#come spiralling into the abyss with me

[lauranalanthalasa]

Aziraphale was who kept him wanting to go on. To do as much good right things as he can, without getting punished (too much) by Hell. To fight for his angel and himself. For their side (our side). For his love of creation and especially for his love for with(!) Aziraphale!

But now Aziraphale is gone. He has abandoned him. And not just for anything or anyone. No, for the same system that made Crowley feel so unworthy, unloved, unforgivable and unlovable in the first place.

Don't get me wrong, I'm NOT blaming Aziraphale here in any way. Like God, I don't have favorites (okay, maybe I'm a teeny tiny bit more on Crowley's side). But for Crowley it's DEVASTATING! It's HEARTBREAKING and MIND SHATTERING. It fucking HURTS! SO MUCH! It makes him feel worthless and undeserving of love AGAIN! At least for a little while, maybe just a moment, Crowley will feel like the worst, most undeserving and unimportant being in all of existence. Unworthy of anyone's love, ESPECIALLY Aziraphale's.

And maybe, it will nearly break him.

But we, the watchers, have an advantage! We know, that this demon ist the most loved being in all of time and space! Because never has anyone ever been loved as deeply and unconditionally as Crowley is loved by Aziraphale.

He'll just have to see it himself eventually.

crowley loves so much and so deeply, and while there can probably be made an argument that parts of that love are entirely selfish, i think it's more than that.

he sees creation as a way of giving things live, be it stars and nebulas or humans or plants, they all exist and thus have a right to live. i think the thought of his nebulas and the entire universe being shut down after 6k years didn't just make him sad because of the effort he put into it. he sees it as a living, breathing creature that deserve to exist on its own terms.

that is why he asked questions, it certainly played a role in why he fell, and it also puts him right in the moral grey zone because there's no way of thinking that humans deserve free will without questioning the black/white moral system.

having to play his part as a demon is entire counterintuitive to who he is as a person, and it's imo the reason why he barely has relationships with humans (and if he does, they go deep). the constant loss would kill his soul and in a way it already has.

"what's the point" is him having reached a point of depression and an impatience that has morphed into bitter resignation.

look at him returning to the bentley after his fight with aziraphale in episode one. he isn't just upset, he is tired.

what's the point in loving and trying to save those that he loves when over and over again he is told that no, everyone else matters more than you. fixing this is more important than finding the peace we deserve. helping someone who literally tried to kill us matters more than our love for each other. the universe will be created and then destroyed for nothing, you are breathing live into empty spaces and none of it will matter. in the end, the logical conclusion he undoubtedly came to is that he does not matter either.

he tried to find a purpose for his existence in aziraphale and their arrangement, in trying to be kind and do good despite everything - and see where that landed him.

rejected and alone because compared to heaven, he is worthless, and well if that isn't a familiar feeling.

i think aziraphale in 1862 has picked up on that and he isn't wrong when he thinks it's a suicide pill.

season 3 is going to be very, very interesting because i don't think crowley will go down some kind of rage and revenge path, he will just fall deeper into his depression until it threatens to swallow him whole.

[zhongrin]

it's my brother's birthday and 4.2 release today so

may furina wanters be furina havers!! <3

[undergoing-mitosis]

i am keeping both freminet and chongyun on my team and using them both as dps i do not care that they are both cryo claymore characters (so less capability for elemental reactions) cause they are my silly little autism children and i love them and i will protect them with my life and nothing that anyone says can stop me

oh yeah also i pulled the bell for the first time today and yes apparently it is by far not the best weapon for chongyun but it FITS HIM SO WELL so i simply do not care

like look at my boy 🥹 it matches his belt 🥹

[rubys-domain]

i kinda don't want to play genshin tbh. i just want to play minecraft

[imdreamingaboutlife]

I need to cry, like for months I've needed to just cry. But I can't, because I can't reach the emotionally availability to cry when I'm not with her. And not being with her is what triggered the need in the first place.

[chaeyablood]

i just found the start of a fic idea that id completely forgotten abt in my phone notes. it is after 5am. i think this is the worst possible time i could have rediscovered this

[lauranalanthalasa]

Thank you for writing this out so expertly!

That's exactly what I think happened, as well. I'm still rather convinced that Aziraphale did suppress an "I love you" before hitting Crowley with his forgiveness.

I'm not entirely sure about why he does it though (to be honest, I'm not sure about any of my speculations, but it's fun). Maybe he wants to lessen the heartbreak for Crowley, because he has already decided to accept the Metatron's offer (not that Crowley's heartbreak could get any worse). Or maybe he just can't bring himself to say it after having to stay quiet for (at least) 6000 years.

My favourite theory though is, that it is because the Metatron / Heaven is watching somehow. Aziraphale's eyes dart to the window for a fraction of a second shortly after Crowley breaks the kiss (I still haven't figured out if Muriel might be standing there, seeing everything). I think, Aziraphale aches to tell Crowley that he loves him here, but once again, it's too dangerous (and too late of sorts) and he would get Crowley and possibly himself as well in real danger.

This breaks my heart all over again. 💔😭

All previous times Aziraphale offered forgiveness to Crowley, it was always spoken softly and with love, but this last "I forgive you" is laced with pain and anger. Aziraphale WANTS to say something else after his choked out "I..." but then he settles for the words he thinks he SHOULD say. His heart screams "I love you" and his lips say "I forgive you". He chooses obligation over love, and words of forgiveness come out with anger simply because he does not mean them and it is not what he wants to say.

[ipcearn]

... my hoarding of the scarabs has begun

[erosiism]

SACRED | YANDERE PRIEST X M!READER

prompt: yandere!priest x transmigrated!male!reader

character(s): priest (anton), you

warnings(s): mention of violence, god complex, religious imagery, dub-con, not to be glorified or romanticised

note(s): male reader, second person, past and present tense, not beta read. from twisted faith on my wattpad.

It takes a few moments for you to truly process what just happened. From the coarse sheets underneath your skin that differ greatly from the silken ones you have grown so accustomed to, to the air that smells like blood, you know something is terribly wrong.

Then you see a mural of a priest on the wall, and you remember where you are. A horror game.

Anton. It’s the name of the priest you need to find.

The first time you see the priest is the day after you transmigrate into a horror game. The said game, Spiraling into the Abyss features almost a cult like fanaticism with religion: you learn in the first few seconds of your time in the new world that they worship a priest like a God, and that they sacrifice humans to please the apparent gods of the heavens.

You’re a sacrifice. You know that. You are found to be guilty of some stupid crime you didn’t commit, and as far as you know, you are a worthless extra who will die by burning—you will do everything to prevent that.

To survive, you need to get into his good graces. You see him on the day or worship, when you come early to the Church: and his beauty astounds you. Symmetrical features—and the whole blue eyes and golden hair combination that is seen as rather cliche, in terms of beauty—but Anton doesn’t have a common kind of beauty; he is radiant. Benevolent. Ethereal. You marvel at him. His skin is without a blemish, and is fair, like he hasn’t gone out in the sun for a while...yet it has a healthy glow to it. His expression is serene. Anton's hair frames his face perfectly, and his eyes are expressive and rather captivating, with long, dark lashes that draw attention to it. His cheekbones are well-defined, his nose straight—and those only add to Anton's appeal.

He speaks to you in lilted tones, and immediately, you realize the priest isn’t just evil—he’s downright a menace.

"Sometimes I forget you are a new, naive believer. God is perfect, is he not? So his messengers, in turn, can do no wrong. He sends his messages through me. God is part of me. I'm merely ridding the world of evil."  He strides to where you are, and his hands touch the top of your head lightly. His fingers fall to your cheek, and he strokes it gently.

You can only swallow. “Yes, Father Anton.”

There’s one day where you ask him why he burns those bodies. He calls it “cleansing”, apparently.

“They donate to the church out of the kindness of their hearts,” you tell him, swallowing the bile down your throat as you hear more screams. “Is that not…a little extreme?”

“Extreme? Why, no, not at all.”

“You burn people alive.”

“That is the cleanest way to proceed. Their ashes tumble away, and it makes it much easier for the people, too. If we were to use magic, or beheading, or even hanging—it would be much messier, no? And I believe fire is such an awfully beautiful thing. It can make death look inviting; and even though the heavens might cast them away…in hell, all they will see is the fiery pits. This is their punishment. To feel sorry for them is strange, Y/n.”

Despite this, for the sake of your survival, you continue to visit him. Now, such visits are rare: Anton barely makes time for anyone. But he does, for you. 

Of course, this partial treatment doesn’t go unnoticed by you. He treats only you like this: it’s concerning, actually. His words are light and gentle, but the weight of it isn’t. In fact, he speaks of cleansing, he speaks of murdering in such a calm manner that you wonder if the devil truly resides in him.

But one thing is clear. 

To survive, you need to get into his good graces.

You feel your sanity slip each minute you spend in the game.

Anton kills. So does the Church. And you still can’t explain the goddamn obsession he has with you. Why has he not killed you yet? Anton is no saint, not at all.

Perhaps Anton was ensnared by the promise of Godhood—ensnared by the tendrils of his own self proclaimed grandiosity. Perhaps he had been idolized so much…worshiped by the devoted believers that he had simply been led to believe in his imagined divinity. Anton was a mortal who had dared to cast a shadow that eclipsed the very stars that he had reached for. Anton was simply adorned in robes of imagined omnipotence, and smelt of the fragrance of narcissus.

Here, he was god, but Anton was completely alienated from empathy. For what was a god in isolation but a sovereign ruler over an empire of one, ruling over a realm devoid of the richness of God’s grace?

You can’t deal with him much longer. He keeps murdering: he murders those who come to you under the guise of the silly notion of cleansing, he finds it amusing to see you sob and cry…and he has no qualms about drugging you. If not for the items you have stored in your inventory, warning you of drugs, you would have succumbed long ago.

Anton is no priest. 

And now he stands before you, his lips curling into a smile when he sees the look of despair on your face. He has just killed a friend,

You have to. You have to fight Anton…you have to…

Anton leans forward. You two are a hair’s breadth away.

God. Is God real? Is the devil real—has he taken form in Anton himself, twisting, persuading, begging, tempting people to court evil, to withhold the stench of death? The crimson flames have not faltered for long, and have only seemed to welcome him with fiery contempt, only surrendering when everything has been destroyed in its wake.

You long to spit curses towards Anton. You long for your limbs to connect with his face, and leave a mottled bruise there. You long for your twitching fingers to wrap around the priest’s neck; watch as oxygen slowly slips from his lungs out of your throat. You long to see his body grow limp.

“You are so perfect,” Anton murmurs, “so, so divine. So perfect…”

You don’t get why he says this. He’s been telling you this for ages: it’s the reason why you’ve been treated well. He claims you are some savior from an oracle ready to save him, he claims you saved him.

And now in this scenario, where his fingers are grazing your cheek?

You swallow. There was no way, right? No fucking way—

“I want to kiss you.”

Your heart drops. “…If I say no, you wouldn’t listen.”

A kiss. It would just be a kiss, right? That was okay. It means simply brushing your lips against Anton’s…yeah, that was possible.

You want to cry. Anton presses his lips on yours—it’s a mixture of heat and warmth; the way Anton ravages your lips has some sort of twisted hunger to it, craving and craving and craving. There is an obscene sheen of saliva coating your lips when you part.

The kiss tastes just like the forbidden fruit, plucked from the tree of desire. It is the same way that Eve sinned—eating a fruit that had belonged to the serpent. It was as if you had forged a pact with the devil himself—that in kissing Anton, it was like sealing your fate in the molten wax of sin, staining the canvas of your soul. Had matted it black. 

It was shameful. So utterly shameful that the kiss…

Once Anton fully lets go, he smiles, and you collapse on the ground, tears running down your face.

He needs you, Anton thinks, he needs you. You are the savior who has brought him from the depths of hell. You are his miracle. You are his little pet; his little divine sacrifice, the white sheep with the white wool. You are the one who will follow him guiltlessly. Untouched, untainted, clean.

You are shaking like a newborn lamb.

He presses another kiss on your forehead.

[ before, Anton’s pov ]

The world was dirty.

It needed a savior. Someone to bring them out from the depths of hell—to cleanse them. After all, was that not what the texts read? Was that not what he had learnt, ever since young? Was that not what had been instilled in him since his very birth? Luke 15:11-32. The wayward son who squandered his inheritance but was welcomed back by his forgiving father—Anton had marveled at it when he was young. To think someone would have such boundless grace; such forgiveness for a foolish person…

The oracle. Anton saw the oracle as a gift—a symbol from God. It had been delivered to him when he was young, naive, and careless. 

Anton remembered very little about his childhood. Extremely little. He remembered his mother, his father. But that was it—but oh, how he hated them. Anton did not remember why he hated them, why the portrait of his family had been torn out. He regarded life then, and now, as the beginning of the end.

Something fleeting, something ephemeral. Something tragic. Life was a wonderful tragedy.

People look at me with such endless wonder; such spellbound eyes and widened mouths. They see me as God—they see me as a deity above them all.

And that was true, Anton thought. That was very true. Sinners. Wretched, dirtied, horrid sinners, all of them! Anton despised humankind; they were worthless—made of brittle bones with flesh. He did not even see them as humans. They were just mere vessels in need of salvation.

“Father Anton!”

“Father Anton, would you please help me?”

“Bring me to the path of salvation!

He was anointed by a divine purpose to purify the soiled souls of the world…

Yes, that was his purpose.

It was relieving and calming to have a purpose. To drift in the vast expanse of the world; the universe without a tethering purpose is akin to being a feather in the breath of the wind. Useless, damaging, lonely. Anton could see—it was very easy for him to see who were those who were aimless in life, compared to those who had the bright, bubbly life shining magnificently in their eyes.

Oh, Mother. Anton would stand before her grave. Again, he did not remember much of what he believed was to be a mundane, boring childhood, but his mother’s name left a bitter taste on his tongue, horrid and painful. Somehow, he did not feel a single bit of…remorse, or guilt when he gazed at her tombstone. He expected to feel guilt for something he was quite sure he didn’t do.

But his lips would always curve into a smile when he saw the words etched on the grave. She was dead, he would remember. Dead. Occasionally, snippets of memories would come to him—her shrill voice, her messy, jagged hair, her crazed, crazed eyes. The way her fingernails felt on her skin when she scratched at him wildly.

Clearly, she deserved to die. How did she die, though? What exactly transpired? What kind of person was she, and what kind of person had she tried to make Anton into?

Anton found, to his surprise, that he was bothered about this. Detachment was something he prided himself on: he would never venture too close.

To have attachment with someone would be detrimental. Annoying. Haunting.

There were times—many, many times when Anton had awoken, hollow and void. 

The oracle.

The oracle.

When is it coming? When is it coming? Have the gods lied to me?

The oracle—his lifeline since he was young—was the very proof that this world had a chance, to live on, to heal.

A savior.

There were times Anton would grow impatient. He needed to do something about the state of the world. It would be easy, wouldn’t it? Why did people falter in front of flames? What did people shun away from blood? Was the sight not wonderful, not enchanting? The heat was welcoming—a gentle caress. Those who ventured in, would have their faces bathed in mesmerizing glow. Nevermind their screams, nevermind their bleeding, rotting flesh. 

The fire illuminated the world before it dissolved like nothing. Like it hadn’t existed. 

“Horrible! Horrible! You’re fucking horrible!” Then the stinging of flesh. There was something piping hot, something burning him.

“Why won’t you even flinch, you monster?”

Anton smiled loosely. Another memory. They came into his mind occasionally and quickly. He never pondered over them—it was useless to; for he already had everything he wanted.

The day you came into the world, was the day he felt alive. Waiting had become a bore to him—it was the same routine over and over again, with the same stupid, foolish people—

Something extraordinary had graced his reality. The oracle. You were the chosen one. The chosen one. The chosen one. The one he yearned for; seeked for; the change in the world.

“Dear God,” You had said the first time he saw you. “I confess I have been impure in my holy spiritual presence…”

Anton had seen you before the mural; your head lowered, your words soft and quiet.

Anton had stepped before you, tilting his head to the side as he observed you. In fact, you seemed to be struggling.

“You have to be sincere. You can’t just read off the mural.” Anton sighed.

You seemed to look at him with flickering recognition.

“Forgive me, Father Anton, for I have sinned.” You appeared shocked for the words to even slip past your lips; and oh, you were beautiful. Lovely. Innocent. Anton gazed at you—this was the person he had been waiting for his whole life—fervently, impatiently, silently. 

“You don’t seem to be used to this,” Anton said at last, as he took off his hood. He had not meant to come to church today—he was aware the crowd was growing more stifling, more crazed by the minute. The women of the church reminded him of his mother. There were times he wished he could draw a blade to their throat, and watch the blood spill out in a wonderful crimson.

“I’m afraid it’s been long since my last confession.”

Anton couldn’t help but smile. You were lying. 

“That’s alright,” He said calmly, “you have come now. Is there something in particular that’s troubling you, perhaps? To bring you to confession?”

“I…”

Anton could read human beings exceptionally well. From the way their eyes narrowed, the way their pupils widened marginally, to the gap of their fingers…you were trembling. You were thinking of what other lies you could say.

An adorable fool.

“You…?” He prompted. “You must not feel self conscious in the eyes of God. He already knows, Y/n. He is only waiting for you to confess.”

I am only waiting for you to confess. To tell me that you are from the oracle.

“I cannot even recall it.” You admitted.

You cannot recall it because it is not true.

“What do people come here for, Father Anton?”

Many things.

“The ones who have sinned so awfully they are made to be sacrifices.”

Oh. Sacrifices. Anton did not even—

There were times he would stand before dead bodies, blood in his hand, blinking slowly. When? When had he killed them? It all happened so fast, he wasn’t even aware of the blood staining his clothes, the bodies riddled on the ground.

“You tell me, Y/n.”

“Murder…?”

Anton wanted to laugh. A textbook answer. You had much to learn, didn’t you? It was alright. Anton could teach you. Teach you from ground zero, till you would become who you were supposed to be.

“Mostly, it’s their lack of faith. Rebelling against us. It is their perceived lack of loyalty, and their utter ignorance and disregard for God that leads us to take drastic measures.”

“But that’s…that’s killing isn’t it?”

So pure. So untainted, so innocent. 

The oracle. The person from the oracle. 

“But that doesn’t matter,” Anton said softly, “you show a desire to learn. And that is always very splendid, always welcomed.”

Anton would morph you and turn you into something splendid, divine.

remember to reblog and like! comments are always appreciated

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

I Know How to Fall (So Teach Me to Fly Again)

My first Dick Grayson fic! (Hurt/Comfort calls to me) ~600 words

Dick Grayson has been falling since the night his parents died. A constant, spiraling free fall. There are moments he seems to float, lifted to a stagnant hover by his friends and family. But at the end of the night, when he's alone in the shadows and the sun doesn't quite reach him as it crests the buildings, he starts to fall all over again.

It's ironic, that a Flying Grayson can reach the apex of an arc and just wonder, what if he doesn't shoot his line? What if he didn't land? What if he just kept falling? What if he latched onto the growing void in his chest that never seemed to fill and embraced everything it brings?

It's not that he wants to find out what happens when he runs out of air, it's just that there's a rush in the fall. There's a thrill, in dancing on ledges and tossing his grapple at the last possible moment.

Dick loves what he does, really. He loves The Titans. Loves his family. Loves that he can do good in a world that so desperately needs good. But, it's hard, sometimes, being the 'good' one, the leader, the light. It's hard to not cross that line, to make sure beyond a doubt that the people he cares about won't get hurt.

He thinks he hides it well. And he does. From everyone but you. You notice the edge to his smile. The tightness in his shoulders. You're there when he feels like he's going to tip off that tightrope, lose his grip on the bars that seem to swing miles and miles above the rest of the world.

He's never had someone he's so implicitly trusted to catch him no matter what, when he lets go of the wire. Every other relationship he has, there's a price, a trade, a reason or a pedestal he has to balance on in order to be kept around.

But not with you. It's easy to find shelter in your presence. There's no expectations. No need to be the steady, sturdy beacon of what a hero should be.

When it's just you, falling doesn't feel so much like careening into an abyss. No, it feels like the first leap from a precariously high and wobbly platform filled with the trust that, if he misses his mark, the safety net of your arms will catch his fall.

Sometimes he wonders if this is what his parents felt, every time he reaches for your outstretched hand. There's a security, a knowledge, that you will not let him go, no matter how heavy he–or his burdens–are.

There is solace when he lies on the plush rug of your bedroom, picking at the fabric as you talk about your day. The smiles and jokes come easy to his lips when your giggles fill the air. Nothing feels forced or calculated at your side, it just feels right.

It gives him butterflies sometimes, the kind that used to gather in his stomach before the bright lights of the big top illuminated the ropes and wires of the trapeze. He can't help but chase the feeling when it leads straight to you– to home.

When he's exhausted and drained and patrol has worn him down to his bones, it's you who always soothes the warriness he feels. It's you, curled in his bed with Haley sleeping at your hip, where he buries his face to your chest. He easily lets you hold him close, keep him together.

He thinks this is where he's meant to be, because it's those moments, when you smile into his hair and kiss the crown of his head to welcome him home, where he truly feels like he's flying.

[diejager]

Hi! I got the notification that your requests are open skjsjsjs so exciting, can you do something about the noodle dragon with Monster!Task Force 141 please? That would be all, thank you and have a nice day! ❤️✨

Cw: canon-typical violence, weird water magic, weird dragon/monster shit and lore, death, crash, tell me if I missed any.

They’d gotten used to you over the month, watching you prance around them like a graceful panther in hunt, stalking around them with that cheeky smile of yours and a clawed hand always ready to patch someone up. You were a might dragon, a warm to some classifications and an Asian one to others, but the consensus was that you weren’t one to be trifled with —as most dragons were, but if anything, you were so a feline in a body of a dragon than the ferocious monster you were. Always prowling and on guard, watchful and observant, aware of the events transpiring around you like a protective cat.

They took well to you, forgoing the paranoia and apprehension at your eagerness to help them and you openness, your long tail, hard scales protecting the thick cords of sinewy muscles curled ever so softly around them, and the tuff of fur tickling any naked piece of skin. And however tender and soft-hearted you were, they’d seen the dangerous part of you, the draconic one with a strange affinity to water rather than the destructive fire they were so familiar with. Whereas Price was a chaotic force, burning everything on his path and leaving nothing but cinder and ash, you were an unmoving force of water, a typhoon and cyclone that would crash the land and leave broken pieces of what remained, cold and drowned —the calm before the storm as people said, a perfect imagery of you.

Yet there was a lingering suspicion that it was all, that there was a more monstrous part of you hidden away from their eyes. Horangi had shared such thoughts - another mythical creature of sacredness and nobility - and showed them what hehad heard of eastern dragons: giant snake-like creatures with the faces of lions and crowns of graceful antlers, born with lustrous manes and hard but flexible scales that let them dance and twirl as they wished it. Destructive beauty, Horangihad mumbled, a creature who’s image is drawn to represent beauty and nobility. 

They knew, they were fully aware, that you had more to show, yet they couldn’t hold back the awe and amazement that followed the gut-deep fear and worry after they saw you fall, your figure shrinking as you plummeted into the dark and silent ocean, gone into the wide, open sea. Rather than seeing your head pop out, gasping for air while they clung to their straps and helicopter, Nikolai screaming through the comma about holding onto something, swirling left and right to avoid being hit a second time by the war ship, it was calm, a smooth plain growing in darkness, a shape forming beneath the veil of a blue ocean. 

Then, before they knew it, a majestic serpent erupted from the sea, wet scales gleaming under the sun while you rose into the sky in a spiral, white fur floating like you hadn’t just come out of water. You were swift, curling in the air, your magicworking it’s wonder when you flew, stubby arms and legs moving as if you were swimming, looping around them to shield them from being narrowly hit. It was as Horangi gushed, water rose and fell with you, tendrils of salty water reaching out to curl around you, rising high to swarm the enemy ship the same way you did, circling around it until it was left submerged, swallowed up by your hydromancy. You had drowned warship in the depth of the abyss, a dark and cold pit that promised a lonely death, forgotten and painful. You had caused the deaths of hundreds with a twirling dance, an alluring, yet deadly show, like an oleander.

You made no show of joining them in the aircraft, keeping your distance from them, adequate enough to protect them from further damage without becoming a danger to them. They - especially Price, since he had never seen an eastern dragon, only from files and catalogues - gawked, gazing at your head-sized eye, blinking owlishly at them with a narrowed eyes, slitted pupil gleaming with glee at their admiration. You purred, a growling rumble that shook your gills, a deep sound shuddering through them like thunder, low and booming, but it was a happy sound, meant to comfort them from the near sinking that you’d saved them from.

Even in this situation, where they’d been saved by you, you were still trying to comfort them and reassure them despite having taken a hit or two. They were glad Laswell found you.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird-kamakse @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[itadores]

summary: sakura likes the way you smell. he thinks it makes him a freak.

note: i like him terribly so. this may be so incredibly niche but it’s for me :p

pairing: sakura haruka x gender neutral reader

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, minor angst but it gets resolved, sakura-centric

sakura hasn't put much thought into the products he buys for himself for much of his life. unlike like some of his friends, he doesn’t have an elaborate multi-step self-care routine. he’s content with his generic shampoo and conditioner and his cheap laundry detergent that he buys from the corner store on his block. he’s satisfied until he’s not, until he's dating you and subconsciously begins to seek out your scent. sakura is blissfully unaware of this fact until one day it hits him like a punch in the gut. the realization that he likes the way you smell. a lot.

a sense of shame takes root in his chest. he feels like some sort of creep, feeling this way. it’s weird. he’s weird, he’s convinced. and yet, sakura can’t help but start to take note of the products you use when he’s over at your place. it’s not snooping if it’s on display right? sakura knows it’s just a flimsy argument that he's using to reassure himself, but he has to know what sort of products you’re using. he makes a mental list of the brands and scents of your shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and laundry detergent amongst other things. and when he’s at the store, he’s skittish as ever, feeling as if he’s doing something intimately wrong as he buys the same products you use for himself.

sakura thinks you won’t ever discover his shameful secret. if only.

you're at his place instead of yours for a change of pace. sakura's lounging on his dingy couch that he bought second-hand when he first moved into his apartment. he's waiting for you to finish up in the bathroom, so he can hit play on the movie you've been meaning to watch together. his head’s resting on the back of the sofa and he turns his cheek towards the hallway when he hears the bathroom door unlock, expecting you to enter his view soon enough.

you do, and sakura's stomach drops when he sees what's in your hand. it's a shampoo bottle. identical to the one you own.

"what's this?"

sakura's at a loss for words, unable to come up with a good excuse on the fly.

��it’s the same one i have.”

he feels himself teetering on that tightrope, at the verge of falling down into the abyss of loneliness once more. are you mad? are you going to leave him?

“how come you bought it?”

sakura takes a deep breath, trying to pull himself out of his spiraling thoughts. no, he shouldn’t assume the worst. all you did was ask him a question. your tone isn’t accusatory, merely inquisitive.

“i-i like the way you smell.” he says small and quiet, entirely unlike how he usually is. he chooses to let his head hang low, staring at the couch cushions rather than you. he’s afraid of what he may see if he looks your way. even if he doesn’t want to think the worst, he’s sure you’re put off by what he’s said. who wouldn’t be?

“haruka, can you look at me?” sakura stubbornly keeps his head down. tendrils of fear have taken ahold of his heart, paralyzing him. he stiffens when you gently sigh. “please?”

slowly, sakura lifts his head, bracing himself for your reaction. sakura expects disgust or distaste to be plastered across your face, but he's shocked when he's greeted with a smile, bleeding with a fondness that's so familiar to sakura it makes him ache a little.

"i'm not mad," you say as if you can read sakura's thoughts. or maybe you can just read his expression. "i'm flattered that you think i smell nice, and i honestly think it's really cute that you want to smell like me."

"really?" sakura's brows furrow, disbelieving. "you don't think it's weird? or gross?" sakura doesn't know why he's saying these things, things that could push you further from him, but he doesn't get why you don't think what he's done is strange or unusual.

sakura startles when you take a seat beside him on the couch. he didn't even notice you moving across the room.

“why would i think that?” a confused lilt to your voice. you reach out towards sakura, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear before caressing his cheek. the tips of your fingers rub against the ends of his hair. “i think it’s sweet. honestly, i really like the idea of us using the same products." your expression goes thoughtful. "it's like even when i'm not around, a part of me is still with you." a rosy hue colors sakura's cheeks. he didn't expect you to say something so embarrassing. you continue on, a growing grin on your lips. "and now whenever i sleep over, i don't have to worry about packing toiletries, i can just use what you have here!”

your laughter fills the air when sakura pulls back from you, rolling his eyes at your attempt of lightening the mood. it works though. sakura is admittedly feeling considerably better than he did just moments ago. he doesn't know how you do it. you somehow always know what to say, what he needs to hear. sakura no longer finds himself performing a balancing act on that tightrope as often as he once did in his adolescence, but from time to time, he's there again, teetering from side to side, afraid of falling. but now he realizes that fear is unfounded.

you're a safe place for him to land.

[luvzshy]

I Am Home

Pairing: Poly!Alice Cullen x Jasper Hale x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Your battle with anxiety feels endless until you find your true home in Alice and Jasper, whose deep soulmate bond with you brings the peace you desperately need.

Notes: Reader has anxiety, Alice and Jasper help calm her down with sweet words and affection. There’s angst leading to a fluffy, intimate ending. Deep emotional connection, slow-burn vibes with a soul-tie dynamic.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there, pressed against the cold wall of the school library, the world blurring around you. It felt like everything was closing in—the fluorescent lights too bright, the voices too loud, even though they were distant now. Your heart was racing, every beat loud in your ears, as if it was trying to escape the cage of your chest.

It wasn’t the first time you’d felt like this—trapped inside your own mind, your thoughts spiraling out of control—but this time, it felt worse. It was like being underwater, gasping for breath, but unable to break through the surface.

The anxiety was suffocating, a familiar but unwelcome visitor, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, it was too much. Your hands trembled, your knees weak, and you were so close to sinking into that abyss. You pressed your back harder against the wall, as if it might ground you, but nothing seemed to help.

Then you felt it—a gentle touch on your arm, soft but steady. Alice.

Her presence was so light and comforting, like a whisper of calm amidst the chaos. Even without looking, you knew it was her. You could always feel her before you saw her, as if the air shifted when she was near, carrying with it the promise of safety.

“Hey,” Alice’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the fog of your panic like a lifeline. “Breathe with me.”

You struggled to meet her gaze, your vision blurred by the tears you hadn’t even realized were there. But when your eyes finally locked onto hers, you saw nothing but love. Her dark eyes, deep and unwavering, told you everything you needed to know—she was here. She always would be.

But even as her words washed over you, the panic didn’t release its grip. Your breath hitched in your throat, too shallow, too fast, and your hands shook uncontrollably. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force the feeling away, but it only made it worse.

Another touch—this time, steady and warm on your shoulder. Jasper.

Where Alice’s energy was light, Jasper’s was grounding, a quiet strength that enveloped you like a protective shield. His voice was low, soothing, the kind of voice that made you feel safe no matter how lost you were. “I’m here,” he said, his words vibrating through your body like a soft hum. “We’re not leaving you.”

Your chest tightened painfully, your breath coming in short gasps. “I… I can’t,” you managed to choke out between ragged breaths. “I can’t breathe.”

“You’re okay,” Jasper whispered, his hand gently rubbing your back in slow, calming circles. His power flickered, not forcing calm on you, but offering it like a hand reaching out, waiting for you to take it. “I’m right here. You’re safe with us.”

Alice was still holding your hand, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in rhythmic strokes. “You’re not alone,” she whispered, her voice filled with so much tenderness that it made your chest ache in a different way. “We’ve got you.”

You wanted to believe them, but the panic was still there, gnawing at the edges of your mind, telling you that nothing was okay. The pressure in your chest built until it felt unbearable, your vision narrowing, black spots dancing at the edges.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking, ashamed that they had to see you like this—broken, fragile. “I’m sorry, I—”

Alice shook her head quickly, her grip on your hand tightening, but still gentle. “No. Don’t apologize, love. You don’t ever have to apologize for feeling this way.”

Jasper’s hand moved up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “You don’t have to be strong right now,” he murmured, his golden eyes warm and steady, locking onto yours. “That’s what we’re here for. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Their words were like a balm on your soul, slowly easing the weight pressing down on your chest. You could still feel the panic, but now there was something else—a warmth, a tether pulling you back, grounding you. Alice’s presence, light and hopeful, and Jasper’s calm, steady energy—both of them holding you, not just physically, but emotionally, wrapping you in their love.

“You’re so strong,” Alice whispered, her forehead resting gently against yours. “Even when you don’t feel like it. And we’ll remind you of that every single day if we have to.”

Jasper’s hand slid down to rest over your heart, his touch firm but comforting, as if he were holding all the pieces of you together. “We’re connected,” he said, his voice deep and resonant, like a promise etched into your soul. “You, me, Alice—we’re tied to each other. You’re never alone in this.”

The words “soulmates” echoed between them, not spoken aloud, but felt in the way they held you, the way they anchored you to them. You could feel it in the way their emotions wrapped around yours—Alice’s unwavering optimism, Jasper’s steady calm. It was more than just love. It was something deeper, something that transcended words.

Slowly, so slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease. Your breath came easier, the trembling in your hands lessening as you focused on them—on the warmth of Alice’s hand, the steady pulse of Jasper’s presence.

You let out a shaky breath, tears slipping down your cheeks, but this time they weren’t from panic. They were from the overwhelming love you felt in that moment, the certainty that no matter how lost you were, they would always find you.

Alice wiped the tears away with gentle fingers, her smile soft, eyes shining with pride. “There you are,” she whispered, her voice full of love. “You did it.”

Jasper’s fingers interlaced with yours, his touch solid and reassuring. “We’re always going to be here,” he said, his voice steady and unwavering. “No matter how dark it gets, we’ll be your light.”

In that moment, you realized how deeply you were tied to them—not just in this life, but in every way that mattered. Soulmates. The word wasn’t big enough to capture what the three of you had, but it was the closest thing to describing the connection that bound you to Alice and Jasper. You belonged to each other, in a way that made everything else seem insignificant.

As you rested between them, your panic finally fading, you felt the weight of their love settle around you like a protective shield. You weren’t alone. You never would be.

Alice kissed your forehead softly, her touch full of tenderness. “We love you,” she whispered, her voice like a lullaby.

Jasper rested his forehead against yours, his breath steady, grounding you. “Always,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes, breathing them in, feeling the warmth of their love wrap around you like a blanket. In their arms, you were home.

And for the first time that day, the world didn’t feel so heavy.

[thesassypadawan]

Are You Afraid Of The Dark (Luke x FemReader)

Summary:  This isn’t how you imagined your Halloween night panning out.  You thought you would just have a little ‘fun’, while spooking the ever-living shit out of your poor scaredy cat.  Instead things have changed…in a ghoulishly delightful sort of way. 

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because all the lovely smut.  Cockwarming, spooky movie, and…Luke’s long, fat dick.

Notes: Happy Kinktober all you, lovelies! 🖤🧡

- Warm breath fans across your face, lips graze the shell of your ear.  “What’s the matter, pumpkin?”  Strong arm tightens around your waist; presses and keeps your back firmly to his chest.  While his hand gripes gently, lazily traces ‘soothing’ circles on your thigh.  “Too spooky for a scaredy cat like you?”

- Huffing softly, you shift and fidget on Luke’s lap.  “Me…ME?!”  His thick cock buried deep in your cunt, brushing at that sweet little spot.  “I’m n-not the one who insists w-we sleep with a nightlight.”

- “Sssh…”  Fingers knead, squeeze your subtle flesh; slowly migrate lower, ghost over your pert mound.  Causing the heat to blossom on your cheeks, spread through your body. “It’s about to get to the good part.”

- “W-wait, this isn’t how it’s s-supposed to happen!”  You try your best to stop him, wriggle free.  Turn off the tv before it gets to that one gory scene, the very one that made you chose to watch this slasher flick…in hopes of giving him a good freight.  “You’re t-the one-”

- The screen fades to black and the music grows more intense.  You already know what’s coming next, there’s not a single doubt in your mind.  However that still doesn’t stop you from involuntarily rocking your hips.  Plush walls starting to clench around him from the tension building up in the room, inside of you.  “Noooo!  Don’t g-go in there!  No no n-no no…”

- A high-pitched scream…  The sight and sound of blood splattering…  And…  “NOOO!!”

- “Calm down…”  He coos, his hold on you tightening.  Nose nuzzling your neck affectionately, teeth nip ever so tenderly.  “I’m right here…”

- Dipping between your soaked folds, he rolls your neglected nub.  “Nothing big and bad is going to hurt you…”  Teasing it a bit; applying just enough pressure to make your legs start quivering, feeling like jelly.  “Except maybe…me.”

- With a low growl, he thrusts upwards.  “Thought you were real sneaky, huh?”  Fat tip slamming, hitting your cervix in such a delicious way.  That has you gasping, mewling weakly from the overwhelming rush of both pleasure and fear.  “Telling me this was going to be another ‘hocus pocus’ kiddie movie; didn’t have anything to worry about.”

- Head falls back onto his shoulder, eyes clamp shut.  Desperately wanting to hide away, from the horrific scene that plays out in front of you. “Meanwhile, you were planning to scare the ever-living shit out of me.”  Covering up the fact that he has your stomach twisting, knotting up from your approaching orgasm.  “Well, got news for you.”

- Slapping your pussy harshly, you cry out.  Eyes snapping open, widening in fright at the sight of another victim being slayed.  “Tables been turned.”  Back arching slightly, hips grinding against his pathetically.  “Now you’re going to be screaming and begging…all movie long.”

- Pace increases; vision blurs from your tears of terror, ecstasy.  You’re so painfully close to unraveling completely, crashing and spiraling into the abyss.  All you can manage to do is babble, whine as you slump forward; a last-ditch effort to block out the carnage.  “Pro-promise, w-won’t do it again!  Please, just…just…”   

- “When you put it that way.”  Grabbing your chin, pinching it between his thumb and index finger.  You think he’s going to subject you to watching the next untimely death though, instead… “Fine; make a deal with you, sweetheart.  I’ll turn this off, finish taking care of you.  Only if answer my question.”  …he turns your face towards him.  “Are you afraid of the dark?”

- Licking your lips; walls pulsing, shuddering.  And you can’t help but compare Luke’s grin to the villain’s, as he chops up the next poor unfortunate soul.  “I-I’ll admit it…”

- This isn’t how you imagined your Halloween night panning out.  But with the way he’s making you wail and rearranging your guts.  “I-I’m…”  It’s going to ended up being much MUCH better, a ghoulishly delightful one.   “Afraid of the d-dark…"

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @jediavengers, @avescorner-blog, @valyna27, @xoxo-hayden-fangurl-xoxo, @laoif, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @fredswrite

[rubys-domain]

my ultimate goal is to solo every single boss with cryo chong on main and pyro chong on the alt

[hwamphwamp]

~11:39pm

warning(s): mentions of being high and the side effects of being high, a suggestive line or two if you squint

In hindsight, expecting Wooyoung to follow instructions was your first mistake.

At least that’s what Hongjoong said when you called him, desperate for advice.

“Just be there for him until he comes down from the high,” Hongjoong said, his voice muffled by the sounds of the party he’d stepped out of to take your call. You waited, hoping he’d have more to offer than just that.

“Joong, he thought he was sinking into the mattress for half an hour, and now he’s freaking out because he has a case of cottonmouth that’s— in his words—‘so extreme he can’t breathe.’ What do I do?”

“Give him a gallon of water and some cuddles or something. He’ll be knocked out in no time,” he replied, unfiltered as always. “Listen, my set’s starting soon, so I have to go. If he gets worse, take him to the hospital or something. He’s got good insurance.”

With that, the call ended, leaving you just as helpless as before. You knew that later on, when both of you were much less high, you’d realize everything had been perfectly fine. Sure, Wooyoung had taken twenty milligrams for his first high instead of the five he’d been told to take, which was a bit much, but he’d be okay by morning. Right now though, in your current state of mild panic, it felt like him experiencing one more side effect would send you spiraling.

“Baby?”

You turned towards the balcony door to see Wooyoung peeking out, a small frown on his face as he shuffled over to you.

“What happened to our cuddle session?” he asked, throwing his arms around you and lifting you just enough to carry you back inside. “I waited for an hour, and you weren’t back. I was starting to get worried.”

“First of all, it’s only been ten minutes at most,” you corrected, wriggling free from his arms once you reached your bedroom. “Second, when I tried to cuddle you, you thought our combined weights would make us sink into the mattress faster.”

“Oh… Wait, I’m the one who stopped the cuddle session? That doesn’t even sound right, so I kinda have to assume you’re lying.”

“I’m not—”

You caught yourself, deciding there was no use. Wooyoung was too stubborn while sober to admit he’d ever stop any affection with you—better yet while high and you were picking and choosing your battles tonight.

“Yeah, you’re right. That does sound crazy, Woo,” you replied, watching him as he made his way over to your vanity.

“By the way,” he started, motioning for you to join him, “I drank the rest of the bottled water in your stash under the bed. But more importantly, I was looking at your makeup.”

“That water was supposed to last me until next week—”

“Again, more importantly, I was looking at your makeup and thought it would be fun if you did my makeup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, then shut it again, taken aback by his request. It wasn’t surprising he wanted to look pretty no matter his state of mind, but still, it was random considering the last thing he’d said before you went outside to call his best friend was how he didn’t feel real and thought the person running his “simulation” hated him.

“You want me to do your makeup?”

“Yes.”

“At almost midnight?”

“Also yes.”

“Is it because you want your makeup done or because you want to hold me without feeling like you’re sinking into the abyss?”

“Both.”

You sighed, pulling your desk chair over to the vanity and motioning for him to sit down. Even though you were ready to sleep, it was hard to resist the way he looked up at you, his bloodshot eyes still brimming with affection. Wooyoung had this way of looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and you could never stay annoyed when he looked at you like that.

“Okay, so what look are we—”

“Aren’t you gonna sit down?” he interrupted, patting his lap as he waited for you to take your usual spot.

“It’d be easier to reach the makeup if I just stand up, Woo. Besides—”

But before you could finish, Wooyoung pulled you down, guiding you to straddle him. His goofy smile grew wider as you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t act like you don’t like being on top of me,” he teased, his hands resting in your hips.

You chuckled, playfully smacking his arm before grabbing a foundation brush. “Behave. Now hold still.”

As you started dabbing foundation onto his face, Wooyoung’s hands moved up to your waist, tracing light, lazy circles that made it nearly impossible to focus. You bit back a smile, hoping he didn’t notice the way your cheeks flushed.

“You’re so gentle,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours as you blended the foundation. “Feels nice.”

You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you moved to grab the concealer. “Stay still, or I’ll mess up.”

Wooyoung pouted but obliged, though his hands continued their light movements. “It’s hard when you’re so close,” he mumbled, his gaze lingering on your face.

You shook your head, smiling as you started patting the concealer under his eyes. “Yeah, ok pretty boy. Now close your eyes.

He obeyed, his long lashes brushing against his cheeks as he relaxed into your touch. You took your time, perfecting the base as he hummed contentedly, entranced by the feeling of your fingers against his skin.

“Wow, I can already tell I look amazing,” he said, cracking one eye open to see your reaction.

“Patience, diva,” you laughed, reaching for an eyeshadow palette. “Let me work my magic.”

He watched as you carefully selected a soft pink shade and began sweeping it across his eyelids. Every few seconds, Wooyoung would open his eyes a bit to peek at you and every time he’d break into a smile, watching you with a look so full of adoration it made your heart ache.

“You’re so good at this,” he said softly, his voice taking on a rare, serious tone. “It’s like… I don’t know. You make everything feel like art.”

You paused, warmth spreading through you at his unexpected compliment. “You’re making me blush, Woo.”

“Good,” he replied, his thumb tracing small circles on your back. “You should know how amazing you are.”

Trying to keep your composure, you moved on to his eyeliner. His eyes sparkled as you carefully lined them, and you couldn’t help but admire the way the makeup made his already striking features stand out. You brushed a bit of highlighter onto his cheekbones, and he closed his eyes, soaking in the attention like he wasn’t used to it by now. Still though, there was something so nice about being with someone who treated every intimate moment with you as if it were the first.

Once you finished, you leaned back, admiring your work. “There. You’re all done, Woo.”

He glanced in the mirror, his mouth dropping in playful awe. “I look like a whole new person! No… a prettier version of myself. You’re incredible, babe.”

You laughed, brushing back a stray lock of hair from his face. “You’re gorgeous with or without makeup. I just brought out what was already there.”

For a moment, you both stayed silent, just looking at each other. His hands found yours, and he pulled you even closer, his fingers threading through your hair as he let out a soft, contented sigh.

“You know I love you, right?” he murmured, his voice quieter than it had been all night.

Your heart skipped a beat as you leaned forward to give him a quick kiss. “Yeah… I love you too, Woo.”

A soft smile spread across his face, his eyes beginning to droop as the high was just starting to wear off. You felt him growing heavier, his hands resting in your lap as he started to drift off. His head leaned against your shoulder, his breathing evening out as sleep began to take over.

You could’ve moved, or nudged him towards the bed, but instead, you stayed right where you were, feeling the gentle weight of him against you. You watched his face relax as he slipped into sleep, his makeup still perfectly in place, highlighting his beauty even in his unconscious state.

In that moment, with his heartbeat steady against yours, you realized you were falling for him even more. If that was even possible.

On a not so unrelated note, you now had to tell Hongjoong he couldn’t have been more right if he tried.

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