#[ and that wedge became a lifetime ]

[afraidofchange]

That mother-daughter conflict of Ana trying to protect Fareeha from living the same life she did (one that involved killing machines and men alike, the burden of that grief, and the weight of responsibility as Captain of Overwatch and the people that looked to her for leadership) vs. Fareeha idolizing her mother, wanting nothing more to be like her and to make her proud and follow in her very valiant, heroic footsteps, only to be told she couldn’t, understanding it as young girls do (as a parental restraint against her freedom of choice), driving a wedge between them as she became an adult, furthering distance until Ana’s “death.”

[sexsylexi]

Please can i request a part 2 to “I love you so” where they go on a really dangerous mission and while reader is like one of the most powerful people on the team she got injured very severely trying to protect the team with a smile on her face, and she got injured like to the point where she has to be resuscitated multiple times due to the severity of it, and her and wally haven’t talked much since she asked him about Artemis and Him and he’s been an emotional wreck realizing whatever is going on between him and Artemis have to end cuz he really does love reader and things with Artemis was just a phase and he does tell Artemis about it and she’s pretty upset about it she later comes to realize that this thing between them wasn’t worth losing reader and their friendship and the teams trust so she does apologize to reader even tho she’s in a comatose state and Wally later enters in begging for her forgiveness and promising to be better and fight for their relationship no matter what and how long it takes and when reader wakes up he’s doing all that he can to make it up to her for all the hurt he’s caused

Very much inspired by the song: Die with a smile by Bruno mars and lady Gaga 🌚

Also sorry this is so long I get very detailed😭

Of course, this is an amazing request!

I love you so Part 2.

Wally West x reader

It had only been a few days since you had confronted Wally about Artemis, but it felt like a lifetime ago. The air between you had shifted, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. You had barely talked since then. It wasn’t as though the missions had stopped coming in, giving you no time to breathe, let alone to figure out where you stood with him. Yet, in the rare moments of quiet, the weight of everything hung over you like a storm waiting to break.

You couldn’t get the look in his eyes out of your head—the brief flicker of hesitation when you had asked if there was something between him and Artemis. And while he had denied it, that flicker told you more than words ever could. You had hoped he’d come to you, talk it through, but days had passed, and nothing. Wally had become distant, and you weren’t sure if it was guilt or confusion that was driving the wedge deeper between you two.

Today, however, there was no room for personal matters. The team had been called on another mission—one far more dangerous than usual. The intel suggested an overwhelming enemy force, but you knew there was no option but to fight. That’s what you did. That’s what you had always done.

The battle was chaos from the start—enemies surrounding your team from all sides. You were in the thick of it, your power crackling at your fingertips as you tore through the battlefield. But the longer the fight dragged on, the more desperate the situation became. The team was outnumbered, cornered, and for a moment, you could feel the tide turning against you.

You spotted Wally across the battlefield, moving at lightning speed, but in a split second, you saw it—an enemy aiming a deadly blow right at him. There wasn’t time to shout, no time to think. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, and without hesitation, you threw yourself in front of him.

Everything happened in an instant. The blast hit you with the force of a freight train, knocking the wind from your lungs. Pain surged through your entire body, but you forced a smile, a small one, through the haze of agony. If this was how it ended, it was worth it. You had protected them. You had protected him.

Your vision started to blur, darkness creeping in at the edges. The last thing you saw before everything went black was Wally’s horrified face, screaming your name, rushing toward you in a blur of red and yellow.

---

The med bay was cold, sterile, and eerily quiet except for the steady beep of machines monitoring your fragile state. You were unconscious, hooked up to every piece of medical equipment available, your body still after having been resuscitated multiple times. The damage had been extensive—far worse than anyone had anticipated. The healers were doing everything they could, but there was only so much they could control. Now, it was a waiting game.

Wally had barely left your side since they brought you in, his heart heavy with guilt and fear. He hadn’t been able to save you, not in time. You had saved him, and now you were lying here, fighting for your life, because of him.

And because of everything that had happened between you and Artemis.

The truth was that, after your confrontation, Wally had been spiraling. He had been avoiding facing his feelings, avoiding the reality that there had been something between him and Artemis. But now, seeing you like this, fighting for your life because you had risked everything for him, he knew without a doubt that you were the only one he wanted. You had always been the one. Whatever he’d felt for Artemis had been a passing phase—a mistake born out of confusion. And it was over now. It had to be.

He had gone to Artemis earlier that day, pulling her aside after a particularly tense mission debrief. It wasn’t easy to look her in the eyes and admit the truth, but he had to.

“Artemis, we need to talk,” he had said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

She had known what was coming, he could see it in her eyes. “It’s about her, isn’t it?” Artemis had asked, her tone calm but laced with sadness.

Wally had nodded. “Yeah. I… I care about you, but whatever this was, it’s over. I love her, Artemis. I always have. I just— I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Artemis had looked away, her jaw tight, but she didn’t say anything for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, almost resigned. “I get it, Wally. I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t hurt, but… you’re right. This thing between us—it wasn’t worth losing everything. Losing her. I didn’t want it to go this far.”

There was a pause before Artemis met his gaze again, a flicker of remorse crossing her face. “I’m sorry, Wally. I’ll talk to her. She deserves better than this.”

Wally hadn’t known what to say. He just nodded, his chest heavy with relief and guilt. He couldn’t fix the past, but he could fight for the future—your future together, if you would give him that chance.

---

Later that night, when the med bay was empty and the world outside seemed quiet for the first time in days, Artemis entered your room. She stood by your bedside, staring down at you with a mixture of regret and sorrow. The team had trusted her, you had trusted her, and she had let that slip away.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” Artemis whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “But I’m sorry. For everything. For letting it go this far. You didn’t deserve any of this. The team, you, Wally… I messed up. And I know that doesn’t change anything, but I hope—when you wake up—that you’ll forgive me.”

She stayed there for a long moment, the weight of her words hanging in the air before she quietly slipped out of the room.

---

When Wally entered the med bay later that night, the weight of his guilt had only grown heavier. Seeing you lying there, pale and still, hooked up to all those machines—it was like his heart was breaking over and over again. He sat beside you, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. You were so cold.

“I’m so sorry,” Wally whispered, his voice cracking. “I was such an idiot. I let things get so messed up between us, and now you’re lying here because you were protecting me. I—” He stopped, swallowing hard, tears gathering in his eyes. “I love you. I should’ve told you that sooner. I should’ve shown you. But I’m going to make it up to you, I swear. I’ll fight for you, for us, for as long as it takes.”

His voice broke entirely then, and he pressed his forehead against your hand, the tears falling freely now. “Please come back to me. Please…”

---

Days passed, and Wally never left your side. He was there for every shift change, every test, every moment you remained in that comatose state. The team visited, offering him support, but his focus never left you. Every night, he whispered apologies and promises, vowing to do whatever it took to fix what had been broken.

Then, one quiet morning, your fingers twitched. The steady beep of the heart monitor began to shift as your eyes fluttered open, weak but conscious.

Wally, half asleep in the chair beside you, shot up, his heart racing as he watched you blink, your gaze slowly focusing.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re awake.”

You blinked at him, your throat too dry to speak, but you managed a small smile. He gripped your hand tighter, his eyes filling with tears again, but this time, they were tears of relief.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice shaking. “For everything. I know I’ve hurt you, and I know I don’t deserve it, but if you’ll give me the chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I love you, and I’ll never take you for granted again.”

You stared at him for a long moment, exhaustion still pulling at you, but in his eyes, you saw the sincerity, the love that had always been there beneath the hurt.

And even though you were still too weak to say much, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. It wasn’t forgiveness just yet, but it was a start.

And Wally West would fight for you. For as long as it took.

[anxiousheart7]

Cazador, Astarion and Generational Trauma

*SPOILER WARNING* - major story details

Astarion’s story is about trauma. His trauma. The loss of who he was and the power of retaining a sense of self and autonomy after several lifetime’s worth of abuse.

But I believe there’s another layer to his story that hasn’t been touched upon as much, and that’s around the idea of generational trauma.

I’ve taken a little bit of a deep dive into everyone’s least favourite vampire lord - Cazador Szarr.

Disclaimer: by no means is any of this intended to provide sympathy for Cazador. He’s a monster and I felt a great sense of satisfaction at the end of this quest. But I like to explore the machinations behind a story and dig deeper into what makes a monster.

Im also very keen to fill in any gaps on this subject. If anyone has found any other source material other than those mentioned, they’re very welcome :)

Video Content credited to YouTube Creators sourced and linked in this essay.

Cazador, Vellioth and the cycle of abuse

We don’t know a huge amount about Cazador before he became a true vampire, but what we do know we find out through two sources (that I know of) - through Speak with Dead on Cazador himself and through the last echoes of his old Master, Vellioth.

In his coffin, you can detect his thoughts before killing him (if Astarion isn’t with you). (Time stamp 4m47s)

“These deathless dreams hold memories of a mortal life once-forgotten. Of the boy I was, the man I became, the monster that will not end. I sleep but cannot rest. I live but cannot die. I am eternal and I grieve.”

This gives a couple of interesting insights into the mind of a true vampire. Although within his waking world, there appears to be a sense of permanent grief and emptiness that comes with the power and eternity of his condition. There seems to be an element of eternal suffering.

He seems to lament the state he’s in and I wonder if his desire to become the vampire ascendent is partially in a bid to end these feelings. Of course, we have a sense of what a super powered true vampire would look like if you ascend Astarion. His soul gone and any sense of humanity left within him stamped out and replaced by a sociopathic megalomaniac.

I can’t decide whether this suggests that there are still shreds of a soul within a true vampire compared to the ascended version. But the stronger takeaway I have from this conversation is that this internal struggle is so bad that he wants to perform the RoPA to overcome it. Of course, there’s also the hunger for power that, it seems, inflicts many a vampire regardless of whether they are spawn or true. Even Raphael describes it as ‘so vile it has never been performed’. So, there must be a story to why he covets this power so much and I believe this comes within the form of Cazador’s former master, Vellioth.

If you haven’t found him yet, he’s in Cazador’s bedroom within the lower dungeon. All that’s left of him now is a preserved skull.

One thing I’d like to note about this living space is that it’s quite modest, which surprised me. I wasn’t sure if this was the space Cazador sometimes retreated to when he was working on his plans, away from the spawn, or if this was his permanent residence.

I feel like there’s a story there - like if he did ‘inherit’ the palace from Vellioth, that this was his room. It’s basic with a simple desk and small bed and a cabinet where Vellioth’s skull sits with the profane right details wedged between his teeth. I do wonder if Cazador puts on this appearance of grandeur and wealth but in private he prefers the minimum, as though the show is what matters. It makes me think that he was either humbled and abused so badly by Vellioth as a spawn that he retained his humble surroundings once he had turned true vampire. Or perhaps before he was turned he was a peasant or modest wealth.

We can guess a few things about Vellioth from our conversation with him. He was cruel; as cruel or more than Cazador. He punishments appear severe and lasting.

Like Cazador’s commandments, Vellioth states three lessons that a vampire must live by:

Lesson one “…to dominate. Allow none to be your equal.”

Lesson two “Power comes from solitude. To share with others is to be weak and to be weak is to fail, and die.”

Lesson three “Act not in haste. A near-immortal has time to plan, time to act only when others will pay the price of action.”

With lesson three in mind, I would say that Cazador slept down there and only saw his spawn to punish, instruct or to collect their conquests.

Compared to Cazador’s commandments, Vellioth appears to frame his lessons around a code of which a vampire should live.

Cazador takes these and shapes them into his commandments when he comes into his own power. Those commandments revolve around obedience and domination, making sure his spawn know that they belong to him and must do as he says. It’s this doctrine that shapes his rule.

During the conversation, Vellioth talks about the mistakes that Cazador made and the punishments he suffered for them. First through the death of an old friend, for which he made Cazador watch. The second was by impaling him for ten years.

However, it seems that Cazador was a good pupil and successor to Vellioth as he finally projects a sense of pride when Cazador performed the Rite of Perfect Slaughter, killing him.

I found this quite interesting since the scroll and conversation implies that Vellioth was aware of and performed many of the Rites listed in the scroll and was perhaps a follower/worshipper of Mephistopheles.

He possessed the instructions for the Rite of Profane Ascension so it’s not a stretch to presume he was intending to perform it himself. Yet there’s a sense of pride in his defeat at the hands of his progeny.

So why is this? This attitude seems to fly in the face of his own rules and the idea that vampires don’t like to share power. Cazador must have done something to impress him to the point where he was ready to surrender his legacy to him. Was it the cunning and will to beat him? Did he demonstrate himself as worthy or did he simply seize the power?

There’s also an interesting point to note - Vellioth must have consented to turn Cazador into a full vampire before his death, which is interesting because that means that he eventually granted him the status of ‘equal’. Was he ready to die? Did he see Cazador of worthy or did the Rite mean he was required to surrender his blood willingly to his spawn to complete it?

One thing is for certain though; his lessons, his legacy and that of the vampires that came before him continue through Cazador.

Cazador Szarr - Family Man

So, Cazador we know became a true vampire over 200 years ago. Astarion says he was ‘one of the first’, but didn’t go into more detail. Was he the second or third?

We find out a few things exploring the house. We know that there was a room for the favoured spawn Leon (we meet him trying to abduct Astarion in Elfsong), the majority of the other spawn has a less fancy dorm and then there’s the Kennel, where we know Astarion spent a considerable amount of time.

Cazador treats his spawn with sadistic cruelty. We see his attitude towards Astarion during their confrontation and his tone as he speaks to him. He refers to them as his ‘family’ and takes the stance of a strict old-school father.

He’s very reminiscent of the likes of Tywin Lannister or similarly placed father/heads of household (reminds me a lot of Reginald Hargreaves from the Umbrella Academy). For all intents and purposes he presents himself as the master of his domain and his spawn as his ‘children’, calling Astarion ‘boy’ and taking an authoritarian position in the way he treats his spawn.

I wonder if this is a remnant of his time with Vellioth. The implication of Vellioth’s teachings was that he essentially groomed Cazador to be his successor, should the event arise.

The Cazador we learn about acts as master, not sharing his power. Even his favoured spawn is clear of his place within the ranks.

We learn that Leon, who we meet trying to take Astarion in his sleep, is the favoured spawn. I have tried to place the order of spawn from the ones we know of - Leon, Aurelia, Dalyria and Petras and I think either Leon or Dalyria were the first spawn. From their demeanour and the way they speak, they seem to have an air of experience and wisdom to them.

Cazador also seems to choose his spawn carefully. But I wonder if he chose them first, or some are ‘newer’ than others. And what makes these seven stand out compared to the 7000 others he made for the ritual. Why were they useful and the others locked away? Was it a condition of the ritual that 7 spawn collect 1000 souls each as a contribution to the Rite, or were they just useful for Cazador. From the perspective of control, it makes more sense for him to have a limited number of spawn he considers ‘children’ while the others become ‘cattle’ in his head.

Which makes me think that Cazador cherry-picked these people in advance to cultivate his family from the get-go.

Leon, as mentioned, I believe to be his progeny. He seems to resemble Cazador a little, although more handsome. He sports the same long, black hair and I feel that perhaps Cazador saw him as his legacy or true son.

Edit: it’s also worth noting here (thank you to the commenter who said this) that Leon was protecting his daughter who Cazador wanted to turn. The cursed child was supposed to be her but on speak with dead you learn she was replaced by a vagabond and his real daughter had been sneaked away. This also may imply that he was a younger spawn.

Leon, more than the others seems to take his role with calm obedience rather than outwardly fearful. And so, he earned favour from his master. Cazador got to see perhaps what he perceived he used to look like when he was alive, feeding his own petty vanity.

We know a little more about Dalyria. She was a doctor and was looking into potentially curing vampirism through blood transfusions. She would therefore be very clever and influential. Cazador will haven chosen her as a ‘quality’ candidate due to this, and perhaps her method of collection was to offer help to the sick and destitute, promising them immortality as the ‘cure’.

Aurelia and Petras feel a little more difficult to judge. Aurelia feels like an ambitious middle child, trying especially hard to please Cazador and show herself as valuable next to Leon. Petras seems younger to me. More naive. This may be because he appears to be a ‘himbo’ and reinforces Dalyria’s position as an older spawn since she seems to want to take care of him. The other two, we know next to nothing about.

And then we come to Astarion. Our favourite elf seems to have bore Cazador’s wrath worse than the others. But I feel for certain that Astarion was chosen for one key feature - his looks. I’m not sure if Astarion was as much of a flirt back in his days as a magistrate, but Cazador quickly saw his potential. With 10 charisma and a set of overly flowery chat up lines, Astarion wasn’t the most charming of people. But his beauty got him a lot of attention and that made those lines he liked to dish out more alluring.

And so, Cazador realised with that power behind him, he would achieve his goals. My personal headcanon is that Cazador orchestrated the attack that killed Astarion so that he could turn him, and probably took a similar strategy to ensnare the others. Remember lesson three - plan carefully and patiently!

I imagine the relationship between them often resembled the kind of dynamic between an old style English schoolmaster and his pupil. Astarion would have, no doubt, rubbed him up the wrong with with his sarcastic tone and it does make me sad to think that Cazador may have taken further glee in punishing him for this.

However, I also get the sense that Cazador may have wished for Astarion to be his favoured spawn, which is why he punished him more severely than the others.

Generational trauma and the breaking or continuing cycle

And this takes me to the idea of generational trauma.

Seen primarily through the trauma that Astarion experiences and overcomes throughout his story, the cycle of abuse that comes through the vampiric way of un-life. We learn that Cazador experiences abuse like this through Vellioth’s rule, which in turn makes him crueller and more sadistic through his actions and attitude. Where Vellioth eventually shares his power, Cazador appears to present the illusion of favour while remaining separate to his spawn. He calls them ‘family’ to project an illusion of nurturing and togetherness while dominating them through cruelty and authority. He projects terrifying dominion while haunted within by the loss of himself, the lasting scars of his own spawnhood and sorrow for the monster he has become. He’s self-aware and does care to an extent about his own suffering but carries on regardless.

I would say that Cazador is driven by his own trauma and desire to quell the pain and sadness within him. Astarion’s drive stems from a similar place, but his driving force is the overwhelming terror he feels from the years of abuse he’s suffered.

Astarion feels like someone who has tried to express his sorrow for years to deaf, uncaring ears until he meets Tav, who listens and acknowledges him. Where Cazador conceals and buries his trauma, masking it with cruelty and authority, Astarion is finally allowed to express it out loud and work through it.

If he follows this path, he is able to embrace true freedom and break the cycle of trauma perpetuated for generations. Without the spectre of his tormentor chasing him, he can let go of that fear. It’ll take him many more years to heal, and this will always leave its mark on him, but he is able to stop the cycle for good, and open up to new possibilities.

If he lets his trauma and fear dominate him and ascends, he essentially destroys his path to healing and traps himself in an eternal shell where those old wounds will fester forever and he will become a worse version of Cazador, perpetuating the abuse and passing it onto his new spawn Tav.

Whether that cycle of generational trauma truly ends is up for debate. The other spawn will have their own demons to contend with and how they choose to do that is a mystery.

But, in my game at least, Astarion gets to live free of this legacy and start his life anew.

[invisibleraven]

Helping your friend move to another place, coming across the teddy bear you gave them ages ago for the rarepair of your choice, please

Alex surveyed his rom, breathing out slowly, trying to calm himself. He knew he didn't really have time to waste, but how does one decide what to pack when you had a lifetime of memories and limited time? He was shocked his parents gave him the hour they did, but he could feeling his father's eyes boring into his skull and the clock simultaneously, so with a quick 911 to the group chat, he got to work.

Clothes was first, shoving a much as he could into the oversized duffel that lived in his closet. All the stuffy, conservative, Christian stuff stayed behind, making more room for his more flamboyant choices.

Alex shouldn't have been surprised when he looked up and there was Reggie climbing in his window. "Oh shit," he whispered as he took in the bag on the bed. "They kick you out?"

"Yup," Alex replied, popping the p. "I've got like 45 minutes to get gone, so help me pack would ya?"

Reggie gave a mock salute, but the expression on his face was decidedly grim as he began placing books he knew Alex loved into one of the boxes Alex had snagged. Luke and Julie came next, though Julie opted for the front door rather than the window, and was thus still shivering from the frosty reception. She wordlessly grabbed a re-usable shopping bag and started on Alex's ensuite, while Luke began taking loved mementos off the wall and shelves.

Alex knew he should say thank you to his bandmates, but his voice was stuck in his throat. They all knew this was coming, given Alex was now graduated and 18-his parents had made that blatantly clear. No homos under their roof, and since Alex refused to go back into the closet or attend the camp his parents had oh so subtly been leaving brochures about, he was now essentially homeless.

Well, that wasn't true, Julie's aunt had offered up her guest room to him, and Alex was more than happy to accept. Sure Tia Victoria wasn't the most freewheeling kind of lady, but she was part of the queer community, a social worker, an amazing cook, and a loving person, so she ranked miles above his own family. Besides, before too long the band would have their first album out and on the road, and he'd have enough for his own place.

"Hey Mr. Bun!" Reggie exclaimed, holding up the worn pink bunny rabbit toy that had been wedged beneath Alex's pillow, then hugging it tight. "I didn't know you still had him!"

Alex blushed, rubbing back the of his neck, feeling the skin there was almost scalding from his blush. "Well you gave him to me, I had to keep him."

Which was true. Reggie had worn Mr. Bun at the arcade when they were kids-playing endless games of Whack-A-Mole and PacMan to earn enough tokens. And handed Alex the bunny-the pink one he never would have picked for himself. Insisting that Alex have him as a thank you for sharing his lunches over the past few months after his parents stopped packing his when his dad lost is job.

Since then Mr. Bun had been a source of comfort for Alex, something soft for him to hug when his anxiety got too bad, when the nightmares became too much. Mr. Bun absorbed his tears, his fears, his secrets, and even though he was surely too old for a stuffed animal, he could never give him up.

Alex heard Luke sniggering, and while he braced for teasing, he saw it was actually directed at Reggie who was the same colour as his flannel. Who was holding the bunny tight, and avoiding Alex's eyes.

Oh.

Alex bit his lip, wishing he had the time to let that revelation wash over him, but time was ticking down. But he also couldn't not say anything, so he approached Reggie, easing the bunny from his hand, tossing it towards his duffel. "Reg... when all this is settled, maybe we could go win Mr. Bun a friend?"

"I-I'd like that," Reggie admitted. "Maybe get a slice after?"

"Sounds perfect," Alex replied, offering him a smile. "But for now..."

"Right," Reggie nodded. "It'll keep."

The last fifteen minutes were frantic, ensuring that everything was packed, tossed into the bed of Reggie's truck and Luke's Jeep, though Alex was amazed they managed to pack enough to fill both.

He gave his room one last glance-bare walls with darker spots on the wall where his posters once lived. Half filled shelves, drawers, and closet rails. He grabbed the last thing-a faded bunny toy-with one hand, and Reggie's with the other, not sparing his parents a glance as he left them behind.

He had a much brighter future without them, and he was taking the best part of his past with him. Of that Alex was sure.

And well, Mr. Bun found a new home next to the stuffed Chewie doll he won Reggie on the bed they came to share soon enough.

[ae-azile]

I loved the cousin drunken bonding in latest Progression chapter. It was so hilarious and cute. I am absolutely blown by Macau/Kinn though. I don't think I have ever read about these two together, even talking more than few words. While Khun/Vegas is cute and can be seen, Macau/Kinn is such rarepair cousin bond than I immediately started to ship them hard (not ship as romantically but as in cousin bonding). I can't wait for the next chapter. I hope ultimate shippers, Chay and Porsche, can see their appeal too. :D

Hello! I'm glad you liked the bonding between the cousins. It was definitely fun to write. I will say my favorite cousin dynamic tends to be between Tankhun and Vegas. They are the oldest sons and Vegas never treats Tankhun with disrespect - even after getting hit in the head with a tray. The most he does is attempt to stare him down, a challenge he quickly backs down from in silence, which is surprising when he had been smugly challenging Kinn through tense conversation just seconds before. The most negative thing he says about him is that he is "something" (at least going by the English translation). I like to think that they loved each other at one point, and maybe Vegas looked up to him and feels some semblance of sadness when he thinks about what Tankhun went through. Tankhun was old enough to be the big brother Vegas desperately needed - and maybe once had before their families became too strained and set on competition.

As for Kinn and Macau, they have a potential dynamic that interests me too. I can see Kinn as someone who wants to be both a protector and a friend to his brothers, but it is difficult with their very different personalities and the wedges forces between them due to their trauma and their overall situation. He was likely conditioned to be a protector by both his father as well as himself after Tankhun's kidnapping happened. While he likely adores his older brother, is present for him, and makes sure he has guards who are more suitable as friends, rather than just staff, there is likely some resentment, heartbreak, and grief for who is older brother once was and will likely never be again. His relationship with Kim seems like a distant one. In this story, this result is due to an upsetting incident during their childhood, Kim struggling to connect and express his emotions, and Kinn being the most involved in the family business while Kim wants nothing to do with it. There is likely resentment from Kinn as well, that Kim gets to follow his dreams while Kinn has to stay back and do all that is expected of him.

While both Khun and Kim genuinely love Kinn, there is a distance that Vegas and Macau simply don't have. While Vegas always feels like he is getting pitted against and beat by Kinn, he is more successful than him in at least one aspect: he actually has a healthy relationship with his brother. Macau is the youngest and not involved in the business either. Like Kim, I see him holding very little interest in it. However, he is present for his brother. He supports him, spends time with him, and is openly affectionate with him in a way that seems to come to both of them easily and without hesitation, which is something we don't really see between the major family brothers (although Khun does seem to want physical affection from him).

To me - at least in this story - Macau represents what Kinn would ideally want in a sibling. Macau may not show interest in any mafia business, but he also likely doesn't share any old lifetime goals Kinn once had for himself. On top of that, Macau is loyal. He is the one member of the family who successfully does his own thing and stays out of the business, yet stays loyal to his brother, who is very much tangled up in the expectations their family has. He is present, loving, there, and was never in a situation where he stepped back from previous responsibilities like Khun did. He also never distanced himself from the entire family due to his lack of interest in their operations like Kim did.

In some ways, Macau just being himself and resistent and avoidant towards the mafia/his father while remaining close and loving towards his brother makes him the most ideal sibling in either family. He is also the most "normal" by far. Kinn adores his brothers and wouldn't trade them for anything, but I think Vegas got something that Kinn simply didn't by having Macau as a brother: a healthy brotherly relationship that somehow was strengthened by their circumstances rather than tainted and strained. I think a lot of that deals with how Macau operates, which brings out Vegas loving, affectionate, protective, and nurturing side. This is a side Kinn has as well, but since his relationships with his own brothers were strained, that side sort of remains stagnant.

It's been coming out more that they have all become closer, and Kinn is incredibly grateful for it. That being said, he feels like a third wheel at times, and his role as heir/head made Tankhun and Kim hesitant to share certain things with him. Despite Vegas also being heir/head, Macau never faced this predicament. So when Macau and Kinn get drunk together after the cousin reconciliation and the two are left alone, I feel like Macau's sincere side comes out, all while Kinn's protective and caretaking side comes out. Talking with Macau was likely very easy in comparison to opening up with his brothers. Despite it being alcohol fueled, he felt genuine connection with his (now second) youngest family member. It felt easy, like how brotherly bonding should feel like.

We definitely might see more Kinn and Macau moments! I can see Macau just randomly inviting Kinn out to go jet skiing or something and Porsche being like, "Huh???" all while Kinn leaves the compound with an excited grin on his face because he's getting chosen over Tankhun and Kim lolol. But I think Chay will be invested, and Porsche will too after getting over his confusion.

Anyway, this turned into a rambling essay that got away from me lolol. But thank you for the ask and I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

[queer-starwars-bracket]

Queer Star Wars Characters (Round 1): The OGs

Esmelle/Shirene | Identity: wlw couple | Media: Aftermath Trilogy

Ignoring Moff Moors, Esmelle and Shirene are tied with Sinjir for the first queer characters in the New EU. Esmelle was the sister of Norra Wexley and she and her wife became the guardians of Temmin Wexley when his mom left to fight with the Rebellion. They were more ambivalent about the Rebellion and Esmelle saw her sister as a deadbeat mother for abandoning Temmin. As Temmin grew up, he eventually left his guardians to start his own junk shop. They loved Temmin like he was their own son, but that closeness was never reciprocated. They saw themselves as insufficient to raise such a strong willed boy. When Esmelle and Norra argued, Shirene attempted to diffuse it. 

During the New Republic, despite their past disputes, Esmelle and Shirene would often visit Norra and Wedge on their farm.

Sinjir Rath Velus | Identity: gay | Media: Aftermath Trilogy

Ignoring Moff Moors, Sinjir is tied with Esmelle and Shirene for being the first queer character in the New EU. And unlike those two, he is a major character. He was abused by his mother and then the ISB training process. An ISB loyalty officer, he was stationed on the Endor shield generator, where he nope-d out and attempted to become a regular civilian. An alcoholic, he found himself on Akiva, where he was pulled into helping Norra Wexley, her son Temmin, and the bounty hunter Jas Emari drive the Empire off the planet. Afterwards, he decided to make up for his time with the Empire by joining a New Republic war criminal hunting squad with the rest of the Aftermath novel’s ensemble cast. He began dating New Republic slicer Conder Kyl, but due to his alcoholism and trauma, their relationship was rocky. His team helped Han Solo in an unauthorized mission to liberate Kashyyyk. Afterwards, considering himself unworthy, he broke up with Conder. After the Liberation Day attacks, he joined Norra and her team in attempting to hunt down Rae Sloane. They tracked her to the planet Jakku, where the Imperial fleet was massing. After sending Norra, Jas, and Mister Bones down to the planet, Sinjir and Temmin returned to Chandrilla to convince the New Republic to launch an attack against Jakku. Sinjir got pulled into the political shenanigans necessary to get the resolution to pass, where he had to go crawling back to Conder and beg him for help. After Conder’s life was threatened in the process, Sinjir realized he couldn’t stay away from Conder. With his found family, he was able to become sober. He was recruited by Mon Mothma to become her aide. He and Conder got married after the end of the war.

Sinjir was snarky and cynical, in part as a defense mechanism and the result of his alcoholism. But even after he got better, he was still a silly guy. As a former loyalty officer, he was skilled in intrigue and intelligence, as well as self-defense. After a lifetime serving the Empire, even though he wanted to help the New Republic, he rankled at still just following what a government tells him to do- hence all the unauthorized missions. Mon Mothma recruited him because she needed a cynic and someone who could play the game. He was very close with Jas Emari, essentially platonic soulmates.

[angeygirl]

FNaF One-Shot: Broken Music Box, Broken Memories

While rusting away in a sealed room, the creature who would become Springtrap finds himself forgetting everything except for pain and darkness. Music, however, is known to have powerful effect on memory.

Inspired by a headcanon by @ponds-of-ink

(Not super graphic, but seeing as this involves the aftermath of the spring-lock incident, there is going to be some heavy injuries described in the first half)

------------------------------------

The pain that tore through the man’s body had dulled in the time he spent in the darkness, but how long exactly would be a mystery. Even as the body was torn to shreds, the spirit clung violently to the remains; whether they be flesh or metal didn’t matter.

The Hell that awaited him would somehow be worse.

In Hell he wouldn’t have been given the mercy of going numb.

He should have been dead multiple times over, and each death had killed some part of the human being wedged inside the robotic suit. The first death was the blood streaming freely from the gashes, then the steel that stabbed his lungs, the bars that crushed his throat, the toxins leaking out from his organs. Eventually infection would set in as well as poisoning from the rust and corrosion. Fitting that a man who had caused so much death would meet his own end in so many ways at once. His only thought was staying tethered to the living world. Somehow, he did. By an unholy combination of magic and science, his soul was still bound to a body and he became a thing both dead and alive.

But, that scrap of life could still be chipped at. Sometime after the pain of his first death had faded into a numb ache, he felt another sensation: a painful dryness in the throat and clawing emptiness in the stomach.

Thirst faded away first. Though his throat was still rough with dry blood, there was no longer the pain of dehydration. The need for water had died. Hunger became unbearable until it too, dulled. It must have been at least a month, then. There was no other way of keeping track of time.

Each time he lost another sensation, another part of his humanity was lost as well. Memories blurred together or faded away. He could feel parts of himself falling off and drying up, but nothing could be done about it. His human body was breaking down. The idea he was still aware of it should have petrified him, but there was no point. He was still bonded in a body, any body. There was no point thinking about it. No point thinking about anything. The only thing that mattered was that this fate was not an eternal one.

The darkness and silence were enough to drive a man mad, and they did. At least, they would have if there was still a man inside that machine. The memory of anything that was not blackness and pain was feint and distorted. Strange images occasionally flickered in his mind and voices whispered in his ear, but he still knew one thing for certain: Hell would have been worse. Hibernation in this purgatory was a mercy.

The monster did not know how long he had been waiting, maybe it was only a few weeks, maybe it was decades. The pain had numbed enough that he dared to twitch a few fingers. With the squealing of rusted joints, he endeavoured to move and possibly stand. There might have been a weak point in the wall. After the pain he had endured for what felt like a lifetime, tearing himself out would at least be a possibility. He had learned patience, or perhaps it was desperation.

The mechanical creature twisted his torso to brace himself on the wall but stopped when he heard click. A feint, distorted chime came from somewhere inside his body. The trembling plinking formed a sound almost like a melody. He dropped back to the floor and listened. The out of tune notes were surprisingly sweet. After all, it was the only sound he had heard in the timeless void. He nodded slightly and would have endeavoured to hum if it was possible, but the steel in his throat prevented it. The melody sounded oddly familiar, oddly comforting. Slowly but steadily, a new sensation crept into his chest. At first it was a sort of prickling warmth, strange but pleasant. Blurred pictures slowly crept into the edges of his mind.

He closed his eyes, though it wouldn’t change much, and tried to conjure the phantom shapes. The first was a feint memory of a woman, dancing gracefully alone, or was he guiding her dainty form with his clumsy paws? The image flickered away like a candle, but he grabbed at another spark, a little girl. She seemed cheerful, but vanished before he could recall her face. He tried to catch the memory again, but it was gone. He could only recall the reddish golden hair.

He realized he had forgotten what sunlight was.

A dull, heavy feeling clutched his ribcage.

The monster dug into his own mind, trying to find another image. The next was not a pleasant one. A little boy, bruised and tearful trying to clean himself up in secret. Was he looking at himself from the outside? His mind strained from the effort until he found what must have been him, but younger, more stubborn and much more bold. Then why did he feel so much resentment at the thought of this reflection? What had that reflection done? He searched again until he found himself, small and frightened and bruised. There was shelter under the bed, with a small music box clinking out a melancholy tune.

He could not remember the faces of the people that entered this dream, but he knew they had been the cause of many good feelings. That was all he remembered, feelings, perceptions. He tried to put names to the faces and faces to the feelings, but it was all lost in the void of madness and time. Nothing seemed concrete. If nothing was concrete, then what was the ache in his chest too dull and phantom to be from the injuries? Why did his throat tighten despite the metal rods in his neck? What was the tension in his eyes that threatened to bring tears that could never fall?

These were the thoughts of a human being, not of an immortal monster.

No matter how hard he tried to suppress it, emotions continued stirring up inside him. What emotions? What could a heartless creature know of loneliness, nostalgia or grief? What could this unloved and unloving machine possibly remember of a family, loving or not? What could he have ever known of a normal life? A life free of bloodshed? How could the remains of an ordinary man still be hiding inside this undead killer?

The gentle, distorted melody continued on, but for how long? Hours? Days? Only a few minuets? Time was impossible to keep track of in the sea of blackness. How much longer could he last while lost in fragmented memories? The thoughts and feelings and repeated melody were maddening. The beast had already gone mad years ago.

This was more painful than the hooks ripping into the human flesh he still housed. The ache of stiff fingers as he searched was nothing compared to the weight in the remains of his heart. The mechanical rabbit reached inside his own body and felt around his torso, looking for the source of the chimes that put him in so much pain. This was an entirely new torment. After being numb and immune to such pain for years, it was as if the softest, most secret part of himself had been torn open and exposed. After a few minuets of searching, he found the box and ripped it out without hesitation. It continued its trembling chimes while he studied it for a moment. The rabbit raised his claws and bashed it on the ground.

With a clink! the notes died.

So did the last shreds of William Afton’s humanity.

[sugarlucille]

🎥   ℒost ℛeels

                                                                                                                          06.01.17 

It's officially my wedding day: take two.

Months of work all set to culminate in a single grand performance; one take that will serve as the crown jewel in a beautiful, yet incomplete setting of moments highlighting a relationship that is far from its end.

I think about the other jewels in my life with Jesse as I tip around the home that isn't my own, grateful for his mother's hospitality but unable to sleep hours before the day that will be almost completely mine. I don't see other frames like the one we're hours from capturing. Unlike the single moment our wedding will be, the other jewels are montages, glinting through my mind in flickering shimmers...

The way that my hand has been finding his and his finding mine for the last ten years, twining our fingers on walks or drives, in crowds, at dinners, events, and banquets, while we're thoughtfully tangled on the couch or recklessly tangled in bed...

The way that we swim deeply in the pools of each other's talents and traits, appreciating efforts on stage and screen--behind and in front of the camera, reveling greedily in sleepy lullabies and soft affirmations, delivering unending praise to egos that can't grow any larger...

The way that we've pried one another apart and wedged into the gaps we created, accepting that he would became the one who feeds me on those days where I still don't think about food and I would became the one who never lets him construct walls around the things he's feeling...

Ten years feels like a lifetime for two people who seemed to have settled on one another long ago. We could have married right after high school, at some point in college, prior to moving in together, before having a child, or at any point throughout the years when our bond showed no signs of breaking. We'd already imagined a lifetime together--not in those exact terms the whole time, but we couldn't see an end in sight. We promised not to give one another up at 17 and 18 and embraced being selfish with each other even back then. To me, a wedding has been little more than a giant party with both of our families to confirm what we already knew.

I walk past windows overlooking a city that doesn't hold still. I've brought as much of Los Angeles here that I could. I've sprinkled LA around our home in Tribeca in the form of warm colors, seashells, sunlight, and California poppies, all of which have worked their way into the details of our ceremony. I've also invited as much of my family as I could to witness my nuptials, a wave from the west that has comfortably blanketed the days and evenings leading up to today.

Aunts and uncles and cousins abound; the Mottas are here in full force, descending on the city many of them view as the cold, cluttered, constricting opposite of the stretching valleys and depths of land along the California coast they're used to. I felt the same way about New York once upon time. I saw it as this lingering creature, one that I knew would always call to Jesse in one way or another and force me to make peace with the locale. Now we've come to an agreement, New York City and I. We don't see eye to eye about the underground deathtrap, the street meat, the snow-covered winters, the constant noise, the almost mythical beaches, yards, and outdoor pools, the suffocatingly close living quarters, or the stunning lack of visible stars at night... However, there's more here to love than there is to hate and the things I love here are things I refuse to live without.

I only argued a bit when everyone insisted I sleep alone so that I could rest, but I still seek out my daughter and find her blissfully asleep and cuddled against her aunt.

Although I prefer Vivi to sleep on her own so that Jess and I don't lose our bed, I don't even think to pry her from Pepper's arms and I hope that their connection soothes that part of my big sister that wrinkles when she talks about her attempts to have a child of her own. Madeline has been...surprising in those conversations that lob between my still feeling my way around as a mother and Pepper's unyielding desire to become one as the three of us string together a system of support knotted tighter by our shared love of each other and the little girl who has found a way to change all of our lives without trying at all.

In a few hours, I know Vivi will run to my mother when she arrives to get ready for the day, having chosen to stay in her hotel suite to ensure that my father wouldn't spend the entire night working, and I will see that softness I never recognized in Madeline until Vivi existed. I promised my mother that she could help get Vivi ready and I am glad to not worry about the task of chasing around my very curious and very mobile almost sixteen-month-old to get her into the "ball of fluff" dress my younger brother so lovingly dubbed her outfit for the big day. ...Basil's snark is another thing I am glad to be momentarily rid of as he has promised me a full 24 hours where he won't push any of the well-worn buttons he's created over the years.

Back in my temporary bedroom, I eye the garment bag protecting the most perfect thing I have ever designed and will ever wear. I don't need to part the zipper to know what's housed inside. The handmade dress isn't white. Not quite. Audrey and I spent hours on the color, choosing an exact shade that would suit my skintone, complement my eyes, and pair well with--while simultaneously standing out against--a million little details I've spent far more hours pouring over. Both Audrey and I have always understood the importance of little things, registered that something being understated wasn't the same as it being nonexistent. Her eye for detail has always been admirable and it was easily the first thing I noticed about my other half's mother upon meeting her many years ago.

We both notice the way her son will always attempt to mask his sentimentality, though we're both well aware of its existence. I know it will be on full display during our celebration, communicated loudly through shared vows and toasts, quietly through whispered exchanges in any semi-private moment we can grasp, and silently through each gaze and touch I'll share with him throughout the day.

I find my way back to bed and I am fully settled with the fact that I no longer enjoy sleeping alone. I accept that I am spoiled beyond belief by someone who has already vowed to spend the rest of his life keeping me that way. And as my fingers ghost the empty half of the mattress I lie atop, I smile knowing without a doubt that my current state is one that I'll rarely experience ever again.

[roswellsmokingwoman]

(Aziraphale x Crowley) Headlights - Chapter 4

Read here

Good Omens Human AU with a divorced Crowley and Aziraphale finding love again and getting back together.

Soho, August 2021

It shouldn’t bother Crowley so much–it happens every Sunday. Aziraphale places his gold band on the ring holder, straightens his bow tie, and then leaves for two hours to attend service. When he comes home, he puts the ring back on his finger and their life resumes as usual. But for two hours every Sunday, Crowley feels like his husband is gone. 

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Aziraphale tells him on his way out the door. 

“Like what?” Crowley asks.

Like I’m leaving you to see someone else. But he lives a second life. This second life is not one that takes up much of his time. Apart from Sunday worship, he volunteers at a few events throughout the year. What it does take, is pieces of him away from Crowley. Far more than he’d like to admit. It began as a chip here or there, they’ve accumulated over the years. It had been barely noticeable, the way in which it wore them down. And it was never an issue until it became one. 

“I’ll be back soon,” Aziraphale promises, and he’s gone again. 

Time passes quickly, Aziraphale’s unfocused mind darting between the priest’s words and Crowley sitting alone at the bookshop, waiting. Always waiting, never speaking aloud his feelings. Had he been oblivious to them before, or had he always willfully ignored them? Aziraphale wonders if he’s in a place where sinners should reside, tucked in a pew, hands folded in his lap, apologizing to God instead of the person he’s hurting. The service draws to a close with a shuffle of bibles being tucked back into place. 

We should find you a nice girl. Aziraphale hears as he stands to leave. His lips form a grimace that slides into a stiff smile as he turns to acknowledge two older women with admittedly good intentions. It’s hard to believe you’ve been unattached all this time. A lovely man like you. Good intentions don’t make the words sting less. He never entertains these comments, nodding a polite goodbye as he leaves. 

His right-hand finds his left, searching for the wedding band but finding only the groove it left behind. The divot is deep, visible to only those who would care to look closely at his well-manicured fingers. He swallows sadly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. I’m not alone. I have a wonderful husband at home.

For two hours, for the sake of people whose opinions shouldn't affect him, he pretends that Crowley isn’t real. He murmurs a Hail Mary under his breath as he steps out of the church to repent for the pain he inflicts on his husband. Marriage means sacrifice, and Crowley’s is this but Aziraphale despises himself for putting Crowley in this position. 

Crowley is patient and considerate. From the beginning, he waited for Aziraphale to move first. They did not have to begin a relationship and could have been friends. But it was too much for Aziraphale to sit next to him in the same room and just pretend that they were only friends. Crowley unearthed facets of himself he easily ignored for the first twenty-nine years of his life. He could have parted from Crowley, but losing him seemed worse, even in the early days. One meeting led to a lifetime of Aziraphale being torn between two sides. If it had only been him, alone in denial, he could have tolerated it. 

It’s not only Sundays. Every day, he subjects Crowley to his incomplete love. Suddenly, it’s too much. It needs to change–somehow they have to make this better. Lately, when Aziraphale returns home on Sunday afternoons, Crowley’s eyes are clouded. And the air is heavy today as Crowley sits on the couch in a dimly lit living room. 

Afraid, Aziraphale picks the simpler option to present as a solution.   

“Come with me next week,” Aziraphale pleads. “Just to see it.” He doesn’t know what he hopes to accomplish–but he can’t stand the way they function now. A wedge is beginning to drive them apart. They have to do something. 

[healingworld]

༊*·˚ She's your friend, not your rival.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･Female friendship is a treasure trove of support, laughter, and shared experiences. It's a unique bond that often begins in childhood and can last a lifetime. However, like any relationship, it requires effort and care to flourish.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･

The Importance of Female Friendship

Emotional Support: Female friends provide a safe space for emotional expression. They offer understanding, empathy, and a listening ear during both joyous moments and challenging times.

Shared Experiences: Friends often share common interests and experiences, creating a unique bond. These shared memories become the fabric of a lasting friendship.

Empowerment: Female friendships empower women to be their authentic selves. They uplift each other, boosting confidence and self-esteem.

Lifelong Companions: True friends are there through thick and thin, creating companionship that can last a lifetime.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･

Ways for Being a Better Friend

Active Listening: Pay close attention when your friend talks. Show genuine interest in their thoughts and feelings. This validates their experiences.

Empathy: Try to understand your friend's perspective, even if you don't agree with it. Empathy fosters a deeper connection.

Communication: Open, honest, and respectful communication is key. Address conflicts calmly and work through them together.

Be Reliable: Show up when you say you will. Reliability builds trust, a cornerstone of any strong friendship.

Celebrate Success: Celebrate your friend's achievements and milestones. Their joy should be your joy too.

Respect Boundaries: Every person has boundaries. Respect them, and don't push your friend into uncomfortable situations.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･

Female Rivalry

Unfortunately, female friendships can sometimes be strained due to rivalry, often triggered by male attention.

Competition: Sometimes, women may inadvertently compete for male attention, leading to jealousy and tension. It's crucial to remember that real friendship should not be overshadowed by such competition.

Insecurity: Insecurity can drive a wedge between friends. It's vital to work on self-confidence and support each other's self-esteem.

Communication: If you feel that rivalry is affecting your friendship, have an open and honest conversation with your friend. Discuss your feelings and concerns calmly.

Focus on the Friendship: Remember why you became friends in the first place. Focus on the shared experiences, trust, and support that define your relationship.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･

Female friendship is a source of strength and resilience. By being better friends, supporting each other through thick and thin, and addressing issues like rivalry head-on, we can ensure that these beautiful bonds flourish. In a world where female solidarity is more important than ever, let's celebrate the power of female friendship and nurture these invaluable connections.

[huzr]

@ogutama okay fine. I think kya/ru prico/nne should go in a room-sized hydraulic press machine (ryona guro warning)

it would descend upon her until she lay flat on her back, while she would kick and pound at the surface that will surely crush her. but soon, there's not enough room to retaliate. it's centimeters from crushing her skull. suddenly, it stops, and it would stay there for a while.

maybe she thinks this is a way to prolong the torture: to satisfy the wicked desires of someone who excels in cruelty. no such person had appeared thus far, but what other kind of person would have created such a device? but maybe her friends had found a way to save her. they've come through for her in her darkest times. they saved her life when she herself was ready to let it go. and they made her life one with enough happiness for a dozen lifetimes.

the press rises slowly, about enough for her to roll onto her side. then enough for her to sit up a little. but not enough for her to sit upright. it slows down to a stop once again, then reverses. it course has changed once again and its destination ensures her demise. what would happen next might be described as a nightmare. and it happens.

she lies on her side now and her shoulders are wedged between the two flat surfaces above and below. it grinds her joints in ways that a person wouldn't be expected to comprehend. the thing she understands most at this moment is not the pain of having her body twisted into an unnatural shape, but the sound that reverberates throughout her body. the sounds of joints dislocating, followed by the sounds of bones crunching, dampened slightly by the torn ligaments that once encased them.

what was being torn? what was being crushed? the victim was in no condition to know this. she simply knew a fear unlike anything she had ever experienced before. the burning sensation that assailed her was still only second to the torment of imagining what would come next. and what came next was the sound of bone once again. but this was much louder. it was the skull, which struggled to maintain its form, screeching out with grinding noises that were sent straight to the ear. an overwhelming wave of cacophonous noise that couldn't be tuned out.

perhaps one could say that what happened next was a sort of relief: a relief in its most macabre of forms. the girl stopped thinking. she lost consciousnessness. the pain of the event, the overwhelming noise, and the pressure applied to her skull all conspired to shut off that function of her brain. in other circumstances she might recover from the event with enough medical attention, but as it stood, her consciousness was gone, and her last thoughts were "make it stop."

she wouldn't hear the sound of her skull cracking in multiple locations. she wouldn't feel the warmth of the blood that spilled out from her torn muscles, exposed from underneath torn skin. she wouldn't feel her brain punctured by fragments of bone (not that she would under other circumstances, given that the brain itself possesses no pain receptors). she wouldn't experience the sensation of her organs rupturing and being pressed flat until they were no longer familiar.

and she wouldn't see the beautiful mess she became. a girl who became more like splatter than a human. closer to a cut of meat you might find being prepared by a butcher than someone you would hold a conversation with. more similar to a something that was trodden down by horses on a dirt path than a person who would be mourned. and more recognizable as a symbol of grotesqueness than the remainder of a girl who once shared a dream with her friends.

I wanted to make a textpost about ryona or something but I'm having trouble thinking about ways to talk about how I like fictional depictions of violent acts committed against women without sounding like the world's most shamelessly deranged misogynist

[ultravires]

The Sicilian Defence

Edward Nashton x Fem!Reader

AO3 Link

Summary || You and Edward are both accounting students at Gotham University. After one particular night, you teach him to play on the offence, inadvertently inspiring him to become the Riddler.

Word Count || 3.6k

Warnings || Fluff, slow burn, betrayal, love triangle, implied violence, soft yandere(?), uni student shenanigans, Canadian English

The spring comes again with promises of a sun rising earlier and chasing away the previous night, yet yesterday’s rain persists, shrouding the City of Gotham in grey skies again. Your daily routine is the same; a milling sea of bodies suffocates you in the morning rush. Whizzing through the guts of the city at a smooth, quick pace, you are jostled and struck without any regard while the apologies that follow are cheaply doled out immediately. The usual blend of low energy suits, caffeine-addicted university students, and the few dropheads coming down from their last night’s high, together in one confined space. Wedged shoulder to shoulder, a can of fish springs to mind, packed together tightly, but rather than in a revolting alkaline brine, the sweet miasma of sweat, perfume, and mild annoyance saturates the air. Your eyes settle on the thick glass of the train car, resting on your familiar reflection and the flickering blackness just beyond.

You’re still the same. A fourth-year accounting major approaching graduation at Gotham University hoping to land a practicum position at a Big Four firm. Your duties as a TA for the Introduction to Statistics course had kept your final year busy and your CV well decorated. But to put it plainly, you were simply just ordinary. 

Tall, reserved, and awkward were your first impressions of Edward Nashton. Having initially met him during orientation week, grouped together to perform an icebreaker activity. You couldn’t recall anything remotely striking about him from that first meeting. If anything, you completely forgot about him until his name appeared on your course roster. Your preconceived notions had led you to believe that Edward was probably another stupid senior repeating ‘intro to stats’ for the third time or something. But you couldn’t have been more wrong. You haven’t noticed the extent of his intellectual gift until you began grading his exams; his methods were deliberate and cerebral, a true art form expressed solely through perfect mathematical functions, algebraic notations, and elucidatory exponents. It was almost an intimate experience, seeing his entire operational process splayed on the paper like a blueprint of how his inner mind processes each calculation.

“So, why is someone like you taking an intro class in your final year?” Genuinely curious, you crane your neck to look at him. Edward looks around at first, for a moment, wondering if your question was directed at him.

“It’s not challenging enough to be enjoyable, and that determining the required statistical significant figures are typically more arbitrary than standard accounting figures that only find relevance towards the second decimal place… No, actually, I just forgot that statistics is a required core, and I won’t graduate on time if I miss registration, again…” Bashful, he pushes his oversized glasses higher on his nose bridge, the glare obscuring his eyes.

Edward Nashton was once in a lifetime. To simply describe him as brilliant would have been an understatement. And you weren’t too bad either, as he would often remind you. The both of you became fast friends, working together on every group project during your final year. You both could usually be found in a small 24-hour diner tucked in between dilapidating apartments, seated in your usual booth and playing chess on your phone. Edward usually plays black; despite moving second being the fundamental disadvantage, he doesn’t mind. You open white while dominating the centre, and you break where you are strong and he is weak. Edward was excellent at solving puzzles and problems, it was no doubt that those skills would translate into being a proficient grandmaster. He was very good, but not against you.

Typically, your conversations float between graduation and logic games, the topics switching whenever an ad pops up on your phone. You both spoke at length about practicum placements and interview week. Both of you share interviewing tips and your dream placements. Edward was top-tier talent; you couldn’t fathom not a single firm rejecting him even if he interviewed poorly.

“Okay, so we have Deloitte, KPMG, Ernest & Young, and PwC, only the crème de la crème places with them,” You list the accounting firms placing the different one-use jam spreads in a neat line representing the Big Four, “and then here’s everybody else.” Dropping a haphazard pile of mixed sweetener packets onto the middle of the table.

“I will never understand your obsession with the Big Four. Huang & Associates and Gotham City Central Tax, for example, are just as good. Just because they don’t have offices in Blüdhaven doesn’t mean they’ll be reductive to your experience.” Edward replies quietly, looking up from the latest crossword in the Gotham Gazette.

You gather a white packet of sugar between your index and middle finger, pointing at him knowingly. “Okay, tell me that they’re ‘just as good’ when you get placed at GCCT, and I’m overlooking your broom closet at Ernest & Young.” You tease him wistfully.

“Also, I think it’s actually ‘KTMJ,’ Klynveld Takahashi Marwick Jefferson.” Edward corrects you shyly, plucking the sugar packet from between your fingers and combining it into his latte.

“Oh, is it?” You were sure it was Klynveld Peat Marwick Goerdeler…

The following week, he sheepishly reveals to you that three out of the Big Four firms had already reached out to him, offering him an immediate position out of the two available placements. Ultimately, he decided to sign with KTMJ for no other reason than it was closest to the diner. You enthusiastically congratulate him, immediately ordering his traditional slice of pumpkin pie with a latte and an iced coffee with a chocolate croissant for yourself. You couldn’t stop smiling.

The diner used to be just Edward’s nightly haunt until you wandered in after a particularly terrifying girls’ night out at the Iceberg Lounge. You had quickly spotted him at the counter, but he didn’t recognize you immediately. Not only because of your club outfit but your familiar form that radiated confidence was eclipsed by the abrupt reminder that you are still a woman roaming in a man’s domain. Self-consciously, you asked him to drive you home. Edward wordlessly agreed, not bothering to pack up his half-finished slice of pumpkin pie. The ride home was mostly silent, awkward too. 

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Edward asked you a riddle. His mouth hung open in embarrassment right after he announced the premise as if he could breathe it all back in. He tried to say something else, anything else, but then you responded with the correct answer to his riddle. The answer was ‘Madrid.’ Rolling the window down, you stuck your hand out, feeling the cold breeze cut by your fingertips; you joked that this was the last time you’d be picking the Iceberg over an iced coffee. Edward looked over at you, how wanted to call you over for a kiss, but he knew better than to force anything onto an intoxicated woman. He resigns to his reserved nature. The next day, you thank him for taking you home with a homemade pumpkin pie, feeling a bit guilty as he lived so close to the diner.

Edward liked you – more than a friend; it was apparent to everybody else. Especially when he would steal glances at you when you weren’t looking, when the tips of his ears would flush, and when he would sit a little straighter, hanging on every word you said. Or, demonstrably, when he would come early to stat tutorials being the only student in the whole room sitting quietly and listening to you half-heartedly teach – not because you were a poor teacher, rather you couldn’t reconcile the absurdity of teaching topics and subjects that he already knew better than you. Often, Edward would have to repeat or rephrase his riddles and word games a few times just to get the set-up right. It was so very obvious. But he hadn’t found the time, words, or courage to ask you or tell you anything related to that manner.

You wouldn’t make the mistake of assuming that he likes you without him telling you that he likes you because, of course, you would say that you like him if he asked if you liked him but to like?

Above all else, yes – you would say that you like him.

But why should you be capable of defining it and navigating through the nebulousness when he, himself, does not?

And why should you make time for such logical fallacies?

Fuck.

During your last semester, you had swiftly found yourself an appropriate college boyfriend who wasn’t Edward, but someone who was straightforward and spoke freely from his heart. He nicknamed you ‘Peaches’ and referred to Edward as just ‘Nashton.’ Your newest boyfriend was affluent, popular, charismatic, blue-blooded, and entirely carved out of marble. Metaphorically – you’ve gotten close enough to check. 

Accounting projects no longer exclusively involved just you and Edward. The newest addition to your duo had substantially slowed your work progression, but you liked him a little, and Edward didn’t mind at first. Like the social elites and social climbers that birthed his existence, your boyfriend was nothing but opportunistic. But could you blame him? You were too. You liked eating at top restaurants in Gotham Bay, shopping in the luxury community of Crest Hill, and pretending, even for a moment, that you were anything more than just ordinary. Edward didn’t like him, and he didn’t enough care to hide his obvious disdain. You weren’t sure if he was jealous, if he genuinely despised your boyfriend, or if it was both. 

You and Edward sit familiarly across from each other at the diner, playing chess on an actual board your boyfriend had purchased for you. “He’s just using you. Why can’t you see that? Haven’t you noticed that his grades only started going up when he began signing his name to our work?” Edward breathes out while taking your rook.

“He’s not like that, I promise. Maybe if you tried to get to know him better….” You reply, promoting your pawn into a queen. 

“I don’t need to; I know all about his type.” Edward pauses, about the length of a breath. He misplaces his knight, exposing his king, and you catch the mistake before he does.

“Checkmate.” You proclaim. Edward sighs distantly. His sandy blond hair falls in front of his glasses as you have trapped his king in a mating net. His lips collect into a slight frown.

You check your e-mail to find a nomination for the second open position at KTMJ. You schedule the interview after your other interviews with smaller local firms. Relaying Edward the good news as you jump to embrace him on his side of the table. An earnest smile settles comfortably on his boyish features.

“I always knew you were a smart girl.” He gazes directly at you, pausing for a second to completely take you in before his eyes shift away in slight embarrassment.

If the past year of working together was any indication of your stellar teamwork, you were excited to work closely with him during practicum too. The good news is soon relayed to your boyfriend as well. As it turns out, he was also nominated for the position, and he set his interview thirty minutes after yours. He was sharp, but you had the edge over him in everything – and he knew that. You both agreed not to let competition ruin your relationship and simply let the best candidate win.

Your boyfriend had invited you and Edward out for drinks to celebrate before the firm interviews. Edward had declined but wished you a fun and safe evening, his typical response when your boyfriend would invite him to any group activity. Remembering your last drunken haze, you promised yourself you wouldn’t go back to the Iceberg Lounge, but what was one night? You drank a little bit too much and danced a little bit too hard. The Iceberg was like a siren luring you in, and like the men that sirens would seduce, you never stood a chance. Your boyfriend leads you back to his apartment, lying together in the bed you shared with him; you wondered how the warmth of his body felt so much colder than love.

Jolting awake, you attempt to blink the sleep from your eyes. You find your phone missing, your boyfriend was gone from the bed, and the sinking realization that you would be late for your interview. You struggled to get back to your apartment on time to shower and change, and you were confident that you brought your phone back from the Iceberg, but now you weren’t too sure. 

Your boyfriend was finishing his interview with the KTMJ recruiter as you arrived. His mouth sets into a line when he sees you, but he otherwise does not react any more than one would see a stranger. He expresses his gratitude towards the recruiter with humbleness you didn’t know he possessed, and finally, he leaves without ever acknowledging you. The recruiter stops you before you begin to explain; she expresses deep disappointment and berates you like a child. A promising candidate who did not bother to perform even the most straightforward of tasks by simply not showing up on time absolutely does not deserve a place here – not ever. Of course, this wasn’t your only practicum offer, but it was the only offer you have received from a Big Four firm. You watch your only opportunity slip away as she slams the door in your face.

Back at the main university campus, your boyfriend is undoubtedly celebrating his victory. Seeing you, he smiles and beckons you to come to a small round table he grabbed near the large windows. He hands you an iced coffee from the canteen and your missing phone as he boasts languidly about his interview. Biting your lip, you don’t speak a single word. Noticing your attitude, your boyfriend firmly reminds you of all your previously successful practicum interviews, so you should be just peachy about his successful interview. He thanks you for your sacrifice and that he’ll be sure to take you to a much-needed lunch later to make up for the humiliation. 

Your boyfriend pauses as you still don’t react. He blames Edward for making him do this to you. If Edward had accepted an offer at PwC or Deloitte instead, then everything would’ve been different. Then he finally admits, blaming you. Insecurely, he admits that your perfect grades, extensive TA experience, and how well you performed at your previous interviews would have profoundly threatened his chances at this placement. That’s why he had to do this to you. Don’t you understand?

Your boyfriend attempts to move to embrace you. Seething, you steer from his reach and splash your iced coffee on him. The cold liquid drips from his face and hair, marking his attire. You’ll cherish the look of surprise on his face forever. Without exchanging any words, you determinately march away on your heel as he calls out your name behind you, insults at first, turning into begs of forgiveness, then finally threats on your well-being, until you finally couldn’t hear him anymore. Even though he admitted to sabotaging your chances, you still couldn’t believe your own boyfriend cheated you out of your placement and how he wouldn’t just let the best candidate win. It wasn’t fair, and you couldn’t stop crying about it. 

Distracting yourself seemed to make you feel a little better. Busying yourself with the mental gymnastics of your coursework and TA responsibilities kept your thoughts away during the day. But at night, the memory of loss and betrayal floods your mind until you fall asleep exhausted. You started making Edward stay up late with you at the diner to keep those thoughts at bay. He didn’t mind at all; not with you. Edward bought you both a new chessboard after your old one was destroyed with all your other physical memories left of your ex-boyfriend. He orders the table’s usual staples while you open white, advancing your pawns to the centre of the board, setting up an aggressive Giuoco Pianissimo.

“Eddie, I-thank you, by the way.” You said, tentatively, although you’re not sure why you are thanking him; rather, it just feels right to. “Not just for my coffee or agreeing to stay here even though you know you’ll have to drive me home at 2 a.m. Just… thank you for everything….”

Edward looks up from the board for a second, and you think that he really sees you right at that moment. “It’s fine. That’s what friends are for….” Offering you a reassuring grin. He looks back and misplaces his bishop at c4 instead of d5. “Shit.”

“Right. Friends… Check.” You’re closing in on him. You pressure his king and chase it around the board until finally, checkmate.

The familiar victory comes easy. You’ve been winning consistently for months straight unless you were playing blitz. You wondered if he was throwing all your recent matches. Yet, he was a killer against anyone else he played against, usually checkmating within twenty moves. Edward praises you on your win and starts to clear the board for your next game. You catch his slender wrist before he resets any of the chessmen. You move over to his side of the booth, forcing him to focus on the board.

“It annoys me to no end that you can easily see every single possible move on the board, yet you always make at least one fatal mistake. Even the way you play, it’s such a passive playstyle. You’re so focused on protecting your own king that you forget all about taking mine. How are you supposed to ever win if you never play on the offence?” You scoff at him.

“You’ve been studying me?” He gulps, swallowing his nerves. His ears turn a familiar colour, the same one whenever you are near.

Of course, you have been studying him. Trying to determine patterns or weaknesses in the way he played. Sure, Edward’s playstyle was effective to someone who hasn’t played against him before, but you knew him through and through. Honestly, you’d be surprised if he didn’t study you the way you studied him.

“And you always make these dumb, stupid moves when you’re distracted. What has you so distracted?” You question Edward, but you don’t wait for an answer as it doesn’t come fast enough. “If you played the Sicilian Defence, maybe then you could’ve won. It’s aggressive, very aggressive, and not like how you normally play – never like how you play. The queen captures the knight on g6, then you force a checkmate in seven moves.” Demonstrating the effective opener, you move his black pieces around the board with deft sophistication.

Edward studies the board, his breathing slows, and his shoulders drop releasing tension he did not know he had. It’s that traditional look you’ve grown accustomed to. His mind runs a thousand moves at once before he gracefully nods and thanks you for the game strategy. He won’t forget the Sicilian Defence now. You set up a new game, not wanting to move back to your original seat across from him; you turn the board to accommodate your new seating arrangement. This time, Edward stakes a domineering claim at the centre set up with a Sicilian Defence negating your early advantage of moving first. Edward crowds the board, shifting between flexible pawn structures. He isn’t playing the way you’re used to, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed as he maneuvers through your flanks. Edward checkmates you in seven moves, just like you said. The aggressive playstyle suits him, and he isn’t distracted anymore.

Defeated, you breathe out a sigh leaning back into the vinyl booth and finish off Edward’s latte. The hot liquid blooms from inside your chest, first soothing your throat then warming you immediately. Finally, you admit to Edward that you’ve accepted an accounting placement with a small family-run firm across from the University. Sure, it wasn’t Deloitte, Ernest & Young, PwC, or KTMJ, but it was fine. You’ve come to terms with it, and you know that it will be just as sweet.

“They’re going to love you – like how I love you. You’re unbelievably special. Every day, you impress me with your sheer intellect, determination, and ambition. KTMJ would have absolutely wasted you.” His voice was so sure, assertive, and uncomplicated. 

Edward would always say that his mind made up for anything he lacked in the physical department, but you never needed to complain about that. Instead, you’d argue that his resolve was the most remarkable trait about him. You sit together with Edward on his bed, gently taking off his glasses and green cold-weather mask, revealing green eyes that wince from your touch. The beginnings of deep purplish-red bruising juxtaposed his pale skin, littering his torso and arms. You palpate the extent of his injuries tenderly and shudder at the sight. Edward lets out a light chuckle and jokes that your ex-boyfriend was riddled with worse contusions tasting the concrete between two dumpsters. Your thumb carefully glides over each of his knuckles as you massage Edward’s sore, swollen fists, and he reassures you that your ex most likely won’t be able to make his placement. Edward was different now, maintaining his gaze on you as if he was unable to turn away – not like he wanted to anyway.

Suddenly you’re on the verge of close. Too much gravity pulls you two together, and the rest of the world falls away. Then it’s just the both of you in this extraordinary space. Edward’s hands find your face in a delicate hold, and he kisses you, and you kiss him. 

[stellaricwriting]

DBD AU - Techno - pt2

Techno/Reader, Dead By Daylight au

warnings for dark themes, horror, death, consensual murder, stalking, knots, strangulation, long ass post

It becomes noticeable when you start venturing out further away from the campfire, scavenging in the woods for flashlight batteries, a medkit, anything helpful. You’re long used to the feeling of being watched in the woods, though lately it feels… More.

You’re deep in the woods again, trying to reach a half rusted metal lockbox wedged into a tree when you feel it. You can’t describe the feeling, but one moment you’re straining to reach the box and the next you’re staring into the glowing eyes of The Blood God from across the tiny clearing.

He doesn’t move, and you find yourself slowly relaxing from the position you were straining in, settling back on your feet and resting the hand that had been reaching up on the trunk of the tree.

You just… watch each other for what feels like a lifetime, some kind of energy drawing you together, but then he’s slowly moving towards you. You watch as he stops just in front of you, so close you can feel his body heat, and after a beat, he breaks eye contact.

Instead, he looks up into the tree, and pries the lockbox out. He holds it for a moment, studying it awkwardly, and then he’s pressing it into your hands, and stepping back.

He doesn’t return to the other side of the clearing, just steps away to what you judge to be just out of arm’s reach for him.

You thank him quietly, and watch as he gives a low rumble in response, looking away from you as if bashful. It’s… cute.

The box ends up having a pretty decent medkit in it, and you sag slightly in relief knowing you’ll be that much better off come the next trial. As you keep moving through the woods, searching out anything that could come useful, The Blood God follows. He never comes too close, and he never once makes a move to hurt you. Somehow, his company is the most comforting thing you’ve felt since finding yourself in the Entity’s realm.

When you leave the woods, he lingers in the treeline, and it’s only after you turn and wave that he vanishes back into the shadows.

You don’t tell anyone.

It keeps happening, though. Every time you go explore, mentally mapping out the parts of this hellscape you’re allowed to wander, or just scavenging for items, The Blood God is there, keeping you company.

He slowly gets closer, moving from arm’s reach to eventually being by your side. The heat that rolls off him chases away any chill, and his presence makes you feel safe, and then safer still when you catch the pale features of The Shape watching you through the trees one time, only to be scared off by the vicious snarl that rips out of The Blood God upon seeing him.

He begins touching you sometimes, the softest brush of his claws over your hair, a gentle but firm grip on your shoulder turning you so you see whatever treasure he’s spotted for you.

You wonder sometimes, what exactly makes you special to him. Why he spends time with you, protects you…

Why in every trial you see him in, the moment he notices you, he abandons other prey to chase you.

You start getting a reputation among your fellow survivors, at first it was concerned glances, getting singled out by a killer is never a good thing, after all. As time passed, and it became clear that you didn’t mind dying to his hand, it became a joke, of sorts. A ribbing, mind keeping him occupied while we get out, Acolyte?

You didn’t mind, though. Dying to The Blood God felt the same as the first time. Like a dream, like it was meant to be that way, like every slice of his axe was fate. The chase becomes a game, and more often than not you find yourself smiling as you lead him in circles, not because you’re getting away, but because you know he’ll always catch you.

Then, things change.

You’re in another trial, the killer not having shown themself, and the only survivor you’ve found is David. He gave you a grin when he saw you, and you roll your eyes despite your smile. He’s annoying at times, a roguish flirt, doing his best to make you smile. It’s not so bad at the campfire, but in matches you find it a little much.

You’re working on a generator together, and next to you David swears as his fingers fumble and it goes off with a loud bang. You scramble to get up, to run away from there, the killer alerted to it for sure, but you slip. David catches you by the arm and drags you up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to support you as he prepares to all but hurl you over the nearby palette.

You both freeze at the roar behind you, the sound monstrous and angry, and you can see over David’s shoulder that it’s him. The Blood God.

He charges forward, and David shoves you away as he tries to avoid the blow, the tip of the axe just catching his shoulder and ripping his jacket. You stumble back, disoriented, and watch as The Blood God’s gaze turns to you.

He sweeps your feet out from under you, and from where you fall on the ground you watch David give you a helpless, apologetic look as he scrambles away into the foliage. A rumble turns your gaze above you, and you startle when you realize that instead of standing over you, The Blood God is so much closer.

He pins you to the ground, one large hand keeping your wrists together and pinned to the dirt. With the other, he pushes up the mask you’ve never seen him without, and your breath catches in your chest.

Your first thought is his eyes really are that red.

They glow with eerie light, slit pupils blown wide as he looks down at you. Scars stretch across his face, and two sharp tusks jut out from his bottom lip. Long hair spills out of what looks like a messy braid, and you’re enchanted by how it’s a soft pink.

He stares down at you, brows knitted as he watches your face carefully, searching for something. You don’t know what he’s looking for, but he finds it, face softening out of what you realize was something possessive, jealous even.

And then he’s even closer, and the world around you melts away into something dizzy and dreamlike as he kisses you. It’s hungry, almost desperate in the way he brings his free hand up to your cheek, in the way he barely wants to pull away.

He’s settling between your thighs, and you wonder when you spread them open for him, when you wrapped them around his waist, but you don’t care anymore, just try to drag him closer with them.

He’s ripping your clothes away, snarling as his claws snag on them, and then his fingers are pressing into you, making you gasp and keen as he moves them, like he knows all the places to touch to drive you insane as quickly as possible.

You’re moaning and whining, you realize, your head thrown back as he works you to an orgasm, his mouth on your neck, sucking and biting marks that would be impossible to hide if they lasted outside the trial.

You open your eyes, unsure when you closed them, and find yourself making eye contact with David, his eyes wide, a hand over his mouth, as he hides half behind a palette. You don’t get the chance to process it much though, as The Blood God lets go of your wrists in favor of touching you.

A strong hand running down your chest, smoothing over your hip, and then he’s touching you and you’re cumming with a cry, a name you’ve never heard before slipping past your lips.

Against your neck, you feel Techno’s sharp smile, the victory of making you remember him, and he presses a last kiss to a fresh mark before pulling back to look at you, his eyes raking over your body. He pulls his fingers from you, and your whole body feels hot as you watch him lick them clean.

You don’t know when he undressed, but when he ducks down to kiss you again, you feel the hot press of his cock against you, and you whine, bucking your hips, unsure if you want him in you or if you’re too sensitive still.

The slide into you stretches you in a way that you didn’t know you needed, you craved desperately, until he was filling you. It’s perfect, and when you feel his knot nudging against your entrance you moan his name again.

Your mind goes blank as he fucks you, pleasure overtaking you. All you can do is cling to him, moaning and sobbing as he fucks orgasm after orgasm out of you. You realize briefly at one point that he’s saying something, and when you try to focus to hear it, you realize he’s snarling a litany of mine, and missed you into your skin.

Distantly, you think you hear the sounds of one of the doors being opened, your other survivors escaping, but you can’t bring yourself to care, to think of anything but the way Techno groans as you tangle your fingers in his hair.

The way he purrs as he comes inside you makes your eyes roll back as you cum one last time, your whole body falling limp as exhaustion takes you. Techno nudges his forehead to yours and you look up at him with lidded eyes.

When you make eye contact, you know.

It’s you who decides, reaching out for his wrist, and pulling his hand to your throat. You watch his eyes go dark again as his pupils expand, and he kisses you softly one more time before his hands are closing on your throat. Your vision darkens as dizziness takes you, the lack of air making you float off into nothingness.

Next thing you know, you’re at the campfire.

You find out it was Kate and Jake in the trial with you, as they apologize for not coming to find you and David before leaving.

You wave off their apology, as does David, but he can’t look you in the eye, and you notice that he’s unfailingly polite with you now. It’s almost funny, and somehow you can’t feel the embarrassment you know you would have, once.

The next time you wander into the forest, Techno is there, sliding his mask off and purring as he ducks down to press your foreheads together.

Time is hard to track in the Entity’s realm, but you grow used to spending most of your time in the fog and the trees, Techno at your side.

Sometimes you just wander together, sometimes you find yourself dozing against his side

Sometimes he presses you up against a tree and fucks you full, crooning your name, you think he’s the only person who knows it, who can use it. Other times, he presses you gently into the moss covered ground, rocks into you gently and whispers devotion into your skin.

You’re his, his Acolyte to keep and care for.

But he’s yours too, your God to love and adore.

Forever

[stellaricwriting-archive]

DBD AU- Techno PT 2

Techno/Reader, Dead By Daylight au

warnings for dark themes, horror, death, consensual murder, stalking, knots, strangulation, long ass post 

It becomes noticeable when you start venturing out further away from the campfire, scavenging in the woods for flashlight batteries, a medkit, anything helpful. You’re long used to the feeling of being watched in the woods, though lately it feels… More.

You’re deep in the woods again, trying to reach a half rusted metal lockbox wedged into a tree when you feel it. You can’t describe the feeling, but one moment you’re straining to reach the box and the next you’re staring into the glowing eyes of The Blood God from across the tiny clearing.

He doesn’t move, and you find yourself slowly relaxing from the position you were straining in, settling back on your feet and resting the hand that had been reaching up on the trunk of the tree.

You just… watch each other for what feels like a lifetime, some kind of energy drawing you together, but then he’s slowly moving towards you. You watch as he stops just in front of you, so close you can feel his body heat, and after a beat, he breaks eye contact. 

Instead, he looks up into the tree, and pries the lockbox out. He holds it for a moment, studying it awkwardly, and then he’s pressing it into your hands, and stepping back.

He doesn’t return to the other side of the clearing, just steps away to what you judge to be just out of arm's reach for him.

You thank him quietly, and watch as he gives a low rumble in response, looking away from you as if bashful. It’s… cute.

The box ends up having a pretty decent medkit in it, and you sag slightly in relief knowing you’ll be that much better off come the next trial. As you keep moving through the woods, searching out anything that could come useful, The Blood God follows. He never comes too close, and he never once makes a move to hurt you. Somehow, his company is the most comforting thing you’ve felt since finding yourself in the Entity’s realm.

When you leave the woods, he lingers in the treeline, and it’s only after you turn and wave that he vanishes back into the shadows. 

You don’t tell anyone.

It keeps happening, though. Every time you go explore, mentally mapping out the parts of this hellscape you’re allowed to wander, or just scavenging for items, The Blood God is there, keeping you company.

He slowly gets closer, moving from arm’s reach to eventually being by your side. The heat that rolls off him chases away any chill, and his presence makes you feel safe, and then safer still when you catch the pale features of The Shape watching you through the trees one time, only to be scared off by the vicious snarl that rips out of The Blood God upon seeing him.

He begins touching you sometimes, the softest brush of his claws over your hair, a gentle but firm grip on your shoulder turning you so you see whatever treasure he’s spotted for you.

You wonder sometimes, what exactly makes you special to him. Why he spends time with you, protects you… 

Why in every trial you see him in, the moment he notices you, he abandons other prey to chase you.

You start getting a reputation among your fellow survivors, at first it was concerned glances, getting singled out by a killer is never a good thing, after all. As time passed, and it became clear that you didn’t mind dying to his hand, it became a joke, of sorts. A ribbing, mind keeping him occupied while we get out, Acolyte? 

You didn’t mind, though. Dying to The Blood God felt the same as the first time. Like a dream, like it was meant to be that way, like every slice of his axe was fate. The chase becomes a game, and more often than not you find yourself smiling as you lead him in circles, not because you’re getting away, but because you know he’ll always catch you.

Then, things change.

You’re in another trial, the killer not having shown themself, and the only survivor you’ve found is David. He gave you a grin when he saw you, and you roll your eyes despite your smile. He’s annoying at times, a roguish flirt, doing his best to make you smile. It’s not so bad at the campfire, but in matches you find it a little much.

You’re working on a generator together, and next to you David swears as his fingers fumble and it goes off with a loud bang. You scramble to get up, to run away from there, the killer alerted to it for sure, but you slip. David catches you by the arm and drags you up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to support you as he prepares to all but hurl you over the nearby palette.

You both freeze at the roar behind you, the sound monstrous and angry, and you can see over David’s shoulder that it’s him. The Blood God. 

He charges forward, and David shoves you away as he tries to avoid the blow, the tip of the axe just catching his shoulder and ripping his jacket. You stumble back, disoriented, and watch as The Blood God’s gaze turns to you. 

He sweeps your feet out from under you, and from where you fall on the ground you watch David give you a helpless, apologetic look as he scrambles away into the foliage. A rumble turns your gaze above you, and you startle when you realize that instead of standing over you, The Blood God is so much closer.

He pins you to the ground, one large hand keeping your wrists together and pinned to the dirt. With the other, he pushes up the mask you’ve never seen him without, and your breath catches in your chest.

Your first thought is his eyes really are that red.

They glow with eerie light, slit pupils blown wide as he looks down at you. Scars stretch across his face, and two sharp tusks jut out from his bottom lip. Long hair spills out of what looks like a messy braid, and you’re enchanted by how it’s a soft pink. 

He stares down at you, brows knitted as he watches your face carefully, searching for something. You don’t know what he’s looking for, but he finds it, face softening out of what you realize was something possessive, jealous even.

And then he’s even closer, and the world around you melts away into something dizzy and dreamlike as he kisses you. It’s hungry, almost desperate in the way he brings his free hand up to your cheek, in the way he barely wants to pull away.

He’s settling between your thighs, and you wonder when you spread them open for him, when you wrapped them around his waist, but you don’t care anymore, just try to drag him closer with them.

He’s ripping your clothes away, snarling as his claws snag on them, and then his fingers are pressing into you, making you gasp and keen as he moves them, like he knows all the places to touch to drive you insane as quickly as possible.

You’re moaning and whining, you realize, your head thrown back as he works you to an orgasm, his mouth on your neck, sucking and biting marks that would be impossible to hide if they lasted outside the trial. 

You open your eyes, unsure when you closed them, and find yourself making eye contact with David, his eyes wide, a hand over his mouth, as he hides half behind a palette. You don’t get the chance to process it much though, as The Blood God lets go of your wrists in favor of touching you.

A strong hand running down your chest, smoothing over your hip, and then he’s touching you and you’re cumming with a cry, a name you’ve never heard before slipping past your lips.

Against your neck, you feel Techno’s sharp smile, the victory of making you remember him, and he presses a last kiss to a fresh mark before pulling back to look at you, his eyes raking over your body. He pulls his fingers from you, and your whole body feels hot as you watch him lick them clean. 

You don’t know when he undressed, but when he ducks down to kiss you again, you feel the hot press of his cock against you, and you whine, bucking your hips, unsure if you want him in you or if you’re too sensitive still.

The slide into you stretches you in a way that you didn’t know you needed, you craved desperately, until he was filling you. It’s perfect, and when you feel his knot nudging against your entrance you moan his name again.

Your mind goes blank as he fucks you, pleasure overtaking you. All you can do is cling to him, moaning and sobbing as he fucks orgasm after orgasm out of you. You realize briefly at one point that he’s saying something, and when you try to focus to hear it, you realize he’s snarling a litany of mine, and missed you into your skin.

Distantly, you think you hear the sounds of one of the doors being opened, your other survivors escaping, but you can’t bring yourself to care, to think of anything but the way Techno groans as you tangle your fingers in his hair.

The way he purrs as he comes inside you makes your eyes roll back as you cum one last time, your whole body falling limp as exhaustion takes you. Techno nudges his forehead to yours and you look up at him with lidded eyes. 

When you make eye contact, you know.

It’s you who decides, reaching out for his wrist, and pulling his hand to your throat. You watch his eyes go dark again as his pupils expand, and he kisses you softly one more time before his hands are closing on your throat. Your vision darkens as dizziness takes you, the lack of air making you float off into nothingness. 

Next thing you know, you’re at the campfire. 

You find out it was Kate and Jake in the trial with you, as they apologize for not coming to find you and David before leaving.

You wave off their apology, as does David, but he can’t look you in the eye, and you notice that he’s unfailingly polite with you now. It’s almost funny, and somehow you can’t feel the embarrassment you know you would have, once.

The next time you wander into the forest, Techno is there, sliding his mask off and purring as he ducks down to press your foreheads together.

Time is hard to track in the Entity’s realm, but you grow used to spending most of your time in the fog and the trees, Techno at your side.

Sometimes you just wander together, sometimes you find yourself dozing against his side

Sometimes he presses you up against a tree and fucks you full, crooning your name, you think he’s the only person who knows it, who can use it. Other times, he presses you gently into the moss covered ground, rocks into you gently and whispers devotion into your skin. 

You’re his, his Acolyte to keep and care for.

But he’s yours too, your God to love and adore.

Forever

[mellow-em]

Bittersweet Temptations

CHAPTER 1

[special dt @bluewingedangel <3]

Your neighbors, Nathan and Elena, have been friends with your parents for years. Whether it’d be family gatherings or vacations, they were around; they were family. But when you return home from your final years of college, what will happen when you find that it isn't just them living in the house next door anymore?

_____________________________________

The murky layers of clouds that filled the grey afternoon sky, mutated into the clear blend of colors of the evening sunset.

I rolled the windows down over an hour ago, to let in the crisp breeze of the night to keep myself awake. It really was the longest drive of my entire life. Though, even if it had been drawn out to extremes thanks to the traffic on the highways, it was relaxing nonetheless.

I spin the steering wheel slightly, finally turning into my neighborhood. I let out an exasperated yawn, feeling my whole body yearning to be in my comfy bed again. I was tremendously exhausted.

I looked around at the strips of houses lining both sides of the road; because it had been around 7pm, lights remained visible within the windows, and families were most likely eating dinner.

Our neighborhood was known for being tranquill, that is, when you first enter anyway. The farther down you drive, the more lively it gets. My parents and I happened to live right towards the end of the street, where everybody knew everyone.

From when I was little all the way into highschool, we’d have block parties, barbecues, and random get togethers every chance we could get. Those would last for hours, leading into the am sometimes. It was chaotic most of the time, but I enjoyed it.

Not even a moment later I find myself in front of my house, pulling into the driveway with one swift turn in. I couldn’t even put the car in park before I heard an uproar by the front door, causing me to stifle a laugh and shake my head.

It’s definitely gonna be a long night.

I roll all of the windows up before shutting the car off, stashing my keys away into the side pocket of my shorts. While pushing the door open with my feet, I look up to see both of my parents awaiting to engulf me into a hug.

A warm smile rises on my face as I hug them back.

“We’ve missed you honey,” my mom softly said in my ear, smoothing my hair down before kissing the top of my head.

The hug had met its demise, and I turned around to look at the mountains of boxes overflowing within the backseat and the trunk of my car.

I inaudibly sigh in my head, knowing how time consuming this is going to be.  Luckily mother could probably sense my vexation.

“Your father and I were gonna help you whether you liked it or not, so come on.”

“Thank you, I’m sorry that drive just killed me.”

She looked at me with a knowing expression on her facial features, “This is why I told you we should’ve helped you with heading home.”

I rolled my eyes, “And I insisted that I could take care of it myself,” I walked around to the other side as each of us opened the other doors to the car to start unloading my stuff.

She chuckled, dismissing me with a shake of her head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come on, let's start getting this done so you can go to sleep,” she paused behind me with a box wedged in her hands, “ cause your walkin’ around looking like a damn zombie.”

I scoffed jokingly, “ Ha ha ha, very funny.”

“Get to it y/n!” she called out from inside of the house.

I rolled my eyes yet again while lifting a fairly large pack that held my toiletries, and released a frustrated huff. 

The thoughts of the future began to boil in my brain again, creating that oh so familiar, awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I knew for a fact that I couldn’t stay at my parents house for longer than a year, meaning I was going to have to figure all of my shit out within that time frame. Although it may seem like a lifetime away, the rest of my life was really on the line here.

And I couldn’t begin to admit how scared I really was.

Damn I feel like I’m being so unbelievably dramatic.

“Y/n, are you still alive over there?” The distant muffles I barely heard over me mentally walking down memory lane, became crystal clear.

My head jerked up abruptly, as I let out a small yelp, “What?”  

I notice my dad in front of me, with two containers filled with my clothes, and a small bag stacked on top of one another in his hands.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya, kiddo.”

“It's fine, I- what were you saying?”

We started to travel slowly towards the steps to the front porch, as he spoke, “I was sayin’ that we're gonna be having a small get together to celebrate you being back home tomorrow night.”

“Your small get-togethers are never just small dad, do you remember your 40th birthday? You had almost the same amount of people over as the block parties.”

He snickered, “Hey, what can I say, I’m just a popular guy,” the both of us enter the house as he turns to me again, “But I will say, it will more than likely be small. You’re just gonna see a few new faces in the mix.”

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, “Wait what? Do we have new neighbors or something?”

The both of us walk up the stairs to my room, and place the boxes alongside the wall opposite of my bed.

“Something like that,” he pats my shoulder and hurries out the door to the hallway, leaving me even more confused, “Why do you insist on being so cryptic all the time?”

“I’m gonna get the rest of your stuff!”

I groaned, crashing into the plush comforter that was laying neatly on the bed beneath me. With no delay, my eyelids leisurely closed, and I eventually doze off.

______________________

Heat radiated from my body as I woke from a peaceful sleep. I shifted uncomfortably a few times, feeling the sweat sticking to my body.

No matter how hard I try, sleeping in the heat of this room is going to be like trying to sleep in a damn sauna. Useless.

I rolled over, with the pitch black atmosphere through the windows, and around me, taking up most of my vision.

It’s probably in the middle of the damn night.

I lifted my arm slightly to let my hand feel around the bed, in search of my phone to check the time.

Just my luck, my fucking phone is missing.

I look over to the other side of the room, where the unpacked boxes and containers remained stacked by the wall. The slight glare of the moon's reflection was hitting something on top of the windowsill.

“There you are,” the words fumbled out of my mouth sleepily, while I slowly rose from what felt like my puddles of sweat on the sheets. Stumbling in the process, I made my way over to what was thankfully my phone laying down in the moonlight.

The illumination of the screen screamed at my eyes, causing me to look away for a second, “shit that was bright.”

I adjust my eyes to the light to see the clock on the top of the screen:

3:28am

“Great. Well at least I got some sleep.” I toss my phone across the room, hearing it thump onto the side of my bed.

A wave of heat ran across my arms and legs, reminding me of why I woke up in the first place, “I’m not gonna take the chance of melting any more tonight.”

I reach over to unhinge the latch on top of the window next to me, and open it halfway. A gust of polar air simmered around me almost immediately, swiftly cooling me off to satisfaction.

I close my eyes, letting the nightly winds blow over me, with a relaxed smile forming on my face.

My small moment of tranquility was rudely interrupted by a splash from outside.

My eyes jolted open, and I instantly lurch my head up to look in that direction. To my surprise, the lights were on over Nate and Elena’s; the pool lights.

“Why would-?”

I knew for a fact that it wasn’t Nathan or Elena, knowing that they have a child on the way. Both of them were guaranteed to be asleep.

So who the hell is using their pool at 3 in the damn morning? That question replayed in my head as I stared out towards the pool, waiting to see the whoever it could possibly be.

As if on cue, I watched as the figure emerged from the pool, and a man slowly stepped out while using the ladder at the edge.  

Just like that, it felt that I didn't have control anymore. My curious eyes wandered; lingering all over him.

He wore black swim trunks that were snug on his thighs in all the right places. They sunk down to the lower half of his hips, exposing his very visible trail of hair on the lower half of his abdomen.

The more I drank of him, the more it affected me.

His chest hair glistened from the pool water that began streaming down his abs. My eyes found themselves trickling over his toned biceps, and his scattered variety of tattoos that took up only a few spots on his body.

I knew I had to look away, but I couldn’t.

I finally looked up at his face.

Holy fuck.

The lower half of his face was lined perfectly with stubble, with his seemingly soft lips as the centerpiece. I traveled up his face, noticing the wrinkles that were sketched sparingly across his features.

He ran his hand through his soaked locks of hair that partially hung in front of his face, with his muscles flexed to an extreme. He wandered over to the table and chairs that were by the edge of the pool area; that was much closer to my window.

After reaching for the towel, he rubbed it through his hair, and started drying the rest of his body with it. Him doing so caused me to look him up and down once again. I looked down to his feet, and up to his head. 

Only this time around, I was met with his eyes.

I felt an overwhelming surge of panic, but I was stuck in place. I felt trapped, with no escape from this whatsoever.

I’m such an idiot. I mentally scolded myself for letting my lustful curiosity get the best of me.

The reprimands within my mind were sliced in half, as a sly smirk traced over his lips, creating a few more layers of wrinkles upon his cheeks.

This could be chalked up to be the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever experienced.

I couldn’t decide on whether to focus on his lips or his eyes; it was becoming way too much to handle. I did a frantic dance between the two.

Coincidentally, as soon as our eyes met a final time, one of his eyelids opened and closed in one smooth motion, all while his stare remained fixated on me.

Did he really just do that? Did he just fucking wink at me?

I finally got the stamina to duck away from the window and onto the floor, with my back pressed against my former dorm room cases, and my breathing becoming more irregular by the second

What the fuck just happened?

[cyberdck]

Maybe we can get some platonic/familial Silverhand+V!Reader where V is his grandkid from a fling when he was alive and it just bites him back in the ass?

— johnny silverhand ft angst angst angst with a dash of family + brief character study

this probably turned out more angsty than you had in mind but mistakes were made and here we are

the moment he realizes it, it’s already seconds too late.

minutes.

hours.

going on days of verbal abuse and mental deterioration set in motion by his own cruel will and abrasive temperament.

how could have known? he hardly knew anything past the barrage of your thoughts and the turmoil of accepting his death and new fate. he’d been torn from his past and set dead straight on derailing your future.

there were just so many memories to untangle, yours and his. faces were a blur and voices even less clear.

those thoughts-reflections- he needed to know had been sealed away the first day of his new life he begun. knock back into the recesses of your mind with each impact of your head against the window of your skyline view.

fuck if he hadn’t jarred your own memories- made it that much easier to forget why his face had been so familiar upon his first appearance.

you were more than the aged fan from his decades old career. the slow trickle of your fingers against that beat up guitar had stopped long ago after he’d berated you for the infantilism his classic hits- tearing the soul from the intended tune with your amateur playing. now he wonders if you’d been playing for yourself at all or was it all feeble attempt reach out to him?

and he just took those offered hands and crushed them to your chest. even from the inside of your head, he had a mirrored view of your face. a front row seat to the transition of emotions from fragility to hardness. that’s really where he should have seen it.

in that low shadow of your brow when your face pinched in annoyance. he was looking at a reflection after all.

minors adjustments and mixed genes all trickling down from an inferno romance that had ended the night he decided to be a true samurai.

he couldn’t blame you for wanting to withhold information when he finally built up the sense to ask. the visor of anger was ripped away now, eradicating any semblance of blindness he could grapple with.

it took days of shifting, adjusting his personality and mannerisms to shed away the abrasive exterior you’d come to know.

to hate.

johnny had never wanted-

hardly imagined having-

but to have you despise him at the end of it?

it wasn’t something he could bare.

your grandmother, you admitted finally, loved to place him on a pedestal. called him a hero for sticking to his beliefs, even if the rippling effect never came in her lifetime.

would come, she still believed, certain that with time the graves he’d rocked would come to life.

if only she could see him now.

johnny figured she was dead. your grandmother. his last physical attraction.

when you finally released those memories, he found those to be the deppest. ones readily swept away without his provocation.

she’d been your rock. the placeholder for your own parents that hadn’t amounted to much as guardians. filled your childhood with promises of warmth and love. and stocked the empty spaces with lyrics and melodies from her heart.

johnny’s songs were never meant to be lullabies for children but they became household nuemonics anyway. songs sang during everyday tasks and hummed against your temple as she tended to scrapped knees and blooming bruises.

without his knowledge, johnny had already been a prominent feature in your life. the envision of him. the determined samurai who’d never stepped down for anything.

had been ripped away by the reality of a nicotine addict with a short fuse and fists to match.

you felt as much as a grandkid as he felt as a grandfather.

two puzzle pieces that seemed misplaced even as they’re forced into a wedge together.

much like the intertwining of two minds.

jonnny only knew how to slap a bandage on gaping wounds. left to watch and see if the two sides fused together or stretched further apart.

he mentioned your old guitar more, reminding you of the carved wood stashed away in the back of your closet like a forgotten memory. most of the time you brushed him off, adding that he should focus on the next job.

each new gig would be one step closer to reversing the effects of the chip malfunction and finally separating you for good.

but what happened then?

if the chip was removed he still didn’t have a body to return to. he’d still be a lost code in the space of a matrix with no source to cling to for resolution.

he’d be alone and so would you.

two lingering souls from a damaged linage with no real future.

if he was meant to go back down in a fiery inferno then he refused to bring you down with him.

refused to leave you with the lingering scorch marks.

so he tried.

kept urging you to close the gape.

he was more helpful than scornful when offering advice. the bitter taste of sarcasm was still a lingering flavor on his tongue but he bit it back.

when he flickered into view, he stood closer. only a touch away as if he could catch you when you finally buckled under the stress.

if you appreciated that changes, you did a hell of a job of not letting it show. every step closer to the ultimate goal only served to steel your focus.

no.

he’d ironed out that hardened flesh and now you were making it your own.

maybe he could have loved your grandmother. he wasn’t really sure.

something like that felt frivolous to him back then a brief euphemism in society. he would have hated to see his kid swallowed up the the jaws of capitalism.

now here you were about to break them.

he was proud.

and he wanted you to know it too.

so he kept trying.

reminding you to eat. to stay hydrated. to take a break after one too many bearings came too close for call.

to take your medicine.

‘oh, now you’re okay with me shutting you up?’

he could only shrug with a crooked smile. parenting was about ripping your own heart out as an offering right? he’d bled for night city.

he’d snuff out his own flame for you.

he learns about the foods you like and the alcohols you could do without. finds out why you’re so adverse to smoking.

the short answer that it kills so so obvious yet too close to home.

he never offers or requests the taste of nicotine again.

it took sometime but eventually the soft strumming of chords finally made themselves home again in the little apartment.

gone were the crude comments, slating out aggressive pride for constructive criticism.

‘your finger goes here. no, not that one. it will just get in the way. ‘

the songs weren’t a perfect rendition. he later learned that they weren’t meant to be. your grandmother had softened the edges little make them more bite-sized for the mind of a child. and the alterations just stuck with you all these years.

it wasn’t what he envisioned for them, not while lying awake in the back of the tour bus struggling to string together two sentences.

neither was this life; trapped in the skull of his grandchild still scrapping for a chance of survival.

but it was fitting for an old samurai. the wake of tragedy left behind fertile grounds for new beginnings.

and he had a few more things to accomplish before his chapter came to a final close.

making sure you didn’t regret ever knowing him would be his last.