer doing heroic things. Suddenly William is effectively torturing a guy psychologically in an attempt to save thousands more with David’s medical research.

He fell into the crux of a lot of villains: “It’s for the greater good”.

There was no going back after he stabbed Tide with the syringe. Tide, who never even had his guard up around William because despite everything, he trusted him and had immeasurable faith in his boys.

White is probably my favorite and least favorite episode, simultaneously, to ever come out of jrwi. The emotional, symbolic, and hell, even cinematic effect it has is insane.

I could fucking scream forever about Willian’s actions in White. About Vyncent’s inactions and the way he was torn about everything— about the fact that in season one, Vyncent was the “violent” one.

But Mark and Dakota fucking hit me in the heart to an insane amount.

Dakota. MOTHERFUCKING. Cole.

I said this before, but:

It’s the fact that Dakota still has optimism. He still has hope, at the very least, that Mark can change; turn over a new leaf for his kid.

“I think he should turn over a new leaf, like, with a new hero name, like— Soundwave, or something.”

He still thinks, or at least thought, that Mark can change. This was after he saw what he did to Lightspeed. He saw the worst of Mark’s actions but he still had faith and hope that there was a good person in there.

This shows so much fucking growth for Dakota’s character. The entire development of his morals, especially over season 2, is insane.

But Mark tries to kill Dakota. Several times.

He shoots at him, unleashes hundreds of bullets, and even tries to stab him. He couldn’t predict that Dakota would be incorporeal, and yeah, sure, you could say that he didn’t know Dakota forfeited his powers (and even without him he’s still significantly stronger than other kids his age). But even with his powers, Dakota would still have taken significant damage from the attacks.

Dakota and Mark’s rivalry is something I could pick apart and think about every little piece of forever.

They both have overwhelming love for Ashe, but it manifests in different ways.

Mark says it himself, “I am what I have to be.” He’s bringing home his kid by any means necessary. Ashe doesn’t have to like him, she just has to be safe and alive.

Dakota’s entire screaming match with Mark is engraved into my brain forever. It felt so real to witness, and the emotion in it was insane.

Dakota’s entire proclamation gets me. He’s so well spoken throughout despite shaking with how angry he is.

“I have been killing myself trying to train hard enough to save her.”

“If you were doing this for Ashe you wouldn’t do things that she’d hate you for.” But Mark is what he has to be.

Dakota never stands down. He keeps getting back up, and back up, and back. Up. Okehrjwjr I’m actually going to start crying thinking about this again.

When he was searching for Lightspeed and following Wavelength’s tracks, he kept asking himself: What would William do? Because he had faith in William’s decision making and investigation.

But at the very same time, William was wondering what Dakota would think about what he’s done.

And GOD don’t get me started on William and his brother.

In a sick, twisted way, I loved their dynamic. I loved what it meant for William narratively when David congratulated his work of defeating Xavier, even calling him “little brother” as a term of endearment. I was on the edge of my seat for their entire conversation in the meeting room.

David gave William his first drink, like older brothers do. William tortured a man because of his brother. David had apple juice sitting on hand because their mother told him to, just in case William ever showed up. William wanted apple juice. He killed somebody.

Cantrip’s been FUCKING me up. I couldn’t even write the word “death” after her name. It doesn’t feel real.

This can’t be the same show in which Jade was sitting on Xavier’s shoulders during mario kart, nonchalantly offering no help as he fought for his life to win like. Second place.

I mean, Jade was such a candid and real character. She was a teenager, just like the rest of the Prime Defenders, and she tried to take a turn for better things after leaving the fighting ring. She went from villainy to vigilantism, and sure, her morals were kind of skewed with how she seemed pretty okay with Alan killing the Bell Tech employees, but her motives were good, in a sense.

(“It’s all for the greater good”. It’s the same thing William was thinking, except William was directly dirtying his hands by torturing Xavier, while Cantrip was just accepting that Alan killed some people.)

I think there’s something to say for how William creates a vision of Cantrip out of smoke, distorting her into some monster, and how that’s the last time we see her image at all before learning of the fact that she’s. Gone.

The last time we see the real Jade, she’s just trying to escape. She doesn’t even talk, if I remember correctly. She just tries to get out. She gets shot in the arm but still persists.

And William ends up being the one who pulls the trigger; who injects the memory loss shit into her blood.

He’s the one who kills her, despite not knowing it at the time.

And David still masquerades as an innocent man, going as far as to relax at his apartment with him and William’s parents as though the events of the previous night never happened.

It fucks me up how the last words that Will and David exchanged before the confrontation in the apartment was:

“Don’t turn into a supervillain while I’m gone.”

“You either.”

William was starting to believe that David was a guy with awful methods, but good intentions— and William felt as though he was the same way. He saw himself becoming David, but David manipulated him into thinking that, hey, it’s awful, but at least he wouldn’t be… alone, I guess, in being a horrible person.

William and David finally saw eye to eye on the worst thing.

And David. Still. Lied.

Lied by omission.

And Jade was the one who took the fall for William’s actions. Jade, the girl who made fun of William for his crush on Vyncent. Jade, who had a sister she cared about, even if she scoffed about her love of heroes— despite the implication that their parents died because of them (likely caught in crossfire or casualties of battle). Jade, who painted her nails and placed bets on William kissing Vyncent, saying he’d be too pussy to do so. Jade, who found herself in a fucking fighting arena of all places but still found friends through it.

Jade, who was the first one to trust William with her actual name instead of Cantrip.

William, who killed her.

And. Fucking Christ.

Vyncent’s monologue at the end of episode 33 just. Fucks me up.

For the entire greyscale series, he finds himself suspended in inaction, too scared to do the right thing and too scared to stop the wrong thing.

But he finally faces it. He looks at William, certainly with fear after knowing all that he’s done, and even still, Vyncent dances around the morality of the subject. He accepts if William wants to flat-out lie to Dakota’s face about what happened at Bell Tech, though he does warn him of the significant damage it’ll do to their friendship.

And when William asks Vyncent to leave the room at the end of the episode, Vyncent finally takes a leap and becomes no longer caught by his indecision between apathy and guilt.

He looks at William, thinking he’s on the edge of something he won’t come back from, and he takes his hand, and pulls Wlliam back from the metaphorical cliff’s edge. If William does fall, then they’re falling together.

His entire proclamation, starting with “I’ve had so many opportunities to do the right thing”, fucking guts me.

God I’ve been typing for like. An hour now but the greyscale series really fucked me up holy shit.

tldr: AAAAUUUUIGGHHHHKEKGKKSKVMEMGOOCU:$)&2’ynkejvjk4&3&582$2!:$?82&;&/&(929@,@2&(&2&&?EVIL EVIL EVIL GOD IS DEADDDDJGKRMHKSKKKKLLEKCKSJGJKSICIWKFMSKGIWIIIAI&383&5&?&?@39(92@?&&/8:7;&,£,]*+\+<*]¥<**]+<+¥sfkwkfkkwjfkI HATE EVERYTHING AOUUGGGHHHHHH OUUUUUUEHEHRHRHRJKGHRHRHRRRRRRR

i am emotionally attached to this media a normal amount

#vixen rambles #vixen answers #jrwi pd #jrwi pd spoilers #jrwi spoilers #jrwi #analysis #< yeah you could say that

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vermillionwinter · 1 year

Text

Fever Dream

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian f!reader

Summary: How many chance encounters can you have before you decide fate has intertwined your threads? With the 141 on leave pending an investigation, you appear to Simon, a lighthouse in the distance calling him to safety.

Warnings: Mutual attraction, slow-burn series (our boy's got a lot of work to do), Spicy thoughts-not explicit.

Note: I haven't had the will to write like this in years, but Simon Riley has reawakened a beast, and I need to get all the words out. So, this is a very rusty piece of work, but hope y'all find some enjoyment! Tattoos are the only physical descriptions I believe. the 2nd POV's are bringing me back to middle school Quizilla days.

Quiet. Everything in Simon’s Manchester flat was too fucking quiet, and the air stagnant when he was home. And that silence gave his thoughts the freedom to creep and dance to the murkiest valleys of his subconscious. Wrapping its tarry tendrils around the very memories Simon wanted to keep locked behind the chained door, dragging them out of him to relive every excruciating moment the darkness saw fit to unleash.

Sitting in the single chair of his small, round table, Simon could catch wafts of soil and decay wrapping him in the tight confines of the damp wooden coffin. His lungs tightened, constricting the oxygen he needed. The fear of no escape webbed its way through the calm fog the prior glass of bourbon provided. It was as if the darkness narrowed in on him, boxing him into the point of full paralysis. The arms of his chairs he gripped tightly in his fists began to transform into the feel of the corpse that once was buried with him.

HONK!

Simon’s eyes shot open, and he took the deepest breath he could muster as his lungs got used to the feeling of a full inhale and exhale. His eyes darted around in panic taking in every detail of his barren flat. It was sparsely furnished with essentials, one of them being a bed large enough the behemoth of a man could stretch upon comfortably. As comfortable as one could get when they're accustomed to the hard ground or the scantily padded cots.

Simon shot back the bourbon he originally poured to savor and appreciate relishing in the slow burn it made down his esophagus. What he wouldn’t fucking do to get back out on the field.

“As soon as we're back, gents, we are boots on the ground finding these bastards. We’ll find Shepherd and every lost Shadow.”

Ghost hadn’t been deployed since he took the last shot at Hassan in Chicago- weeks have passed. Bloody fucking investigation into Shepherd’s and Shadow Company’s off book deals called that all operators on the ops related to Graves’ and Shephard’s stolen missiles had to take mandatory leave pending investigation. Shadows were still getting wrapped up for questioning. There were few still on the run. But they’d find them. They didn’t deserve the courtesy of living their lives in fear. The face of death is all they were due.

Betrayal. Betrayal got his family killed. Got Simon Riley killed. And now good soldiers lie dead in fields, their graves forever empty; and families lie dead in the streets of Las Almas. Innocent lives taken by those he once defended, defended the 141.

Glass shattered against the opposite wall before Simon realized he threw the blown sand from his hand. Shoulders sagged, defeated, depleted, ready to give into the quiet of his home. The benched operator stood from his chair and made his way to the shower. He’d clean the mess later. He was alone after all. Always alone.

Simon walked through the small crowds, prolonging the journey to his destination to walk to a path he didn’t have to squeeze through a throng of people. Wisps of the fresh air sauntered over him, releasing threads of tension into the open. Easing him from looking over his shoulder and checking his surroundings more often than they stayed in front of him. To his relief, no one was following him. Venturing out into society felt like an op in its own way. Having to blend in when you lived your life in anonymity. He wore a different mask in the calm of the world. One fewer people were familiar with than the ominous mask he donned on the field.

And Las Almas was proof of why. Shephard was a loose-end that needed to be handled yesterday, and Simon couldn’t shake off the constant feeling he would be found. Just as Roba had found him. He couldn’t very well walk around with his most distinguishing feature on full display, a beacon where to strike next. Simon had to stay vigilant. For himself, but most importantly for them. Nothing could get to them.

Sleep was an elusive luxury Simon would not allow himself since he was dismissed on leave, not that he had the best slumber before then. Running on cat naps, caffeine and spite. The blame and guilt eating away at him, letting those bastards go unseen. And all he wanted was five minutes alone with Shepherd. Ghost wanted the ex-general begging for his life as it left his very body.

To…

All of Simon's plans of vengeance were halted when you stepped out onto the patio of the bakery he found a form of solace in on leave- emerald lace dress billowing around your body, combat boots peaked through with each step you took. Ethereal. A goddess among man. You were divine and entrancing as you stepped lightly, despite the clunky footwear you chose. He was in the door before he could notice where you sat, but hell he found himself praying at your altar you would be in perfect view.

La Gouter was one of the few havens Simon had found in the area. The crowd was moderate, but constant. Tea was always fresh, and the man could not resist the warm, buttery treats. Today he sat with a chocolate croissant with his black tea- two sugars, no cream. Balance.

A book tucked under his arm, he leaned against the mural of Paris- where he had a clear view to the left, right, patio door adjacent to his table, and the entry of the cafe itself. Which also gave him the view of his tea shop muse, and a sudden warmth rushed over him when you looked towards him, eyes honing in on his eyes. Target locked.

Looking down quickly, he cracked open the book that accompanied him. Laying there waiting to be read, to transport the reader to another realm. A world where he didn’t have to be Simon Riley. Now he could get lost in the spice filled sands of Arrakis. Simon let his eyes settle on the pages behind the orange cover.

Twenty pages in, half the tea gone, he felt his eyes drifting again. Black nails adorned your lithe fingers-wrapped around a pen you used to write in the notebook splayed on the table. Legs shifting, the slit of your dress exposed more tattoos scattered on your smooth leg. Wouldn't it be nice to run his fingers over the lines of each piece of art that was displayed there? To feel those hands wrapped around him instead? To lay you out in front of him the way your notebook was exposed to you. Lines of intrigue covering both flesh and paper. He wanted to know the webs of thought spinning from your head to paper. The sounds your lips would release at his touches. Were they soft and airy? Low and rough?

Fuck, he shook himself from the lasvicious thoughts (swirling in his head) throwing back the rest of his tea that he dearly wished was bourbon, and left for the gate. But as he threw his trash into the bin, he had that feeling. There was an energy when eyes bore into you. Watched your every move, like you were prey. Their target . Taking in even the smallest of twitches.

Chalked it up to being on edge after Las Almas, but fuck he needed to get back to his flat now. What if Shephard had found him? Ghost had no shortage of enemies that would crave nothing more than to spill his blood. Were the others still alive? Gaz. Price. Soap. But Simon wasn't met with a bullet when he turned around to face whoever was trailing him. No. Simon found curious eyes glistening in the sun- following his every move. Down to the smallest twitch.

Simon felt his heart stutter, a catch in his throat when you flashed a disarming smile, painted in dark red. Stomach in unfamiliar knots, he froze for a moment soaking in your warmth in the moment of vulnerability. He wanted that warmth to blanket him in its softest rays. It was terribly disarming. Blinking out of his stupor, he found tantalizing eyes paired with a shy smile greeting him. But, the brute didn’t know how to respond; his mind was still in conflict. And he left without another glance in your direction, all the while wondering how someone could glow in the dull skies of London. There was enough sunlight to bathe you in its golden rays. The shimmer upon your skin was like nothing Simon had ever seen, your beauty enraptured him.

You watched the giant of a man turn-hands shoved in his pockets-and leave the cafe, and you couldn’t help the appreciative gaze as your eyes roamed the backside of the man who stopped dead in his tracks and stared at you for an agonizingly small amount of time. Whom you had caught staring at you minutes ago. His gaze, through red lenses, overwhelmed you, a vehement aura exuding and reaching.

He was statuesque, a gargoyle in the flesh wrapped in the darkness of his fabrics, sitting at the small metal table against the bright paints of the Paris mural. You certainly appreciated the contrast. Auburn beard covered a strong jaw, but his face was mostly obscured by the black Everton cap and red lensed shades. The hoodie did little to conceal the firm bulk of his arms, broad shoulders. When he broke eye contact to read his book, shades went to his hat, but angled his face to further obscure your view. A shiver chilled you. Why was he hiding? But you didn’t let your attention linger, though you did want to. You wanted to watch him read, and immerse himself in whatever tale he was venturing through.

In. Out. In. Out.

The mantra on loop to keep his thoughts focused. Singular. Not focused on red lips pressed against his neck. Teeth grazing a path over a protruding vein. So he ran faster. Faster. Faster, until all he could think about was how to get enough oxygen to his lungs, Lamb of God blasting through his headphones. The opening notes of Walk with Me In Hell leading him through the end of his run. Spent. Overexerted. Exactly what he needed. He’d finally sleep, and just not fucking care what happened next.

Simon released a breath he had not realized he was holding until it left him. Disappointed relief. The tea shop siren was absent from his visit. It was strange. The wanton desire to be in the presence of another being. He was used to alone. It was easier to work when you didn’t have the reminder of how many lives were in your hands. It was effective, and he was damn good at it. You had his mind in a whirlwind of confusion. Not even the women he's fucked stayed with him the way you have. You've never even said a damn word to him, and he was crumbling. Under a spell you were unaware you cast. Synthesizing his dreams to your every whim.

“Fucking Christ.” A soft growl met his ears, eyes slid toward the culprit. And there you were, just as gorgeous and warm without the infrared glow of the burning star above. Even with the snarl across your painted lips, coffee spilled in front of you as you picked up the few items you dropped. The espresso color accentuated the shape of your plush lips, and he wanted to know what the supple flesh felt like between his teeth, tongue sliding in sync with yours. And fucking hell he’s heard your voice, further fueling his mind. Simon’s base instincts were bleeding through more than he would care to admit. Like some horny school boy seeing tits for the first time. He didn’t care for it, wanted it gone. Made him feel compromised. It was consuming him in a time he couldn’t afford distractions. When could he ever?

Your morning started out shit, and seemed to become progressively shittier. You had an assignment due by midnight. The internet at your place was out, and the company had been very little help with an ETA. It had been your day off, but Deana was out with some virus her kid picked up from school and you were the lucky winner to be on rotation that week for the store. All you wanted was the comfort and warmth of a white chocolate mocha, and now that was also ruined as the caffeinated beverage seeped into the porous concrete of the patio.

You had been set and determined to complete your assignment covering the impact commercial farming has had on the environment and global economics. Then, you saw him. Shades sat atop his same hat, the once full beard had been trimmed, hugging the shapely jaw. You liked it, so much so that you stumbled on a table, coffee slipping from your hands.

You wanted to scream, cry, kick the chair, but instead you blinked back the tears and picked the empty cup from the puddle of cream, sugar and caffeine. Feeling like a bloody idiot for being that damn distracted by a bloke you’ve not actually seen yet. If he walked around without the hate and sunnies, you’d most likely not realize it was him. But hell if the mystery wasn’t all the more enticing.

You sighed, paying no more mind to the gargantuan on your left-dizzy from the distractions- and set your workstation. Three hours. That’s all you had before your shift at the shop.

You sat with one earbud playing music as you began cycling through your notes finding topic points and sub plots for your outline. The angelic voice of Florence Welsh guiding you through the motions of the ebb and flow of your homework routine. And deep in your concentration and will to see this task complete, you did not notice a dark figure leaving its perch.

“Excuse me?” you looked to see one of the younger baristas standing with a coffee. “Uh…some dude ordered this for you, and wanted me to bring it out to you?”

You quirked a brow taking the drink from the nervous kid and thanked them. When they skittered back into the building you took a look around seeing Paris missing one of its Gargoyles of Notre Dame. A jolt of excitement warmed you when the sweet velvet flow of the caffeine hit your tongue. A perfect coffee to lift your spirits from a perfect stranger.

#eeeeeee i'm so nervous #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley x f!reader #simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader #simon riley x you #cod #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #lieutenant simon riley #lieutenant simon 'ghost' riley #lieutenant simon riley x reader #lieutenant simon 'ghost' riley x reader #slow burn series #domesticating simon riley but he has trauma #lots of trauma #a war criminal and i don't care

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