“𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰’𝒎 𝟔 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖” 𝘝𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦/𝘝𝘢𝘭 | 18 | 𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘗 | 𝘚𝘱7𝘸8 | 𝘌𝘯𝘨/𝘙𝘶𝘴 ᴍᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏᴅ ᴏᴄꜱ Still trying to figure out my post format so if I rearange everything like three times a day just hold my hand and weep with me
Hi! I’m Valentine or Val. I’m an artist who sometimes (once in a blue moon) writes. I am by no means a professional writer trying to become one. I wanna make a place where I can share my creativity and love for the many many fandoms I’m in ♡
A lot of the info that is here is also in my Straw Page. Feel free to check it out
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˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕
Angel — Monster AU
CoD OC’s
˚₊‧꒰ა.𝑨𝒔𝒌𝒔 𝑹𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔/𝑩𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔
💚 Totally ok with: Fluff, AU’s, any requests for x reader (Demi human, monster, in verious states of decay, yada yada) Angst/Heavy Angst, SOME heavy topics (extends to SH, possible suicide/suicidal thoughts etc…) NSFW topics but I will warn you my smut writing sucks… (unless it fall under my no list), BSDM dynamics, gore, violence
💛 Maybe (depends on scenario and my mental state): Writing full on Explicit SA NSFW as part of the scenario… not against if it fits the character or their story… I would much rather make some over complicated metaphor and be done with it. Extreme Age Gaps (when one of them is on that 18/19 verge with a grown ass man??? Icky, but I can handle it), Vore
❤️ Will NOT do: Extreme fetishes (piss, scat, vomit etc…), Age play, Incest on any kind, Any kind of NSFW content with children… tf. Detailed descriptions of stomach sickness. I have emetophobia I would rather disappear than write that shit in detail… referencing is fine, but it’s the detail that gets me
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˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆
- I’m a Uni student in a Bio field (will be busy around mid terms and finals)
- Really like medicine themed… anything, biblically accurate angels, horror, anatomy, drawing
- I speak English and Russian but I mostly write in English
- Really love my fandoms and all the OCs I create for said fandoms. I think making OCs is one of my favourite things to do… ever. I never shut up about them
- Professional yapper. I love talking, ranting and whatever
- Over use “…” like an addict does cocaine and also cannot spell for the life of me
- ADHD and borderline dyslexia… idk what’s wrong with my typing and spelling skills, they just do not exit
- I’ll write when I get hyper fixated on something. Sometimes it can be multiple posts a day or nothing for months. I’m so sorry to anyone who will have to deal with this…
- Most active on Instagram. I also post all my art there ♡
˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑭𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎𝒔
I enjoy fandoms through creating OCs for them and trying my best to write them into the lore of whatever I am interested in. It has been the way I enjoyed pieces of media since I have discovered what that x reader fanfiction was, and I’m not ashamed to say that, yes, that is 90% of the content I consume... it has been that way for years and it will stay that way.
My current and longest hyper fixations are Honkai: Star Rail, and CoD (Weird, I know) and for both I have mutiple OCs, AUs and I write and draw these OCs all the time.
My fandoms: Honkai: Star Rail | Demon Slayer |Attack on Titan | CoD | Bungo stray Dogs | Outlast Trials | Dispatch | Chainsaw Man | Black Butler | Sk8 the Infinity | TBHK | Cookie Run Kingdom | Arcane | Sandman | Little Nightmares | Silent Hill 2 | Dead Plate | Underworld Office | Mouthwashing | Supernatural | Hannibal | Hazbin Hotel and Helluva boss | Owl House | Umbrella Academy
I will most likely write about both a lot, and if I do write it will be mostly OC content. I take pride in the character I create and I will never stfu about them…
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˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑰 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒏 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕
My current plan is to post random writing snippets based on my HSR and CoD OCs.
Maybe in the future I will write a “x reader” drabbles or one shots, but I write in third person and in gender neutral terms and it will stay that way… I’m a 2nd POV hater and will probably never write fem POV unless asked specifically.
I might post some art or sketches here and there but that he mostly what my Insta is for and nothing will even outshine that
I hope to focus this account mostly on my CoD OCs… and here is a note about that
As someone who is very apprehensive about the fandom and the lash back I can get from the fans I feel like I should state that I have a lot of head cannons… I may write the characters a bit Occ and I’m sorry. There may be in accurate info, wrong titles (even through I have done research and still do) and maybe som lapse in lore points but I am trying to navigate my best in a large fandom with games from which the lore is written for teenage boys and divorced dads… I have my take on the characters you have yours… please don’t kill me
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˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔
Gotta add this because I never shut up about them.
I am very aware of Yumes and the community that comes with that. While maybe I do not consider myself a full on hard core Yume I do use some of the terms for convenience sake. I will not tolerate any hate towards the Yume community and I will also not tolerate any drama relating to it. I am very transparent with what ships I have and what I draw/write about
I talk about them non stop, especially about Ratio my beautiful amazing husband ♡
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˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑶𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔
My beloved OCs ♡
I will be adding and updating the list as I make separate posts about all of them
CoD ──────
This is more like an AU where I keep who I like and ignore everyone else… Don’t like it? Leave.
I hold all my Cod OCs very dearly mostly because I put a lot of effort into them and I personally find the very happy slice of life dynamics I made up in my head more comforting that anything else the og franchise has…
I’m really sensitive about these ships so please don’t bully them… I find it kind of embarrassing to be in the fandom especially looking at how toxic it and the amount of gamer men who would call me a slur for getting one fact wrong…
- Vincent Vères — OCD ass Medical officer with very bad daddy issues, a need to be perfect and weirdly placed care giver symptoms that only come out in French
- Aleksey Sokolov — Blunt, a bit too awkward math autistic who tutors college students at Calculus between killing people
- Alto Green — A epileptic mortician with more health problems than a lab peitree dish
- Wesley Calloway — Recon specialist who was kidnaped by a serial killer mid mission, buried alive and only found a while later half eaten by maggots… his face is all fucked up lol
HSR ──────
- Chalier Vermont — BPD having cardiologist who killed an intern one time, made a doll daughter who looks like a child between him and his situation-ship 7 years ago
- Chéri — Doll daughter in question. The vessel for the essence of Nous because Chalier was bored and wanted to pop off
- Elysian — Suicidal Vampire who is stuck with an angel breathing down his neck and deep earnings that bartender that makes him feel something
- Reverent — The divine judgment of Amphoreus who is really not as scary as he sounds, he is just tall, serious and loves his academic twink
These are my main Oc x Cc characters and I yap about them non stop…
I hope to create separate Intro posts to all of them at some point soon ♡
Uhhh soft launch of my Toky debunkers oc? I don’t know if I’ll be writing much stuff for him but I kind of want to… some of my insta moots got me into it and seeing as in less than 3 days I already had 2 full insta highlights (for context that is 200+ stories and all Tkdb related…) this game may have a bit of a grip on me…
So here is Verlaine. I am still wiring out some of the kinks in his character and lore but at least i have a drawing
ID card
Outfit ref
Tkdb and their 17 million outfit changes are gonna kill me, a poor starving artist
Some of my inspirations for his character were snakes (specifically I want to make him black mamba themed) and bones. He is a bone obsessed freak…
There is such a huge amount of Tkdb ocs which are just, some girl that dates this guy… when I personally find the world building of the game alone to be so interesting and fun to work with so I wanted to lean in a lot with the themes of the demon deals which are hugely overlooked even in the game itself, and also look at some themes of identity with this little guy… as well as a lot of mental instability as usual
notes: honestly? I don't really write smut. most of what I write is whump, so don't expect a retelling of 50 shades of grey or anything. I wrote half of this just sitting on the bathroom sink counter. read at your own risk cause idek if this makes sense-!
triggers: needles, blood, medical stuff, medical...malpractice??? definitely medical inaccuracies though I do try to do research. lowkey dubcon. I didn't even realize it until I reread it. fingering...implied aphrodisiac?smut? not really the main focus but apart of it
summary: you're nervous about needles and medical exams, so Jiro....tries to find a solution? || fem/afab!reader
"Take a seat. No, over there."
Your eyes swivelled to the end of his finger, your face promptly draining itself of all existing color. "You didn't tell me this was going to be an exam..."
"It's not."
The gears turned in your head, the heat of their exhaustion weighing on you. "Then....the table?" You asked, trying to recall a time where you'd had to sit in that particular spot outside of the usual check-up hours. And when you couldn't, your mouth grew dry.
"Right. I want you there because I'll be testing a few things that you'll need to be laying down for." Unbothered, Jiro usually was. His hands were hard at work with whatever mystery you had just mistakenly stumbled into. Clinking, clattering— it was the chirp from a device he'd been toying around with that made both your feet fumble into each other. Backing away quick, with threat to run in the opposite direction.
"Testing?" You clarified, just to make sure Jiro hadn't made a mistake with his words. If he'd ever. "You wanted me here to help with research, though... If I'm laying down, how am I supposed to help you research anything?"
"Oh. You'll be helping me." He answered, vague. Jiro must have sensed the confusion clouding your eyes from where he stood, your silence prompting him to explain himself further. Something he should have done when he had first requested your presence in the lab, as now he was forced to be face-to-face with your features twisting in a sickening dismay. "You'll be the first test subject to experience this specific cocktail of fluids. So please, sit down."
Cocktail..? You were now more confused than you were when he had pointed his finger in the direction of that exam table behind you. Surely he wouldn't chase you down if you ran, slammed the lab door, and never looked back...
Swallowing your concern, and your slowly starting escape plan, you took in a deep breath. This was Jiro, you tried to remind yourself, despite watching your vision go a little hazy. He wouldn't hurt you for fun, would he? You began to doubt him, feet heavy as they dragged their way to the exam table. Your arms practically spent, you weakly lifted your body until the skin of your thighs was flush to the cool exam table cushions. They weren't lined with their usual paper cover, another thing noted.
Clusters of goosebumps bloomed throughout your skin. Opened mouth, eager with questions, a moment passed and still your words wouldn't fall out. All hope to learn more was promptly as lost as your thoughts.
When the lab was empty of Jiro's shuffling with medical tools and equipment, he turned around to face you—about as pale as he always was. Maybe even sicker, too.
"Scared?" He asked, face relaxed. His footsteps floated over to your side before you could even respond, his piercing gaze mapping down the sight of your trembling arms.
Slowly, you nodded. "You knew I would be." You piped up, resuming a protest with words that your body seemed to be losing against. You were guessing the worst of him. You'd been deceived, and were sure of it. The best part of it all was that he didn't attempt to argue. Instead, offering you a low passion sort of comfort. The kind that you'd have been able to give yourself if you hadn't been slowly losing trust in his motives.
"I did know, but there's really no need to be."
'Easy —' you thought. For a doctor to say.
Wheels assaulted your ears and soon you were met with the swing of an IV pole. Jiro held out a hand in your direction, and you stared back at it for just long enough to force him to interrupt your silence.
"Your arm, please?"
You hesitated. Predictably. Things were moving a little too fast in a direction you had not imagined. There wasn't any time to prepare yourself for what was coming next, for what had already come of today. It was hard to place blame on anyone but Jiro, so your arms tightened upon his request.
"I—"
"Like I said, you don't have to be scared. It shouldn't hurt too much, and it'll be over quick. If you're still apprehensive, we can try this again tomorrow."
Hurt...much... The words faded into an echo inside your head. Jiro was rather persistent, wasn't he? Trapping you between the only two choices of now or tomorrow..
How about never?
"Fine..." You managed. But everything felt far from it. Your heart was racing. Sweat dripped down the sides of your face, and suddenly you weren't sure if you were going to throw up or pass out first. Still, your arm reluctantly slipped from its tense hold and relaxed out in Jiro's direction. The worst he could do was kill you, and he wasn't promising to do that just yet.
"Good. This makes it easy since you're already here." A gloved hand took your arm and you winced. Met with the overwhelming stench of alcohol, your shoulder flinched upon greeting the cool wipe that slid down the center of your inner elbow.
"I'll let that dry while I finish setting the IV drip up."
You released the breath you were holding and watched with dreadful anticipation as Jiro left your side to find his metal prep table. It was littered with everything from your nightmares. Vials, needles, antiseptics, gauze.... the only thing it was missing now was a patient.
With ease, Jiro had pulled out vial after vial of liquid through several sets of needles and syringes, creating a compound that he soon diluted into a small bag of fluids. He was prepping the IV line while your thoughts wandered, eyes glossy and spaced out towards the wall to avoid meeting Jiro's gaze as he worked. Would tears get you out of this? Would they get you out of this tomorrow if he made you come back? What type of research was he doing, and why didn't he tell you that you would be a distinct part of the research he was collecting...?
Letting out a deep sigh, you breathed in slowly before letting out a sharp gasp.
"Jiro?!"
"Hm? Sorry. You seemed lost in thought and your arm was still in the same position. It was more convenient for me to place the catheter this way."
Typical, you turned your head in the opposite direction of your assaulted arm entirely. Hardly able to bear the sight of a needle resting through your vein without becoming nauseous. His touch was gentle though, meticulous and with purpose as he placed medical tape around the catheter in your arm.
You bit your lip to stop the tears threatening to leak from your eyes. Waiting for it all to end, only Jiro knew that this was just the beginning of a long night.
He rolled over the drip on the IV pole, connecting the line with your IV catheter. You caught glimpse of the bizarre color in the IV bag....he was like a professional potion mixer. You had never seen a mixture administered with quite the pinkish and purple color this concoction had. Or....cocktail, as he called it.
"You should feel the effects of the fluids soon. Unbutton your shirt, I'm going to place a heart monitor."
You couldn't really fight him about it, you'd already gotten this far and it was pointless to deny him his little data collecting gig anymore than you already had. Still, your fingers trembled, arm weak from the feeling of a foreign object inside it. You unbuttoned just far enough to reveal the skin on your chest when suddenly your eyes began to feel heavy.
A cold alcohol wipe ran down your newly exposed skin. After a few seconds of letting it dry, Jiro's fingers applied a slight pressure to a tiny little device that he stuck to your chest. Looking down, there was a little screen illuminating a number. To you, the number was nonsense, but to Jiro....he had seemed rather pleased to watch the number slowly descend from the hundreds it previously read.
"Your heart rate is slowing down, which means the fluids must be working. Do you feel anything?" He inquired, hand reaching behind him to feel for a clipboard. Papers upon papers were stacked on it. For what and who for? God if you knew, he just seemed intent on putting pen to paper.
"Tired. I feel...tired." You stretched and Jiro watched, intent with curiosity as both your arms reached for the ceiling.
"An improvement." He noted. "Anything else? Do you feel nauseous anymore?"
You went slightly red, and watched as Jiro's eyes fell back to your heart monitors rising number. Was it really that noticeable?
"No...I don't."
"Okay. If you begin to feel sick again, please let me know."
You nodded, your eyes falling, but your mind aware. "What's the point of this...?" You asked. You were a difficult patient at times, sure. But did you really need to be sedated for a phobia?
"Well, you didn't seem interested in exposure therapy. I thought I'd find another way to make you more comfortable during your exams. It'll be easier this way for both of us and if this works, I can develop it into a one-time injectable to use before all your appointments."
Great, another unnecessary shot.
You felt like a dog that needed a heavy dose of gabapentin and trazadone before vet visits. The only problem was that you rarely thrashed or bit, just took longer to work with than most. Insulted, you would have argued with him if your body wasn't already arguing with the sedative polluting your body.
"Well, it works." You yawned, and instinctively your head fell for the cushion on the table before Jiro could even give you the instruction to do so. "Could you maybe hit me with a reversal now? So I don't nap through all my classes tomorrow?"
"It seems only two of the three fluids administered in your drip have worked. I am still waiting for the last one to catch up with you."
Three..? Well, a nap didn't sound too bad anyway. He could do whatever it was he wanted while you were zoned out of existence like he'd wanted to. Closing your eyes, you couldn't help but feel hot under the leering gaze Jiro had on your body. Observing you keenly, like his life depended on it.
You shifted until you were on your side, back facing Jiro. You laid your needle pinched arm carefully out to the side too, your legs curling closer into your abdomen. Jiro didn't complain. He wasn't concerned with your position more so than your physical condition. It wasn’t like sleeping would change the outcome of the research he was doing. In fact, more-so being apart of the research he was taking notes on.
You were sedated half-way into a dream like trance, your breathing shallow. Despite it, there was a simmering heat that began to plague your body, making it more and more difficult to relax into sleep. Your clothes must have been damp from your sweat, as your shirt glued itself to your sticky back.
"It's hot." You sighed.
"Is it?" Jiro blinked, walking over to the exam table you were curled up on. His hand made contact with your head, and that's when he too noticed the shine from your sweat on his fingers. "Interesting. Are you hot anywhere specifically, or just in general?"
His question irritated you, how were you supposed to know admist your suffering? This was now the furthest thing from relaxing. It was starting to become worse than the state you initially walked into the lab with. "I'm not sure, but I'm sweating and would really like it if you—"
"Can I touch you?"
You stopped short of your sentence, bewildered by Jiro's off-putting question. "Haven't you been doing that the entire time? You don't need to ask."
"I see. Okay. Let me set this down. This will be easier if you lay down on your back, by the way."
You weren't sure how hard or fast you'd regret reminding him that you'd been under his touch the entire time, because he made a very serious display of putting his clipboard down as if this was about to be a two-handed job. But then again, he'd been just blunt enough about it that you didn't think to worry. You just shifted until you were flat on your back again, then waited as you watched Jiro rid himself of his gloves.
Your sweat stained the table beneath you, aching for Jiro to hurry up and continue this so it could be over. Finally, when he was back at your side, you stared up at him, ill. Drenched in your perspiration, you were becoming dizzy with delirium at just the sight of Jiro in your peripheral. You were growing disgusted with the feeling of being in your own body. Disgusted by the diligence of the doctor eyeing down the monitor taped to your chest.
"Heart rate increased, breathing still shallow."
He didn't seem a bit disturbed by your disheveled appearance, or the smell of your potent sweat leaking onto the exam table. If anything, he was intrigued. Curious to find out more. His hand started on your stomach, pinching the damp fabric of your shirt between his fingers to confirm it was wet. When he was sure of what he felt, his hand slid down to the hem of your skirt, fingers slipping beneath it. He didn't stop until his fingers were in your panties. When your lips spilled out a soft, surprised gasp, his eyes fell to your face. He didn't say a word, but you could tell from the look he gave you that this is exactly what he had expected his stupid little cocktail to do.
"Woah..? W-What are you doing...!?" A little too late to speak as his fingers were already intruding your slick folds, it was probably better late than never to say something. At least, before you'd begin to squirm uncomfortably. Or before the sound of your soft whimper could touch his ears and encourage this.
"You said I could touch you. So that's what I'm doing."
He was so matter-of-fact, it contrasted embarrassingly hard with the shock in your voice. As if, —maybe— you were the one stupid enough not to guess that this was always his intention.
"Yeah, but—"
"But?" He repeated, focused intently on your washed out face as he pushed just a single finger into your slit to further confirm his suspicion. "You're clearly aroused. I can take care of it, if you'll let me."
The heat in your body suddenly pooled to your stomach at the lewd sounding suggestion. At this point, you weren't sure if Jiro was right, or if it was purely embarrassment working its magic.
"I-I don't need you to take care of anything, Jiro. Please, just take out the IV..." You weren't quite aroused enough to agree to him, yet still not sure you even really wanted the IV removed now.
His finger slid through your slick until it brushed against your clit. You let in a deep inhale to subdue the low moan hiding in your breath. His touch teased you, but disappointment clouded your judgement when his hand slipped the rest of the way out of your panties.
"I could do that. You'll still feel the effects of the fluids you've received for a few hours though."
You sighed out, the room spinning and your vision hardly catching Jiro as he observed your juices coating his fingers.
"You poisoned me..?"
There was short silence as your words provoked a thought that may not have occured to him previously. It sounded so cruel, and had anyone else asked him that question, he was sure to feel only neutral about it. There wasn't a hint of guilt in his voice though as he thought through your question. He really was just trying to help.
"Poisoned? Hm. Well, I suppose you could put it like that. You won't die, though. Likely just be in this state for the next few hours."
"Why..?" You managed. Heat beginning to plague the rest of your body once more, steeping you into your own pool of sweat. This banter was feeling useless.
"I've read that pain can be significantly reduced during sexual arousal. If you're scared of the pain you experience during things like blood-draws and vaccines, would it not be effective to arouse you first, and then proceed? If what I read was at all true?"
His explanation sent a shiver up your spine and several questions whirled your blurry mind. You wanted to ask Jiro more, but your body would hardly stand for logic or reasoning anymore. The heat was finally becoming unbearable, and if he'd really wanted to test his theory, or whatever it was, you'd just have to let him.
Shifting your legs so your knees were up and apart, you writhed in agony waiting for the burning to cease or turn you to ash. You were searching for the words to give Jiro permission to continue, and you knew unless you made it quite obvious, he'd leave you to sear until your bones were unrecognizable.
"Okay. I'll let you..." breathless, the words hardly left your lips.
"Let me do what? I can take out the IV now, if that's what you're asking for."
He was teasing you. He had to be, right? Did you really have to shout fuck me from the roof top?
"No..! Collect whatever data you need from me. Do whatever you want to me after. Just please, stop the burning."
Humiliated would hardly cut it. You felt absolutely despicable. The way Jiro looked at you didn't help either. Shock, curiosity, a teasing glint to the stare he'd had on you? You weren't sure what it was. Obedient, though, maybe even a little excited to an extent only he understood, Jiro slipped his hand past the hem of your skirt, sliding his fingers into your panties and then pressing them against your wet cunt. You were soaked more now than when he'd first assessed you. He wasted almost no time in pushing a single finger into your wetness. Soft, hot pants left your lips as your eyes fell shut and your head tilted slightly to the side.
His finger found your sweet spot with a swiftness to question, curling up into it until he could no longer count the amount of quiet whines you breathed out. He took note of the way your chest fell and rose though, observing the heart monitor he taped to it.
"106...107..."
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud moan and one of your hands reaching up for his forearm. You don't protest or push him away from your body though, so he didn't find reason to stop. Instead sliding a second finger into you while his thumb brushed against your swollen clit. Your soft chant of his name throws you a curious gaze to your flushed face.
"Yes?" He responds, his thumb teasing your clit in torturously slow circles.
"I was just— ah—" His thumb presses into your clit before you can finish speaking, earning him another of your lewd cries.
"Keep going." He prompts you to continue your thought. A rose blush conquers your cheeks, you grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut until it almost burns worse to be so tense. You moaned his name again when his soft teasing touch to your clit becomes more assertive, and if you weren't spiraling into a painful pleasure, you'd catch the question marks that swirled Jiro's head.
"Yeah?" He responded again to your moan, like you were calling out his name with a purpose aside from affirmation of your satisfaction. You weren't sure what brand of air-head he was, because he certainly knew his way around a medical anomaly...but lacked the social awareness to understand you weren't calling for him for any particular reason.
Sweat trickled into your damp hair, causing a few strands to stick to your neck. Despite the nausea you felt from overheating, you couldn't stop your body from grinding into Jiro's touch, almost lost enough to forget explaining yourself to him. "I don't need to tell you anything, ....Jiro...."
He seemed more confused. So confused, you worried he might stop finger-fucking you to focus on the matter of moaning someone's name just because what they're doing felt good.
"Why do you keep saying my name then?" He blinked. Only Jiro could turn an intimate moment into a teachable one. Knuckle-deep into your drenched out cunt and he still wouldn't let it go.
"It...your fingers. Feel so good. I- nevermind." You gave up with a whisper, which seemed to satisfy Jiro for the moment. You'd have to wait until he brought it up to you another time to properly explain. For the moment your body was keenly focused on your climax. Not the sweat you were writhing in, the IV in your arm, the sweet chirps from your heart monitor to signal high activity. Perhaps Jiro had a point after all. He may have been able to do just about anything to you in that moment, and you would have hardly second-guessed him as long as you were coming.
Your heart rate must have reached an all time high, as Jiro rarely ever stared in absolute awe. His thumb relentlessly circled your clit in a persistent rhythm, and when your clutch on his forearm tightened, he felt your cunt convulse around his fingers. Listening to the way you slowly lost your voice in your breathing, Jiro removed his fingers about as quickly as he'd decided to use them.
You were too busy recovering from your orgasm to notice that his touch had disappeared from your soaking cunt. All you knew was that there was shuffling in the back of your mind, and that your other untouched arm had become paralyzed. In your bleary gaze, you could make out Jiro's messy hair. You moaned quietly as you felt his fingers touch you again, but this time the scent of alcohol began to shake you to your senses. Your heavy breathing slowed, but before you could argue, pull your arm away from Jiro's grip, there was already a needle pinching your vein, and blood leaking out of it into a tube.
You felt violated, used. But you just needed to know. Everything was still hazy, though you caught the glint of Jiro's glasses as you turned to wherever you felt his looming presence. Still somewhere near your arm, drawing blood while he could keep you from being in tears about it.
"I'm the only patient you plan to use this method with, right...?" You asked, a knot in your stomach at the thought of another patient in this position.
He must have been amused, because you thought you heard something of a laugh. "You're the only patient I have at the moment scared enough to cry over a few needle pricks. So, probably."
You felt instant relief hearing him explain that to you, although you were more ashamed than anything.
"So. Why were you moaning my name?" Jiro asked, deeming this now an appropriate time to inquire why you weren't answering him when he responded to your half-minded calls. If you weren't half-asleep and dazed, you'd have let out the longest sigh of the night. Did he really not know? Or was he teasing you?
I lowkey gave up on making new ocs for fandoms I stumble into so from now on each fandom gets a version of Valentine who is like a blank little template OC I use to imagine silly scenarios in my head… bro is a stem cell waiting to be differentiated
Anyway I am a sucker for a smart little tired doctor but also sue me I LOVVEEE and experiment x their creators trope so Valentine this silly guy gets both.
Pretty much me and the one video of catch up RE lore I watched decided that this little guy was an experiment made by Umbrella because why not, they’re evil like that. He is lowkey just conditioned to follow lab routines and do lab work doctor stuff and not question any of the ethically weird shit they were doing. Then big bad explosion happened, everyone fucking died… except this cockroach mf because his body is kept alive by the fact that he he not human he is a walking breathing experiment… thing.
Blah blah blah, Gideon finds him, drags him along, literally rebuilds his body and is now stuck with a creature with an IQ of a 150 but is a tiny little dumbass who will probably kill himself ending working until he is physically stopped and restrained…
John doesn't like to brag, but he considers himself a good lover, right?
He's had plenty of people fall apart under him, begging for more, gasping his name. then there's you....
"Bloody 'ell, kid–" price has been at it for about twenty minutes, not long by his standards, but by now he expects to have at least heard a moan from the pretty young thing under him.
You just...lie there. The tiniest furrow between your brows, breath even, not really moving. Price had thought you were shy, or just needed some extra care, but now? Now, he pulls back and sits on his heels "okay, kid, we're done."
"W–what?" You gasp, leaning up on you forearms. You grasp prices wrist where he soothes up your side "why? Did I do something?"
"Kid, yer obviously not enjoyin' yerself." Price sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face tiredly "it's fine, I'm not upset."
"No! No, what do you mean? I was so close! C'mon, sir, please–" you beg, sitting up as best you can with your shins still around price's waist. "It was so fucking good, please–"
You freeze when price looks back to you, expression confused "that...that was you enjoying it? Kid, it felt like I was fuckin' a corpse for Christ's sake."
You wrinkle your nose at the comparison, kicking prices side lightly "hey! It was! I'm just...quiet i guess." Then, more sincerely "...it was actually really good. You look hot when you're braced over me."
"Oh." Price replies, trying to ignore how his body reacts to such a blunt statement. Slowly, he leans back over you, nudging your thighs wider. "Okay. Just, so long as yer comfortable."
He goes back to it, paying closer attention this time. Now that he looks, he can see the way your eyes trace the lines of his body. Or how you clench around him on ever thrust. It's honestly kind of endearing.
When you cum, he hardly notices except for the way your thighs tighten around him slightly and your lashes flutter, "mmhhh...John..."
That one sigh of his name is enough to have price following close behind.
OKOK ok this reminds me so much of how I imagine Angel to be like when Price finally gets to him and ads him to his little hoard…
Like Angel has a looottt of trauma when it comes to sex because past CO all that lovely stuff. So the first time Price managed to warm him up and finally drag him into bed he is practically silent and shut down. And Price stops for a second to check, as him if he is ok, and Angel is just blissed out just very very quiet. Like he is absolutely enjoying it, he lowkey is just not used to making noise during sex, or being allowed to do so and poor Price has to remind him that “hey… you can show that you l enjoy something kid…” like god it’s like fucking a doll.
It gets better over time but he is still very quiet. The most expression they get is his flustered face hiding behind the wings in his head, an the flutter of feathers as he orgasms for the third time that night
Urge to write nasty old man Price and much younger but way kinkier Vince…
Like Price is into some WEEEIIRDD shit. Maybe some internalised homophobia and loving to feminise him. Put him in slutty lingerie that was absolutely not meant for a man but Vince is so into it. Hell he will knock Pride down a peg all while wearing 12 inch heels and nothing else.
warnings !! — fluff, smut, hybrids, literally just a brief mention of sex
cannot stop thinking of bear hyprid!price. i think i’ve consumed like 10 posts today alone.
just imagining him being so nice and big. not even just his cock, but his whole body was big enough to completely cover you, a personal weighted blanket. and when he slept he practically vibrated, a deep hum rumbling in his chest, deep snores that you grew used to falling asleep to. when you first got to the cabin, his snoring was absolutely unbearable. now— it was something you needed to be able to fall asleep.
the constant reminder that he was there. always there.
you’d think sex would be feral with him— but it was nice and slow. working at your orgasm instead of chasing it, body completely hugged against yours, arms caging you in so your eyes were only on him. always had you folded up though, legs either wrapped around his waist or over his shoulders. making sure all of your senses were being bombarded by him.
had so much muscle and fat on him too, could walk around the cabin completely naked in the dead of winter without a worry, his arms always wrapped around you in some way. you always kept close, needing him and his warmth, no matter the weather.
even better when he was in his bear form. wasn’t a day where he wasn’t just plopping his body on top of yours, yawning as he folded his paws under your chin— head resting on yours.
dont even get me started on hibernation !! months of being cooped up with a very sleepy price, who doesn’t have the energy for you. most mornings he decides to shove a palm into your face, or draping a heavy arm over you and curling you back into a tight snuggle when you tried to start the morning.
hhbggg.. i offer u a small post…. IF I REMEMBER @rawme-price HAS DONE SO MANY OF THESE SO GO READ RN. ok goodnight everyone
ABHHHHH I HWVE a Demi AU and in said AU Price is a bear hybrid and Vince is a now leopard hybrid and it’s winter and Obviously Price is sleepy while Vince gets an insane about of domaine from snow is and is practically glowing with his new winter coat, soft tail and enough dopamine to make him borderline schizophrenic…
And Vince has a personal room attached to his office because fuck the cannon he is rich and I do what I want, and all winter months Price is lounging on his soft silk sheets taking up the whole space while Vince is trying to convince him to please please ppllleaaaseee go outside, look how pretty the snow is!
Vince drags him out, wrapped up in a coat that lets his little ears peak out and an arms up to his ears as he practically purred from the cold air hitting his cheeks. Beside him stood John. Cold, sleepy, and coming one of those thermos mugs as he sipped coffee Vince made him so doesn’t fall asleep. Vince pat tally jumped into the snow, snow to the knees and that long tail sweeping through the soft cold cloud. A soft laugh bubbles up in his throat as he falls on his back into the snow. John has never seen his love so happy. It brings a small tired smile to his face, as he waits for Vince to get his fill of the snow.
Half an hour later he gently pushes the shivering but very happy Vince back inside, watching the medic cup his hands around his mouth to warm up. Vince was practically purring, his tails wrapped around John’s leg as they walked back inside.
He peeled off the wet cold clothes and slipped into some of John’s much warmer hoodies and joined him in the bed. On the small side table stood some tea and cookies, and on the silk sheets laid John, arms open for him.
Vince practically jumped up into his arms, nuzzling beside the warm bear, a low purr coming from his chest as he lets John pull him close and wrap his strong arms around him.
“Did you like the snow love?” John whispers lips brushing Vince’s ear
“Yeah” a happy smile on his lip as he nuzzles his head right under John’s chin.
“Good” He slowly runs a hand through Vince’s hair and rubs at the base of his ears, making the snow leopard break into an even louder purr.
“… Good” the words are a soft whisper as he places a kiss on the crown of Vince’s head, letting himself melt away into the soft plush of Vince’s bed with his darling in his arms.
Any time I write him I write him lowkey autistic… Why are all angels to autism coded (I’m looking at you Castiel…)
──────
Angel’s had a favourite sweater. He has had it since before the military. White, perfect soft on the inside, heavy fabric that was warm but not suffocating, a bit over size and the cut outs for hue wings a bit more loose than usual to accommodate movement. Angel took a great care of making sure it was washed in a very specific way so it didn’t shrink, smelled the exact same way he found comforting — vanilla and ozone he has used for the last 5 years — and stayed that perfectly soft texture on the inside The soft, brushed interior felt like safety against his hypersensitive skin uncontaminated by discipline or violation. It was his wearable sanctuary away from war.
And now it was gone. Once that shirt managed to end up in the communal laundry instead of Angel doing it himself and Soap not relakh bothering to sort though it shoved it in with his own stuff. When Angel got it back it was wrong… the softness was gone, the smell was different and it shrunk af least one dice in the drier. It still fit but it was not the size he knew… it wasn’t his size. It was ghost found him. Angel was genuinely distraught. He knew it was childish and dumb and that it was “just” a sweater but it wasn’t.
It was Ghost who found him. He even went there in the fist place because the air in the corridor outside Angel’s room had changed and it was annoying him... Instead of the usual low hum of static, it was a sharp, jagged, high-pitched frequency that scraped against Ghost’s wraith senses like nails on chalboard. He paused, then silently pushed the door open.
Angel was on the floor, back pressed into the corner between his bed and the wall. He was having a full on breakdown. His body was curled around the white sweater, clutching it to his chest as if the long finger digging into the fabric as if he could fix it back to what it was. Silent, heaving sobs shook his frame, tears streaming down his face and soaking into the ruined fabric. His fingers twitched, tearing and clutching at the material that was now wrong—stiffer, smaller, smelling of Soap’s loud, pine-scented detergent.
The moment Angel’s wet, shattered eyes met Ghost’s, it was as if a circuit overload. His face crumpled into pure terror. He’d been seen. Not just upset, but in a state that he knew was an unforgivable… a childish meltdown. By Ghost. The most severe, uncompromising and unforgiving judge in the 141.
“N-no. No No no no!” His eyes and voice panicked ”Forget- Forget it,” Angel stammered, voice choked and raw. He tucked his head down hiding behind the wings by his head, trying to make himself disappear into the wall. “Please… please don’t tell Price. Just… go away. Please.”
He wasn't just asking for privacy. He was begging for mercy before the sentence was even passed. In his mind, this was it… fhe final proof of his instability. Crying over a sweater? Like a brat? A weak, broken kid... And then Ghost would tell Price, and Price would see him as a liability and then? Then the punishments will return—the lights, the isolation, the "corrections” of his own very being. His breath hitched into ragged, uncontrolled gasps. The static whine rose again, making the lights in the room flicker as his emotions spiralled. He curled tighter, eyes skewing shut, one wing coming up in a feeble, instinctive shield over his head and vital organs. He was bracing. Waiting for lot the final blow. For ghost kick him down even lower, punish him for crying, for being weak.
Ghost meanwhile just stood in the doorway in silence. His eyes took in the scene… The destroyed sweater, the almost animal like panic in Angel’s eyes, the sheer unveiled grief over one last ruined comfort. For his judgmental looks and abrasive He didn’t see a brat. He saw an angel in catastrophic and systemic failure.
And he understood… he has seen angel wear it around off missions always curled up in it so Ghost understood. His own wardrobe was one of repetition and consistency. He had identical pants, identical shirts, washed in unscented detergent on a specific cycle, at a specific day of the week and hour of the day. A pattern he hated deviating from if he could. He knew this wasn't about a sweater. It was about the violation of a constant, a routine Angel was used to. He understood that Angel liked the softness and the very specific feel which was not ruined and sandpapering Angel’s already raw nervous system.
Ghost said nothing... He didn’t sigh, scoff, comment, or reprimand. He simply looked at Angel’s shuddering form for three more heartbeats, then turned and slid out of the door, shutting it behind him.
To Angel, it was confirmation. Ghost was so disgusted he couldn’t even bear to speak to him so how he was going straight to Price to tell him that Angel was useless… The panic spiraled. His sobs turned into almost silent, suffocating heaving.
The silence after Ghost left was worse than screaming. It was the silence… a verdict. Angel’s choked sobs turned into ragged, hyperventilating gasps. He let out a terrified shriek of pure, unfiltered dread and lunged forward on his knees, fingers scrabbling at the empty space where Ghost had stood, as if he could physically pull the consequences back.
But Ghost was gone... It was over. He was done…
Angel collapsed back into a tight fetal curl, his wings curling forward to envelop him completely in a trembling, sobbing, feathery cocoon. At this point he was barley making a found. Just harsh, irregular hitches of breath that weren’t pulling in enough air. The ruined sweater was a twisted lump clutched against his stomach.
—
But Ghost didn’t go to Price… He moved through the base like a vengeful shadow. His target was Soap… of course it was soap. Who else did dumb shit without checking first?
He found Soap in the rec room, cheerfully cleaning his kit, and taking to Gaz. Ghost’s voice, cold and flat cut through the room. “MacTavish…”
Soap looked up, the grin on his face immediately fading at Ghost’s expression. “Yeah, Lt.?”
“You put Angel’s white sweater in with your laundry.” It wasn’t a question, but a cold statement.
Soap blinked, confused. “Uh. Maybe? There was a load goin’, I just chucked stuff in. Thought why not do his too.” He painted, before very carefully wondering “Why, did it run? He can have one of mine if-”
“You shrank it,” Ghost interrupted, arms crossing “You changed the texture. You washed it with your own detergent that smells way too strong and now it won’t wash out. It’s destroyed because if your do-good arse”
Soap’s face went from confusion to dawning, horrified understanding. “Oh, fuck.” He knew about Angel’s particular ways of taking care of his own things. The way he washed his own clothes separately. The attention el details no one else noticed... “Is he…?”
“He is having a meltdown in his quarters,” Ghost stated “You’ll find an identical replacement. Not similar. Identical... Fabric, weight, cut, manufacturer. And you will do it today…”
Soap was already on his feet with all the focused intensity of a man trying to defuse a bomb he’d set. “On it. I’ll get Gaz, we’ll scour every supplier-”
“Now,” Ghost said, and it was a final word.
As Soap scrambled away while Ghost turned and went towards his room. In his room he walked towards his closet and pulled out a knife. He took one his large black hoodies, finding the back, before catching the bottom on the tip of the knife and quickly ripping long lines up the back of the fabric. Then he walked past the little min fridge tucked away in the corner of his desk and pulled out a cold water bottle.
Then he slid out of his room and headed to Angel’s room. He didn’t knock just walked in, eyes on the still-shuddering feathery form on the floor. He walked over slowly and quietly and placed the two items neatly on the floor beside him. The cold bottle of water and his hoodie — plain, unscented and soft…
Ghost’s eyes studied the fatherly lump… A scene was one of utter shutdown. He let out a quiet sigh in grim understanding, and then closed the door behind him.
He knelt down beside Angel, his movements slow and calm. His first task was prying the ruined sweater from Angel’s white knuckled grip. He reached out slowly through the feathers, feeling in the dark fatherly mass and trying to find the sweater. As soon as his fingers brushed the fabric, Angel let out a shriek.
“NO! Give it- Please! Give it back! It’s mine-!” It was a desperate sob. Ghost didn’t stop, just pulled it towards himself.
Angel uncoiled, lunging not for the sweater, but for Ghost, his hands clawing at the fabric of his shirt, blunt nails scraping against the material hard enough to leave white lines on Ghost’s skin. He was sobbing again — heaving cries — begging incoherently between them... “Don’t tell! Please don’t tell! I’ll be good- I’ll be good! just don’t-“
Ghost didn’t try to reason with him. It was useless… He didn’t shove him away. He simply patiently waited out the frantic, panicked assault, letting Angel claw and cling. Angel wasn’t trying to hurt him — even if his nails were painfully long and he was considering suggesting to him that he should cut then recognising — but to acted as a rock to a creature that was about to turn into a staticky mess of wings and eyes.
With an effortless strength, he hooked his arms under Angel’s shaking form and lifted him from the cold floor. He felt the Angel shake against him, arms wrapping around him and a small whimper Leaving his throat. Ghost shifted around and dropped the Angel onto the round, soft nest like bed.
Angel didn’t let go. He fisted his hands in Ghost’s shirt, his face buried against the softness of Ghost’s chest, teary face leaving wet imprint on Ghost’s shirt.
Ghost endured it. He stood at an awkwardly bent angle over the bed, trapped by the frantic grip. Slowly, with the patience of a saint, he began to try and slowly work one hand free, while the other was prying Angel’s fingers loose. Each time he managed to tug a hand free, one of angels long limbs can tk replace that space, sometimes scratching Ghost, sometimes his own skin. Each time, Ghost intercepted it. His grip was firm but not restricting, just enough to redirected the panicked acts of harm.
Ghost’s eyes scanned the bed as he once again tried untangle himself out of the octopus like grip that was Angel’s panicked flailing. His eyes landed on one of the he sharks. He reached haver and tabbed it. Finally he managed to peel Angel’s hand from his shirt and pressed the worn, dented plush into the angel’s arms.
Angel clutched it automatically… his grip almost strangling in the poor soft creature as he buried his face in its soft, familiar faux-fur, his body still wracked with sobs, but now anchored to something safe and less self destructive.
Ghost took a step back, watching. He waited until the Angeles frantic, clawing movements had subsided, and the sobs had dulled to exhausted little hiccups. The static had lowered from a panicked shriek to just a low semi-distressed hum. Only then he allowed himself to move.
He picked up the items he brought with him . First, he opened the cold water bottle and held it out, placing it gently against Angel’s hand that was clenched around the shark’s fin.
Angel flinched at the sudden coldness raising his wet glistening eyes at it. After a moment, he took it with a trembling hand and took a small sip sipped, the cold water ground him a little more.
Then as soon as ghost confirmed that Angek had calmed down at last a bit, Ghost held up the sweater. It was obviously one of his own… Black, heavy, worn soft from use, with two clean, long slashes had been cut for Angel’s wings to fit through on the back.
He laid it carefully on the bed beside Angel, letting the fabric just slightly brush his arm. Enough how him gag it was there, it was soft and if he didn’t want it he just had to live his hands a centimetre and Ghost will take it back… It was an attempt at replacement. Not the same…. It would never be the same. But it was a possible solution. A pragmatic, silent solution: “Here is something warm, soft and now yours to modify…”
Then ghost took and slow step back. He didn’t wait for a reaction and he didn’t wait for thanks. His part was done... He had contained the crisis, provided the best solution he could and scraped Soap enough to know that the werewolf was already scrambling to find a replacement.
He gave Angel one last, assessing look —seeing the tears still clinging to the pale lashes, but the panic calming down enough so the angel could breathe, replaced by boke deep exhaustion — before he turned word and left, the door giving a quiet clicking sound telling Angel he was now alone.
It was a good little while until Angel looked from the shark. His eye looked at the water, and then at the new black sweater at his side. The new one was dark, with rough-cut slashes and smelling of Ghost.
He slowly reached out and carefully, pulled the black sweater over his head. It was big. Big enough for his wings to fit through no problem. It smelled faintly of gun oil, cheap body was, and a clean undertone unscented soap. It wasn’t his… it wasn’t that same vanilla and lavender tone but it was soft... not to mention the slits in the back returned his wings less than his white sweater did.
He curled back around his shark, the black fabric enveloping him, as he slowly drifted though his one thoughts. He was not scared… not anymore. He was reyhbv to foke to term with the bewildering, overwhelming realization that Ghost of all people has seen his so broken… so unmilitary like, so human…. And instead of punishment he helped…
Ghost gave him the shark, the water bottle, and the silently offered sweater… the most terrifying man he knew gave him one of his sweaters. A small smile touched his lips as he nuzzled closer ink the black fabric, letting his eyes droop closed as now he was so tired his only choice was to let exhaustion claim him.
I’m way too lazy to go remove all the double spaces… I wire in my notes app and it just looks like that
OCC ghost? Maybe. I keep writing Angel as this pathetic bottom when i know that if he wanted to he could top ghost… idk I like writing him freaking out. It’s fun
Anyway. This is long and tedious and took forever. Enjoy ♡
Sorry for not posting I have no inspo to write… so here have this. You guys don’t know who Wes is I will probably not write him for another few months because his lore is not figured out but here have some crumbs
I have two new angel one shots in the works. One about hoodies and mental breakdowns and the other one is the part two of the waking up one where Angel is equally as mentally unstable as always
Soap teasing Gaz about Wes and it’s all just…
“Is he’s calling his BOYYYFRIIIEENNDD again?” Johnny’s voice carried way too far out, even with the noise of the mess hall behind them.
“Yeah… of course I am. He just came back from that recon in the middle of no where and I wanted to check in on him. And he’s not my boyfriend” Kyle scoffs as if it was normal to know this random American’s schedule better than his rookie rounds
“Whatever you say man… But if your comfort activity is FaceTiming this dude we went on a month long recon mission with, maybe you should consider getting better hobbies”
“Maybe I should consider getting better friends”
“At least I don’t have to face time my man because he is too scared of airplanes”
“Airplanes? You mean the ones that your man took after he turned a kiss into a hug and then ghosted you for five months?”
“At least my man can kiss me. Yours is missing half his face to a civvy serial killer”
“At least my man doesn’t consider me his best friend and nothing more than that”
“Ouch…” Johnny pauses an almost sad look on his face “… Do you really think he sees me as just a friend? We share bunks during all opps”
Kyle pats his shoulder with an undertaking nod and lips in a thin line to not burst out laughing “There there mate… maybe you can FaceTime him about your friendship goals… figure out how truly friend zoned you are” Kyle dipped out of the way just in time to avoid another bruise on his arm
This whole blog thing literally started like two weeks ago and I have already gained so many people ehh love my silly little yapping ♡
I hope that this can continue on.
My uni starts up again on the 5th but i won’t be back till the 10th so yeah… I have a few series in mind
- Angel and his autistic ass
- bathtub creature
- I will 100% try and write Johnny and his kitty cat Demi…
Plus all my oc content that I will never stfu about. I may also add in Dresden after I sit down and figure out all the Koni more which is impossible to fucking find in a coherent manner… SO YEAH! I HAVE THINGS PLANNED I AM SO EXITED TO MEET NEED PEOPLE WHO ENJOY THE SAME THINGS I DO RAHHH LOVE YOU ALL MUAHH!!!
I sat down to start drafting out the Price and fish creature thing because it seems like that is currently winning on the poll and you all are not ready for the amount of times ghost and him being “too broken” will be mentioned… or how he sees this creature being abused and miss treated and he is lowkey like “Simon was miss treated his whole life, and he was like a child to me I gotta steal this fish eel thing because wtf that is literally my only chance to honour all my dead and disappeared kids…”
#father price ig… i don’t care about your head cannons for this thing he see the 141 like his children and now they are all gone. Whomp whomp
All this may very well be a horror series because I am about make a very uncanny fish thing that will 100% haunt his ass with his existence
