#and if you enjoyed this pls let me know

[aureatelys]

like cherries in the spring

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 4k bc i cant stop myself

content warnings: 18+ PLEASE MDNI, porn without plot, consensual somnophilia (mentions of discussing it beforehand), intercrural sex sorta, thigh fucking sorta idk what to call it but thats close enough, brief v fingering, eventual p in v, light dom/sub undertones because thats who i am, light bondage (being held down), light choking (just a hand on your throat), unprotected sex, no y/n, established relationship, employee/boss relationship duh, self indulgent <3

summary:

You were barely conscious when you felt something poking your butt.

read on ao3 here or below <3333

You were barely conscious when you felt something poking your butt.

You try to blink awake, immediately blinded by the sunlight filtering in through the blinds. For a second, you think you’re still in Los Angeles with the California heat making your clothes stick to your back, working on a kidnapping case, which means you need to get up and get ready fast.

However, someone stirs behind you, and you realize you’re not in California. You’re home, in your bed, and being spooned by Aaron.

You try not to sigh in relief so as not to disturb him. He needs the rest, obviously, based on the fact that Aaron tends to get up like clockwork at 8 in the morning, even on his days off. You crane your neck to check the clock on your bedside table. Nearly 9:30 in the morning.

You’re almost tempted to wake him up, knowing that Aaron will be secretly annoyed and feeling like he slept the day away, but then you remember how late it was when you got in last night. The team just got done with a case in a Los Angeles suburb and decided to fly back home despite how late it was, which meant that it was really late when you finally made it back home. You distantly remember leaning on Aaron’s shoulder, trying not to fall asleep standing up, and him grunting for everyone to take the following day off and hearing everyone let out a tired cheer. You weren’t able to sleep on the jet, envious at everyone else’s ability to take a nap as soon as they closed their eyes, and kept Aaron company while he finished his notes.

You remember sitting across from him, the glow of the reading light shining on him with his head ducked over his files. He was clearly exhausted just like everyone else, evident by the bags underneath his eyes and the way he attempted to hide his yawn every couple of minutes, but you know that he always makes an effort to try and finish the paperwork the same day while the case was still fresh on his mind.

You had a book open in front of you, long forgotten, as you rested your chin in your palm and stared at your boyfriend.

He glances up at you every now and then and shakes his head to himself, smile on his face, when you make no move to stop staring almost dreamily. It’s not your fault he’s so handsome, even when he’s running on 4 hours of sleep.

“Ridiculous,” he had muttered, feigning annoyance, however you felt him knock his feet against yours underneath the table. Something warm settles in your chest at that.

You remember stumbling into Aaron’s apartment, through the living room, and falling face first into the bed. You hadn’t even bothered to change into your pajamas, but you were just too tired to care, evident by passing out as soon as your face hit the pillow.

It didn’t matter now, however, as you felt Aaron’s body pressed up against yours, so warm it was nearing unbearable. You felt his soft exhales against the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, and the beginning line of his morning wood poking your ass. You felt the soft comforter brush against your bare legs and realize that Aaron must have changed you in your sleep, leaving you in your panties and a tank top.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling utter want tugging at the bottom of your stomach. It had been a couple of days since you guys had done anything, even with the shared hotel room. Working on a kidnapping case in a shitty hotel with thin walls didn’t really set the mood, no matter what anyone said. Sure, you and Aaron were able to sneak in some heated kisses and touches, but never more than that before both of you were falling asleep with case files and medical reports at the foot of the bed.

You carefully pushed your hips back against him, feeling his cock twitch against you. Aaron shifted, throwing his arm over your waist, however his breathing was still deep and heavy. He was usually a light sleeper, a result of the job, so him not waking up from that must mean he was more tired than he let on.

You’re still groggy, but an idea slowly forms in your head. Of course, you two didn’t get the chance to discuss this last night, but you distantly remember a conversation several weeks ago where you told Aaron you wouldn’t mind too much if he woke you up by touching you or going down on you and whether he would be interested in you doing the same to him.

He had given you a look so dark, pupils blown and a smirk slowly forming on his mouth, that you wanted to drop to your knees right there in the kitchen.

Instead, he leaned forward to press a kiss to the side of your head and mutter a “Some other time, dirty girl.”

Now seems like the perfect time.

You move your hips back again, relishing in the way you can feel Aaron’s cock grow bigger, harder. You wiggle and let out a breathy sigh when you feel him migrate to between your ass cheeks. It’s not enough and definitely not close enough to where you really want him, but it feels good. Dirty, just like Aaron had said.

You move up on the bed a little more, careful not to stir too much, lifting your hips from the bed a bit until his clothed cock was between your thighs and pressed right against your pussy.

You moan at that, clenching your thighs when you feel that familiar throbbing in your cunt, wishing he was already inside of you.

But this feels good too. Two layers of clothes between Aaron’s thick cock and your wet pussy. You start to move your hips against him, breathless at the way the head of his cock barely grazes your clit. You can feel the wet spot undoubtedly forming on your panties, your wetness helping his cock glide against you.

You feel yourself get carried away, chasing the small sparks of pleasure running up your spine just from feeling the girth of his cock against your hole, when you feel Aaron’s arm that’s draped over you move.

You freeze, though you’re not sure why, it’s not like you’re doing anything wrong, when you feel his hand come up to grope at your breast over your top.

You hear him hum, still breathing warm air against your neck, and feel him somehow press closer against you. You wait for him to say something, either teasing you for being so horny and rubbing up against him or wordlessly tugging his briefs down to press his cock against where you need him, but there’s nothing.

He’s still asleep.

You exhale in relief, ignoring the nagging thought in your brain saying why are you into this, you freak, but then Aaron’s hand on your breast starts moving, just barely groping.

You’ve known that Aaron has always been a touchy guy behind closed doors, always hungry and wanting to be close to you wherever he got a chance. He’s said it’s because he loves your body and not being able to touch you at work drives him crazy, and you can tell he’s telling the truth from the way his jaw clenches when you lean over his desk to hand him a file or the look he gives you when you cross your legs sitting across from him on the jet and your skirt rides up.

At home, you let him have your fill. He’s constantly groping your tits, pinching at your nipples. He’s grabbing a handful of your ass, squeezing, and grabbing your hips so hard he leaves bruises. He has a hand on the back of your neck and pushing your face into the mattress or wrapping his large hand at the base of your throat, putting light pressure as if a reminder of who you belong to. He loves touching you and you clearly don’t mind, however you’re seriously wondering how obsessed he is with your body if he can touch and grope you in his sleep.

He's squeezing your breast and canting his own hips against you. You feel his cock twitch again and the wet spot he must be leaving through his briefs drags against you and your thigh. You bite your lip at that, unsure whether Aaron was about to wake up or not.

You feel his hand move from your breast to your abdomen, fingers just barely brushing over your nipple, making you almost jump, and wrap his arm around your middle. You hear him grunt, something masculine and deep that makes you want to lose your mind, and feel him thrust into you, rutting into you like he can’t control himself.

You whimper at the feeling of being constricted, imagining Aaron’s veins popping out of his forearms. Not caring whether he’ll wake up, you reach down to pull at his briefs just enough so his cock pops free. You sigh at the feeling of hot flesh against your thigh and your mouth waters when you feel precum leaking down the head of his cock, smearing on your panties and thighs.

You wait and strain your ears to listen to Aaron’s breathing. Somehow, it’s still steady.

You’re starting to get impatient, just about to throw this all away and wake him up to sink down on him, but then you feel his bare cock press against your hole through your panties and it just feels so good. You know that if Aaron wakes up, he’s going to want to fuck you fast and hard and honestly, you’re having a lot of fun teasing yourself.

He stops humping into you, the arm around your middle relaxing, and he grumbles a bit and presses his face against the nape of your neck. His breath tickles you.

You start moving your own hips again, just barely, enough to feel the slow drag of his cock against your clit through your panties. They must be absolutely soaked through right now and you desperately wish you could just take them off without waking Aaron up and press the head of him into you, stretching you out. A sweat starts to break out on your back and on your neck and Aaron’s body heat, naturally running warmer than you, isn’t helping but you don’t care.

You hear a sharp inhale, a particular deep thrust against your pussy, and then a “What do you think you’re doing?”

You freeze, feeling like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar and not like you were humping desperately against your boyfriend like a teenager. “Uhm.”

His left arm moves up from where he was still wrapped around you, brushing purposefully against your nipples and making you whine, to wrap his hand around the base of your throat. He doesn’t put any pressure, but just the weight of his hand is enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“I said,” he whispers, exhaling against your ear. He thrusts his hips once against you, making his cock slide against you better in a way you could never replicate. “What are you doing?”

You swallow, unsure on how you want to play this. The low deep rasp of his voice this early in the morning always sends you reeling. “Nothing.”

Aaron hums and the grip he has on you tightens just a bit before he’s trailing down your chest. This time, he flicks your left nipple, making you jump and bite your lip at the same time, and moving down past your stomach and to your pussy. “This doesn’t feel like nothing, honey.”

His hand traces the waistband of your panties and the curve of your hips. The callouses on his fingers are rough, but familiar, making you squirm against him. Aaron hisses at that and it’s like he finally snaps as he reaches between your legs and roughly pulls your panties to the side to thrust his cock against your bare cunt, hips slamming into yours.

“In fact, it feels like you’re being a dirty girl, rubbing up on me like you can’t help yourself.”

Your gasp morphs into a moan when you feel the head of his cock finally brushing your swollen clit, no clothes in the way. Now you can feel how sopping wet you are, making the glide of his throbbing cock against your pussy smooth and perfect. This whole thing feels dirty, like you’re trying to take what you can get before you can get caught even though there’s no one else home with Jack being at a sleepover. The thrusting of his hips against yours to rub against your wet folds just makes you think about him fucking you into the mattress until you’re a whining mess. “Aaron…”

 “What do you want, baby?” Aaron murmurs, starting to press soft kisses behind your ear. Hearing his early morning voice again makes your insides turn into a puddle. The warmth of his body and his cologne from yesterday still barely detectable is intoxicating, making you spread your legs a little so his cock nestles deeper against your wetness. You start to move your own hips to meet his and the lewd sound of your pussy and his hips slamming into yours is so so hot.

“Please…” you whine, the words dying in your throat because your head is swimming, and you don’t know exactly what to say. You secretly hope he knows what you want—what you need.

Aaron suddenly gets up to sit on his knees and moves you with a hand on your hip so you’re laying flat on your front, face pressed into your pillow. You nearly cry at the loss of pressure against your clit, but he quickly puts a hand on the back of your head to shove your face into the pillow. He straddles your thighs, roughly moves your panties aside again to insert a thick finger inside of you.

You moan wantonly at the feeling of finally being filled, the sound muffled against the pillow. His finger goes in easily due to how wet you were, but the feeling of being stretched even just a little bit make you feel drunk.

“Is this what you want, pretty girl?” He moves his finger in and out of you fast, almost rough, but it’s still something and it can still make you come if you try really hard since you’ve been playing with yourself for what feels like hours.

You already start to feel the beginning pressure at the pit of your stomach, clenching and unclenching around just one finger. Your clit is barely getting anything out rubbing against the sheets, but you don’t even care, having been on edge for days. “Yes, yes—Aaron…”

Aaron hums casually from behind you, as if you guys were talking about the weather. “Are you going to come for me?”

You nod furiously into the pillow, moving your face to the side so you can breathe more easily. “Yes, yes, please—”

Suddenly he takes his finger out of you with a loud and vulgar noise, nearly making you scream in frustration. You’re about to yell at him, maybe even turn around and smack him on the shoulder, until you feel your panties being quickly tugged down your legs, the head of his cock up against your hole, and then pressing in.

“Oh…,” you moan, nearly sighing in the familiar feeling of being properly filled. There’s a slight burn from that stretch you secretly love. The hand he had pressed against the back of your head migrates to the back of your neck, grabbing a hold of you so possessively it makes you squirm.

Aaron leans over you until his face is next to yours, his soft moans like music to your ears as he bottoms out. “Fuck, baby, you’re still so tight…”

You try to crane your neck to look at him, desperate to see his face. He has his eyes closed, brows furrowed in concentration, most likely trying to resist immediately fucking into you. His hair is almost artfully mussed, fluffy and falling into his face. Yesterday’s stress is gone and instead is replaced with absolute desire. His other arm is pressing into the mattress so he can hold himself over you and you nearly start to drool at his bicep bulging out, the veins in his thick forearms prominent.

And as if he can feel your eyes on him, his eyes open. They’re dark and piercing, pupils nearly blown out. There’s a hint of that damn smugness in the corner of his mouth, but it smooths out into something softer around the edges when he leans in to press a closed-mouthed kiss against yours. He knows how much you hate morning breath.

The tender action makes something clench in your chest and you wonder again how you got so lucky.

All sweet thoughts fly out the window when Aaron pulls out slowly until just the head of his cock is in you. You moan at the sudden loss and squirm, knowing how much he likes seeing your hips move.

Just like you predicted, he growls and slams back into you, pressing his hips against the flesh of your ass. “So needy.”

“Aaron, please…” you beg, moving your arms from underneath you to behind you in an attempt to touch him, feel him, something.

Because Aaron is Aaron and somehow can read your mind, you feel him grab both of your wrists together in one hand to press against your back. You have no leverage now and can breathe a little easier now that he’s not pressing down on your neck, instead his other hand gripping onto your hip.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give what my dirty girl needs,” Aaron coos, almost mockingly in the way that makes heart stutter, and then he starts fucking you so hard the breath gets knocked out of you.

He’s relentless, no more teasing and rubbing up against his cock. The grip of his fingers on your hip and wrists are tight, hopefully enough to leave bruises, as he essentially pulls you on and off his cock. He fills you out so good, hitting that spot inside of your pussy that sends sparks up your spine, making you feel like your brain is short circuiting. It’s like you can’t even think anymore, which is a normal occurrence when Aaron fucks you like this, and all you can hear is the wet sounds of your pussy, his hips slamming against yours, and moans that he’s not bothering to hide anymore.

You distantly can hear yourself begging to come, nearly screaming yourself hoarse. You’re sensitive, nearly overstimulated with the way Aaron is pounding into you, and you just want to come already. The sheets are wrapped around your thighs, barely rubbing against your clit, and it’s not enough and you arch your back the way he likes, move your hips in an effort to tell him to touch you. “Fuck, oh my God, Aaron.”

“You need me to touch you, baby?” Aaron says, breathlessly, and you know he’s close too, probably holding off until you come first because you know that’s something he likes.

He must be just as impatient as you are because he’s immediately releasing his hold on your wrists to wriggle a hand underneath you and rub your clit in a way that was delicious but almost rough, almost painful enough that it sends you over the edge.

You choke on your moan as you feel your pussy clench on his hard cock, squeezing your thighs together. Your hands find purchase clawing at the sheets underneath you, wrists tingling from where he held onto you. Your mind blanks out, empty besides the sheer bliss wracking your body. Aaron keeps fucking you, keeps flicking your clit, groaning your name and it just adds to your orgasm, nearly making you roll your eyes back into your head.

You feel him fuck you faster, harder, and you had just begun floating down from your orgasm when Aaron comes inside you with a deep and guttural moan. You’ve always loved hearing the noises he makes; how manly he sounds, how deep his voice can get, and the way he whispers your name like a prayer. The noise he makes when he comes, however, is definitely in your top 3.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well,” Aaron grunts, thrusting into you one last time. The hold he has on your hip is nearly painful, definitely bruising. You moan unabashedly at that and the feeling of his warm come inside of you, filling you up. You clench down on him one last time, milking him for all he’s worth, and you hear Aaron’s choked laugh behind you.

He slips out of you, and you feel his eyes on your pussy; probably swollen and absolutely a soaking mess with your wetness smeared all over your inner thighs. He hums, finally satisfied, at the sight of his come dripping out of your cunt, dripping down your slit and onto the sheets. You feel his thumb come and trace your hole, gentle, but making you squirm nonetheless at how sensitive you are and sending a shock through you. His hand is on your hip again, squeezing in a warning, silently telling you to take it.

And you do, keening softly when you feel the rough pad on his thumb brush your clit, smearing his come around. You always had an inkling that Aaron was dirty, with his domineering voice and the way he so easily takes control of a room when he walks in, but you were in for a rude awakening when you both finally stopped dancing around each other.

You hear Aaron inhale sharply when you clench and unclench, probably pushing more wetness out onto the sheets, and you almost brace yourself for his cock to press against your hole again when you feel the bed dip and Aaron getting up to the bathroom to help clean you up. You’re only slightly disappointed, but then remember it’s not even noon and you got the rest of the day left. You bring your arms to cross and rest your head on them while you wait, smiling to yourself as the languid relaxation seeps into your bones the way only getting fucked out of your mind does.

Aaron is tender and gentle while he cleans you up. Underneath all the stoic and cold demeanor, Aaron has always been a huge softie and loves taking care of you, no matter the occurrence. You feel that care when there’s large hands and a towel, warm on your thighs, your hips, your ass as he presses his lips to the bottom of your spine. You feel the barely there scratch of his stubble and hum.

When he’s done, he crawls up the mattress to his spot and settles down with a huff. He immediately is wrapping around you, flinging his arm and leg over you to pull you in closer as you laugh. Your face is pressed against his chest, flushed pink, and you impulsively press a kiss there against the wiry hair. You feel him kiss the top of your head, no doubt smiling because he secretly loves the attention you give him.

“You okay?” Aaron asks, so soft in a way that makes you want to wiggle further into him.

Instead, you push back a bit to look up at him where he’s already watching you, eyes affectionate. Your legs are tangled with his, hips pressed against each other’s despite knowing how sweaty he is. His mouth, usually in that straight line, has softened, and the sight of his bedhead and relaxed brow makes you want to spend the next week touching him all over. His cock pressed against your thigh, half-hard, tells you that may be possible.

“Perfect,” you say, and then you push at his shoulder until he flops on his back, gazing up at you almost reverently as you climb on top of him to straddle his hips.

One of his hands wander up your thighs until he settles on your hip. His hair falls into his face, his eyes still drowsy but the hunger plain as day. He brings his other arm to rest above his head, against the pillows, in a clear show of his muscles that makes your mouth water. He looks devastatingly handsome and just so hot, it’s really not fair.

“Good morning,” he says, casually, as if you’re not quietly losing your mind.

You give him a devilish grin and push your hips back until you can feel the head of his cock against you, already hard and leaking precum against your ass. Satisfaction curls up your spine when his small smile falters and his jaw clenches. You lean down, knowing that he loves the feeling of your breasts pushing against his chest and nipples dragging, until you’re hanging your lips right above his.

“A very good morning, it is.”

[partfae]

Sauron, Galadriel, & Tolkien's Theology of Repentance - Part One

Summary: Character meta analysis on Sauron (and Galadriel, through the lens of Sauron). Based on both Silmarillion & RoP canon. 3.5k words. Discussion of Catholic theology involved. Blanket TW for discussion of violence, manipulation, etc., because Sauron. Spoilers for S1 & S2 and the Silmarillion, of course. The tragedy of Sauron is that he gets offered so many legitimate chances at redemption and forgiveness, and he denies them every single time. But we know he wants absolution, because that’s what he sees Galadriel as: his chance to bind himself back to the light, to be Mairon again, to heal the pain that he caused and that was caused to him under Morgoth. But because he has such a warped view of himself and his actions, he dismisses genuine extensions of compassion, forgiveness, and care as simultaneously beneath him and too good for him. And yet, he still pursues redemption, but through none of the channels offered to him.

In The Rings of Power, he’s given the explicit instruction to change for the good in the village after he’s reborn. He’s given the chance leave his past behind and work meaningfully in Númenor. He’s given the chance to redeem himself by Galadriel's offer of friendship (or love, depending on your interpretation). In the Silmarillion, he's even given the chance by Eönwë himself, and comes close to leaving Morgoth behind completely!

Let's look at this passage from Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age (emphasis mine):

When Thangorodrim was broken and Morgoth overthrown, Sauron put on his fair hue again and did obeisance to Eönwë the herald of Manwë, and abjured all his evil deeds. And some hold that this was not at first falsely done, but that Sauron in truth repented, if only out of fear, being dismayed by the fall of Morgoth and the great wrath of the Lords of the West. But it was not in the power of Eönwë to pardon those of his own order, and he commanded Sauron to return to Aman and there receive the judgement of Manwë. Then Sauron was ashamed, and he was unwilling to return in humiliation to receive from the Valar a sentence, it might be, of long servitude in proof of his good faith; for under Morgoth his power had been great. Therefore when Eönwë departed he hid himself in Middle-earth; and he fell back into evil, for the bonds that Morgoth had laid upon him were very strong.

This passage is clear that Eönwë is willing to pardon Sauron--he simply did not posses the power to do so. But when Sauron was told he must appeal directly Manwë, he gave up entirely and skulked back to Middle-earth. There are a few ways to read this:

1. He was not wholly repentant

Sauron simply wanted the protection of a new master in the absence of Melkor. i.e., he was rather fickle and simply wanted to be on whatever the "winning" side was. This is supported by the text literally saying that at least some of his obeisance was completely false, and that he only made a point of feeling bad about anything once his master had been chucked into the Void and his armies and strongholds were being destroyed (Thangorodrim). In this reading, perhaps Eönwë saw Sauron's treachery and referred him to Manwë knowing that it would be a test of his true intent. However, while a valid interpretation, I believe this to be the less holistic of the two.

2. He was truly repentant

Sauron did truly feel badly and "abjured all his evil deeds," but he was unwilling/unable to humble himself after being so fundamentally broken by Melkor and developing an insatiable power lust (hey, he isn't defined in the narrative by lust and pride for nothing).

Earlier in this same chapter, Tolkien wrote that Sauron could "...deceive all but the most wary." This is in the specific context of his physical shapeshifting. But, I would argue that this can also be tied to his lies. Tolkien has a specific ethic of beauty, where physical perfection is equated with moral goodness. Sauron completely inverts what is otherwise a hard and fast rule within Tolkien's writings by being the character most frequently described as "fair"--seven times to Lúthien's six, and she was the most beautiful woman to have ever lived!

(Side note: I have another post on Tolkien & beauty in the works where I'll get more into this idea)

Why does this matter? Even though this interaction with Eönwë takes place in the First Age, Sauron could at this point be in the demonic form Mirdania describes in the forge. And, I am inclined to believe that Eönwë, as the head Maiar and herald of Manwë, would be a pretty wary guy, and thus able to sense any of Sauron's trickery. I read this to mean that Eönwë looked at Sauron and saw his potential to be Mairon again, either in absence of his evil form or in spite of it.

Because Sauron is incredibly beautiful. And even if it is a disguise of the true, depreciated form of his spiritual essence, he presented himself to Eönwë at his most beautiful. He wanted, even in his act of repentance, to make himself more favorable in Eönwë's eyes. To show up as Mairon (who was likely close friends with Eönwë before everything went down, since they are considered to be two of the most powerful Maia and would have worked closely together).

But I don't think this was all manipulation on Sauron's end. I agree with the scholars mentioned in the text who believed that Sauron was truly repentant--which is why Eönwë even bothered referring him to Manwë instead of kicking him into the Void with Melkor.

And this is the tragedy: Sauron is told exactly how to repent, and believes fundamentally that it is an impossible path for him. And yet, he still longs so intrinsically for it! He was, under Aulë, a Maia of precision, perfection, and order. Under Morgoth, he feels disordered, dis-regulated. He needs to correct the fundamental imbalance within him, so why does he flee Eönwë?

It comes back to Sauron's pride.

If he follows through with this path of reconciliation, there is no way he can hide or pretend his actions away. If he cannot trick his fellow Maiar, he certainly cannot trick the Valar. And he cannot stand the idea of submitting himself back under their rule, especially now that he has tasted power. This is a pride wound; it is why the idea of confessing to Manwë would be humiliating to him as opposed to just upsetting/uncomfortable.

Again, the pivotal moment: he is told how to make amends for crimes and determines that he cannot do it. So he returns to Middle-earth and stews in his own self-hated and self-pity for a few years. In that time, he consciously or subconsciously latches onto Eönwë's offer--forgiveness from penance. It is the way forward. And if he cannot earn penance at Manwë's hand, he will do it on his own.

The Prodigal Son

This is where we have to talk about the Catholic roots of Tolkien's work for a moment. The scene where Sauron approaches Eönwë mirrors the biblical parable of the prodigal son. In this story, a man abandons his family, spends all his money, and falls into ruin. But when he recognizes his failings and returns to his father to get help, he is welcomed back into the family without question--in other words, he is forgiven and restored to his former position.

17 But when he [the prodigal son] came to himself he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! 18 I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’” 20 So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. - Luke 15:11-32, NRSV CE (emphasis mine)

The parallel is clear; Mairon, the repentant Maia, returns home with hopes of reconciliation. He is prescribed the same task that the prodigal son offered to his father: he must be bound in servitude to his father/creator in order to pay off his debts. This is a deliberate allusion from Tolkien. The story of the prodigal son models the path of reconciliation that Eönwë describes. Tolkien seems to be drawing a line in the sand with this: Sauron is unwilling to do the work required by the Valar for repentance, so he is unable to receive the grace of a warm welcome back into the fold of the Ainur. Since he did not humble himself, he has to be told to do it. And he does not want to! He wants to be loved, but he also wants his power--evidence, in a way, of how his character was fundamentally altered in his time with Morgoth.

His pride--and his fear--cut him off from the potential of grace. He does not know for certain that Manwë would subject him to servitude (though I would argue that it's textually evident that it is a custom), but this assumption leads him to flee, which allows him to slip back into his old ways.

He wants to be Mairon (admirable) again, not Sauron (abhorrent). He wants to be accepted and loved, but not punished. He wants the benefits of reconciliation without the work he would have to do to earn it or the shame he would feel as he did. It's pride, but it's also deep shame--the flip side of his extreme ego is an implicit self-hatred, one that we can see in the subtext of how he speaks about himself and about his time with Morgoth.

Even the language Tolkien uses is heavily shame-coded, especially in a Catholic context; Mairon did not go willingly, he was "seduced." He admits to Celebrimbor that he was "tortured by a god". It becomes exceedingly clear through both text and on-screen canon that Sauron was routinely broken and abused for centuries. This has fundamentally damaged his self-perception, which is ultimately what leads him to "[fall] back into evil"--whether due to pride or shame, he hides, perhaps because he consciously or subconsciously does not believe that he deserves forgiveness, no matter how much he craves it.

Naked in the Garden

His flight back to Middle-earth after meeting Eönwë is reminiscent of another biblical scene, where Adam and Eve, after committing the first sin, hide from God in shame and fear (emphasis mine):

7 Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked...9 But the Lord God called to the man, and said to him, “Where are you?” 10 He said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.” -Genesis 7-10, NRSV CE

The image of nakedness is, here, one of vulnerability, and Tolkien establishes that Sauron fears that which he cannot control. He needs the Rings under his power. He needs his armies and his enemies under his watchful eye. He is petrified of letting his power slip away (possibly due to never wanting to feel powerless in the hands of a Vala, fallen or not, again).

The biblical allusion here hearkens back to the fear Tolkien describes Sauron as feeling regarding his return to the Ainur. In the religious system Tolkien has established, which is likely inspired by his own religious beliefs, Sauron has sinned, and must make penance. But he is afraid of God/Manwë, and does not want to "let go" of his sin. In other words, he is not truly repentant. This reflects the Catholic sacrament of confession, which requires self-reflection and resolve to never commit the sin again.

Instead of shame driving him to contrition, it drives him to isolation.

But he still wants forgiveness. So, in his years of hiding in Middle-earth, he decides to earn it himself. His own way.

Enter the Rings.

Sauron wants to perfect the wrong he wreaked so that he can both earn his way back into the Ainur and keep his power. But what he does not realize is that this does not work. Eönwë is clear that he must forsake his true temptation--absolute power--through penance by submission. Yet Sauron in his pride thinks he can have it all. Sauron is a very carefully controlled villain, and the only times he snaps or makes significant mistakes are when his inflated self-perception is challenged, revealing the self-loathing and/or self-pity underneath. The best example of this is when he kills Celebrimbor prematurely, and cries afterwards. Why? Because Celebrimbor was right about him, and he hates it. He hates knowing that he is nothing more than the Morgoth's shadow, because Morgoth was his master as much as he was his tormentor. As Sauron puts it, his relationship with Morgoth was often defined by pain as a test to see "whose will was the mightier":

This image carries more shame, both in its implicit sexual connotations and in the simple power dynamic of it. Sauron, even though misguided, is rallying against Morgoth. He wants to break what Morgoth has created and build something new, something better, something apart from his old master entirely. But Celebrimbor confronts him with reality: he has not created something new, and perfect, and special, as he so wanted to--he can only act in imitation, not in generation. And when he got close with the Rings, it cost him everything. It's almost like he wants the power of a Vala, and loathes that he cannot attain it.

And this is why he becomes so singularly obsessed with Galadriel.

She’s his foil. They both crave power and adoration, but in the end of things, she does not fold under his temptation. She turns down everything she has ever wanted for the greater good and for the sake of her own soul. Sauron looks at Galadriel and perceives that she would have succeeded at Eönwë's test because she is willing and able to humble herself. This maddens him to the point of both desiring her and desiring to break her.

She learns that she is easily tempted and becomes strong enough to handle it (through a lot of tough love from Elrond & co.). She has to learn how to do it, but she is able to.

She grows from someone who resisted and rejected authority to someone who is trusted as an authority because of her ability to wield it wisely (see: Gil-galad allowing her to answer for him in 2x08).

In other words, she earns the trust, love, and support of her community. Sauron has to force his to comply—it is an illusion of love.

His possessive obsession with her also stems from her fairness. She was the object of her uncle Fëanor's obsessive desire for creation as well. Her hair was the inspiration of the Silmarils (see: The History of Galadriel and Celeborn; The Shibboleth of Fëanor - source with page #s here), which Morgoth desired more than anything to possess.

Sauron, wanting to spite his master, wants one better--to own that which inspired the Silmarils, to own the image of fairness (and thus of moral good) completely. This is why he wants to bind himself to her. This is why he needs her. He sees Galadriel as his mechanism of repentance, and his last triumph over Morgoth. Winning her is his salvation as much as it is proving that his will is the mightier. It is his way of dominating Morgoth. This starts, I think, as a genuine effort at proving himself to the Valar, but quickly consumes him entirely. He is overcome with the desire for revenge, just as Galadriel was at the beginning of the First Age.

And he sees this in her. Sees their similarities. Sees that she, too, is angry and lonely and so afraid of losing her power. And he leverages that to befriend her. This is where it gets ambiguous and you can read RoP as either painting the image of Sauron being earnest but completely misguided in his proposal, or you can see it as him being entirely manipulative.

I think the truth of that scene probably falls somewhere in the middle; just like when he presents himself to Eönwë, he is sincere in his desire, but only knows how to present it in an inherently contriving way. He does want to bind her to him, so he tries to only reveal to her the good aspect of that desire (and also of his desire for power, which he allows her to see because he believes that it is good and also because she understands it), and not the ugly underside of his internal struggle against Morgoth, the Valar, and himself.

And I do think, in his own way, he cared about her. Galadriel consistently shows kindness and compassion to him. In S1, they grow to know each other's minds and souls, and she considers him a close friend. He finds comfort in this, that someone could see the blackness of his heart and care for him anyway. He thought, in his isolation, that he lost that chance when he fled back to Middle-earth. And here is the very picture of the light itself telling him that she supports him, that she sees the good in him, that she wants to help him set the world to rights! Of course he is infatuated by this. Of course he also wants to use it. He is Sauron.

But Galadriel succeeds where he fails, so he stops playing nice and tries to forcibly drag her down with him. First, by baiting her with the image of the man she cared deeply for:

Then, by reminding her of all she is losing by rejecting him:

And she is still strong enough to say no. And not just to say no, but to shut the door completely. To look in the face of everything she has desired for centuries and turn it down, understanding that it will ruin her. Yes, she hesitates. Yes, she still wants it (wants him). But she wins the day by holding fast to the light that Sauron wishes so badly to bind himself to.

Because she has lost everything--her brother, her husband, the station as commander, the trust of her high king and best friend--and earns it back only through her resistance of her greatest temptation. It is a struggle, it is painful, it nearly kills her--but she does it. She wins the test that Sauron could not even bear to face.

In their headlong, self-sacrificial tendencies, they are the same. Both view themselves as fundamentally stronger/better than their peers while also being deeply lonely due to their self-imposed isolation (Galadriel's laser-focused hunt for revenge, Sauron's exile in Middle-earth). But to Galadriel, the light is more important than her pride.

For Sauron, the light is his source of pride. He desires it more than anything, but condemns himself to never being able to touch it due to his rejection of Eönwë's offer. Paradoxically, he tries to grasp at it through Galadriel, the living silmaril, and succeeds only in darkening her. We learn from Gil-galad in 2x08 that his crown piercing her flesh in an act of brutal domination nearly strips her soul from her and pitches it into the unseen world. In this, Sauron is saying: If I cannot have you, I will force you to need me. I will break you into loving me.

He says this to Celebrimbor as well. He no longer knows how to love properly. He only knows how to inflict pain until this object of his obessive desire needs him--just like how his immortal spirit was broken into submission by Morgoth. And isn't this revealing of his own sense of self? He refuses to suffer the path of light, but willingly suffers the maddening path of darkness because it is a comfortable, familiar suffering. One, he tells Celebrimbor, he even grew to enjoy (2x08). As the path of the Rings drive him madder and madder, his desire for the light (Galadriel) and the return of his power (Celebrimbor) become further disordered and corrupted until they culminate in him destroying them--and his chance at earning/owning them--entirely.

And this is Sauron's ultimate point of no return (which we will hopefully see in S3 🤞). The razing of Eregion and slaying of Celebrimbor were acts of petty rage he committed when his pride was injured. This was the final nail in the coffin. Galadriel, in her rejection of him, ruins what he sees as his true chance for redemption.

Galadriel, now stepping into the role of Eönwë, re-opens the invitation: "Heal yourself!" (2x08). But in rage and shame and stubborn pride, he turns it down again. I believe this is where his desire to heal Middle-earth shifts fundamentally into desire to dominate Middle-earth. He always wanted to rule, but now he wants to own.

[buntanteen]

✩ buntanteen's svt writing & fic rec masterlist ✩

~ svt fic rec lists!! ~

sfw ver. 1 (18/07/2024) [jeonghan, joshua and dino focus]

sfw ver. 2 (26/07/2024) [jeonghan, joshua and dino focus]

nsfw ver. 1 (2/08/2024) [jeonghan, joshua and dino focus]

nsfw ver. 2 (2/09/2024) [subby ot13 svt for september]

sfw & nsfw ver. 1 (4/09/2024) [jeonghan birthday edition]

sfw & nsfw ver. 2 (26/10/2024) [woozi birthday edition]

sfw & nsfw ver. 3 (01/11/2024) [the8 birthday edition]

~ svt writings!! ~

❥ yoon jeonghan

boyfriend!jeonghan headcanons (sfw & nsfw)

❥ hong joshua

sweet and loving boyfriend!joshua (sfw)

❥ kim mingyu

bestie fwb!mingyu headcanons (nsfw)

cockwarming dilf!mingyu thoughts (nsfw)

❥ spill the feels miniseries

spill the feels: xu minghao edition

[luck-of-the-drawings]

EDYN TIDESTRIDER, CHALLENGER OF THE UNDERSEA, RIVAL OF THE DEEP. WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOUR BROTHER WAS CHOSEN TO BE A WEAPON OF THE GODS? HOW WILL YOU UNDO WHAT THEY HAVE DONE TO HIM?

[daemon-is-perfectly-unhinged]

caraxes ft. the hatchlings

@syndrossi

[nanihirunkits]

hi.

[edsbacktattoo]

I have Gathered some Data

@skysofrey and I recently got into a discussion about names in OFMD. Specifically, how many times does Ed actually call Stede by his name in the show? We could only think of a few examples each and that didn't seem right. And because I'm insane, I decided to rewatch and note down every time a name was used, who used it, and who was being spoken to. Here are my findings!

Before you proceed, please know that this is strictly for fun and because I was curious. There are likely errors in the data (I'm sure I missed some things, I'm just one person.) but! I still think that what's been gathered is very interesting.

Here are some other fun/important/miserable things that I found in my travels:

There is one more time where Stede calls Ed “Edward,” and the only time it isn’t said to him directly. This is when Stede is addressing the petrified orange.

Of the five times that Stede is called “The Gentleman Pirate,” two of them are from Ed.

Ed calls Stede by his name only twelve times in the series. Only two of these instances are spoken to someone else. There are two others when Ed is looking for him at the pier, and therefore spoken to no one.

There are only ten instances of other characters calling Ed something other than his name or ���Blackbeard.” Two of these are from Izzy, during the scene in Spanish Jackie’s bar, where he’s informing Stede that Ed would like to meet with him. During this scene, he only uses “my captain” and “my boss.” This is one of the very few times he doesn’t refer to Ed to other people as “Blackbeard” and it’s at the time that is arguably the most important. (He’s an idiot.)

Out of the twenty times that Ed refers to himself, fourteen of those are as “Blackbeard/The Kraken.” He refers to himself with names other than “Ed/Edward” 70% of the time. 50% of the times he refers to himself by his name are during the beach scene in episode nine, and there is only one instance where he uses his name that is not in Stede’s company. ("Actually, I do want to be called 'Ed' from now on.")

Izzy only refers to Ed as "Edward" to other people four times in the show. Two of those times are when he's marooning Stede's crew, and each time he uses his name in that scene, he takes on a mocking tone. Meaning that 50% of every instance he's referred to Ed as "Edward" to other people, he's been mocking his name.

Ed calls Stede "mate" as often as he calls him by his name, but he only calls him "mate" directly.

Stede calls Ed by his name only once more than Izzy does.

80% of the times Ed refers to himself by name happen in episode nine.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 4 thoughts

woohoo!! it feels, again, like our separation has been so long, but it has been about… 3 whole days. oh, how i miss the earlier months in which i had time to post episode thoughts every day… 

this episode sounds interesting!!! no idea how someone’s thoughts could be captured on film, but we do a lot of disbelief suspension around these parts, with varying levels of success.

wait. hold on. i just saw the description for the episode after this one. what the hell is mulder getting himself into with that. do we need more mulder ex lore? i don’t need that. it doesn’t make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

putting aside my many questions on that matter to focus on what is here in front of us.

(author’s note post-episode: …. woaghhh. scully…)

in all honesty, having processed my thoughts, i think this one was just a LITTLE bit too intense for me. which i recognize is okay, and to each their own. but i need to speak my Truth.

liveblogging commences below 

we begin with this sketchy looking dude, who is being rude as hell to a woman putting on lipstick before getting a passport photo taken. god forbid a woman want to serve… then he says to act natural while not acting natural himself. HYPOCRITE!

she goes in for a passport photo and…. she left her money in the car! she must return to this unfortunate man and go get it. but someone is following her…. 

he did something to her… and she gets back to the car to “billy”, but someone did something to him, too!! he appears to be dead and bleeding from the ear!! then she falls to the ground and tries to crawl to safety, but the mystery man in the yellow rain jacket comes back for her…. 

and the man in the photo store looks at the passport photos, but despite taking just a standard headshot, he sees the woman’s dying face in the images!!

oh. that is an unpleasant day on the job for such a nice seeming man.

this intro always makes me laugh... i’m sorrrrryyy the ufo pictures just remind me that this show is fundamentally unserious 

scully and mulder are rolling up to a town in michigan, while he asks her for any thoughts on the case. it appears this woman was abducted three days ago. and billy was punctured in the brain. yuck.

okay, so her name is mary. and this poor pharmacist…. he has to take people’s pictures, and give them drugs, AND deal with this nonsense 

they are at the pharmacy where the “druggist” (they keep using that term which i have never heard before) is showing them his camera, which he keeps under lock and key, and i notice he has some fun candy in the background. but i assume things are not fun at this time for him. 

scully wants to see the camera, and mulder takes a step back to let her pass. it kinda looks like he does that thing where he touches her back, but it’s hard to tell. and once again for all readers, that thing where men touch your back is only attractive when it’s mulder to scully and not between some randos!

scully notices something on the pharmacist’s foot, and also that the film is out of date. she is always noticing things. one of her many lovely qualities. 

mulder calls the pharmacist “bruno hauptman” and i don’t get that reference so i do what i do best: go to wikipedia. oh! bruno is the guy that was executed for kidnapping the lindbergh baby. i don’t know why i thought that mystery was unsolved. i guess it’s because the article is saying it was a heavily criticized and debated case. huh, a mystery for another time.

anyway, mulder is saying this all tauntingly with his stupid beautiful mulder smile, but scully is saying yeah, this nice old pharmacist doesn’t look like a usual suspect.

but she does point out that the film has heat damage, and a heater is right there… “so you think that would make it look like she posed screaming for a passport photo?” <- LMAO MAN LET HER FINISH

BAHAHA she is onto nothing 🔥🔥 

“plus, the film is two years out of date” “oh” the- the photographic chemistry could have changed” (mulder nodding) “uh-huh” “the- the dyes fade… they… alright, what’s your theory?” <- BAHAHA love that… you have to admit when you don’t know wtf is going on! i had full confidence she would pull something out of her science-y brain, but sometimes you just don’t know!

(this stupid scene had me giggling, as did her face of resignation)

mulder seems to ALSO have no idea wtf is going on, but as they discuss this, a police officer walks in and says they might have wasted the agents’ time…. what does that mean? did they figure it out that quick?

back at the house of the victims, they meet a postal inspector. okay!!! that’s fun and different. and i pause to write this down, and scully is SO beautiful, i actually might blow up. a full on explosion where once stood me is liable to go down. oh my gooooood.

okay: postal inspector is investigating a mail theft. mary had been working at the postal office, stealing people’s credit cards, and her boyfriend was signing them! oh! very illegal. inspector seems to think she faked her disappearance, but mulder points out that would not explain the stabbing of the boyfriend. also, they have this creepy ass broccoli magnet on their fridge which. bleugh. it did not spark joy.

mulder wants a camera from their house, and he finds one! did he just. take a picture of scully…? oh my god. he said “stand back, scully, it’s loaded” and took one… he didn’t even let her pose or anything… that's so cute... even if it's a little weird to use a dead person's camera from a crime scene... he wanted to take her picture

no, i am all wrong, for it appears he is just… taking random photos. because someone in the 60’s once claimed that he could concentrate really hard on undeveloped film and show his thoughts. uh. press f to doubt.

(man, i want to live in that very brief and exciting moment where i thought he was taking a cute little candid of her again… it was so blissful there)

wait. what da hell. he just clicked the camera a bunch of times and it comes up with the screaming mary photo again and again.

oh… he thinks that someone was stalking mary, and the stalker’s psychic energy altered the film by him coming in its proximity. i didn't realize that was how psychic powers worked but i am listening and learning

scully says that these images had to be doctored, which is, again, a reasonable conclusion, but he asks her to “what if” the situation and just think about it!!! just imagine!!!

cutscene to… someone crawling on the side of the road. it’s mary!!! she’s bleeding from her eyes (?) and not responding at all to the police car arriving behind her.

now she is in a stretcher at the hospital that our agents are helping to steer. they are kind like that. she had a “painkiller cocktail” in her system, but that wouldn’t account for her condition. scully orders a PET scan for her, a term i have never heard before. i love when she uses terms i have never heard before.

they’re putting mary in what looks like an MRI sort of thing to look at her brain. whatever it is, it is clearly very bad, as told by scully’s visible reaction and audible declaration of “oh my god”, while mulder looks at her and asks “what is it”? 

(and while i appreciate that this is a sensitive moment for our story, mulder not knowing wtf is going on with these medical things always is a favorite trope of mine, 1. because me too, and 2. he is usually such an insufferable know-it-all i love watching him admit when he knows nothing. humility!)

oh my god… “she has been given what’s called a transorbital lobotomy” <- oh that does NOT sound good… it used to be known as an ice pick lobotomy!!! oh my gosh i’ve heard of that one!! ice pick… eye sockets… i can feel myself growing faint…

but whoever did it, did it wrong… who would do a lobotomy without knowing how to do it the right way???

in the machine, mary is mumbling!! she is saying “unruhe” according to the closed captioning, but it just sounds like faint groaning to me. however, given that this phrase is the title of the episode, i venture to guess that it IS in fact relevant.

a policeman bursts in and says there has been a second abduction, and our agents look deeply sorrowful at this news, seeming to know what will happen next if they cannot crack the case.

oh! now we are seeing the new victim, and whoever took her is in fact saying “unruhe”, and other stuff in german! NO! he pulls out a pick…. fade to black. 

WHO in this small seeming town speaks german and has a psychic effect on cameras… ?? i hope this can be narrowed down to a slim pool of candidates!!

scully is going into the next crime scene, where mulder reports that a man has been murdered, and his secretary alice taken. this is not good.

mulder has been looking into what that word alice was mumbling means- first in a phone book, but then as a translation, i guess, because it means “trouble” in german.

WOAH, WHAT?

! SCULLY LORE REVEAL ! she took german in college!!! and knows that the word is more accurately translated as “unrest”! 

(oh my gosh, i need to get back into compiling lore reveals at the end of each season like i did for s1…. good thing i take such detailed notes so i can go back and do them for s2 and s3)

((we didn’t get a ton in the last 2 seasons, so i thought of doing one post for both seasons- but the organization freak in me wants to do 1 per season, so i’ll go through them again and see what i can find when i get bored someday))

scully hands him a photo from the first crime scene, but mulder says the criminal wasn’t there, because if he was, he would have altered the photos. scully seems annoyed that he’s looking for psychic photos and not crime scene evidence, but he explains that whoever did this has to be very good, and photos may be their only lead since he doesn’t seem to know he is doing it. but then scully sees something and her eyes go SUPER wide… and she says she wants to show him something. 

oh! they find a construction company’s logo at both sites. so maybe the criminal worked at places under construction and was able to kidnap the women…? this theory is brought to you by scully.

he says she might be right, but he is going back to DC to get analysis on the photo. she still is skeptical, but he says that since the woman’s time is running out, that’s all the more reason to analyze the one piece of hard evidence they do have, and that he’ll be in touch. 

he must have really cared if he said he’ll be in touch, because usually he just runs off to god knows where to do god knows what. 

(and how much time would they even HAVE if he has to drive all the way back??? that isn’t a quick trip, is it???)

the same criminal dude from before is now saying stuff in german and taping alice’s mouth shut, while mulder is back in the photo lab sitting practically on top of this nerdy yet attractive fellow, asking for the blurriness in the image to be reduced. and it reveals very scary looking demon things! 

mulder sees someone in the back of the photo… and they get a more enhanced image on the face, but it isn’t clear to me who it is. i felt like i was supposed to know who it was, but luckily i wasn't!

scully is ordering people out to canvas and investigate the employees who may have been working at both construction sites. i like when she does that.

mulder and the lab guy figure out that there is a shadow in the background of the photo from the kidnapper. “he’s standing over her, he means to pass judgement on her, like a god” <- an unsettling thing to say, mr. spooky

scully rolls up to one of the construction sites and i’m thinking, oh please, do not get kidnapped, please please, it’s not something we need today. she’s yelling “hello” and no one is answering... but she hears something….. 

it’s a… guy on stilts? it’s the foreman named gerry. oh… could he have made the big shadow in the picture his stilts? but he doesn’t sound german…

mulder calls and says the kidnapper’s legs are unusual, either he’s very tall or he wants to be. stilts man?!?! is it you?!

instead of playing it chill upon hearing this news, she hangs up on mulder, and turns to gerry and says “unruhe”, pulling out her gun. but he uses his stilts to jump across the building! only to collapse and fall. his getaway is thwarted as scully tells him to stop or she’ll shoot, and to prove her seriousness, she does so. but i’m not buying he’s the guy!! sorry my queen!!

NO!! I WAS FOOLED, WASN’T I??? she reaches into his pocket and pricks her finger!!! NOOO! it’s a huge pick in there! like we saw before at the kidnapping!!

is she gonna be drugged from that….

(thankfully, the pick itself did not contain the drugs)

they’re interrogating the dude, and he denies everything. i mean, i guess a lot of people could have stilts and a pick at construction sites. maybe they didn't grab the right fellow.

he says that tool is used to start keyholes in the sheetrock and all fixtures. a good excuse…

but he really does seem confused. 

however, mulder brings up that gerry was arrested before, for attacking his father with an axe handle until he spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair. OH! this is not promising.

gerry says that he was institutionalized, which mulder reveals was for a schizophrenic disorder. gerry claims that since his release, he had been taking care of his father 24/7, until he passed away in january. well i’m not entirely sure if that makes amends, but i guess it’s better than nothing?

“and how did you feel about that?” asks mulder about gerry's father's death, sounding very much like the psychology expert i sometimes forget that he is. then he reveals that the same year gerry attacked his father, gerry’s sister passed. connected….?

gerry is staring intently back at scully, saying that she looks troubled. oh! do not talk to her that way.

then mulder comes in with the enhanced photo from earlier, and asks if it shows gerry’s father. he seems taken aback, like it really is his father, and then further taken aback when he pulls out the full photo and asks if those demons figures are what he sees when he closes his eyes. this finally gets gerry to crack and say that he knows where alice is, and that she is safe, “from the howlers”. HUH? 

(is it bad my thoughts went straight to a howler monkey when he said that? i was thinking man, monkeys do not look like that at all. you and i have seen some different monkeys, gerry. but no, he does not refer to those types of howlers)

a ton of cop cars are arriving in the woods, to find alice, who is bleeding from the eyes, which can only mean one thing in this context. oh noooo. scully seems horrified and as if she is blaming herself 

oh, we get a very charged exchange here. she says it doesn’t matter what is in the photos, or if it shows gerry’s dreams or nightmares, because it’s over, and they couldn’t save alice. she starts the engine, and when i think she’s gonna drive off without mulder, he hops in. i bet that guilt that doctors feel when that cannot save a patient is even worse in her than in usual doctors, because she also has to deal with trying to rescue people from crime. :(

gerry is being taken in and photographed by the cops. but instead of a mugshot, when we see the picture, it’s the guy who was taking him in with a bullet hole in his head. oh! so that seems to confirm earlier suspicions on behalf of mulder. 

OH NO!! gerry reaches out and grabs the gun from the cop! NOOO! 

mulder points out that the image from that interaction showed the man shot in the head, but in reality, he was shot in his throat. so i guess it’s not based on reality as much as his intentions? sure, why not. and scully says there was a robbery at the pharmacy back where the very first photo was taken. no! our druggist friend!

gerry took all of the film in the store and a ton of drugs for more “twilight sleep”, which is a bad sign. i think i’ve seen this film before…

scully thinks that perhaps he was stalking his next victim at the construction site, and i’m thinking, girl i think he picked out his victim alright, but i don’t think she’s in the apartments.

mulder wants to wait a bit for his photo to come out. so he sends her to pull the car around and i’m screaming NO, NO, DON’T SEPARATE, NOT WITH A GUY ON THE LOOSE WHO LOOKED AT HER AND SAID “YOU LOOK TROUBLED” AFTER DOING 2 DIY LOBOTOMIES ON OTHER WOMEN AND KILLING 2 OTHER MEN! JUST WAIT A MINUTE AND WALK TO THE CAR TOGETHER!!!

but she cannot hear me….

NO! as she unlocks the car, a hand from beneath reaches out and pierces her foot with a needle NOOOO… and it’s gerry and she’s going down and NOOOOOO!!!!

AND MULDER PULLS THE PHOTO OUT TO FIND GERRY WAS THINKING OF SCULLY WHEN IT WAS TAKEN!

he is RUNNING after that car. despite his best efforts, even trackstar mulder is not as fast as a car, yet he follows her and screams her name regardless. until he realizes he will not win this race.

back at the police office, mulder is STARING at that photograph, the one showing scully being taken by these horrific creatures known as “the howlers”. he’s asking for any leads, including “does he have a summer house? a winter house?” which could be seen as desperation for answers or mulder being out of touch with how many people grew up with summer houses, take your pick.

OH! in gerry’s wallet was his father’s obituary. and his father was a dentist… and the name sounds german… 

so they go to his old dentist’s office, where they did an ad for the pain medicine cocktail he’s been cooking up. and mulder finds a footprint and a missing dentist’s chair. 

NO!! scully is in the dentist’s chair at some undisclosed location. waking up to find her arms and legs bound with a pick on the table and gerry in the distance. she’s watching him…. and she says to let her go. 

he begins his german ranting that has happened before the other lobotomies, and she… RESPONDS???? in clumsy german??? she says she has no unrest and doesn’t need saving, but he insists she does??? WHAT!!!

good on her for remembering some words after all those years :,)

he says everyone has some unrest, but especially her. she thinks she must remind him of his sister, and they talk about “the howlers”, who live inside your head, and make you say and do things you don’t mean.

so she turns the tables on this, and says maybe there are no such thing as howlers, and maybe he made them up to justify what his father did to his sister, which sets him off further. OH… so she thinks gerry attacking his father and his sister’s death were related. damn… that’s heavy

she tries to convince him that the “howlers” are just in HIS head, and no one else’s, as he approaches with a camera to try and prove they do exist. because cameras cannot lie!!

back at the dentist’s office, mulder appears to be losing it. mumbling about the 6 fingers the howler had in the photos, and yelling “WHY are there 6?” to no one in particular, as if he can find an answer through sheer willpower. one of the cops is asking him what to do while he looks at the obituary and counts five headstones…. and the father makes 6? sure, if that makes sense to you king!

they’re off to the graveyard while scully is still in a mystery location, with tears in her eyes as gerry shows her the photos he took. he takes the photos to mean he doesn’t have much time left, and tapes her mouth… and oh my gosh, i think of what would go down here if i knew she wasn’t gonna pull through… until gerry hears a tapping and MULDER IS LOOKING IN!! YES!!!

gerry is doing this in a camper van! by the graveyard!!! mulder is peeking in, sees a tooth keychain, and realizes she’s in there!!!! he’s yelling her name, and she’s yelling that she’s in here, while gerry tries to hold her down!!!

mulder’s BEATING on the window of the camper with his hands, and when that doesn’t work, he finds a giant metal pipe and SLAMS it into the window, goes in, and shoots gerry. this escalated quickly, but it was almost not quick enough.

mulder asks if she’s hurt, and neither of them say anything as she walks out, with mulder kneeling down to see that the last photos gerry had taken were of himself dead on the floor. it’s a terribly thick tension that reminds me of the ending to irresistible, but without the tension bursting like it did in that episode with her finally revealing her fear to him. i wish that she did it again this time. 

scully is doing the episode wrap up, sounding terribly solemn. she is reporting that gerry had written a diary intended as a letter for his father, including the list of the women he hoped to “save”. and her name is the last entry. she has no explanation for the photographs. but she empathized with him, which her survival depended upon.

“i see now the value of such insight. for truly to pursue monsters, we must understand them. we must venture into their minds. only in doing so, do we risk letting them venture into ours?” (said while there are tears in her eyes, as she looks at the photograph of her being pulled by the howlers)

WHAT THE HELL.

okay, so chris carter… you and i need to have some words. 

i have a lot of thoughts. perhaps number one: what if mulder had been 5 minutes later… can you imagine him never being able to cope with that….? oh my gosh. oh my gosh. no, i shan’t imagine. but i’m sure they both were imagining it. and that is probably why she couldn’t say anything as she walked out of the camper van. it was too horrific.

second. this was a dark one. i was giggling at first and then it got really dark. lobotomies… are a hard subject.

third. when the writers make the bad guy have a mental illness, i do feel it to be insulting, because we don’t often get a character where a guy with schizophrenia is just a guy doing normal things like working at the store or going to get his oil changed. no, he’s gotta be up to something nefarious. i wish that wasn’t the case and that these episodes didn’t use mental illness in that way, and i understand that things were kind of Like That in the 90’s and arguably still are in media, but it has been observed with distaste. 

okay, final thoughts? like i’ve said before, i believe in gender equality when it comes to kidnapping and rescuing, and i hope that will be evened out at some point. i understand that gerry had a fixation on women for his own personal reasons, but that’s the doyleist vs watsonian debate thing. and i want a 1:1 ratio on who goes about saving the day. although the ratio was uneven in s2, i’m not recalling the ratio from s3, and we’re 4 episodes into s4 with a 1:1 ratio. so i hope that overall, the entire series ratio evens out eventually. damsel in distress is gender neutral

i was actually really invested in this episode, probably because it let us look into scully deeper, and also because the stakes were high, the pacing fast, and the horror a new kind rather than a standard serial killer we get in a lot of episodes. 

but… while i appreciate that, i’m not sure i can say i enjoyed it, you know? because even a “scully speaks german” lore reveal cannot save me from the feeling of… something adjacent to fear? not horror as in “ahhh i’m so scared” but maybe a sort of horror as in “stop putting her into these fuckass situations, let my girl have a day off” and also a bit of terrible grief in knowing that lobotomies were a very real thing and did untold harm. and to be clear, i’m not saying that fact shouldn’t be explored and discussed, i just think that for me it seems to provoke some intense feelings that make me want some fluff. now. 

deliver it. to my door. as we speak. in fact, here is an incomplete list of things i want to read our agents doing in fanfiction form:

apple picking and apple cider sipping, hiking and sharing weird facts they know about the things they encounter (scully will be all “this type of spider has a unique silk production gland” and he’ll be all “this type of wildflower is used to induce hallucinogenic states” while they look at a pretty view), ice skating (can they ice skate? need to explore that), getting ice cream cones, a visit to the beach, decorating for various holidays, a very serious game night- perhaps uno or some sort of trivia where it turns into a real nerd-off, arguing over unsolved mysteries, more implications of them starting a family together if you feel bold and brave, even, but for those who like it more reserved we can just have an aquarium date, watching a meteor shower, scully attempting to understand his fascination with the various sports of the world by tagging along on an anthropological expedition to a knicks game with him, baking, movie theater trip, etc

well! i have gotten myself so enthused at the idea of them doing silly stuff like handing out halloween candy that i have forgotten all about my initial feelings, which shall surely resurface soon when i go through and edit my notes, but you’re gonna sit there and tell me you don’t want to play dolls in your head of them getting hot chocolate together? 

canon? what is canon? c’mere, kid. let’s daydream about them eloping without ever having the “what are we” conversation and ignore the suffering 

[angeart]

How dare Link correctly predict my reaction to teases, how dare (<3) YES I wanna know what prompted the upset, what well meaning thing went so wrong D: And that bit about still hoping to be loved breaks my heart for them

-🎀

the bit about still hoping to be loved broke my heart too, and that's why i needed to include it <3

so, about hermits wanting to help them. one smaller example is them taking a look at scar's tattered wings and suggesting that maybe they could help fix them. which is good!

but this comes after scar having his wings like this for about a year, and it took a long time for him to learn to accept them as they are. he's no longer ashamed of them, seeing them simply as a part of himself now. (the same way his scars have always been)

and, sure, he will still take a chance at having them healed, but it still rubs him wrong, in a way. even though it's a kind, well-meaning offer. because it proposes that he needs to be fixed.

but a whole big issue stems from something else.

we know scar and grian have changed.

grian, in particular, flinches a lot and seems scared. scar, on the other hand, often shields grian, and calls on his vex traits to intimidate the danger away, showing he's not afraid to fight. (he is afraid. he's constantly afraid.) and they're both awfully codependent, clinging to each other and isolating from everyone else.

[1,7k rambles and ~3,2k rp snippets below the cut]

one of the things they leaned into in that other world was their hybrid traits. and they show in the way they interact with each other, you know? the way they express trust and love and know what the other one needs.

well, scar is a vex.

we know there's a mating bite, but that's not everything. him and grian indulge in a lot of biting and blood related stuff. all consensual! grian is a little freak so he likes it!

it's something the two of them do, privately and intimately. it's safe, it's fun, it's theirs. them being insanely in love and ready to give all of themselves over. lose all of control on both sides, at least for a moment, in a world that hardly allows such a thing.

but here's the issue: the others don't know anything about any of it. they don't know what scar and grian have been through. they don't know anything about vex instincts or mating rituals. they don't understand anything about this new thing.

so when they see grian timid, bruised and bitten? and they know that scar seems more violent now, sharp-fanged and clawed?

let's just say they get concerned. and stage a bit of an intervention.

they just want to make sure that grian is okay! it... should be a good thing. except they've separated them and are now cornering grian, asking all these questions and voicing all these assumptions. and it's a bit awful, actually.

grian is pressed into having to explain that yeah, actually, he wanted all of that. that it's love.

but him naming the so obvious damage love just rings more alarm bells. and maybe someone asks him if it's a form of self harm, to allow that to happen to him? like, if grian seeks it out, is it self destructive? is that why he craves it?

and sort of, him and scar spiral about this in different ways.

grian struggles with untangling his way out of it, because what if they're right? what if he subconsciously sought harm? but he liked it? is it wrong to enjoy it? he knows that he had his moments when he was actively trying to bring himself damage. mostly aimed at his wings—plucking out his feathers and such. but is this just another thing like that? a substitute damage of sorts? was he just oblivious this whole time?

grian never had a previous relationship experience, so he really can't tell what is love. where does it end and Something Bad begins? he associates the bites with love, but is that bad? is he wrong? would it feel different if someone else showed him that love is something else? did he just manipulate himself into feeling like this and now he's in too deep?

at least he knows scar would never hurt him if grian says no. if grian doesn't want it. but... if grian wants it... is it self destructive? is that what it means? or maybe he was just chasing the aftermath? the soft care (that scar'd offer regardless)?

his mind is a mess and he can't figure out what his real feelings in this all are. he doesn't know how to figure it out. he gets really confused and worried and scared. (he's terrified that they're right, not necessarily for himself, but because of what that'd do to scar.) (he's scared that scar will blame himself over this. that no matter the outcome, this is inevitably going to mess something up between the two of them.)

in the meanwhile, scar feels like a monster. like maybe he was doing something wrong this whole time. was he enabling something horrible? was he genuinely hurting grian this whole time, unaware?

because he's a vex, and it makes sense to want this on his end, but grian is an avian, and... maybe scar should've questioned it more? shouldn't have been so eager to indulge? did he do something irreparably cruel without meaning to?

through this all, he reassures grian it's okay to take a break from it, or even to completely stop. it's fine! it's always been fine! but despite that, their feelings continue to spiral, caught in a maze they can't escape.

it used to be so simple. back in the vex commune. scar never had to doubt himself and the way they express their love. not when it came to this.

and now suddenly it seems so different. so vile and wrong and horrible. people are genuinely concerned and scar and grian wonder, separately, if maybe they're right to be?

... eventually they both hurtle towards a breaking point. and scar decides he needs to talk to someone about it. and grian decides he needs to be alone for a moment, becoming overwhelmed, needing some space to think.

i really want to tell you about what happens in the talk scar has with the others, but i can't. not quite yet.

anyway, this is where the breakdowns come in. (yes. multiple.)

first is scar's during the conversation he has. he gets to hear a lot of good, wise, reassuring things, but ultimately, he still needs to hear from grian. he's been trying so hard not to influence grian's conclusion to all of this, but. he needs to know grian's thoughts, once grian is ready.

grian is not ready. he's been growing so emotionally worn out from all of this, so volatile and fragile. it's all a bit Too Much.

scar messages him, checking up on him.

are you okay?

and

i'm here waiting for you whenever you come back

and

but i'll come find you if you want me to

and

i love you

... but here's the thing, right? neither scar nor grian are used to comms anymore. so grian doesn't read any of that.

they regress back to what they know.

scar howls.

grian chirps.

and only then does scar's comm ping.

come.

zero hesitation, scar unfolds his wings and jumps off the balcony, rushing towards where that chirp came from. he's being called. he's being wanted.

he'd go anywhere for grian.

he finds grian perched atop a tree. struggles to climb up, but never falters. because grian's now starting to cry, and scar needs to be there.

tucked safely into scar's gentle, loving arms, grian breaks down.

--

with a hitched sob, grian falls forwards into scar's arms, burrowing easily into the warmth and familiarity and security.

he wants to say he's sorry. he's sorry this is so hard for him. he's sorry he can't untangle this; sorry he can no longer tell which are his feelings and which are just things people have suggested he might feel. he's sorry he's making this so difficult. he's sorry he's worrying everyone.

but words evade him as scar's arms provide just enough safety for his guards to crumble lower, making him just sob instead.

--

and believe it or not, somewhere in the midst of this (hey do have a proper talk, if a bit tear-drenched) is scar's second breakdown. (grian's time to hold him!!!) that's where the rp snippet in the previous ask is from. and you'll get more of that in a second.

first i just need to tease the aftermath, because i'm a menace.

after crying and comforting their hearts out, they fly(!!!) back. there's immense relief to wind in grian's feathers, and a dangerous edge of the feeling of freedom it brings, wanting to soothe all the cracks on his soul... but the truth is, his soul is still cracked. and he's still depleted. he knows he's still hovering over something so incomprehensibly fragile. that the smallest prod will set him off and break him again.

they arrive at their nest—scar first, to warn their company not to ask questions, grian second.

it doesn't stop it from happening. grian was right: the smallest thing can set him off.

so he has another breakdown, possibly a bigger one, drawing on far deeper hurt that screams and tears at his heart. and plunges all three other people in the room into breakdowns of their own <3333

(yes that's the part we can't talk about. yet.)

aNYWAY!!! how about some rp bits.

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

SCAR

Despite Grian’s crying being entirely contagious— or perhaps Scar is just simply too empathetic and emotional himself— Scar’s had practice with consoling his sweet bird. He knows what he ought to do here. 

He tightens his hold until it’s snug and secure, then pressed a few little kisses to whatever part of Grian’s head he can reach.

And then he talks.

“I knew you’d be up in a tree somewhere.” His voice wobbles a bit, but it’s alright. “I wanted to give you some time… I missed you though. Like immediately.”

He chuckles softly, knowing their bond borders on codependent, even if it’s something they’ve worked on since they’ve gotten home. Still, it’s okay to poke fun at it, he thinks. It’s okay to admit the truth.

--

GRIAN

grian's sobs quiet down a little as scar talks, energy redirected to hook into the familiar rumble of his slightly quivery voice, sniffling as he listens to what scar has to say. 

it's sometimes hard to decipher the meaning of sentences when he gets like this, but scar doesn't seem to expect an answer; he's not asking him anything, and grian's grateful for being given time, a grace period where he can just cling and cry and calm down while scar holds him. 

he laugh-sobs at the note that it was obvious he'd be in a tree. he's given scar a lot of hard time in the past until he figured out that lesson, but now he always knows unfailingly where to search when grian's heart needs him after cowardly isolation.

he comes every time. he comes and he finds him and he holds him. 

grian sniffles, despondent, burrowing tighter in. he chirps a little to encourage scar to go on, to keep talking; the sound of it is shaky, about to fall apart to pieces, but he thinks it still counts. it's still something. a participation, not leaving scar stranded and alone in this.

--

OK LOOK WE HAVE TO SKIP AHEAD HERE BECAUSE [REDACTED] REASONS

--

GRIAN

grian hums again, fond and soft, slumped against scar with utmost trust. and then he finally says it. "'m sorry."

--

SCAR

"Hey, none of that, mister," Scar says, shaking his head into Grian's hair in more of a no than a nuzzle now. "It was a lot, it's okay. You needed a moment."

He places another kiss.

"And you knew I'd be here in a heartbeat when you were ready, right?" Scar grins sheepishly.

--

GRIAN

grian's hands trace idle patterns on scar's back as he gets comforted by words and another kiss. he closes his eyes, taking it in, before replying with a soft little "yeah."

-- 

SCAR

Scar purrs at the affection, openly so. "Doin' a little better now?"

--

GRIAN

grian nods, still right against scar, clingily pressed into him. "yeah, i... yeah."

--

SCAR

Scar doesn't budge, not interested in releasing his darling bird just yet. "...what's on your mind?" he prompts softly, hoping to get a glimpse at Grian's inner turmoil.

--

GRIAN

with eyes still closed, grian lets the pause linger just a moment, before replying with a quiet but honest, "right now? how nice this feels."

--

SCAR

Scar chuckles again, a little anxiety getting settled by that fact, though certainly not all. "Oh, well that's good, yes. I agree with that sentiment entirely."

--

GRIAN

"good," grian purrs, squeezing at scar. "'coz i don't wanna lose it."

--

SCAR

Scar's ears twitch, something awfully depressing in those few words. "Hey, no, never," he assures. "This is never going away, okay?" 

Since he seriously doubts cuddling is about to give anyone the wrong ideas.

--

GRIAN

grian has to swallow several times for his feelings to not go off the rails again. he takes a shaky breath, still squeezing at scar, as if he was afraid he might disappear. "... okay."

--

SCAR

"And neither am I!" Scar tacks on, even if it should go without saying. Even if it may be a little dramatic. But he thinks maybe Grian needs to hear that fact stated with absolute certainty. "I love you too dang much."

--

GRIAN

that gets grian to loosen his grip a little, enough to shuffle and look up. hair messy and eyes glistening and red rimmed, he looks up at scar with so much aching adoration, it feels like he might drown. 

"i think it's okay if— if we love each other in our own way," he says sheepishly. he ducks down, laying his head on scar's shoulder, feeling shy as his hands go back to tracing patterns on scar's lower back. "even if the others don't understand or agree." there's a precipice of a pause, and then the most timid little "... right?"

--

SCAR

Scar's heart stutters, and his ears flick up again with carefully optimistic anticipation at Grian's words. His eyes threaten to flood over again, but the tears feel different, more cathartic, less miserable. 

He tucks his head over Grian's again, brushing his cheek over his locks affectionately, daring to release a few hopeful tears as Grian says what he desperately hoped he might. 

"I..." he starts, still trying not to influence this decision if he can help it, but... "I think so. ...I mean it's—" He thinks of [REDACTED], and chuckles wetly, morphing them in his own Scar-silly way. "It's not really anyone else's business what we do in the bedroom, is it?"

--

GRIAN

grian's hands still against scar's back, simply holding him for a moment as he soaks up scar's nuzzles. there's wetness to them, something that makes grian's heart ache as he worries about all the possible meanings, but hopes against all hope that it's just scar getting positively emotional—a relief of sorts above all else. 

a small strained chuckle makes it past his lips, and he muffles it into a kiss that he presses into scar's shoulder. "right. exactly."

--

SCAR

Scar weakly smiles, giving Grian a squeeze. "...but seriously, I— you know it's okay if we stop, right? If you ever change your mind— and I mean your mind, nobody else's— then it's fine! But... I... yeah." Another squeeze. "I just want to be sure you know that."

--

GRIAN

there's a barely stifled sigh, but no hint of tension pools across grian's back. his hold remains still and gentle, his head idly leaning on scar's shoulder. "i know," he murmurs.

--

SCAR

"Good," Scar states, ducking lower so his forehead presses into Grian for a moment before releasing just enough so he could escape the big bear hug if he wanted. “... you know, [REDACTED]”

--

WE ARE ACTUALLY TAKING ANOTHER LEAP, ANOTHER SKIP, ANOTHER SCRIBBLED OUT SECTION. bear with us <33

--

SCAR

[REDACTED VERY REDACTED] “I mean, I had to learn all this vex stuff, too. It’s not… I mean it’s certainly not the most family-friendly sort of culture but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong, does it?”

--

GRIAN

grian blinks at that, lifting his head in attention. this really surprises him, for some reason. that [WOO REDACTED AGAIN WOW] 

"oh." he takes a moment, leaning slightly back, inviting scar's touch a little bit further. "yeah... yeah, i think he's—" he bounces the words around in his head again, then settles on: "it's a learning curve every way, isn't it? whenever there's new instincts and..." he skirts around the words mating rituals, feeling a faint warmth rise up to his cheeks. he looks away briefly, teething at his bottom lip as he thinks of all the worries he himself used to have, all the mistakes kane made, all the effort and talking and correcting it took for things to finally have it all sink in the proper way. 

he clears his throat, shyly looking back at scar, but then his gaze anchors and softens. his hand travels up from scar's chin, brushing through his hair, tucking a strand behind his ears. "it's not wrong."

--

SCAR

“It’s not?” Scar asks meekly, even though he was the one to propose so first. To have Grian confirm it is so much more important. Because even if they can agree it’s not wrong for Scar to have sought out these things, ultimately he wants it to be right for Grian as well.

Scar chews at his lip nervously, but still tilts toward the offered affection, absolutely weak to it.

--

GRIAN

"mmm." grian lets his fingers brush through scar's hair again, gentle with him at every step. "it's not wrong," he repeats softly.

--

SCAR

Scar opens his eyes, both of them glistening with potential tears, but he offers up a weak, wobbly smile, appreciating every graze of Grian’s fingers. “…is it— it’s not wrong for you either?”

--

GRIAN

grian takes in scar's expression and he leans in for a short kiss. "it's not wrong for me," he murmurs, right over scar's lips. 

and maybe he still feels confused, and maybe he still has some exploring and figuring out to do, just to really settle things in his heart, but he knows scar will be there with him every step of the way. just like he knows that [REDACTED] is right—scar is good for him. 

and he wants all of him.

--

SCAR

The tears fall alongside a pitiful little chuckle, but Scar leans right back in for another kiss, not caring at all for the wetness that streaks down his cheeks. 

They can match now. It’s fine.

“I… I’m—?” Scar falters, and he laughs again, ducking his head down in slight embarrassment. He can’t even bring himself to say it. To even imply that he was worried that he was wrong for Grian. “…okay.”

--

GRIAN

the sight of tears breaks grian's heart. still keeping one arm around scar, hoping it'd make him feel close and secure, he lowers his other hand from scar's hair to his cheek, gently collecting the wetness even as scar leans in for a kiss. (one that grian gladly gives.) 

even though scar doesn't finish his question, grian can connect the dots. he remembers the time when he himself thought he's not good for scar, and he knows how awful and heavy that self doubt was.

with utmost tenderness, he kisses scar's cheek, right in the path of wetness, while his fingers gently brush the tears on the other side. "scar." it's quiet, reverent. irredeemably loving.

he pulls away, wanting scar to look at him as he says this. his wings twitch, brushing over scar's, curling inwards towards him. pressing against scar's sides under scar's wings as grian lets go of his back in favour of cupping his face, thumbs brushing over cheeks.

"scar, you're good for me."

he strings up the words, slow and deliberate and certain.

--

SCAR

It’s Scar’s turn to break again, clearly, as his eyes water over and big, wet tears fall down his cheeks and collect over Grian’s hands. He doesn’t even have words to respond with, just wide, grateful eyes and wobbly lips that can’t decide between a cry or a smile. 

His hands also find their way over Grian’s, though one escapes to run his own thumb over Grian’s cheek in turn, still feeling the dampness there. It’s oddly comforting.

“…sometimes I worry the hermits don’t think that,” he admits, gaze flicking away as he tries to keep a strong facade. (Hard to do while he’s actively crying, but it could certainly be worse.)

--

GRIAN

"oh, scar." grian sighs, heartbroken, brows pulling into a pained frown upon hearing that admission. he can hardly bear this, knowing scar's been made to feel like this.

he leans in to press a kiss to his forehead, wings slinking further along, wrapping around scar right underneath his vex wings. he wants to cocoon them into warmth and safety, away from these treacherous feelings.

the hermits managed to somehow break both of them down, with nothing more than good intentions.

grian hates the uncertain, askew feeling that pushes bitter bile up his throat, telling him maybe they're not quite right for this place anymore. that they forgot how to belong, but nobody has caught up yet and still expects them to be their selves that they can no longer reach.

“you know [REDACTED I AM SO SORRY]” he attempts a smile, though it's hard. he tugs at scar, wanting to pull him in for a hug, tuck him underneath his own chin, all safe and protected, but he leaves it up to scar whether he wants that or needs more breathing room right now. 

"maybe they need time. i... i've been hiding away a lot and. honestly i don't think they can tell what's good for me anymore. not right now." it's hard to admit. "even if they mean well." but well-meaning that hurts both him and scar is just meddlesome. 

maybe they needed this though, in a way. it would be better if it came from a different place, subtler, gentler, but still. maybe they needed to work through exactly these feelings.

"anyone who says you're not good for me will get smacked," he threatens, remembering scar's (and kane's) offers to bite people who look at grian wrong, in a way returning the favour. "'coz they're wrong and they have no business spewing nonsense."

--

SCAR

Scar gladly takes up the offer to be smothered in affection, and he boldly chooses to corporealize his wings fully and gently tug them around the base of Grian's, knowing well that wing-on-wing contact is almost always acceptable. And right now that sort of thing brings immense comfort to him, too. It's something they both share, after all. A pair of wings and a pair of patched up hearts.

"I know they mean well..." Scar whines into Grian's chest this time, and though there's no cozy shawl to bury himself in, it's just as comforting. "but they don't know everything, and... and I know that's mostly on us, but god it's just... it's so much sometimes, Grian." 

It's not exactly pleasant to recall those memories. To try to explain just how horrific it was to their old friends. To look them in the eyes and admit that they're different now because they had to be. (And how they still hope to be loved despite it all.)

--

GRIAN

grian wraps scar up in his arms, holding him close. one hand in scar's hair, the other sliding down between his shoulderblades, rubbing at that point between his wings, unaware he's copying exactly what [REDACTED] did earlier.

the pressure of scar's wings over his own helps him settle a little, gives him comfort and courage through this glass-shards of a conversation.

"they don't know everything," he echoes quietly, kissing the top of scar's head before he leans his cheek on it, cradling him. "i just wish..." he closes his eyes and tugs at scar, holds him a little bit tighter. he doesn't really know how to finish that sentence; all the words feel like they're crashing and splintering over sharp cliffs.

all that's left in the rubble is a weary sense of defeat. "it is so much," he agrees. "it's so tiring to... they expect us to be..." he doesn't finish any of his sentences, but he wonders if scar understands anyway.

--

SCAR

Scar understands perfectly. He nods softly as he listens, lulled in by those soft touches, tears drying as he lets Grian’s presence fully engulf him.

“…they expect us to be the same,” Scar finishes for him, certain that Grian’s had the same trouble he has, though perhaps to a different degree. “And… maybe we won’t ever be. But… I don’t think all the ways we changed are bad. Like— sure, we’re still messed up and jumpy and… and I mean, frankly traumatized, but…” There’s an effort to poke his head up, but Scar finds himself too reluctant to leave the comfort of Grian’s arms just yet. “We’re also in love. And… we have a new appreciation for life. And each other.” A half-sniffle, half-chuckle gets stuffed into Grian’s chest. “…is that too sappy?”

--

GRIAN

grian chuckles mirthlessly at the list of things they suck at, their reactions and trauma stitched close to them like their shadow, endless and monstrous, looming behind their every step. but scar is right: they have changed in so many messed up ways, and they might never be the same, but... it's not all bad. 

"we're in love," grian echoes, a notch lighter, just a little bit amused that the list of dark things ends with a complete shift, plunging them into sappiness. it's such a scar-like thing to do; he's aware of just how bad things have gotten, but that doesn't mean he won't fight to dredge up every little optimistic and hopeful thing out of it anyway.

grian loves it. it's gotten him through many dark times, this quality that scar has. his tenacious way of thinking and latching onto bright things, even if it's a barely flickering flame amidst complete, terrifying darkness.

he kisses his head again and then nuzzles against his hair, humming. "it's scar level sappy," he replies, mulling it, before landing on: "which means it's perfect." 

the only time scar's level of sappy is too much is when he's flustering grian, but he's not going to point that out, in case scar takes it as a challenge to compare the two right here and right now. (he'd be capable. grian knows.) 

he rubs at scar's back again, humming a soft melody, wanting to calm him further. but there's one thing even he can unearth from the ashes, something written into all their stitches and scars.

"we survived." 

nothing can beat that. no matter how they've changed, or what they can now see in a different light.

they made it.

"and we're good for each other."

--

SCAR

Scar giggles at the term. Scar-level sappy, indeed. His own brand of optimism, wrapped in layers of insecurity but boundless levels of adoration. 

And it got him this far, didn’t it?

“We survived,” Scar repeats, because that’s so damn important. They survived. And they did it because they were together.

Because they’re good together.

“…the power of love,” Scar adds, soft and sentimental and maybe just a bit goofy, hoping to turn the tides from tears to mirthful laughter.

--

GRIAN

once again he gets grian to giggle in a fragile moment—a talent scar has and grian values. in retaliation, he shifts his hands, brings them much closer, until he can tease at scar's ears. 

"we survived, so now i can do this!" his cheeks are still wet, and he feels depleted from all the heavy emotions, but he still manages a grin as he tries to make scar squirm.

--

SCAR

Scar barks out a fit of genuine laughter, somewhat startled by the shift, but he can’t complain when his lips are suddenly tipped into a bright smile and his ears are flicking wildly at the affectionate abuse. 

“Hey!! No fair! I’ve been so gentle!!” he cackles, already shedding that mercy and tickling at Grian’s ribs.

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

aaand i'm going to end on this note (because you know it devolves again. we're good at making things fall apart repeatedly <3 a great angst loop if you ask me.)

but, i'm going to leave you with a little bonus. which is what me and link talked about today. on this same topic, really.

which is how scar changed. hermits know him as the guy who dies a lot, right? also easily distracted, carefree, easily dissipating into giggles, easily brushing things off. all of that.

he could get startled by a fly. he'd yelp and stumble and fall over when he got scared.

but that other world forced other things on him. it forced him to be brave, or at least, to seem like it. forced him to fight to keep himself and grian safe. fight for them both to survive.

now when he gets scared? there are wings and claws and fangs.

he couldn't show weakness in that world, you know?

and it sticks. it sinks its talons into him and holds.

the only person he shows weakness around is grian. and... maybe if he'd been willing to show it more around the other hermits, they'd see that he's still scar.

that he's still scar and he's hurting and afraid.

(yes blame link for this heartbreak brb sobbing with u)

also. a potential conversation:

someone saying to grian (while scar is also possibly there): "scar came back... wrong."

grian angrily counters with "no, scar came back different but not wrong."

and then

quieter

"... i came back wrong."

because, think about it. scar changed, but it can be argued that some of it is better and he's just being misunderstood. but grian? grian can't imagine any good coming from how he's now.

he didn't grow braver or kinder or stronger or any of those things. he just caused [REDACTED]. he's a scared, hurting mess. there's nothing good about him now.

as link said in our discord dms: scar needs to scoop grian up and remind him that he's here for the whole ride. he'll be here while grian learns to heal.

because he will heal.

[mushiewrites]

Got Your Back

Hiya! So I’ve had this fic since last September, I wrote it for @emmadoodlewrites when we both went insane for tickle machines and made up a few in a flustered frenzy. I recently rediscovered this fic and shared it with @wishitweresummer, who encouraged me over and over to upload it. So, I reworked it, somehow added 1K words, and here we are. Thank you @awkwardtickleetoo + summer for reading this through for me and for hyping it up and making me want to post it! (and thank u cal for the title ur a genius). I love how it turned out, and I hope you do too!

After George confessed his love for tickling to Dream, he decides to make him something special in support. Dream gets curious, and before he knows it, he’s stuck

(lee!Dream / tickle machine : 3.6K words)

Dream had always been curious. Everyone who knew him was aware of this fact, mostly due to the blonde getting himself into trouble because of it. Whether he was exploring new places without a map or tinkering with things he shouldn’t, he was used to things backfiring. But he didn’t really mind. He much preferred taking the risk in favor of trouble in order to learn everything he could about anything and everything he was interested in - including people.

Another thing Dream was known for was his generosity. Gift giving was absolutely one of his main love languages, and he constantly used it to show his friends and loved ones just how much he cared for them. Dream was thoughtful, always collecting things that reminded him of specific people and being so excited to give it to them, relishing in the way their faces would light up at the unexpected gift.

Recently, George had revealed some very personal information about himself with Dream. A few weeks ago, while sitting underneath an oak tree in the rain, George had told Dream his thoughts and feelings on tickling - about how much he loved it, and how much he adored the feeling of it. He told Dream how warm and safe the action made him feel, sputtering and whining through it all. It took some much needed coaxing and reassurance from the blonde, but in the end, George got it all out. Dream was there to support him through the whole thing, wrapping him into the biggest hug he could while showering him in praise.

Immediately after George had left that day, the cogs in Dream’s brain began to turn. He was set on creating things to show George that he didn’t have to be embarrassed about his secret adoration for tickling, wanting to make him something special and just for him. Dream spent many nights hunched over his crafting table drawing up blueprints, feeling like a madman whenever he came up with a new contraption to torture George with. After coming up with a few solid ideas, the building began.

It started with a small tickle machine.

It was around the same size and shape of a normal backpack, and designed to sit against the back the same way. There were eight retractable arms that sat over the shoulders, ribs and sides, much like how a koala would cling onto a person. The arms were designed to be able to perform the meanest of tickles that George could handle (or not, but that wasn’t Dream’s problem). The ends of the metal rods were covered in small rubber nubs, molded to glide expertly between ribs, to skitter up and down squishy sides, to poke and prod against sensitive stomachs - the possibilities were endless on someone as ticklish as George.

The machine was still in the prototype stages, but it was ready to be tested to make any final adjustments. He planned on waiting until the next time he was with George to test it, wanting to see how the machine worked on the smaller boy and hoping to find ways to make improvements. But the longer the device sat idly, waiting for its first victim, the more Dream’s curiosity grew.

So he decided to test it himself.

After a lot of pacing and contemplating, he walked over to the chest in the corner of the room where he kept the machine, opening the lid and chuckling nervously when he saw it. It looked like some kind of giant upside down bug, with the legs curled in on themselves while in the ‘off’ position. Dream lifted it from the chest, holding it in his hands and inspecting it while the butterflies in his stomach erupted into a whole new wave of panic. It took a bit of self convincing but he finally decided that yes, he was absolutely going to test this now. What George didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Dream let out a nervous giggle as he pressed the little green power button on the middle of the machine, reaching around and holding it against his back the best he could to try and secure it. He struggled with the positioning, taking a few steps back until he felt his heels hit the wall. Dreamed leaned against it, using the wall to help hold the machine in the correct spot and allowing the arms to finally extend out and over his body, clinging on and tightening to hold itself in place. The blonde watched in amusement as the arms reached over his shoulders and hugged around different parts of his ribs and sides, settling down after a few minutes and becoming still against him. He smirked to himself, happy with the way the machine was working so far.

Dream jumped forward with a yelp as the arms began to move, pulling him from his thoughts and bringing his attention to the new sensation that was spreading across his torso. It was only the first stage of the tickling, Dream having set different settings and stages for different tickling speeds and techniques. But even at the lowest stage, it had Dream doubled over, squirming against the wall as the ends of the metal arms pressed lightly against his ribs. The drew small, slow circles into the bones, pulling strained laughs out of Dream even as he tried his hardest to hold them in. He didn’t expect it to be this bad, but it was, and all he could think about was how much this would get to George. Through his panicked giggles he cheered at his success in making a functioning tickle machine.

The arms slowed to a halt, giving Dream time to catch his breath. He stood back up on his feet, turning around to face the wall and leaning his forehead against it with a groan. He closed his eyes as he continued to take in deep breaths, smiling at the thought of George screaming and squealing having to endure this himself. Suddenly the arms sprung back to life, digging in with a little more pressure at a quicker speed. Dream was thrown into loud cackles almost immediately, pushing off the wall and throwing his head back, his arms pressed as tightly as he could to his sides in an attempt to block out the tickly feeling.

“Ohoho my Gohohod, fuck! Thihis is bahahad!” Dream knew no one was around but couldn’t help but narrate the feeling. It was just so much more ticklish than he ever thought it would be, and it was only the second stage. He clenched his fists tightly, his eyes still squeezed shut as he let out a wheeze through his laugh, hiccups and high pitched squeals following closely behind.

The arms that rested over his shoulders were prodding into his top ribs, just below his armpits. They dug in slightly, vibrating over the bones every few seconds and making Dream feel weak in the knees. The other three sets of arms were poking into his ribs and sides, moving slightly every time they lifted up and touching down, always tickling a new patch of skin to keep him squirming. He leaned forward as he cackled, trying his best to stay standing as he laughed himself silly. He couldn’t remember the last time he was tickled this much - in his defense, he couldn’t really remember anything anyway with how fiercely the machine was tickling. Through it all, though, he did have one consistent thought; it tickled, and it tickled bad.

Dream gasped for air the minute the machine came to another pause, his giggles remaining as the metal arms stayed pressed against the bones of his ribs. He couldn’t shake the ghost tickles that had his stomach doing somersaults, even when he used his hands to rub the areas around where the arms were resting. The blonde found himself giggling helplessly, deciding he’d done enough testing for one day and reaching back in an attempt to power off the machine. George could try out the more intense settings the next time he stopped by.

But as Dream felt around blindly for the power button, he realized he couldn’t reach it from this position. He opened his eyes in a panic, quickly looking around on the table beside him for anything he could use to help reach it.

“Shit. Uhm….” Dream was mumbling under his breath as he searched through different tools, eventually giving up and turning around to gently press against the wall behind him to try and successfully hit the power button. But it was no use, and the familiar sound of the machine whirring to life echoed through the room once more.

Suddenly the arms were digging into his ribs and sides, only this time, the bottom set of arms made their way over to his very sensitive tummy. He let out a shriek as they vibrated into the pudge of his lower tummy, between his belly button and the waistband of his pants.

“No no nahahahaha! Fuhuhuck, plehehease! PLEHEHEASE!” Dream wailed, feeling the second lowest set of arms moving over either side of his belly button and pressing in, vibrating again, but at a much faster pace than before. He doubled over once again, his back arching off the wall before leaning over with his elbows to his knees, cackling towards the floor with his eyes squeezed shut.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the top two sets of arms began seeking out even more sensitive spots on his very ticklish torso. The lower of the top two sets found their way to the back of Dream’s ribs, a spot he had programmed purposely to fuck with George. He cried out at the feeling, never having been tickled there before and realizing how absolutely torturous it was. The top set framed themselves perfectly to wiggle their way under Dream’s arms, sending him flying back against the wall with his arms crossed over his stomach tightly.

“Nohoho, oh fuhuhuck, stohohop!” His knees began to wobble and he allowed himself to slowly slide down the wall, only stopping when he hit the ground with a thump. Dream pulled his knees up as much as he could, attempting to try and protect himself from the tickling but finding that it only further pressed the arms into his skin. He quickly straightened his legs out against the ground, kicking as he grabbed fistfuls of his pants, needing to hold onto something.

As the tickling continued, Dream fell to the ground on his side, turning onto his back and rolling back and forth a few times to try and hit the button against the floor. The third set of arms moved a little closer on either side to his belly button and he squealed, thrashing and squirming and kicking out as much as he could. No matter how much he pressed the machine into the ground, no matter what angle, it was no use - Dream was well and truly stuck.

The tickling finally stopped, but Dream couldn’t stop laughing. He was overwhelmed with the vibrations from the ghost tickles, still feeling the tingly circles and pokes over his torso as if they were still happening - even in the spots left untouched. He heard a noise from across the room and opened his eyes quickly, almost choking on his own breath as he saw George standing in the doorway, whose cheeks were bright red with his jaw dropped to the floor.

“G-George! I cahahan-”

“Dream?” George interrupted, his blushy cheeks somehow also appearing to be drained of all color as his eyes focused on the machine still wrapped around the blonde. “..What is that?”

The younger boy opened his mouth to try and explain, to try and make any excuse he could, but was cut off with a loud cackle when the machine clicked back on, the arms back in motion and making him scream.

“Noho not again! Nohoho plehehease! NOHOHO!” Dream let out a squeal that bounced off the walls of the room, startling George with the force of it. The older boy ran over and kneeled next to the blonde, trying to figure out what it was and what exactly was happening.

He watched with wide eyes as the metal arms poked and swirled and vibrated against Dream’s torso, focusing on his ribs and under his arms. The blonde let out a scream when the machine began to pick up speed and the bottom arms moved, making him arch up against the ground before falling back down against it, writhing and kicking as he did. Dream’s hands were wrapped around the bottom set of arms, pulling as much as he could to try and dislodge them, but finding it useless. George’s eyes trailed down to where they disappeared under the blonde’s shirt, moving a hand to grab the bottom of the fabric to slowly pull it up. George felt his face burning up as he saw the two bottom arms tickling at Dream’s belly button - one circling around the edge as the other pulled at it, occasionally dipping in and making Dream cry out in ticklish agony.

Dream swore he saw stars from how hard his eyes were squeezed shut. He knew he was screaming through his laughter, yet everything sounded muffled. His senses were on fire. The arms of the machine were sinking into every sensitive spot with precision, and with the two taunting the small indent in the center of his tummy, he thought he might seriously pass out at any second. His face was hot, and he could hear George talking to him and saying his name, but he couldn’t focus on anything else besides how horribly everything tickled. He attempted to open his eyes, but he was laughing so hard that his cheeks were keeping them squinted, blurring his vision and making it essentially impossible to see. Dream had no choice but surrender to the tickles, throwing his head back and letting himself laugh as much as he needed to.

He felt a hand grab his shoulder and pull him onto his side, and suddenly he could breathe again, taking in gulps of air and gasping through his cackles. George had managed to find the power button, finally freeing Dream from the ticklish hell he had been enduring. The brunette was carding his hand through the blonde waves, adjusting the two so that Dream’s head was resting against his thighs.

“Thank you, ohoho my God…” Dream managed through his left over giggles, turning to lay flat on his back as he draped a hand over his chest, letting out a deep sigh when he felt how fast his heart was beating. His eyes were still shut but he could hear the brunette laugh from above him, feeling his hand being moved from his chest and being replaced with one much smaller than his own. Dream moved his hand back, laying it over George’s and holding it for comfort.

“What even was that thing?” George asked hesitantly. Dream could sense the nervousness in the elder’s voice, opening his eyes slowly to adjust to the light and allowing them to focus on the brunette. George’s face was closer than he expected, making him giggle when George realized and pulled back quickly, clearing his throat and looking away from the blonde. Dream watched with a wide smile as George’s face grew an even deeper shade of red, clearly flustered at the situation he had walked in on.

“Well,” Dream spoke through his teeth, grunting as he moved to sit up slowly and cracking his back before turning around to face George. “You were nice enough to trust me with the whole tickling thing, so I wanted to do something special for you!”

Dream laughed as George physically cringed at the mention of the dreaded word, turning his attention from the blonde once again and looking down at his lap, picking at a loose thread in his pants to distract himself as he continued.

“O-Okay, and what? You decided you wanted to torture yourself to relate, or….?” He let out a squeaky giggle when Dream scoffed at the accusation, squirming to the side when a poke landed on his ribs.

“No, idiot. I actually made it…for you. For fun for us, but I was also thinking about it for the times where I can’t be there to help, you know?” Dream spoke gently, suddenly feeling shy about the whole thing and reaching behind him to pick up the small machine to hand to George. He watched as George’s face continued to turn a bright red, biting his lip to hold back the giggle that was threatening to escape to try and remain calm, knowing how embarrassing the subject was for the brunette.

“Dreeeeam,” George whined, holding the machine in one hand and bringing his free hand up to cover his face. “That’s…that’s just…”

He was struggling to find the words, torn between wanting to scream out in embarrassment, and wanting to cry because of how lucky he was to have someone like Dream supporting him. The younger boy giggled at the response, leaning forward and pulling the smaller boy into a hug. He smiled when he felt George lean into him, letting out a shaky breath as Dream used a hand to rub up and down his back soothingly.

“You’re welcome, Gogy.” Dream smirked, feeling George hide his face into the crook of his neck, whining about how much of an idiot he was. He let George pull away after a minute, using the floor to push himself up onto his feet and leaning down to offer George a hand. The brunette accepted it, grabbing the bigger hand and laughing when Dream yanked him to his feet as if he weighed nothing.

“I have a feeling this thing is gonna absolutely destroy you, Georgie.” Dream teased, poking at the machine and giggling when George turned his hips to prevent him from touching it. He noticed the elder’s blush had spread to the tips of his ears, the light pink color slowly turning a lighter shade of red the more flustered he became. George rolled his eyes at the blonde, hugging the machine to his chest as he spoke.

“Well, it sure did destroy you, didn’t it, Dreamie?” Dream made a move to walk towards the door, George suddenly stepping in his path and making the two almost collide together. He felt his own stomach flip at the question, taking a small step back and bringing a hand up to run through his hair as a way to cope with the nervousness he suddenly felt.

“I don’t know about that, but-” he tried to excuse the accusation away, but George was having none of it. He got a sudden wave of confidence, and mixed with his normal cockiness, Dream was doomed.

“No no no, you’re not gonna act like that didn’t just wreck you to pieces, Dream.” The blonde felt himself swallow hard as George took a step forward back into his space. “Which is kind of questionable, actually, because why would someone subject themselves to such torture if they didn’t like it? Care to explain?”

“N-No! No, I-”

“You liked it, didn’t you?” George held up a hand, slapping it over Dream’s mouth when he opened it to protest. “You wouldn’t have tried it if you didn’t think you’d like it at least a little bit.”

George removed his hand to let Dream answer, bursting into bright giggles when the blonde pressed his lips together tightly, his cheeks burning up and turning a dusty pink.

“I don’t!” George laughed at the way Dream was immediately defensive, not having any real excuse to offer other than a denial.

“Don’t worry, Dream. Your secret’s safe with me.” The older boy poked a finger into Dream’s tummy, making him jump back with a squeal. When he looked up again, George was walking towards the door, laughing as he went. Dream groaned, looking down at his shirt and bringing a hand up to his stomach, rubbing out the lingering tingles that George had left behind. He heard the door opening, looking up and being met with a very menacing smirk.

“Just to let you know, I absolutely will be using this against you. Watch your back, Dream. Your very, very ticklish back.” Dream felt a shiver run down his spine as he watched George flash him one last smile before turning to step through the threshold of the door with a wave, closing it lightly behind him.

Dream walked over to the crafting table, leaning back against it and letting out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. He sat down on the stool next to him, letting his head fall into his hands with a flustered whine, giggling to himself at how ridiculous the whole thing was.

When the flustered feeling finally passed, Dream was back on his feet, scribbling over blueprints of other ideas he had, making little improvements and upgrades as he worked. Dream decided he needed to up his game. If George thought that machine was mean, he decided to show him just how bad it could get. Dream was about to create George’s worst nightmare. Dream was determined to make George cry.

And he had just the idea on how to do it.

[yuukimiyas]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ sweet disposition

₊˚ෆ 1.0k words / sfw! / est. relationship / written w fem!reader in mind but can v much be read as gn!reader / proofread by my bff & word genius @/grimmjaws / super duper fluffy fluff for the dreamiest boy ever ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

ᕱ ⑅ ᕱ a/n: this is so V self indulgent & self ship coded!! / based off one of my fave scenes from one of my fave comfort movies <33 / tyasm for bein so patient w me as i mustered up the courage to post this ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა your support means the absolute world to me! / now, w/out further ado! chloe's writing debut!

yukimiya kenyū adored you. whether it was the sound of your laugh, the way you took your coffee, or the way you looked while going on & on about your favorite author, he adored everything, no matter how big or small.

but notably, his most endeared moments were the dates the two of you shared together downtown. getting up just as the sun rose in the morning to make it to your favorite coffee shop, or walking a few blocks to the record store you now call ‘yours’, or spending some time together at the park, or maybe side-by-side, taking turns reading passages from whichever covers you’d picked up that day, while the sun’s rays elevated your eye-color to something otherworldly – those times were yukimiya’s favorites. 

every date with you was no exception.

or, so he thought.

the day had started off a lot like those others. another all-day-date-turned-adventure where you’d both gotten coffee and flipped through an abundance of jazz vinyl (most of which you owned, but continued the tradition nonetheless), then left to roam the streets of a city you were so passionate about. when your footsteps came to a halt, yukimiya stuttered to a stop just in front of you, your sudden lack of movement making him turn and raise his brow.

“everything alright, darling?” his voice was smooth and sweet, every syllable coated in pure honey. the question dripped down your spine and your cheeks took on a much rosier hue as you faced him head on.

“come with me.” wearing a sickeningly sweet grin, you took the lead. you dragged yukimiya behind you for a few paces, unable to contain your excitement, until he caught up to you, footsteps in tandem. the familiar sidewalks crunched beneath your feet, then turned into blades of grass as you traveled through the park, passing by your usual spot. you lead him up a fairly steep hill, hand-in-hand, before eventually coming to a beautiful, well-loved ironwork bench. 

while the body of the arrangement used to be freshly painted, it was now a weathered black, flaking heavily near the metal arms, displaying how endeared the spot was to more than just yourself.

“alright, here we are - my favorite place in the whole city.” you turned, arms outstretched & smiled so wide that yukimiya was positive there was no sight greater in the universe, one that could rival how you looked in front of him just then. he couldn’t tell if it was the way your hair was blowing in the light, autumnal breeze, or the way your small giggles & excitable expression made his chest warm, but he was filled with the obvious & irrefutable love he had for you. it didn’t matter the reason, you were ethereal in every small moment you shared together. 

yukimiya thought he couldn’t possibly love anything more; more than soccer, more than modeling, more than every star in the vast sky – it was always you who proved him wrong.

you sat down, patting the empty space beside you, its cool surface an invitation. yukimiya could do nothing but oblige.

“so this is your favorite place in the entire city?” the tall, dark-haired man questioned. a soft smile was apparent on his picturesque features, and when you felt yourself staring for a little too long, you attempted to hide the blush covering your cheeks by looking forward.

“mhm. i randomly came across it one day a few years ago & have found myself drawn to it ever since. you see that roof over there? on the left? that’s the museum of natural history, one of the largest since its founding in 1869…” you continued. yukimiya watched you with rapt attention as you pointed to numerous structures and parking garages, explaining each bit of history that highlighted all of the parts that make you, well… you. 

fascinated was an understatement for the striker, and he did his best to give coherent responses besides a quick ‘yeah’ & various head nods, but he just couldn’t shake it. the pounding in his chest began to drown out the outside noises of passing individuals going on jogs, talking on the phone, and walking their dogs until all he could hear was you.

“i feel like they could have done more with the layout of some of the larger structures, but hey, i’m no architect,” you joked. blushing, you raked your fingers through your hair and gave a somewhat shy chuckle at your own statement. “i’m…sorry if i bored you at all! i know hearing all of this is probably less than riveting.” 

“no!” he rushed out, words overlapping the end of your statement by just a moment. “please don’t apologize. tell me more.” 

just like that, your eyes lit up & another gorgeous smile adorned your delicate features before you spoke again, cautiously optimistic, “really? because i totally get it if it’s too–”

“really. please, go on.” yukimiya’s words were gentle, tone liquid and smooth as his arm snaked around your middle. he pulled you close, letting you rest your head comfortably on his chest as you began to talk again. he could listen to your saccharine voice forever & he was absolutely positive no bit of information, too dull or too bold, could deter him from thinking so.

after you exhausted all of your favorite factoids about the city & its many tall stone and brick inhabitants, the two of you fell into a comfortable, almost soothing silence. the moment stretched on for a while before you let out a whisper - one that simply could have dissipated into the wind if not for your close proximity to each other.

“i was wrong.”

“hm?” yukimiya answered with a hum, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

“about this being my favorite place in the city,” you nuzzled into his frame as if it were humanly possible to be any closer than you currently were, “it’s my second favorite.”

“oh? why the sudden change of heart?” he inquired, his gaze never breaking away from the concrete horizon before him. he noticed it a moment later, how the city felt a little different now - more personal. it was as if every notion & bit of information you shared with him had opened up his eyes to a whole new perspective. admittedly, he was grateful for it; he cherished knowing the city better - you better. 

yukimiya knew in that moment, there, with you, that nothing else could possibly elevate the airy feeling of cloud-nine that he was already on.

and then you spoke.

“because my first favorite place in the city is anywhere i’m with you.”

fin.

๋࣭ ⭑ seehaven © '23 / please do not copy/repost/translate anywhere! / all dividers by @/benkeibear <;33

[bloogers-boogers]

I see your AU comic on my feed all the time but I’m lost. Can you link the beginning of it? I really want to read it.

Just to explain the creation of this comic it was all just a random idea and inspo of that meme where blitzo saw Mrs. Mayberry at Martha’s place while coming out of the shower xD

[cup1dxzs]

Darling Little puppet

Wally X Reader

Chapter 2- Noodle soup

It had been late afternoon, the children’s puppet show that had you enthralled with was long gone by now, much to your displeasure. It wasn’t often when you’d find yourself anticipating for the next release of an episode since you’d prefer not to indulge yourself with silly little things such as that, but alas you had fallen victim to such.

For now you’d stick with making yourself a small dinner as your appetite wasn’t demanding for too much food and you didn’t want to end up with a stomach ache. After some thinking on your part you had chosen to make yourself some chick noodle soup, that way when you had leftovers you could have some soup for breakfast tomorrow morning. As you made the concoction you’d call soup your mind slowly wandered back to that children’s show to which you had learned was called ‘Welcome Home’, albeit strange in your opinion because who were they welcoming home? But it could be that they’re welcoming the viewer, in this case was you, home.

Also something else interesting to remember was that you’d learn the darling little puppets name, Wally, thanks to another friend of Wally, she had bright blonde hair with pink felted ‘skin’ and to accompany her was a bright red dress that faded into yellow towards the bottom, including green leggings that you supposed only she could pull off followed by some white dressing shoes, she also had what seemed to be horns on a headband? You weren’t sure what the inspiration was from but it was still such an endearing puppet to look at, her name was Julie, it fit her happy go lucky personality. You had to give credits for the designer of all these puppets since they were just so well made especially for a children’s show.

As much as you wanted to focus on the cutesy parts of the show you couldn’t help yourself but to think about how strange Wally was, as much as he was such a cute little doll- erm- puppet you felt something was definitely wrong when you would spot him just staring right into the camera as his other neighbors would talk amongst each other, his eyes would be two black voids they’d be so blown out that you wouldn’t even be able to see the whites of the eye from where you rested on the couch. Seeing him not break eye contact even to blink sent shivers down your spine, but maybe you were just overthinking it? I mean the thought that some kiddy show had something cryptic hidden inside was laughable in itself, even if it did you were pretty sure that the channel that broadcasted would take it off the air faster then you could snap-

“Shit! That hurts!” You cried out as you saw blood slowly start to trickle down your finger, you’d stupidly cut your finger chopping the carrots, clearly your attention was somewhere other then focusing on cooking the food. Turning off the stove you’d be quickly on your way to look for a bandage, cupping your finger as some blood dripped slipped through and dripping down onto the floor, it made you feel queasy to see all that blood.

Finally gone from the living space and somewhere else roaming the small house a faint click was heard by none, the Tv was on and nothing but static could be seen, or so one could have thought, a faint outline of two inky black voids that could be considered eye stared out into the room, analyzing it.

———————————————————————————

I wasn’t expecting the last post I made to be seen by others :,D but I’m so thankful that you guys read it!! Also lemme know if theirs anything I can fix or just anything you wanna let me know!!!

-ChillyKitty

[kindahoping4forever]

He...

[kalofi]

zl fic idea

hii everyone i wrote something yesterday about an au idea i had for zolu and. i thought i'd share it here since its a bit too messy and disjointed in places to post on like. ao3 or something.

4.7k words, warning for temporary major character death but do not worry all will be fixed in due time. i'll put the rest under the cut

ok i have an idea for an au thats like kind of reincarnation but like reality displacement but like. okay just listen.

so we start at laughtale. its a couple years into the future from where we are in canon the strawhats are achieving their dreams luffy is about to find the one piece theres a big battle happening between them and the blackbeard pirates and whoever the fuck else is there idc. the rest of the strawhats are fighting the bb crew while luffy and zoro head off to find the one piece and also end up fighting black beard himself. luffy and zoro atp r like basically a thing but they never talk about it cuz theyre luffy and zoro and they kind of just exist with each other but like. theyre basically in love and everyone knows it. anyway they go off together luffy has the one piece almost in his grasp blackbeard attacks they fight its a big battle blood is shed bones are broken uumm in my mind luffy and zoro are like teaming up against bb bc his devil fruit is lowk broken and op and like ok theres gear5 too but i didnt rly consider that so lets just assume bb’s devil fruit can negate gear5 somehow or luffy exhausts it before bb is fully defeated. 

finally theyre able to knock bb down and hes out and theyre both tired and worn but they DID IT and the one piece is luffys and theyre facing each other grinning ear to ear and zoros saying “you ready, king of the pirates?” and luffy laughs and goes “not just yet zoro, i still gotta-“ and then theres a spear piercing right through his chest. and in the next moment its gone. 

theres a gaping hole through his captain and theres blood, theres so much blood and luffy’s still smiling like he hasnt realized it yet, like it hasnt even registered. zoros ears are ringing and he doesnt know what to make of whats hes seeing because its just not real, it CANT be. 

he looks over luffy’s shoulder and blackbeard is on the ground with his hand outstretched , black energy coiling back into his form and he’s laughing and laughing with bloodstained teeth. hes fucking laughing. one moment zoro is still standing parallel to luffy and the next hes in front of blackbeard and the mans head is rolling through the dirt and gravel, wado dripping crimson, a terrible gap toothed grin still stretching the man’s cheeks. 

zoro is breathing heavy, hes trembling and hes almost mesmerized by the blood pooling around a lacerated neck— then he’s remembering luffy and turning around and calling his name and he can see right through him theres a HOLE right through him and he chokes and stumbles and rushes to his side right as luffy starts to crumple to the floor . catches him and lowers him gently and doesnt know what to say. 

hes still shaking but cant move his mouth and everything is muffled, the sounds from the battle outside are distant and they dont matter but what does he do. what does he do. 

he snaps out of it when luffy gently calls his name. a strong “zoro,” like hes not fazed at all. like there isnt blood soaking into zoros clothes. 

his brain kickstarts and he’s speaking. saying things like “youre ok you’ll be ok” and “choppers right outside i’ll just call him and he’ll fix you right up” and “you always bounce back, right captain?” and hes thinking “dont die please dont fucking die. not now, not when we’re this close please dont fucking die” and hes silently praying to all the gods he doesnt believe in but luffy calls his name again and his mouth clicks shut. luffys saying it’ll be fine, that he had fun. that hes proud to have made it this far with all of them. and those sound a lot like parting words so zoro’s shaking his head no but luffy is still smiling. hes saying that hes glad he had zoro, that he made him happy. hes saying to tell everyone he’s glad they met, that hes glad they all had each other, that he knows theyll be just fine . 

zoro wants to say that luffy should tell that to them himself, when hes wrapped up and recovering and alive but his mouth is glued shut again and he feels that interrupting luffy now would be cursing him to death, like his words are the only thing keeping him tethered here, he just needs to get him to keep talking to stay awake. 

he tries to smile but it comes out ugly and wrong and he feels his lip wobble so he drops it. he settles on rubbing his thumb on luffys shoulder. something to keep him here. 

so he rubs and luffy talks little things until he cant anymore. until his eyes grow dull and his skin loses its warmth and still zoro rubs and he rubs.

—

thats how law finds them. zoro hunched over a body that should never be as still as it is. and its really no surprise hes there, hes been gunning for the one piece since the time he could captain a ship (or a submarine) but it all feels so wrong. 

zoro either doesnt notice him or doesnt care, but either way the man doesnt acknowledge law until he’s right behind him. its not like law can say anything to announce himself either, not after seeing the state of the body that zoros currently holding. the body that used to be luffy’s. hes still processing it all when the other man(the one whos alive) finally speaks. 

zoro asks if hes got a devil fruit. less of a question and more of a statement, but he should know anyway since theyve spent considerable time together and hes literally seen him use it. law cant unstick his jaw so he hums in affirmation. “and you can switch stuffs’ places?” another hum. “what about time.” 

that makes law pause. “what?” his voice comes out stronger than he feels. 

“what about time? can you switch things in time?” by this point law has awakened his devil fruit or some shit dont sweat the logistics but hes never tried anything of that sort so he kind of stumbles “im not- maybe? ive never attempted-“ zoro interrupts “send me back” 

“what?” 

“send me back so i can fix this. you can do that, right.” it clicks. law would pity zoro if he didnt know any better, instead he just feels mounting despair and resignation. 

he may not be crew, but he knew luffy too, he was allied with the man for fucks sake, and this just feels- wrong. he sighs, a tired, heavy thing. 

“what about your crew?” its useless. zoros as stubborn as his captain, with arguably a handful more screws loose. “it wont matter. they’ll never know because i’ll make sure this doesnt happen.” he still hasnt turned around. law doesnt know what expression hes making and hes sure he never wants to find out. 

hes ready to deny it, cut his losses and head for the one piece himself (hes not heartless, but if he stands here any longer and has to look at. well. he think he might never be able to move again) but then he really thinks about it. could he? would it even be possible? surely this isnt the way things were supposed to go, surely this isnt right. luffys never been one who was supposed to die just like that, like this, law knows that much. he thinks hes going to regret this, but he counts it as one last thank you for everything luffy did for him. 

youre gonna owe me big time strawhat-ya. if i even remember this, that is. 

he puffs a breath “i can try. i cant- promise anything but. i think we both know this,” he makes a vague, weak gesture, “isnt right.” 

zoro doesnt say anything, law didnt expect him to. he just bows his head slightly and law takes that as the acknowledgment it is. 

he brings his hand up, “dont do anything stupid, zoro-ya. or, at least, make it stupid enough to bring him back.” 

he positions his fingers in way so familiar, but the weight of it now is nearly unbearable.

room.

shambles

—

zoro’s world shatters, differently than before, and then theres nothing.

—

he wakes up in bed, bleary eyed and a pounding headache assaulting his senses. his alarm clock is going off which only adds to the drumbeat against his eyes. he grumbles and whacks around aimlessly to shut it off. the silence lasts a moment before his eyes fly open and he jolts up, sheets pooling around his waist. luffy. where was he? where was zoro? did the crew find him and take him back to the ship? did law fail? but this didnt look like chopper’s office.

he looks around to find hes in a room hes never seen before in his life, yet he instinctively knows is his. it all feels so wrong, like he doesnt belong in his own skin. he scratches lightly at his arm. he needs to go to work. 

work?

what the fuck is happening. 

its like his mind is at war with itself, one truth trying to dominate over the other. he trained at sensei’s dojo. he aged out of foster care. he was a swordsman, he was the first mate of the strawhat pirates. he didnt go to college, hes working construction. he made a promise, and kuina died. kuina…died. huh. his captain, his luffy, someone he knew so intimately and who knew him in turn. hes never met someone with that name his entire life. he needs to go to work, he needs to find his crew. 

he doesn’t understand what the fuck is happening. 

without his permission his legs stand him right up and he moves confusedly, surely, to the bathroom he didnt know he had. his reflection stares back at him in the mirror and its him, of course it is, he doesnt know why he expected someone else, but hes also…different. he has both function of his eyes, first of all. a scar in the same place as before but its light and healed over and doesnt seem to have blinded him like it once did. his hair is green, sure, but black roots peek out from underneath the familiar shade. hes grown stubble, he should shave. he needs to go to work. 

hes so confused, but his body moves like its been doing this its whole life. as far as zoro knows, it has. 

he continues getting ready, mind still at odds, and makes himself a cup of coffee (in his own kitchen. his own kitchen? the state of it leaves less to be desired. sanji would surely skin him alive) before tucking into his shoes, grabbing his wallet and keys and heading out the door. he seems to live in a single room apartment, and a crummy one at that. his legs move him faster, he has to go to work, he cant be late again (again?).

his car is parked outside the building, he has no fucking clue what it is but he unlocks it all the same and settles in. he feels like he shouldnt be operating this sort of machinery. franky would know better than him how it must work. he starts it up and backs out. trusting his gut to get him where he needs to be. he should be more concerned, he should be frantic and inconsolable, his captain was dead in his arms and now hes? what? going to lay some bricks or some shit? but he finds that part of him dulled in favor of following whatever mundanity this body is pushing him towards. 

uumm whatever whatever he arrives at work eventually i dont know how construction jobs work are there offices or something. idc thats not the point. johnny and yosaku are there and zoro is surprised to see them since, as far as he knows, the last time they were with each other was at arlong park which was years ago for him. but the two greet him like this is a daily occurence, like theyve been working together for years. and zoro thinks, knows, they must have. but this is good, this is great fucking news actually because until now theres been no confirmation if zoro was here alone (wherever “here” is) but now his proof is right in front of him because if johnny and yosaku are here, and they exist the same as from before, then that must mean everyone else is here too right? he clings onto this hope with both hands trembling. 

nami, usopp, the cook and chopper and robin and franky, brook, jinbe and fuck. fuck, luffy. theyve got to be here somewhere, zoro just has to find them. hes not sure if they remember things like he does but hes got to try because they are his as much as he has always been theirs and they should all exist together as it has always been. 

so then yeah he finishes his shift because its what hes ‘supposed’ to do but he doesnt go home. he drives around aimlessly before pulling into a random lot and pulling out his phone (theres no snail attached to it. weird.) he doesnt even know where to begin. hes not usually the one coming up with plans, he just goes where theres blood need to be shed. but no one seems to be in any danger here except for maybe himself, and its not like he has his swords anyway- shit. fuck did he still have wado? he must have right? he knows there was a kuina that existed here too, he knows because he remembers. and she, well she wasnt around anymore so he must have wado. he must. with shaking fingers he pushes that aside for now, though barely. he needs to find luffy, but he wouldnt even know where to start. luffy could probably find the rest of their crew by simply wandering around and happening upon them, thats how he did it before. but zoro has no idea where he’d be, he doesnt even know where he is. nami or robin would be a good bet to at least form a plan, but he wouldnt know how to find them either. 

is there even a coco village here? would robin still be part of baroque works? he needs someone who has a defined location that he could google or something (what the hell is google?). usopp would be at syrup village right? shit. is there even a drum island? these are all too broad, he needs something specific. specific…..a place with an identifiable name, somewhere smaller that would be easier to stake out…

a lightbulb goes off. 

fucking shit he thinks. of course. of fucking course it would come down to the cook. 

he types in “baratie” to his maps and a location pops up, just 27 minutes from where he is now. he hasnt eaten yet either, so he figures thats killing two birds with one stone. he taps the address, backs out of the lot and drives. 

(if it takes him nearly an hour to get there thats nobodys business but his own)

he pulls up to the building about a quarter after 7. it seems packed enough already, but if memory serves him right then that was just par for the course for baratie. he parks, gets out and locks his car, then shoves his hands in his pocket and resigns himself to another oncoming migraine hes sure to get upon interacting with the man hes certain is waiting somewhere inside. 

the tables are full, the host tells him, he slips a 20 from his wallet and suddenly (of course) theyre more than willing to serve him. 

he gets settled in a far and somewhat isolated booth and a waiter comes up to him, but he cuts the man off as hes introducing himself and says “you got a blonde working here? stupid ass side part with a weird eyebrow? goes by sanji” the waiter looks shocked and put off by his rudeness but quickly collects himself and says “we might. depends on whos asking” zoro snorts “just tell him hes got someone who wants to talk to him,” he cringes at this next part, tries to smile but knows it comes off as a sneer. hes not sure if he still has conquerors haki wherever he happens to be now, but he tries to channel that energy the same way he would if he were in battle and says “tell him im a fan.” the waiters eyes widen, in fear or surprise zoros not sure (most likely a mix of both) before he nods and scurries across the floor, weaving in between patrons and coworkers alike until he disappears behind the double doors to the kitchen. 

zoro sits with his arms crossed and skims through the menu out of boredom and impatience. its a couple minutes before he sees a familiar head of blonde hair emerge from across the way. a smile climbs onto his face despite himself. sure, the guy annoyed him to hell and back and their…friendship (if you could really call it that) was a tumultuous one, but it was good to see someone familiar nonetheless. he schools his expression before the blonde can spot him. a few moments pass before hes standing right in front of zoro, his stupid suit primped and pressed as always, and a cautious look on his face. 

“you asked for me?” his tone is the one he only reserves for men who he deems not worth his time. zoro grits his teeth but says “yeah, theres something ive gotta discuss with you.” 

hes never been one for tact, forever blunt unlike his swords. 

sanji quirks a brow “i dont plan on talking about anything with anyone unless theyre a paying customer” zoro feels his eyebrow twitch but grabs his menu nonetheless and points to a random item without looking “i’ll have this then, and whatever booze you got.” sanji leans in to see what hes pointing to before his one visible eye widens and a grin slowly overtakes his previously unaffected face. 

he speaks condescendingly. “wonderful choice sir, coming right up.” before zoro can get another word in he grabs the menu out of his hand, spins on his heel, and marches back to the kitchen. 

zoro clenches his fists and does his best not to grind his teeth into a fine dust. no matter where they are or what displacement in time the fucking curly brow never fails to be absolutely insufferable. at least this way though, zoro knows its him for real. 

its another 20 minutes before the shit cook reemerges from the back with a platter and a mug in his hand. he steps up to zoros table and places the plate and cup down in front of him with a smug look. zoro has no idea what the fuck hes looking at on his plate. he doesnt have time to question it before sanji plops down in the booth seat across from him, disregarding all previous faux-professionale and asking “so what do you want” zoro tears his eyes away from his plate and looks into sanji’s, trying to convey as much emotion, as much urgency as he possibly can. 

“luffy needs us. and we have to find him” whatever the cook was expecting him to say, it definitely wasnt that. the other man regards him more warily now, looking him up and down with a tense frown before replying “i dont know what the hell youre talking about. and i dont appreciate being mocked or having my time wasted” he goes to stand up but zoro grabs his wrist, yanking him back down unceremoniously. 

he blinks before rounding back on zoro, flaring his nostrils in a way zoro knows means hes about to get himself in deep shit “oi, what the fuck do you think youre-“ he doesnt let him finish “im not mocking you. this isnt some stupid prank or whatever youre thinking. and despite how much i would enjoy punching your teeth in right now im not looking for a fight either.” 

the cook still looks affronted but seems to actually be listening. zoro continues “look, i dont know what the fuck is going on. i was at laughtale with you and the others, with luffy, and then i woke up and now im here and i dont know how but this is all wrong. its all wrong but i need to find luffy and fuck, i cant do it alone. i need your help to find him. find everyone.” the blondes eye is wide, but he blinks and its gone. he looks more tired than zoro has ever seen him 

“im not paid enough for this shit. i dont know why i even-“ he looks like hes getting ready to leave again but zoro is desperate at this point so he blurts out whatever he thinks will convince the other man hes not bullshitting.

“we met you here, at the baratie. me and nami and usopp and luffy. luffy busted through one of your walls so your old man punished him by making him wash dishes. i dont, i dont know what luffy said to you, or how he convinced you to join us, but he changed your life like he did mine. we sailed together, and we had each others backs no matter how much we got on each others nerves. you were our cook. i was our swordsman. luffy was our captain and youd do anything to help him, i know you would, same as me. youre a pervert and an asshole and a damn annoyance, but youre strong. i could still kick your ass though” if the cook’s eyebrow could go any higher hes sure itd be clear off his forehead by now. 

“and you- your dream. you wanted to find the all blue.” he stalls there, engine sputtering. zoro doesnt know what else to say, so he snaps his mouth shut. 

the blonde is still gaping at him like a fish, but he mouths the phrase “all blue” like hes been searching for it his whole life, like he always knew but just never had the words. 

he blinks. 

then he blinks again, rapidly. there are tears pooling in his eyes. his mouth flaps for a moment before he seems to finally be able to push out words. 

“you- zoro?” he sounds small. he sounds hopeful. zoro grins. 

“yeah, yeah its me.” sanji stares at him a moment, then looks around, as if hes seeing everything with clear eyes for the very first time. zoro figures he might as well be. 

“holy shit. holy shit.” 

zoro laughs, a rough thing. theres a ball in his throat that he cant seem to dislodge. “nice to have you back, curly brow” sanji’s gaze snaps back to him before he scowls and tries wiping away the tears that are now streaking down his cheeks. its useless though, it seems they cant stop. zoro laughs again at the sorry state of the asshole in front of him, this time more full and genuine. he feels so relieved he doesnt know what to do with himself. 

“yeah yeah, whatever dick head.” sanji grumbles. zoro quiets down, glances away, lets him have his moment. “fuck, mosshead, im still on the clock and you unload all this on me? how the hell am i supposed to finish the rest of my shift?” his words are sharp but he doesnt sound angry at all. in fact, when zoro turns back to look, hes smiling. 

“you remember now though, dont you?” he has to be sure. 

“what does it look like, dumbass? think im tearin’ up cuz of pollen or some shit?” the cook rolls his eye. theyre both silent for a moment, trapped in their own heads, before he speaks up again. “so, what now?” zoro doesnt even have to think before he answers “we find everyone else, obviously.” “well no shit, but how?” zoro glances to the side. “i was hoping youd figure that out” sanji stares before bursting out laughing. zoro scowls and hunches into his shoulders. 

“of course!” sanji cackles “of course your dumbass wouldnt know what to do! you probably just typed in the most recognizable place you could remember and hoped one of us would be there!” zoro doesn’t answer, because yes thats what he fucking did, but it worked didnt it? he doesnt see whats so funny. 

“fuck you.” 

he wants nothing more than to bash that smarmy mouth in, but the familiar egging settles something in his soul. sanji gasps a few breaths before calming down, now wiping tears from his eyes for a completely different reason. 

“alright alright, well lets figure this out then, yeah? we figure out how we got here then we can figure out how to get back right? simple enough” 

zoro nods, “law was-“ he stops. remembers dull eyes and clammy skin and wrong wrong wrong. he shakes his head, “no, no we cant” sanji looks at him confused. 

“we cant go back,” zoro presses, “not until i fix things. i promised i would” the other man seems to pick up on his panic and his mood dampens, becomes more serious. “promised what?” 

zoros never been one to sugarcoat, but now he wishes he could find a way to soften the blow hes about to deal. he inhales, pushes the breath out. says, “luffy died, sanji.” the fact the hes actually using the other mans name seems to fly right over his head in favor of the first part. “what?” zoro huffs, is he really gonna make him say it again? “luffy di-“ sanji interrupts, angry now, fists clenched and whitened from the pressure “i heard what you said. but what do you mean.” 

he doesnt want to have to tell sanji what happened, doesnt want to talk about it at all, wants to slice it up into small enough pieces that it very well may have never existed.

he told law the others wouldn't have to know, that he would make sure of it, but he's realizing now just how unrealistic that is. as much faith as zoro places in his own abilities, he's aware he's only one man.

and, he figures, if there's anyone i can trust enough to share a burden heavy as this with, might as well be the one who's strength i'd count on just as much as my own.

sanji cant help if he doesnt know what went down once they got separated at laughtale, so zoro sets his shoulders, clenches his fists, prepares himself like hes riding into a battle he knows he has no chance of winning—hes the first mate for fucks sake—and resigns himself to filling the other man in on every horrible detail

by the end, the cook looks much the same as zoro feels, pale-faced and shaky. he runs a trembling hand through his hair and clenches his eye shut. “fuck mosshead, thats…” he doesnt bother finishing, and zoro stays silent—already knowing just how much of a shitty situation it is that theyve found themselves in.

—

(btw the reason sanji was so smug about what zoro randomly chose on the menu is bc its one of their most expensive dishes. even upon regaining his memories he still makes zoro pay it cuz hes an asshole like that. business is business 😁)

uuummm i dont feel like detailing the rest basically my idea is that they work together to try and track down all the members as well as law, since hes also a part of this. i dont know how or when or in what order but i do know finding luffy would come last. so yes its zolu but for a majority of it more in spirit than anything. maybe i can throw in some luffy pov of him living with ace and sabo . he knows something is off but cant place his finger on what. he knows something is missing but hes got his brothers with him so what else could he possibly need? etc etc. you get the idea

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 17

continuation of byakuya's no good very bad worst shit ass day of his life (so far)(!!!)

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this chapter went a little different from how i originally planned bc I was going to make byakuya much more stupid. but. he needs to fly off the handle several times later so. we can't let loose all at once

to be very fair to makoto he did not want to do that. and yet. here we are

the king of kings!! @digitaldollsworld

Content warning tags: ableist language from various characters, Byakuya's panic spiral, mild self-harm reference

< previous - from start - next >

Time seems to grind to a halt. His breath is still caught in his throat, halfway through a relieved sigh as he had been waiting - expecting - for Makoto to help him. To pull up some vague, hidden piece of evidence to clear him of any suspicion, to cleverly point out some irrefutable proof that had previously lay unseen.

But instead - his heartbeats feel too heavy. His breathing feels too light, deprived of any real oxygen. His head pounds in the same way it did when he was struck earlier, with a dull, pulsing ring that washes out everything around him.

He prided himself, once, on being able to read a person’s intent. To judge just when and why they might choose to abandon him, to cross him, to try and use him for their own intents. For that reason, he supposes, is why this sickly, sticky feeling of dread is so new to him. He’s never known real betrayal before.

His eyes dart around the room, but the others don’t seem to believe Makoto just yet. Even Owada seems taken aback, stock still and quiet. Only Kirigiri seems unsurprised - or maybe, he was only imagining it, the tranquil quality of her silence. As if she were merely observing it all, far out of their reach.

“Seriously??” Syo’s voice is a grating jeer. “You’re telling me this whole time he had no idea what I looked like? No wonder he didn’t fall for me at first sight!”

“I…don’t think that’s the reason why,” Hagakure says, though he seems utterly bewildered. “But, that can’t be right, right? I’ve seen him reading loads of times. And he practically lives in the library, y’know?”

“Yeah, and he can do things just fine for himself.” Asahina says in agreement. “I mean, he does his own laundry and stuff, and he knows this place way better than me at least. I didn’t even know where the A/V room was during the first motive, I just sorta followed him.”

“Yes, this is sort of…” For the first time, Celeste sounds genuinely surprised, her usually unphased demeanor wavering, her accent slipping for a moment. “Ahem. While I did note that he sometimes seemed a bit…eccentric, so to speak, nothing of his actions suggested that he was impaired.”

Their skepticism is a small relief. He nods jerkily, unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to verbalize his agreement. But it’s a small, pathetic movement that goes unnoticed, hardly amounting to anything in this large courtroom.

And their disbelief only goes so far. Ogami speaks up now, for the first time since the trial began, her low voice immediately silencing the whispers.

“I performed a concussion test on him earlier,” She says, gruffly. “As Kyoko had asked me to. He was lucid when answering my questions, and he didn’t seem to exhibit any symptoms that couldn’t be attributed to other reasons.” There’s a slight creak of wood, as she shifts her weight on the stand. “However, I did notice that his pupils were…strange.”

“My- what?” He sputters now, too suddenly, too loudly. He reaches up to touch slightly-trembling fingers to a closed eye, feeling the smooth bump of the cornea twitching beneath the thin skin of his eyelid as if he might be able to identify the damage that way. Why hadn’t she mentioned this earlier? Why bring it up now? “What do you mean, ‘strange’?!”

There’s a slight, panicked edge to his voice that he hopes no one catches, but this was the first time he heard that there could be physical evidence to his affliction. “It was a bit hard to test without the proper tools, but I noticed that they do not react much to changes in light.” Ogami explains. “The shape is also slightly…off. If I had to describe it, I would say that there is…a warping around the edges.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?!”

“I assumed it was either due to the head injury, or, it was genetic.” There’s an apologetic note to her words. “Given your usual behavior, I…didn’t think it was important.”

Not important. As if she could know what was important here.

“I. Am not. Blind.” He snarls stiffly. “Obviously, I have never taken a close enough look at my own pupils to notice that deformation, but it has never affected my daily life. I am not disabled, nor have I ever been.”

“I find it hard to believe that you have never been aware of it.” Kyoko remarks, tone clipped. “I can’t imagine someone of your status being ignorant of anything concerning your physical health.”

“Then you can rest easy knowing that I am perfectly healthy.” He snaps back, venom flying off his words.

Distantly, he knows that he is digging a pit for himself. That admitting to this would help clear him of any suspicion at all. But he doesn’t care; he would rather die than suffer such indignity. That was what he’s always known, taught by his butler, and then reinforced by all his surroundings afterwards, his siblings, his father - better to perish and let your enemies cry with relief and count themselves lucky, than let them mock you as you dig your own grave.

“You should just admit it already. You are drawing this out to be unnecessarily long, or would you rather doom us all?”

“I don’t see why I should cooperate with someone who has been making mindless accusations at me all this while.”

There’s a tense, snappish tension between him and Kirigiri. A livewire current. A piece of elastic stretched taut. He glares, and to him, her blurred form looks like that of a reared snake.

“Um…” Asahina speaks up, her hand tentatively raised. “If Byakuya’s really blind, can’t we just test it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I-I mean! Not saying that you are blind, or anything,” She says this quickly, carefully, like soothing a spooked horse. “But, we’re not going to get anywhere if you two just keep arguing back and forth, and it’ll be really quick! Like, Sakura, can you hold up a few fingers?” She complies silently, one arm remaining crossed across her chest, the other raised to her side. “How many is she holding up?”

He tries not to squint, but he has no idea. Two? Three? It's nothing more that a blurred, brown shape. “You can’t be serious.” He almost laughs, but the sound he makes is derisive and bitter.

“Y-yes, this is-! Unfair!” Now it’s Yamada, speaking up again. “In case no one else has noticed, Mister Togami is lacking his spectacles! Asking such a thing of him…it’s akin to bullying!”

He’s oddly assertive about this, and Byakuya watches as he pushes his own glasses a little higher. For some reason, being considered something of an equal by Yamada irritates him further. “Shut up.” Who asked for his help.

“Yes, be still please,” Celeste sighs dismissively. “We are playing a game with our lives. This is hardly the time to be discussing moralistic issues.” There’s a slight metallic tap as she raps her silver finger guards against her rings. “But you do make a point. Byakuya does not have his glasses at the moment. It would be difficult to try and confirm anything without them.”

Thank goodness for those with common sense. He doesn’t look to his side, where she was standing, but he swears that he can see her eyes glancing at him, the unnatural red of her pupils bright on her pale face. “Yes,” he agrees, seizing upon it. “And they were broken earlier, thanks to Owada. Nearsightedness runs on my mother’s side, and the former Togami head was farsighted. I will admit that much, is that what you wanted? Kyoko?”

He’s rambling. He’s aware of it. But there are a few nods exchanged, and Asahina scratches at the back of her head awkwardly, as if embarrassed. Kirigiri, however, is still unmoved.

“No. When I say you are blind, I do not mean without your glasses. Or there wouldn’t have been a point in bringing it up in the first place.” Kirigiri shifts her weight slightly, the sway of her stance accompanied by the creak of wood. “Even without your glasses, you cannot do tasks such as reading. I imagine you’ve managed everything else by means of careful practice, but this is the one thing you can’t manage on your own.”

“Hey, Kyoko-” Makoto looks nervous, unsure whether to face him or her. “That-”

“And how do you plan to prove this?” Byakuya snarls. He feels a small flare of triumph, even despite everything, the looming threat of death. “As we found before, I don’t have my glasses. Did you happen to pick those up as well? Did you repair them for me while you were at it?”

Instead of offering a retort, or any sort of reply, she sighs. A soft, tired sound.

“Makoto.” She isn’t facing the other boy, but her tone is firm as she addresses him, and a little exasperated. She doesn’t say anything more, but Makoto seems to understand, and his hands drop to his sides.

“There is a way to prove it.” His voice is quiet. Quiet, and…sad, somehow. Defeated. “Byakuya…please show us your handbook.”

The realization sets in slowly. He’s already been betrayed by Makoto twice now, but still, he finds himself stunned, slack-jawed. This one was the worst by far - not only was he actively helping Kirigiri, he was betraying Chihiro as well, risking revealing everything to that accursed bear. And after all the lengths Byakuya had gone through to protect this secret.

“What are you saying,” He says, and his voice has a humiliating tremor that matches how his hands shake, clutching at the rail. Surely, he’s heard wrong. Surely, Makoto would correct himself, take it back-

“Your handbook. Chihiro, he…he put a program on it that lets you be able to do stuff like tell the time. It also reads stuff aloud. And he did it after the motives got revealed, that night when Celeste saw you guys leaving the bathhouse.” He sounds so somber, so sad and grieving. He won’t meet Byakuya’s eyes. “He did it in exchange for you teaching him how to be strong, and self-confident - which you did, by telling him to go around talking to everyone else today.”

Without really thinking about it, his hand goes to his inner jacket pocket, where his handbook sits. His fingers close around the little device, the hard edges of plastic and metal pressing into the creases of his palm. He feels a little like he’s been shot.

But he doesn’t bring it out. He glares instead, furiously, hatefully, at the boy standing just meters away. He - and Kirigiri too, most likely, Byakuya suspected that Makoto had already revealed everything that that woman - knew perfectly well the importance of Alter Ego, and why it could not, under any circumstances, be revealed. And they knew Byakuya was aware of this too, and they were holding this fact hostage, over his head.

(I could, some sore, beaten part of him thinks with poisonous intent, try and claim responsibility for Chihiro’s murder. I could say that they’re wrong. That I lured Chihiro to the bathhouse with the intent of making him less wary, easier to isolate. That he was so weak and trusting and stupid that killing him was a simple manner. That I mimicked Syo’s modus operandi to throw suspicion off of me.)

The mere thought was shameful, but it was his pride, wounded and bitter, that was seriously considering it, if only for some semblance of control. The barest reassurance that he had any real weight at all in this trial. And all he would need to do is open his mouth and say the words.

But instead, he bites down on his inner cheek, hard enough for blood to trickle out the corner of his mouth, hard enough for the pain to rival the buzzing in his temples. And tightens his grip momentarily, just enough to feel the faint, humming warmth of the handbook against his sweating palm, and exhales slowly.

“...Fine. Fine.” He spits, angry, defeated, exhausted. He’s sick of this. He just wants it to be over. “Yes. I’m blind. I have been so since we first woke up in this school. Are you happy now?”

Makoto looks down, his face shadowed by his hair. Kirigiri tilts her head slightly, a motion that’s not quite a nod but more of a bow.

“Wait, so then-” Asahina’s voice, confused and a little hesitant, pipes up. “If you’ve been…y’know, this whole time, but only after we got to this school…does that mean the Mastermind did this to you, somehow?”

“That’s what I would like to know, myself.” He turns to look at Monokuma, and finds the bear lounging across its throne, a bucket of popcorn resting precariously on the armrest. The repugnant toy giggles, and swings itself upright, spilling a handful of white puffs all over.

“Gosh, I wonder?” The thing taps at its chin, voice taking on a wondering tone. “Of course, I want this game to be fair and give you all a level playing field. I believe in equality after all! …Though this has made for so many entertaining developments, so…I figured I’d leave it as is. Besides, you’ve adapted quite well, haven’t you Mister Togami?” It cackles, paws clutching at its belly. “GIven how well you did hiding it from everyone, I think it’s fine if we leave it like this, don’t you think?”

He wants to cross the courtroom and throttle the stupid thing this instant. All he can do is glare murderously, lips twisted into a snarl.

There’s a sharp clap that has most people jumping. The source of the sound is Kirigiri, whose hands are raised, and pressed together. “Let’s move on.” Her voice is firm, with no room for arguing. “All we’ve done so far is clear one person’s innocence. We still need to identify the real killer.”

And that was it. The most disgusting moment of his life, over just like that, ended by her words. He knows that there’s bound to be some kind of punishment in store for those who interrupt trials, but he briefly wonders if he can get his hands around her neck before Monokuma can react.

Owada jerks at Kirigiri’s words, startled out of his own stunned silence. “W-wait,” He sounds panicked now, and of course he would be. His scapegoat is gone. “Then, if it’s not Byakuya, then who…?”

“Let’s consider what we know. Given how it’s not clear where the murder took place, it would have to be someone who had access to cleaning supplies or water, and has no alibi that can be verified when the murder occurred. For the most part, everyone here has an alibi that can be supported by at least one other person, but there are some that do not.” Kirigiri lists these calmly, and Byakuya imagines her cold gaze, flitting between each person in the room. “Mondo. Do you care to explain what you were doing prior to the body’s discovery?”

The effect is immediate. The other boy rears up, instantly furious. “The fuck are you trying to say? That I’m a murderer?!” He thunders. “Like I said earlier, I was taking care of my bro. You know that. Everyone knows that!”

“As you said earlier, Taka is currently compromised. He can’t give a testimony.” She shoots back without hesitation. “Your alibi is flawed.”

“Yeah? Well - well so’s yours!” He sputters. “Like- Syo might’ve been the one to find you in the bathroom, but that was just before Chihiro was found. Toko can’t say that you weren’t there the whole time, a-and even if you were, maybe the bathroom was where Chihiro died anyways!”

Owada may be stupid, but credit where credit was due, he was surprisingly quick to retort and pick at Kirigiri’s excuse. “I could not have cleaned up a murder scene in the bathroom so spotlessly in the time between Chihiro’s last sighting and the body discovery. As Makoto described earlier, the sinks of the bathroom were all dry-”

“There was that sheet, you could’ve used that before smashing Chihiro’s head over it. And there’s water in the toilets, right? And the girl’s bathroom was right next door!”

“...I’ll commend you for recognizing my perseverance. But I did not kill Chihiro.” She shakes her head. “If the only thing that will clear me is secondhand support to my alibi, then the only thing that needs to be done is to ask a witness. Toko?”

And she addresses Syo now, who just cocks her head for a moment, and shrugs. “I keep sayin’ to you guys, it’s lights out up there. There’s no telling when she’ll be back!”

Byakuya has had enough.

“Toko,” He says first, his voice low and hissing. Then, louder, building into a shout: “TOKO. Come out, NOW!”

“I don’t think it works like tha-” Syo’s words are cut off suddenly, and she collapses where she stands, like a puppet with her strings cut.

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